Dear SJP,
I need to tell you how much I love you. I'm a heterosexual Mom of one who has a limited budget to indulge in my clothing lust and since you came out with Bitten, I'm able to look good without spending big money.
Granted, I live in the Bay Area where there are no Steve and Barry's anywhere near me. I have to travel to Santa Maria Town Center mall to fill my little heart with contentment (and my shopping cart with clothes). Last week, I went in and bought a pair of low rise jeans that are actually long enough for my 34 1/2 inch inseam and that really great pea coat you have. I wore them tonight and got props for them.
Thank you for not being like so many celebs designing clothes only for 5'9" size four 22 year olds. It was gratifying to hear you say that you want all women, including a 41 year old size 12/14, to look good. And it's equally gratifying to see that a woman who is a size 22 and her daughter who is a size 8 can shop together happily.
But most gratifying of all was getting my Mom to shut up about how your line is for a 16 year old who is a size four and 5'9" and I'm insane to even look at your stuff. She stopped me once before from buying clothes from your line because she wouldn't stop talking long enough to hear your ad playing at the store. This time, in front of two women who were clearly size 18, as my Mom kept saying how 'fat' (read: me) women shouldn't be looking at your stuff, your voice wafted over her as she took a breath saying that Bitten is for women of all ages and all shapes and sizes. You shut her up as I haven't been able to shut her up about my size in 30 years.
(Full disclosure: my Mom is 73 years old, 5'2" and about 118 pounds. She thinks she's fat. She's fatter than she has ever been except for pregnancy but she still looks good. I think she's getting a lot of flak from her skinny younger sister. Plus Mom is starting to wear size 10 and 12 in pants which makes her too close to my size in her mind.)
Thank you, Sarah Jessica Parker, for remembering that we women want to look good but we can't all have a stylist get us a Marc Jacobs for an evening at Chuck E. Cheese with the kids. Thank you for making fun, well made clothes for a price that practically any woman can afford. Thank you for remembering that style doesn't die when you hit 40 - or be over a size 8. Thank you for making it real.
With love,
Exhausted Mommy
PS. Thanks for that article after you had your adorable son about how you didn't just 'bounce' back to your normal weight. We normal women appreciated hearing a celebrity tell the truth that your financial circumstances allowed you to hire a chef, nutritionist, trainer and a nanny who got you to be fabulous again. So many celebs are in denial about the village it takes to make them fabulous so it's good to see honesty out of one celeb.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Not so common sense travel dressing
I read about the two women who were reprimanded by Southwest Airlines flight attendants about their clothing choices today. The SF Chronicle had a picture of the one woman who got an apology from Southwest, she was in the outfit she got in trouble wearing. The skirt was Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct territory. Boy could have given her a gynecological exam in it. The other woman said that Southwest should have something available that told them what to wear.
I'm sorry? Did you have to get someone to tell you a halter top isn't a great idea no matter how hot it was outside? You can have a breast slip up. If Tara Reid had one at a red carpet event - and she's got a stylist putting her boobs in her clothes - then what makes you think when you're stashing your carry on over or under your seat isn't going to flash someone? And the chick with the short skirt? C'mon, would a pair of Target leggings been so hard to pack in your purse?
(They said they were upset they were dressed down in front of the other passengers. Was it more that they realised they looked a little skanky in other people's eyes or that they were publicly humiliated or both?)
There are people who bring up the fact that Southwest's flight attendants used to wear hot pants in the '70s so what is the deal with denying a young woman in a short skirt. As one man said, I don't want to have to explain anatomy to my son. Amen. If I want to have my son get a lesson in how to be a gynecologist, I can take him to mine to explain things on the chart. After all, my gyn is also the man who was my OB so he knows my son very well already.
Some have even brought up the fact that young female celebrities are often caught out and about partying sans panties. Yeah. And we snicker at them while reading Perez Hilton, or TMZ. If their stylists can't get them into a pair of Commando panties because these young women are more considered about their pantylines than being labeled 'fire crotch' by young wannabe moneyed scions, then fine. But it just shows they have no taste or questionable upbringing. Kathy Hilton, I know you must have tried with Paris. Dina Lohan, stop trying to be your daughter's older sister and be her friggin' Mom. It ain't all your fucked up husband's fault Lindsey's a mess. But I digress.
Back before airline travel became the equivalent to buses with wings, people used to take care to dress well. They put on their nicest clothes, women put on make up and everyone tried to look good because this was an experience. Heck, people would look good to run to the store to get some milk and eggs.
Now, you get on a flight, you have to hope that you're not sitting next to someone who got up late and had to choose between a cup of coffee and a shower and the shower lost. Not like there isn't 100 Starbucks to be crossed once you get through security or anything. And then you might get the freak who didn't take the shower but decided that extra dose of cologne might cover up their ripeness. Oy!
I read that American Airlines has posted something that says they will deny you your seat if you're dressed inappropriately or smell stinky. Hurrah. More airlines need to adopt an across the board thing that says they will kick your ass of the plane for more than being a drunken asswipe. If people are too in love with their short skirted, underwear hanging out of their jeans look to dress appropriately, they can drive.
Sure, there have been times when I've gotten into coach wearing sweatpants. But my sweatpants weren't stained, torn or looking worse for wear. I've got nothing against sweatpants on a plane - considering the seats aren't comfortable, you should wear comfy clothes. But, at least try to look like you didn't just pull them out of your gym bag because you didn't dry your jeans enough in the dryer the night before. Ick.
Travel writers list as one of their tips is dress well if you want to be treated well. It's true. The couple of times I've traveled first class (thank you frequent flyer miles), I took them time to dress a little better. If I wore jeans, I made for damned sure I had nice shoes and a nice blouse. Even Boy is dressed nicely because I don't want him to look like a little hoodlum when we get there. Since when we do travel, it's pretty much only coach, I try to still make sure that I look like I deserve to be there. Husband is climbing the ranks of his frequent flyer membership with one of the major airlines so he gets seating upgrades when we travel together (hallalujah) so it is imperative that I look like I belong there.
When I was working in retail years ago, I used to judge people by what they wore. I worked in an upscale mall in SoCal so I assumed that the better dressed were better off. Au contraire. One of our more well of clients would come in looking like he was recently off a week long bender and buy a lot on his platinum Amex. (This is before I knew of the Amex Black) He didn't smell funny or anything but you could tell once you got close that his look was more carefully crafted than an actual lack of personal hygiene.
So people, when you decide you need to get on a plane for business, leisure or whatever, here are some simple rules to follow:
1. Dress like you are going to your Grandma's. Don't wear that low rise pair of pants without something to cover up your plumber's crack. No tube tops, halter tops unless you bring a blouse or a sweater to throw on over it. If you need to wear that short skirt, buy a pair of cheap leggings to pull on when you leave the house and pull them off when you get to your destination airport so you can impress whoever it is you're trying to impress. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas - but on the way there and on the way home, we don't want to see your Brazilian wax.
2. Take a damned shower. I know, the Europeans and some other cultures think that bathing is overrated and we North Americans are really overzealous in our need to bathe regularly, but damn. That smell is worse than some great cheeses. At least with cheese, I still want it. That smell off your body isn't going to make me want you. Even if you're the hottest actor that I'd like to lick whipped cream off of, if you smell rank, I ain't gonna want none of that (my husband is the only man I want to lick whipped cream off of). And no, putting on extra cologne or perfume isn't going to make the nasty smell go away. You are going to smell like body odor and Davidoff's Cool Water. Five hours plus on a flight with that will make us all have mad cow disease.
3. Get off the damned phone. Please. Your life can wait for awhile. I do not want to hear your business transaction or that chat with your Mom about how you got upgraded at the Venetian to a suite because they screwed up your reservation because you chose to show up later than their posted late check in time and you rarely were in the room. I saw a flight attendant politely say over the PA that everyone needed to get off their cell phones because one woman two ahead was babbling about her trip to Vegas while they were trying to give the safety chat. The flight attendant said it twice. The other flight attendant stood in front of her doing the universal sign of stop (the slicing across the throat) and she still went on and on. Finally, the flight attendant on the PA looked at the woman and pointedly said her seat number and how she had to get off the phone NOW. Or else. She got off the phone. I thanked the flight attendant later.
Okay, the last one is less about dressing but come on people, let's try that personal responsibility thing.
I'm sorry? Did you have to get someone to tell you a halter top isn't a great idea no matter how hot it was outside? You can have a breast slip up. If Tara Reid had one at a red carpet event - and she's got a stylist putting her boobs in her clothes - then what makes you think when you're stashing your carry on over or under your seat isn't going to flash someone? And the chick with the short skirt? C'mon, would a pair of Target leggings been so hard to pack in your purse?
(They said they were upset they were dressed down in front of the other passengers. Was it more that they realised they looked a little skanky in other people's eyes or that they were publicly humiliated or both?)
There are people who bring up the fact that Southwest's flight attendants used to wear hot pants in the '70s so what is the deal with denying a young woman in a short skirt. As one man said, I don't want to have to explain anatomy to my son. Amen. If I want to have my son get a lesson in how to be a gynecologist, I can take him to mine to explain things on the chart. After all, my gyn is also the man who was my OB so he knows my son very well already.
Some have even brought up the fact that young female celebrities are often caught out and about partying sans panties. Yeah. And we snicker at them while reading Perez Hilton, or TMZ. If their stylists can't get them into a pair of Commando panties because these young women are more considered about their pantylines than being labeled 'fire crotch' by young wannabe moneyed scions, then fine. But it just shows they have no taste or questionable upbringing. Kathy Hilton, I know you must have tried with Paris. Dina Lohan, stop trying to be your daughter's older sister and be her friggin' Mom. It ain't all your fucked up husband's fault Lindsey's a mess. But I digress.
Back before airline travel became the equivalent to buses with wings, people used to take care to dress well. They put on their nicest clothes, women put on make up and everyone tried to look good because this was an experience. Heck, people would look good to run to the store to get some milk and eggs.
Now, you get on a flight, you have to hope that you're not sitting next to someone who got up late and had to choose between a cup of coffee and a shower and the shower lost. Not like there isn't 100 Starbucks to be crossed once you get through security or anything. And then you might get the freak who didn't take the shower but decided that extra dose of cologne might cover up their ripeness. Oy!
I read that American Airlines has posted something that says they will deny you your seat if you're dressed inappropriately or smell stinky. Hurrah. More airlines need to adopt an across the board thing that says they will kick your ass of the plane for more than being a drunken asswipe. If people are too in love with their short skirted, underwear hanging out of their jeans look to dress appropriately, they can drive.
Sure, there have been times when I've gotten into coach wearing sweatpants. But my sweatpants weren't stained, torn or looking worse for wear. I've got nothing against sweatpants on a plane - considering the seats aren't comfortable, you should wear comfy clothes. But, at least try to look like you didn't just pull them out of your gym bag because you didn't dry your jeans enough in the dryer the night before. Ick.
Travel writers list as one of their tips is dress well if you want to be treated well. It's true. The couple of times I've traveled first class (thank you frequent flyer miles), I took them time to dress a little better. If I wore jeans, I made for damned sure I had nice shoes and a nice blouse. Even Boy is dressed nicely because I don't want him to look like a little hoodlum when we get there. Since when we do travel, it's pretty much only coach, I try to still make sure that I look like I deserve to be there. Husband is climbing the ranks of his frequent flyer membership with one of the major airlines so he gets seating upgrades when we travel together (hallalujah) so it is imperative that I look like I belong there.
When I was working in retail years ago, I used to judge people by what they wore. I worked in an upscale mall in SoCal so I assumed that the better dressed were better off. Au contraire. One of our more well of clients would come in looking like he was recently off a week long bender and buy a lot on his platinum Amex. (This is before I knew of the Amex Black) He didn't smell funny or anything but you could tell once you got close that his look was more carefully crafted than an actual lack of personal hygiene.
So people, when you decide you need to get on a plane for business, leisure or whatever, here are some simple rules to follow:
1. Dress like you are going to your Grandma's. Don't wear that low rise pair of pants without something to cover up your plumber's crack. No tube tops, halter tops unless you bring a blouse or a sweater to throw on over it. If you need to wear that short skirt, buy a pair of cheap leggings to pull on when you leave the house and pull them off when you get to your destination airport so you can impress whoever it is you're trying to impress. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas - but on the way there and on the way home, we don't want to see your Brazilian wax.
2. Take a damned shower. I know, the Europeans and some other cultures think that bathing is overrated and we North Americans are really overzealous in our need to bathe regularly, but damn. That smell is worse than some great cheeses. At least with cheese, I still want it. That smell off your body isn't going to make me want you. Even if you're the hottest actor that I'd like to lick whipped cream off of, if you smell rank, I ain't gonna want none of that (my husband is the only man I want to lick whipped cream off of). And no, putting on extra cologne or perfume isn't going to make the nasty smell go away. You are going to smell like body odor and Davidoff's Cool Water. Five hours plus on a flight with that will make us all have mad cow disease.
3. Get off the damned phone. Please. Your life can wait for awhile. I do not want to hear your business transaction or that chat with your Mom about how you got upgraded at the Venetian to a suite because they screwed up your reservation because you chose to show up later than their posted late check in time and you rarely were in the room. I saw a flight attendant politely say over the PA that everyone needed to get off their cell phones because one woman two ahead was babbling about her trip to Vegas while they were trying to give the safety chat. The flight attendant said it twice. The other flight attendant stood in front of her doing the universal sign of stop (the slicing across the throat) and she still went on and on. Finally, the flight attendant on the PA looked at the woman and pointedly said her seat number and how she had to get off the phone NOW. Or else. She got off the phone. I thanked the flight attendant later.
Okay, the last one is less about dressing but come on people, let's try that personal responsibility thing.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Mommy cliques
I am party of a Mommy Clique. Okay, it's not so much a Mommy Club but four of us Mommies who live close to each other get together once a month at one of the Mommies houses (with our spouses and kids) to each chips and salsa and chat. It's nice to have four women with varied backgrounds (two stay at homes, two working) who can all agree that a poopy diaper is probably ready to be classified as a WMD.
But, I wasn't surprised when this weekend when we went to Fiona and Mark's kids joint birthday party and found myself shunned by the other Mommies. Seriously. There were about 15 families there with their kids and precisely ONE set of parents talked to me besides Fiona and Mark. They were also the only other ethnic couple there. I nearly asked them to join Husband, Boy and I where we'd flopped down our blanket and chairs so we could be our own ghetto in the white enclave.
The other Moms eyed me suspiciously. I think it's because I was an unknown quantity. I didn't belong to their Mommy Group or send Boy to their preferred day school. I wore shorts and a polo shirt while they wore clothes that were meant to hide the poochy bellies (which I wasn't hiding well myself). Boy went on his way, occasionally babbling at other children but mostly interested in his own thing. Even he wasn't ready to be part of that clique thing.
At one point, a one year old girl was pushing her stroller away from where her family had been sitting. She pushed happily along, further away from her Mom who was busy showing off her new Blackberry to the other Mommies. I cheered the little girl's drive and she smiled at me warily. (Boy was crawling through a fabric tunnel that Fiona had brought while Husband made video with our new camera) When I saw the little one was starting to head out of our picnic area, I helped her negotiate back towards where her Mommy was. As I looked up to make sure we were going the right way, someone's Grandmother shot me an evil eye. I wanted to tell her, "Hey, would you like her to head out to the street or behind the bathrooms? Sorry I'm not immediately known to you but I've been sitting ten feet away for the last hour so I'm not a freak." But I didn't. I let the little girl find her way back to her family while I sat down and absorbed sunlight.
What is so hard about saying "hello" at a gathering where we seem to all have a couple of things in common: our kids are the same age roughly and we all know the birthday family? I would smile at other Moms as their kids ran with Boy but I'd get a tight smile as if my child was an interloper that they would prefer not to run with their precious ones. Husband was far more fortunate that he was able to talk to a couple of the Daddies - Mark and another Dad he knew. He spent time with them, discussing geek stuff, while I taught Boy the properties of spraying water with a water fountain. (We called the game Bellagio)
We went to another birthday party a couple of weeks back where I knew the birthday boy's family and three other families. I managed to have a pretty decent conversation with most of the parents without a problem. It's as if they knew that we were all there for the same reason. So it isn't like any of us were superfreaky people. It was a nice party, everyone had a great time (though Boy didn't do anything the music teacher wanted and eyed the other kids who did as if they were lemmings).
What a difference. We have another birthday party the day before Boy's party later in the year. I should know about ONE of the other families that will be there. We'll see how that goes..
But, I wasn't surprised when this weekend when we went to Fiona and Mark's kids joint birthday party and found myself shunned by the other Mommies. Seriously. There were about 15 families there with their kids and precisely ONE set of parents talked to me besides Fiona and Mark. They were also the only other ethnic couple there. I nearly asked them to join Husband, Boy and I where we'd flopped down our blanket and chairs so we could be our own ghetto in the white enclave.
The other Moms eyed me suspiciously. I think it's because I was an unknown quantity. I didn't belong to their Mommy Group or send Boy to their preferred day school. I wore shorts and a polo shirt while they wore clothes that were meant to hide the poochy bellies (which I wasn't hiding well myself). Boy went on his way, occasionally babbling at other children but mostly interested in his own thing. Even he wasn't ready to be part of that clique thing.
At one point, a one year old girl was pushing her stroller away from where her family had been sitting. She pushed happily along, further away from her Mom who was busy showing off her new Blackberry to the other Mommies. I cheered the little girl's drive and she smiled at me warily. (Boy was crawling through a fabric tunnel that Fiona had brought while Husband made video with our new camera) When I saw the little one was starting to head out of our picnic area, I helped her negotiate back towards where her Mommy was. As I looked up to make sure we were going the right way, someone's Grandmother shot me an evil eye. I wanted to tell her, "Hey, would you like her to head out to the street or behind the bathrooms? Sorry I'm not immediately known to you but I've been sitting ten feet away for the last hour so I'm not a freak." But I didn't. I let the little girl find her way back to her family while I sat down and absorbed sunlight.
What is so hard about saying "hello" at a gathering where we seem to all have a couple of things in common: our kids are the same age roughly and we all know the birthday family? I would smile at other Moms as their kids ran with Boy but I'd get a tight smile as if my child was an interloper that they would prefer not to run with their precious ones. Husband was far more fortunate that he was able to talk to a couple of the Daddies - Mark and another Dad he knew. He spent time with them, discussing geek stuff, while I taught Boy the properties of spraying water with a water fountain. (We called the game Bellagio)
We went to another birthday party a couple of weeks back where I knew the birthday boy's family and three other families. I managed to have a pretty decent conversation with most of the parents without a problem. It's as if they knew that we were all there for the same reason. So it isn't like any of us were superfreaky people. It was a nice party, everyone had a great time (though Boy didn't do anything the music teacher wanted and eyed the other kids who did as if they were lemmings).
What a difference. We have another birthday party the day before Boy's party later in the year. I should know about ONE of the other families that will be there. We'll see how that goes..
Saturday, August 11, 2007
1980s power ballads (metal edition)
I'm about to take a nap while Boy lays in his exhausted heap on his bed. If he can take one, so can I. To heck with the sand on the floor - I'll Swiffer than after he goes to bed tonight.
But, as I write this, I'm listening to an 80s music station that is playing a metal band's "sorry now that you're gone" song and wondering if men should have learned something from all those stupid songs by now. I mean, women get an ear full of two or three women's country songs and we're covered. We got it.
There are probably hundreds of songs by metal bands (and other male singers) that say that they really hate the fact we left them. They can't live without us. They suck as human beings without us. And some of them actually state the reason that we packed up our Kipling bags and took Nancy Sinatra's advice from 1966.
The rotten SOB cheated on us. He had a good thing at home (which they repeat ad nauseum in their lyrics and choruses) but there was this cutie in tight Cavariccis (or Sassons, Calvins, Paige, Citzens, AG etc) that caught their eye and well, one thing led to another...
And they ask the question that they don't want to hear ever said to them: why did you leave over that?
Now, we women know that if we found some hot thing (or if there was a Bizarro World moment for me, Adrian Paul wandering past me and giving me the 'do me' eye) gave us the smile and the right wink, and we strayed, this hair metal head we've been shackin' up with would become more dramatic than Sir Laurence Olivier at his height of acting powers. Guys get all soap opera-ish and rent their clothes, weep copiously like children getting coal in their stockings. Women, well, we write Dear Amy for advice, call our girlfriends and in some cases, learn a lesson from the Blu Cantrell song. Or some chicks fall apart.
But the hair metal singers, well, they pretty much all say the same thing. Can't you come back and forget that I trysted with a hottie? Come on. It was once.
The thing is, we know that it won't be the last time. We don't mind if you're checking out the competition - but please, bring that libido home to me to deal with even if I'm exhausted.
No, Husband hasn't been out sowing his wild oats. I just happen to be laughing at the hair metal music.
But, as I write this, I'm listening to an 80s music station that is playing a metal band's "sorry now that you're gone" song and wondering if men should have learned something from all those stupid songs by now. I mean, women get an ear full of two or three women's country songs and we're covered. We got it.
There are probably hundreds of songs by metal bands (and other male singers) that say that they really hate the fact we left them. They can't live without us. They suck as human beings without us. And some of them actually state the reason that we packed up our Kipling bags and took Nancy Sinatra's advice from 1966.
The rotten SOB cheated on us. He had a good thing at home (which they repeat ad nauseum in their lyrics and choruses) but there was this cutie in tight Cavariccis (or Sassons, Calvins, Paige, Citzens, AG etc) that caught their eye and well, one thing led to another...
And they ask the question that they don't want to hear ever said to them: why did you leave over that?
Now, we women know that if we found some hot thing (or if there was a Bizarro World moment for me, Adrian Paul wandering past me and giving me the 'do me' eye) gave us the smile and the right wink, and we strayed, this hair metal head we've been shackin' up with would become more dramatic than Sir Laurence Olivier at his height of acting powers. Guys get all soap opera-ish and rent their clothes, weep copiously like children getting coal in their stockings. Women, well, we write Dear Amy for advice, call our girlfriends and in some cases, learn a lesson from the Blu Cantrell song. Or some chicks fall apart.
But the hair metal singers, well, they pretty much all say the same thing. Can't you come back and forget that I trysted with a hottie? Come on. It was once.
The thing is, we know that it won't be the last time. We don't mind if you're checking out the competition - but please, bring that libido home to me to deal with even if I'm exhausted.
No, Husband hasn't been out sowing his wild oats. I just happen to be laughing at the hair metal music.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Ask a stupid question...
I just got an email from a friend. He and I inquire on each other's lives about every three months. He asked me, "What's up?" and I told him about Boy. And I told him about Husband's surprise ER visit. My friend said that he didn't need to know about Husband's ER visit and my news about Boy is repetitive.
So I told him my life isn't that interesting so I don't have a lot to say.
Why do people expect that things would get suddenly interesting? Like in the midst of exhaustedly being a Stay at Home Mom, I'd become CEO of a corporation. It's not a stretch when it comes to responsibilities but I don't think that Yahoo! would be asking for me to take over for Terry Semel because I can change Boy's diaper while he is asleep on his stomach.
So people, when you ask your Mommy friends "what's up?" and hear about their kids, the stain they still can't get out of the rug, don't say "same old shit, different day" to them. We are aware that our lives are friggin' boring compared to jousting the corporate black knights each day or jaunting to Miami Beach for a week for a Cuban festival.
Uh oh. Boy sounds like he's got a nasty case of diarrhea in his diaper...
So I told him my life isn't that interesting so I don't have a lot to say.
Why do people expect that things would get suddenly interesting? Like in the midst of exhaustedly being a Stay at Home Mom, I'd become CEO of a corporation. It's not a stretch when it comes to responsibilities but I don't think that Yahoo! would be asking for me to take over for Terry Semel because I can change Boy's diaper while he is asleep on his stomach.
So people, when you ask your Mommy friends "what's up?" and hear about their kids, the stain they still can't get out of the rug, don't say "same old shit, different day" to them. We are aware that our lives are friggin' boring compared to jousting the corporate black knights each day or jaunting to Miami Beach for a week for a Cuban festival.
Uh oh. Boy sounds like he's got a nasty case of diarrhea in his diaper...
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Gift giving made simple
Husband is about to go visit friends in his hometown in a couple of weeks. I am happy he's going to visit his friends (it's too far for us to cart Boy - a long flight then a plane change) for a week. But what I dread is the amazing amount of stuff he'll bring home for Boy.
They mean well. Most of the people who give Boy gifts mean well. But they give us toys that end up being given to charity because Boy has no interest in them. Boy would rather play with an empty soda or juice bottle than play with a stuffed animal or a plastic truck. His interests aren't to the pretty coloured Fisher Price aisle at Target but the gadgets I get for the kitchen. Or the box of tissues I get. Anything but actual toys.
Okay, that's not entirely true. Boy does like Legos. We get him rogue Legos from the Lego Store (bags of random Legos they sell for $8 for two big bags) which he loves to play with.
So, little tips from a Mommy to the rest of you well meaning souls who want to give gifts to a friend/relative's little person (whether it's a baby or a toddler or a child):
1. Toys are great but make sure you know the child well enough to buy for it. The Barbie penthouse you sent for little Astrid is great but does Astrid play with Barbie? Or is she two? Or the mechanized mini Humvee you sent Tyler? Who lives in an apartment complex? And is nine months old? If you plan on sending a really nice gift, please send a gift receipt. It doesn't have the price you paid on it but they can always find out even if you don't. It makes it easier for the parents when they return it to whatever store you got it at (and they also don't have to try to figure out where you bought it). Don't try making up to the child the gifts you never got as a child.
2. Clothes. Just because Ilsa is 18 months old doesn't mean that she is wearing 18 months clothing. Ilsa could possibly wearing 9 to 12 month clothing. Or in Boy's case, he was wearing 24 month to 2T clothing. Always buy larger. Trust me, the kid will grow into it. And the parents will thank you later for buying a T shirt or outfit they can grow into. (Sub tip: end of season sales can get you some great deals on gifts - buy two sizes larger than the child needs to be safe so they can be worn for the season after).
3. Gift cards are a great gift. Do you think it's tacky - like giving money(in some cultures, giving money isn't tacky but considered the correct thing to do)? It isn't. A gift card for an infant for Target, KMart, Babies/Toys R Us, Costco/Sam's Club is really a blessing because trust me, the little angels need diapers and formula like you wouldn't believe. Kids until they are about three or four, haven't a clue what their birthday is or Christmas or whatever gift giving holiday your embrace is. Their parents do. Giving their parents a gift card helps them dress their little angels or whatever. Giving a gift card for a child over the age of four is great because the kids feel like they are getting money to buy what they want and it's empowering for them. I give gift cards to my friends kids - but I don't just hand them a greeting card with the card inside. I try to buy something to put them in. An expensive wallet or purse (I plan to pick up some plastic wallets in Vegas for Christmas gift cards). I give my cousin's nine year old a gift card for Barnes and Noble for his birthday and Christmas because he loves to read and I want to encourage that. Instead of putting it in a card, I buy an interesting classic or a book a friend has recommended and put the card in it. It's a double gift.
Okay, the topic of travel. We met up with some friends this spring in a city half way between where Husband grew up and where we live. His friends told us to keep a lot of space in our suitcase for the gifts they were bringing. As it is when we travel, I always have to take our largest suitcase to just pack up clothes and various Boy required things with a tiny bit of my stuff (I have to carry MY clothes in a carry on). So to my horror, I watched as they walked into our hotel room with a three foot by three foot box that contained two large construction toys, a 'baby' pillow, a large stuffed animal and a sweater. And stuff for both Husband and I. We had to ship the construction toys home. We had to split all the stuff they gave us between my overstuffed suitcase (that ended up nearly five pounds over limit and I couldn't move anything into my overstuffed carry on), Husband's suitcase (he left from that city to a business trip for two days) and my Mom's suitcase.
(Post script on these friends: they are expecting their first child at the beginning of next year. Husband has already said if we meet up with them again, we are going to buy the biggest stuffed animal we can find to give them to take home. It probably will piss them off but we'll remind them that's pretty much what they did to us.)
If you plan to meet up with friends or family on a joint trip, try NOT to bring anything that can't be easily packed in a suitcase or carry on for the trip home. We're meeting up with my cousin and her family in Las Vegas in a week. She has two daughters that are elementary school aged. I bought them each an inexpensive backpack that can double as a cool carry on and put in small items that they can pack if they choose to not take the backpacks home. They have hair clips, bangle bracelets, beaded necklaces (all in a $1 make up bag I picked up at a Japanese gee gaw store), disposable film cameras, notepads, maple syrup from the town near where Husband grew up. Silly things that should amuse them for a bit.
Another cousin of mine recently returned from a trip back home to Korea. Before they left, I assembled for his three boys three inexpensive backpacks that I bought last year at the post Back to School sales. I spent the last year thinking about things to get two kindergarteners and one nine year old. The twins got activity books to prepare them for kindergarten along with a new box of crayons, stickers, beginner chopsticks, colouring books, games and a cool key chain for their backpack zippers. For the nine year old, I bought a set of Jules Verne books and HG Wells books, a blank notebook to use as a journal along with a pencil case with a dozen sharpened pencils and pens, beginner chopsticks and a puzzle book. I told their parents that the backpacks were cheap and they could destroy them or lose them, it didn't matter but I wanted to give them something that would keep them busy until they got at least a third of the way across the Pacific.
The bottom line on gift giving for kids is that you don't have to have a Special Occasion. You can gifts because you think they'd like it. A cool t shirt or a book is always good. But if you really want to give them something they like, get to know them and really get them something they will like. If you don't know them or don't want to ask, please get a gift card. It saves you the embarrassment of later asking how Alex liked the Tickle Me Elmo Extreme you got for them and finding out that Alex doesn't like Elmo so Elmo got exchanged for something else.
(If you live in a different country, start with a t shirt from your hometown then when you arrive in your host's country, have them take you places that they normally shop and offer to pick up a box of diapers or pick up a gift card. Heck, even some grocery stores in the US and Canada carry Master Card, Visa and American Express as well as store gift cards in various denominations that you can give.)
They mean well. Most of the people who give Boy gifts mean well. But they give us toys that end up being given to charity because Boy has no interest in them. Boy would rather play with an empty soda or juice bottle than play with a stuffed animal or a plastic truck. His interests aren't to the pretty coloured Fisher Price aisle at Target but the gadgets I get for the kitchen. Or the box of tissues I get. Anything but actual toys.
Okay, that's not entirely true. Boy does like Legos. We get him rogue Legos from the Lego Store (bags of random Legos they sell for $8 for two big bags) which he loves to play with.
So, little tips from a Mommy to the rest of you well meaning souls who want to give gifts to a friend/relative's little person (whether it's a baby or a toddler or a child):
1. Toys are great but make sure you know the child well enough to buy for it. The Barbie penthouse you sent for little Astrid is great but does Astrid play with Barbie? Or is she two? Or the mechanized mini Humvee you sent Tyler? Who lives in an apartment complex? And is nine months old? If you plan on sending a really nice gift, please send a gift receipt. It doesn't have the price you paid on it but they can always find out even if you don't. It makes it easier for the parents when they return it to whatever store you got it at (and they also don't have to try to figure out where you bought it). Don't try making up to the child the gifts you never got as a child.
2. Clothes. Just because Ilsa is 18 months old doesn't mean that she is wearing 18 months clothing. Ilsa could possibly wearing 9 to 12 month clothing. Or in Boy's case, he was wearing 24 month to 2T clothing. Always buy larger. Trust me, the kid will grow into it. And the parents will thank you later for buying a T shirt or outfit they can grow into. (Sub tip: end of season sales can get you some great deals on gifts - buy two sizes larger than the child needs to be safe so they can be worn for the season after).
3. Gift cards are a great gift. Do you think it's tacky - like giving money(in some cultures, giving money isn't tacky but considered the correct thing to do)? It isn't. A gift card for an infant for Target, KMart, Babies/Toys R Us, Costco/Sam's Club is really a blessing because trust me, the little angels need diapers and formula like you wouldn't believe. Kids until they are about three or four, haven't a clue what their birthday is or Christmas or whatever gift giving holiday your embrace is. Their parents do. Giving their parents a gift card helps them dress their little angels or whatever. Giving a gift card for a child over the age of four is great because the kids feel like they are getting money to buy what they want and it's empowering for them. I give gift cards to my friends kids - but I don't just hand them a greeting card with the card inside. I try to buy something to put them in. An expensive wallet or purse (I plan to pick up some plastic wallets in Vegas for Christmas gift cards). I give my cousin's nine year old a gift card for Barnes and Noble for his birthday and Christmas because he loves to read and I want to encourage that. Instead of putting it in a card, I buy an interesting classic or a book a friend has recommended and put the card in it. It's a double gift.
Okay, the topic of travel. We met up with some friends this spring in a city half way between where Husband grew up and where we live. His friends told us to keep a lot of space in our suitcase for the gifts they were bringing. As it is when we travel, I always have to take our largest suitcase to just pack up clothes and various Boy required things with a tiny bit of my stuff (I have to carry MY clothes in a carry on). So to my horror, I watched as they walked into our hotel room with a three foot by three foot box that contained two large construction toys, a 'baby' pillow, a large stuffed animal and a sweater. And stuff for both Husband and I. We had to ship the construction toys home. We had to split all the stuff they gave us between my overstuffed suitcase (that ended up nearly five pounds over limit and I couldn't move anything into my overstuffed carry on), Husband's suitcase (he left from that city to a business trip for two days) and my Mom's suitcase.
(Post script on these friends: they are expecting their first child at the beginning of next year. Husband has already said if we meet up with them again, we are going to buy the biggest stuffed animal we can find to give them to take home. It probably will piss them off but we'll remind them that's pretty much what they did to us.)
If you plan to meet up with friends or family on a joint trip, try NOT to bring anything that can't be easily packed in a suitcase or carry on for the trip home. We're meeting up with my cousin and her family in Las Vegas in a week. She has two daughters that are elementary school aged. I bought them each an inexpensive backpack that can double as a cool carry on and put in small items that they can pack if they choose to not take the backpacks home. They have hair clips, bangle bracelets, beaded necklaces (all in a $1 make up bag I picked up at a Japanese gee gaw store), disposable film cameras, notepads, maple syrup from the town near where Husband grew up. Silly things that should amuse them for a bit.
Another cousin of mine recently returned from a trip back home to Korea. Before they left, I assembled for his three boys three inexpensive backpacks that I bought last year at the post Back to School sales. I spent the last year thinking about things to get two kindergarteners and one nine year old. The twins got activity books to prepare them for kindergarten along with a new box of crayons, stickers, beginner chopsticks, colouring books, games and a cool key chain for their backpack zippers. For the nine year old, I bought a set of Jules Verne books and HG Wells books, a blank notebook to use as a journal along with a pencil case with a dozen sharpened pencils and pens, beginner chopsticks and a puzzle book. I told their parents that the backpacks were cheap and they could destroy them or lose them, it didn't matter but I wanted to give them something that would keep them busy until they got at least a third of the way across the Pacific.
The bottom line on gift giving for kids is that you don't have to have a Special Occasion. You can gifts because you think they'd like it. A cool t shirt or a book is always good. But if you really want to give them something they like, get to know them and really get them something they will like. If you don't know them or don't want to ask, please get a gift card. It saves you the embarrassment of later asking how Alex liked the Tickle Me Elmo Extreme you got for them and finding out that Alex doesn't like Elmo so Elmo got exchanged for something else.
(If you live in a different country, start with a t shirt from your hometown then when you arrive in your host's country, have them take you places that they normally shop and offer to pick up a box of diapers or pick up a gift card. Heck, even some grocery stores in the US and Canada carry Master Card, Visa and American Express as well as store gift cards in various denominations that you can give.)
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Monkey see, monkey do
One of my big pet peeves are parents who get testy about how other children are rude to their little rude kids. I fully admit that Boy isn't going to win any awards for being the politest child in the hills but I also know he's 21 months old and I barely can get him to understand that I'm serious about his diaper change.
We were at Costco yesterday, stocking up on all the minutae of being a family when I saw it again. People taking their carts and parking them just wherever. Blocking up parking spots that other people could use or making it damned hard to get out of their cars when they slide into a spot. There are two cart corrals in each aisle so it's not like it's hard to find a place to deposit your cart. But they have excuses. I'm late. It's too far to walk. I can't leave my baby in the hot car.
When I was waddling around pregnant, I actually timed how long it took for me to get the cart from my SUV (generally parked near the back - this is before they put in a second cart corral in each aisle) after unloading to the cart corral and walking back. 45 seconds. Not kidding. So, I used to put Boy in the SUV when he was very little, roll the windows down on the SUV so that he'd be well aired and took the cart back. Now that Boy is older, I generally take him with me and carry him or let him walk back to the SUV. Not hard.
I've heard about someone saying that their are afraid that they will be carjacked and their child spirited off by some frothing mouthed freak. When I lived in LA, a SUV was carjacked out of a Costco parking lot with a child inside. The woman pleaded with the carjacker to let her get her toddler out but the guy whipped her and took her Land Rover. The toddler was found a couple of hours later in the Rover in a not so great part of town, unharmed but needing a diaper change and some milk. A carjacker won't wait for you to remove your little angel even if you're loading your vehicle with a gross of applesauce. They want your vehicle. So whether or not you're in the vehicle or taking the cart back isn't going to matter.
Another argument I heard was that someone was afraid their child would be snatched by babynappers while they were taking the cart back. Most vehicles have remote locking from a key fob. Use it?
Children learn bad behaviours more from us than television. I sincerely do not believe that the Teletubbies are teaching our kids to use the 'f' bomb as much as we are when some jackass cuts us off on the 280. They learn from us prejudices and how to be rude to others. It's up to use to teach our kids to be kind to each other by example. Sure, it's not easy when some jackass decides to get in the express lane at Safeway with a full cart and write a check and you're late getting home to make dinner. But we have to be able to explain to our children that we are mad at the action rather than the entire ethnic race of the person ahead of us (or the fact the person is old, or male or female etc).
Being a good world citizen starts at home. Learning basic manners. Learning that the world is a big place and that we all need to be good to each other because we all live here. Pick up after yourself, not just at home, but out in the world. It's not 'someone else's job' to take your cart to the cart corral or to pick up the bottle of Dasani you threw out the window of your Prius. It's up to each of us to do our part. As hard as it is to imagine. Teach your kids 'thank you' and 'please' and use it with them. If they hear you saying it to each other, then they learn. It's simple.
We were at Costco yesterday, stocking up on all the minutae of being a family when I saw it again. People taking their carts and parking them just wherever. Blocking up parking spots that other people could use or making it damned hard to get out of their cars when they slide into a spot. There are two cart corrals in each aisle so it's not like it's hard to find a place to deposit your cart. But they have excuses. I'm late. It's too far to walk. I can't leave my baby in the hot car.
When I was waddling around pregnant, I actually timed how long it took for me to get the cart from my SUV (generally parked near the back - this is before they put in a second cart corral in each aisle) after unloading to the cart corral and walking back. 45 seconds. Not kidding. So, I used to put Boy in the SUV when he was very little, roll the windows down on the SUV so that he'd be well aired and took the cart back. Now that Boy is older, I generally take him with me and carry him or let him walk back to the SUV. Not hard.
I've heard about someone saying that their are afraid that they will be carjacked and their child spirited off by some frothing mouthed freak. When I lived in LA, a SUV was carjacked out of a Costco parking lot with a child inside. The woman pleaded with the carjacker to let her get her toddler out but the guy whipped her and took her Land Rover. The toddler was found a couple of hours later in the Rover in a not so great part of town, unharmed but needing a diaper change and some milk. A carjacker won't wait for you to remove your little angel even if you're loading your vehicle with a gross of applesauce. They want your vehicle. So whether or not you're in the vehicle or taking the cart back isn't going to matter.
Another argument I heard was that someone was afraid their child would be snatched by babynappers while they were taking the cart back. Most vehicles have remote locking from a key fob. Use it?
Children learn bad behaviours more from us than television. I sincerely do not believe that the Teletubbies are teaching our kids to use the 'f' bomb as much as we are when some jackass cuts us off on the 280. They learn from us prejudices and how to be rude to others. It's up to use to teach our kids to be kind to each other by example. Sure, it's not easy when some jackass decides to get in the express lane at Safeway with a full cart and write a check and you're late getting home to make dinner. But we have to be able to explain to our children that we are mad at the action rather than the entire ethnic race of the person ahead of us (or the fact the person is old, or male or female etc).
Being a good world citizen starts at home. Learning basic manners. Learning that the world is a big place and that we all need to be good to each other because we all live here. Pick up after yourself, not just at home, but out in the world. It's not 'someone else's job' to take your cart to the cart corral or to pick up the bottle of Dasani you threw out the window of your Prius. It's up to each of us to do our part. As hard as it is to imagine. Teach your kids 'thank you' and 'please' and use it with them. If they hear you saying it to each other, then they learn. It's simple.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Coupons from Kimberley Clark
I get mailings from Kimberley Clark aka Huggies occasionally. God knows I can use them with the way Boy goes through diapers. They send an email every couple of months telling me what developmental milestones Boy should be at and it's been nice. I suggest to all my pregnant friends that they sign up for these things just for the coupons.
Today I got the usual coupon book with tips on how to potty train Boy. Damn. I thought we'd wait until his second birthday to kick in the fun quotient by buying him a potty to get him used to the concept but no, they want him in potty training pants now. I flipped to the coupon page and there are two coupons for Huggies Pull Ups (training pants), Huggies diapers, Huggies wipes and then.....wait for it.....Kotex pads and such.
Is Kimberley Clark saying that my feminine protection is the same as my son's diapers? Great. Like I'm not feeling a little weird that Boy is trying to put on my various anti aging agents on his face every day after watching me his diaper is the equivalent of my pads. Fabulous.
What a world.
Today I got the usual coupon book with tips on how to potty train Boy. Damn. I thought we'd wait until his second birthday to kick in the fun quotient by buying him a potty to get him used to the concept but no, they want him in potty training pants now. I flipped to the coupon page and there are two coupons for Huggies Pull Ups (training pants), Huggies diapers, Huggies wipes and then.....wait for it.....Kotex pads and such.
Is Kimberley Clark saying that my feminine protection is the same as my son's diapers? Great. Like I'm not feeling a little weird that Boy is trying to put on my various anti aging agents on his face every day after watching me his diaper is the equivalent of my pads. Fabulous.
What a world.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Help a teacher out
Has anyone considered that our schools systems are being required to do more than teach kids the basics anymore?
We have our President's "No Child Left Behind" which is shoving kids through the system. We have the politically correct police who want every textbook to overemphasize what happened to non white males who got clobbered by the white males who blazed their trail to create the US at the expense of telling the story of our this country came to be. (Yes, I know that the Native Americans got their ass beat and are now suffering the consequences of what happened - about four generations back, my Grandparents were trying to figure out how the hell they ended up in a wooden house instead of living off the land like their parents did so I got me some Cherokee blood in my veins)
My Dad used to co-lead an Explorer scout troop. He did a lecture about the founding fathers. He wrote on the blackboard "4 July 1776" and asked the kids what it meant. Not a single kid knew. It wasn't taught in school. The signing of the Declaration of Independence. These days they spend more time talking about how this magnificently written act of defiance and freedom was written by a slave owner and signed by other slave owners. There isn't a lot of emphasis about what happened and why.
I remember in university, I had a modern history class that covered from the year 1900 to present day. The instructor went along fine until he got to World War II and the Holocaust. We spent five weeks discussing the Holocaust. Five weeks. It wasn't until I had to take a second history class that I found out that there had also been a holocaust in other places. That other people had suffered the horrors of being take to the genocide dance. Perhaps not in the numbers of the Jewish people but according to this one instructor, there were none other and if there were, it wasn't as important.
But I want to talk about the public school system at the elementary school level. How kids today are not so much being raised by parents but by their teachers. How teachers are now not only having to teach little Johnny and Susie 1-2-3 and A-B-C but they are also having to teach them how to say 'please' and 'thank you' plus monitor them for abuse, psychological issues and possibilities of being a sociopath. I know that there are a lot of parents out there who are working long work weeks but at the expense of not being able to teach their own children how to be civilized little beings? Wow.
And as much as it has been hammered in the media about how a teacher - who is shaping the minds of our youth - makes bupkis compared to a sports star or celebrity, no one seems to get that something can be done about it. Everyone assumes this means a raise in taxes when you talk about trying to help a teacher out but let's think grassroots level, people. Let's start with something easy to do.
Next month, all the office supply stores and general merchandise stores like Target, KMart and WalMart are going to be doing their Back To School sales. Some of them have outrageously great deals on basic supplies. I like to stock up on crayons to give to friends' kids when they come over to draw and take home with them when they are done.
Why doesn't everyone pick up a list - whether you've got a kid in school or not - from the school nearest them to find out what is required? The schools some times have them at their websites and these lists are often in the stores also. If you've got a spare $10, pick up what you can and take it to the administration building of the school and tell them you want to donate. Do it because you give a rat's ass about the future of the kids at the school. Do it because a teacher's miniscule salary must cover not only their family's basic needs but also the needs of their classroom.
Or even better, if you do have a kid in school, throw the teacher a shower. Have your child invite classmates over to give their teacher great gifts that they can use in the classroom. This way your child learns that giving is a great thing and it can be fun as well as being able to give a teacher a break.
Sure, bake sale might not be able to raise enough funds to build a new multi-purpose room but it can raise some funds to be used to help a teacher or library stock up on much needed books and supplies.
Give it some thought then do it.
I always planned to help Boy's teachers out when he went off to school. Pick up some extras for the classroom. It's something that I know would be appreciated and needed. I have too many friends that are teachers that have told me how hard it is to take care of their own needs as well as the needs of their students. So how tough is it to kick down an extra $10? Skip a latte. Eat a sandwich from home once.
Let's help a teacher out.
We have our President's "No Child Left Behind" which is shoving kids through the system. We have the politically correct police who want every textbook to overemphasize what happened to non white males who got clobbered by the white males who blazed their trail to create the US at the expense of telling the story of our this country came to be. (Yes, I know that the Native Americans got their ass beat and are now suffering the consequences of what happened - about four generations back, my Grandparents were trying to figure out how the hell they ended up in a wooden house instead of living off the land like their parents did so I got me some Cherokee blood in my veins)
My Dad used to co-lead an Explorer scout troop. He did a lecture about the founding fathers. He wrote on the blackboard "4 July 1776" and asked the kids what it meant. Not a single kid knew. It wasn't taught in school. The signing of the Declaration of Independence. These days they spend more time talking about how this magnificently written act of defiance and freedom was written by a slave owner and signed by other slave owners. There isn't a lot of emphasis about what happened and why.
I remember in university, I had a modern history class that covered from the year 1900 to present day. The instructor went along fine until he got to World War II and the Holocaust. We spent five weeks discussing the Holocaust. Five weeks. It wasn't until I had to take a second history class that I found out that there had also been a holocaust in other places. That other people had suffered the horrors of being take to the genocide dance. Perhaps not in the numbers of the Jewish people but according to this one instructor, there were none other and if there were, it wasn't as important.
But I want to talk about the public school system at the elementary school level. How kids today are not so much being raised by parents but by their teachers. How teachers are now not only having to teach little Johnny and Susie 1-2-3 and A-B-C but they are also having to teach them how to say 'please' and 'thank you' plus monitor them for abuse, psychological issues and possibilities of being a sociopath. I know that there are a lot of parents out there who are working long work weeks but at the expense of not being able to teach their own children how to be civilized little beings? Wow.
And as much as it has been hammered in the media about how a teacher - who is shaping the minds of our youth - makes bupkis compared to a sports star or celebrity, no one seems to get that something can be done about it. Everyone assumes this means a raise in taxes when you talk about trying to help a teacher out but let's think grassroots level, people. Let's start with something easy to do.
Next month, all the office supply stores and general merchandise stores like Target, KMart and WalMart are going to be doing their Back To School sales. Some of them have outrageously great deals on basic supplies. I like to stock up on crayons to give to friends' kids when they come over to draw and take home with them when they are done.
Why doesn't everyone pick up a list - whether you've got a kid in school or not - from the school nearest them to find out what is required? The schools some times have them at their websites and these lists are often in the stores also. If you've got a spare $10, pick up what you can and take it to the administration building of the school and tell them you want to donate. Do it because you give a rat's ass about the future of the kids at the school. Do it because a teacher's miniscule salary must cover not only their family's basic needs but also the needs of their classroom.
Or even better, if you do have a kid in school, throw the teacher a shower. Have your child invite classmates over to give their teacher great gifts that they can use in the classroom. This way your child learns that giving is a great thing and it can be fun as well as being able to give a teacher a break.
Sure, bake sale might not be able to raise enough funds to build a new multi-purpose room but it can raise some funds to be used to help a teacher or library stock up on much needed books and supplies.
Give it some thought then do it.
I always planned to help Boy's teachers out when he went off to school. Pick up some extras for the classroom. It's something that I know would be appreciated and needed. I have too many friends that are teachers that have told me how hard it is to take care of their own needs as well as the needs of their students. So how tough is it to kick down an extra $10? Skip a latte. Eat a sandwich from home once.
Let's help a teacher out.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Working Mommy and Stay at Home Mommy
So the big debate about what is best seems to be whether working or staying at home benefits or hurts kids and/or women. Quite honestly, I think that it's a moot point. I think that whatever works for you and your family is what is best.
Besides, some times, there aren't any choices. More often than not, families need two incomes (or more) to be able to just survive. Especially here in the Bay Area. If you want to own a home, even a crappy little place in a crappy little area, it's generally about $500K (and we're talking about something that needs help). So Dad is working 40+ a week and so is Mom.
I was reading recently about how the culture of working Moms has this ripple effect. Working Mom hires a nanny who more than likely has a child or her own that will need to be staying with someone. I've seen the nannies that come to our playgym bring their kids on the days their kids aren't in school. It becomes a case of the nanny having to put their child's needs on the shelf while paying attention to their charges.
There has been so much press on the subject of working versus stay at home over the years. I've read about how by not being a working Mom, I'm somehow betraying the strides the generations ahead of me have made to give me the ability to work in white collar positions. Granted, I'm still not making the big bucks a man makes, but hey, I can still put in the 60 hours a week like he can for slightly less ducats. It seems that even if you manage to put in 60 hours a week at your white collar job, if you're a Mom, you're somehow going to take it in the backside because you're perceived as not being able to keep all your attentions on the job. Rarely do you ever hear about a guy having his focus questioned.
For us, being a stay at home Mom was sort of an easy choice. When Husband and I were dating, we had decided that when we decided to become parents, whoever was making the most money would continue to work and the other person would be the stay at home parent. At the time, we were both making good money at jobs that no longer exist. Husband and I both were downsized within a year of each other from the same company. He found a job that paid well before I did. In the years between becoming unemployed, I had jobs that underemployed me. Jobs where they paid me minor ducats but wanted me to put in 60 hours a week at odd hours. Getting a job at the career path I had been on wasn't an option - my position was considered for the most part to be a 'luxury' item for most companies. And I hadn't had the position for very long - a year. The position I had held before that I had put myself in the hands of outsourcing companies who told me that I was grossly underqualified for that job so they couldn't place me in that job (despite the fact that my former boss had vouched for my abilities).
Being a stay at home Mom hasn't been easy for me. I had been working since getting out of college at full time positions. My paychecks hadn't been great at first but at least the money was there for me to pay the bills (occasionally). I was used to having a fat checking account to be able to take care of myself - the basics and perks like an occasional spa treatment or buying some new clothes. Not having a couple of pennies to rub together of my own is difficult to adjust to.
Taking care of Boy isn't easy. He's full of energy and goes, goes, goes. The job is 24/7. I'm exhausted all the time because he doesn't sleep through the night and he definitely doesn't like being alone all night. So I spend part of my nights sleeping with Husband and part of my nights sleeping with Boy. Even when he's playing on his own, he wants me to be no further than a few feet away.
It's not all bon bon eating and soap operas. I'm trying to figure out a way to clean house, make dinner and even try to make something for me to eat for lunch. All while Boy gets annoyed that my time isn't all for him (like now - writing this is taking awhile because Boy wants me to lay with him while he drinks his juice, follow him while he rides his Disney riding toy etc). Even though every pediatrician and psychiatrist and expert says that I shouldn't let Boy watch television, I keep it on less that he's watching the Travel Channel's Samantha Brown in Hawaii but because he's distracted by the Geico ads long enough for me to load the dishwasher or cut up some vegetables for dinner. Some times during his naps, if I'm not too wiped out, I can actually get the bathroom clean. Well, clean-ish.
A working Mom has to contend with a childcare - picking up their child by a certain time every day or being home so that they can relieve the nanny. Then they have to deal with their child who wants all their attention while trying to figure out what to make for dinner (or where to send their spouse to pick up something). Then there is cleaning the house (if they don't have someone to do cleaning services), finding time with the spouse to reconnect and then, as always, the job probably needs a little more attention.
Let others debate who has it harder. Let others pretend they know what is best overall for each family and each child. In the end, no one can understand what is best for each child and each family but the Mommy who is in the situation.
Besides, some times, there aren't any choices. More often than not, families need two incomes (or more) to be able to just survive. Especially here in the Bay Area. If you want to own a home, even a crappy little place in a crappy little area, it's generally about $500K (and we're talking about something that needs help). So Dad is working 40+ a week and so is Mom.
I was reading recently about how the culture of working Moms has this ripple effect. Working Mom hires a nanny who more than likely has a child or her own that will need to be staying with someone. I've seen the nannies that come to our playgym bring their kids on the days their kids aren't in school. It becomes a case of the nanny having to put their child's needs on the shelf while paying attention to their charges.
There has been so much press on the subject of working versus stay at home over the years. I've read about how by not being a working Mom, I'm somehow betraying the strides the generations ahead of me have made to give me the ability to work in white collar positions. Granted, I'm still not making the big bucks a man makes, but hey, I can still put in the 60 hours a week like he can for slightly less ducats. It seems that even if you manage to put in 60 hours a week at your white collar job, if you're a Mom, you're somehow going to take it in the backside because you're perceived as not being able to keep all your attentions on the job. Rarely do you ever hear about a guy having his focus questioned.
For us, being a stay at home Mom was sort of an easy choice. When Husband and I were dating, we had decided that when we decided to become parents, whoever was making the most money would continue to work and the other person would be the stay at home parent. At the time, we were both making good money at jobs that no longer exist. Husband and I both were downsized within a year of each other from the same company. He found a job that paid well before I did. In the years between becoming unemployed, I had jobs that underemployed me. Jobs where they paid me minor ducats but wanted me to put in 60 hours a week at odd hours. Getting a job at the career path I had been on wasn't an option - my position was considered for the most part to be a 'luxury' item for most companies. And I hadn't had the position for very long - a year. The position I had held before that I had put myself in the hands of outsourcing companies who told me that I was grossly underqualified for that job so they couldn't place me in that job (despite the fact that my former boss had vouched for my abilities).
Being a stay at home Mom hasn't been easy for me. I had been working since getting out of college at full time positions. My paychecks hadn't been great at first but at least the money was there for me to pay the bills (occasionally). I was used to having a fat checking account to be able to take care of myself - the basics and perks like an occasional spa treatment or buying some new clothes. Not having a couple of pennies to rub together of my own is difficult to adjust to.
Taking care of Boy isn't easy. He's full of energy and goes, goes, goes. The job is 24/7. I'm exhausted all the time because he doesn't sleep through the night and he definitely doesn't like being alone all night. So I spend part of my nights sleeping with Husband and part of my nights sleeping with Boy. Even when he's playing on his own, he wants me to be no further than a few feet away.
It's not all bon bon eating and soap operas. I'm trying to figure out a way to clean house, make dinner and even try to make something for me to eat for lunch. All while Boy gets annoyed that my time isn't all for him (like now - writing this is taking awhile because Boy wants me to lay with him while he drinks his juice, follow him while he rides his Disney riding toy etc). Even though every pediatrician and psychiatrist and expert says that I shouldn't let Boy watch television, I keep it on less that he's watching the Travel Channel's Samantha Brown in Hawaii but because he's distracted by the Geico ads long enough for me to load the dishwasher or cut up some vegetables for dinner. Some times during his naps, if I'm not too wiped out, I can actually get the bathroom clean. Well, clean-ish.
A working Mom has to contend with a childcare - picking up their child by a certain time every day or being home so that they can relieve the nanny. Then they have to deal with their child who wants all their attention while trying to figure out what to make for dinner (or where to send their spouse to pick up something). Then there is cleaning the house (if they don't have someone to do cleaning services), finding time with the spouse to reconnect and then, as always, the job probably needs a little more attention.
Let others debate who has it harder. Let others pretend they know what is best overall for each family and each child. In the end, no one can understand what is best for each child and each family but the Mommy who is in the situation.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Why can't we all just get along?
I've been a Mom for about 21 months now. Even before I became a Mom, I had some issues with other Mommies. Since becoming a Mom, my wariness about the Mommy World hasn't abated much.
It's a competition. I always thought that while I was working that it was a lot like high school (the guys bragging about the booty they didn't get, the size of their paychecks and the chicks all competiting for the same job du jour that rocked). But the Mommy World is a lot like junior high school. Everyone is trying to be teacher's pet at playgroups and trying to prove they have the cooler clothes (for themselves or the kids).
But there are some competiting Mommies I can actively avoid in my life. Like the privileged ones living five minutes from us.
We live one community away from two very wealthy communities where the CEOs, CFOs, CXOs all seem to live. A few years ago, I remember reading in the San Francisco Chronicle magazine about how the trend in one of the communities was that the wives of these CblankOs who had held positions of importance before dedicating themselves to Home Life (because you know that's how they think about it) were feeling bereft of the thrill of competition or whatever they did before they married. So they found a new way to compete.
By procreating. By having child after child. By filling their McMansions with the sound of children. Little Monet is two? Time to squeeze out another child? They got to look upon their progeny with a sense of pride as they took them off to dressage class because they were able to pop out the most amazing child. They are stay at home Mommies who can be with Monet, Hunter, Azure and Bond unlike those other Mommies who work and leave their kids in daycare.
Let's try not to notice that their five kids all looked mostly to Esperanza, Carmen and Paloma, their Latin American nannies who spent time with them, rather than Mommy who is taking pictures with her Nikon digital SLR to post to the website when they got home.
Last summer, Husband and I had dinner downtown. Afterwards, we took Boy for a walk downtown before having a nice ice cream before heading home for Boy's bath and bed time. We sat at a table near another couple who were having sundaes with a friend and their nearly newborn son. They chatted with us and we with them about how wonderful our offspring were.
Then came the hammer blow.
"So, does your son like daycare?," she asked me.
"We're fortunate enough for me to be a stay at home Mom," I replied.
The horror struck look that I had heard a comedian call the "turd under the nose" look. Uh oh. Land mine!
"Don't you worry that your son is going to be unable to function socially? He won't be having that interaction that he needs to be able to be around others!"
I tried to tell her that I didn't go to preschool and managed to be the belle of kindergarten without a problem but she was bullet training her way through her defense of being a working Mom. She wasn't sure how we in the sticks (she was from The City - San Francisco) did it because it was clearly less expensive to live here compared to life in the Right Neighbourhood in The City but she had to work. Her son was in the best day care that she could find and she knew he was going to be socially well adjusted.
Of course, she also added that he was four months old and fighting his third ear infection. In spite of her assurances that she was doing the right thing and I was clearly doing the wrong thing (she also had to add that I was sending a bad message to Boy about my not going out and being hammer and tongs with the rest of work world), Husband and I felt like she was trying to reassure herself and her husband that she was doing the right thing. That going back to her job to pay for their big Victorian in The City, their Mercedes SUV and 7 series BMW and other accoutrements of rank was the right thing.
It's not the first time I've heard this. It won't be the last. It's only lately that Boy's Gymboree class has stopped being filled primarily with nannies with children and Mommies with children.
I'm not saying that being a stay at home Mom is better than being a working outside of the house Mom. I'll tackle that topic later. But it's as if women can't stop competing. As if there is only one solution to every single thing and they clearly have it.
We have acquaintances who made it abundantly clearly before Boy was born that we had screwed up in a huge way. Fiona came over to our house with her husband Marc a couple of days after we had bought Boy's stroller and car seat (and two months before Boy's birth) for a visit. They were two hours late because they had decided to go buy a new SUV that day (the Right SUV) and budget an hour for the process rather than four. When they arrived, they brought in their six month old son and plopped his baby bucket car seat onto the floor while he snoozed quietly and wanted to see our baby gear.
The bedroom was freshly painted, the IKEA furniture assembled and on the Mondrian like area rug in the room. I'd put on the walls the pictures that had adorned Husband's walls and my walls as children along with pictures we'd bought for Boy's room. We'd parked the stroller in Boy's room and his new car seat was sitting in the back of my SUV (the Wrong SUV so I had learned). We were rather proud of the fact that we had been able to get everything together two months before Boy's birth.
"Wrong stroller, wrong car seat, wrong, wrong, wrong," Fiona pronounced succinctly.
I was stunned. "Excuse me?"
"What if your child falls asleep in the car? A car seat like ours you just unlatch and carry the baby in without disturbing it."
"But it's not comfortable for the baby to sleep in and besides that, I'm not really a fan of the baby bucket. And my friend the cop said that those things don't always latch back on to their base right."
"If they click, it is attached properly," Fiona said with a sniff of authority.
"My friend said that isn't always the case," I said calmly though I was not feeling it.
"What does your friend know? Do they have a child?," she asked.
"Well, she is a cop who is certified in the proper installation of them but she doesn't have a kid," I said.
"If she had a child, she wouldn't say that," Fiona said.
I refrained from telling Fiona about Renee who had her baby bucket car seatfall out of her car when Renee's daughter was two months old. Exhausted from constant feedings, Renee had put the car seat in with the click sounding but it hadn't really latched. When she stopped at Target to pick up some more diapers, she opened the car door and out tumbled the baby bucket with baby inside. Renee was horrified and rushed her daughter to the pediatrician to make sure she hadn't caused brain damage in her first born.
Renee's second child had a Britax convertible car seat much like Boy has.
Don't even get me started about the competition on what kind of birth method or whether or not you're the biological Mother or an adoptive Mother debates I've stumbled upon. Holy shit. And the breast feeding thing is a land mine field that should have an organization to help defuse it before someone gets killed. Oh and God save me from another Mom who treats her child's food allergies as if they needed to be the toddler in the plastic bubble - or at least, we should all refrain from having anything remotely nut like in our systems lest little Golden breath in the fumes of a peanut butter cookie your kid inhaled before you got to the park. Just make sure little Golden doesn't wander over when I'm giving Boy his graham cracker afternoon snack - which means get off your cell phone so that you can Mom Up and take care of your little gluten sensitive angel instead of expecting me, the Mom who doesn't know you from a hole in the wall - to know that Golden can't have wheat, sugar, or anything with peanuts.
Motherhood should be a sorority. It shouldn't be a competition. We're all Mothers whether the child came through our vaginas, a slit in our abs or through someone else's gift. Being a Mother is challenging, frustration, joyful and one of the toughest jobs on the planet. We should be fighting to get the government to subsidize child care for women who have jobs and women who need a couple of hours each week to be able to pull their shit together.
Let's put down all the books that say there is only one way to do something and remember that all the right answers are only good for some children and not all. Just because little Romena was able to go from bottle to sippy cup at 11 months doesn't mean that every single child can do it without a fight. Just because Nemo sleeps from 730pm to 730am without waking up thanks to that $200 an hour sleep therapist doesn't mean that I haven't read all the same advice you got for $200 an hour and it still made not one iota of a difference to Boy.
Let's all agree that being a Mom really takes a village. Let's watch out for each other's children and each other. Let's all agree that being a Mom is the hardest job you'll ever eventually love. Let's all agree that it's a bitch to juggle raising a child and being a human being. Let's all agree that even with the cell phone stowed into the car while you're at the park, you can't always keep up with a speeding toddler so please, try to make sure my kid doesn't do a header down the steep stair case and I'll make sure your toddler doesn't drown while playing in the fountain.
It's a competition. I always thought that while I was working that it was a lot like high school (the guys bragging about the booty they didn't get, the size of their paychecks and the chicks all competiting for the same job du jour that rocked). But the Mommy World is a lot like junior high school. Everyone is trying to be teacher's pet at playgroups and trying to prove they have the cooler clothes (for themselves or the kids).
But there are some competiting Mommies I can actively avoid in my life. Like the privileged ones living five minutes from us.
We live one community away from two very wealthy communities where the CEOs, CFOs, CXOs all seem to live. A few years ago, I remember reading in the San Francisco Chronicle magazine about how the trend in one of the communities was that the wives of these CblankOs who had held positions of importance before dedicating themselves to Home Life (because you know that's how they think about it) were feeling bereft of the thrill of competition or whatever they did before they married. So they found a new way to compete.
By procreating. By having child after child. By filling their McMansions with the sound of children. Little Monet is two? Time to squeeze out another child? They got to look upon their progeny with a sense of pride as they took them off to dressage class because they were able to pop out the most amazing child. They are stay at home Mommies who can be with Monet, Hunter, Azure and Bond unlike those other Mommies who work and leave their kids in daycare.
Let's try not to notice that their five kids all looked mostly to Esperanza, Carmen and Paloma, their Latin American nannies who spent time with them, rather than Mommy who is taking pictures with her Nikon digital SLR to post to the website when they got home.
Last summer, Husband and I had dinner downtown. Afterwards, we took Boy for a walk downtown before having a nice ice cream before heading home for Boy's bath and bed time. We sat at a table near another couple who were having sundaes with a friend and their nearly newborn son. They chatted with us and we with them about how wonderful our offspring were.
Then came the hammer blow.
"So, does your son like daycare?," she asked me.
"We're fortunate enough for me to be a stay at home Mom," I replied.
The horror struck look that I had heard a comedian call the "turd under the nose" look. Uh oh. Land mine!
"Don't you worry that your son is going to be unable to function socially? He won't be having that interaction that he needs to be able to be around others!"
I tried to tell her that I didn't go to preschool and managed to be the belle of kindergarten without a problem but she was bullet training her way through her defense of being a working Mom. She wasn't sure how we in the sticks (she was from The City - San Francisco) did it because it was clearly less expensive to live here compared to life in the Right Neighbourhood in The City but she had to work. Her son was in the best day care that she could find and she knew he was going to be socially well adjusted.
Of course, she also added that he was four months old and fighting his third ear infection. In spite of her assurances that she was doing the right thing and I was clearly doing the wrong thing (she also had to add that I was sending a bad message to Boy about my not going out and being hammer and tongs with the rest of work world), Husband and I felt like she was trying to reassure herself and her husband that she was doing the right thing. That going back to her job to pay for their big Victorian in The City, their Mercedes SUV and 7 series BMW and other accoutrements of rank was the right thing.
It's not the first time I've heard this. It won't be the last. It's only lately that Boy's Gymboree class has stopped being filled primarily with nannies with children and Mommies with children.
I'm not saying that being a stay at home Mom is better than being a working outside of the house Mom. I'll tackle that topic later. But it's as if women can't stop competing. As if there is only one solution to every single thing and they clearly have it.
We have acquaintances who made it abundantly clearly before Boy was born that we had screwed up in a huge way. Fiona came over to our house with her husband Marc a couple of days after we had bought Boy's stroller and car seat (and two months before Boy's birth) for a visit. They were two hours late because they had decided to go buy a new SUV that day (the Right SUV) and budget an hour for the process rather than four. When they arrived, they brought in their six month old son and plopped his baby bucket car seat onto the floor while he snoozed quietly and wanted to see our baby gear.
The bedroom was freshly painted, the IKEA furniture assembled and on the Mondrian like area rug in the room. I'd put on the walls the pictures that had adorned Husband's walls and my walls as children along with pictures we'd bought for Boy's room. We'd parked the stroller in Boy's room and his new car seat was sitting in the back of my SUV (the Wrong SUV so I had learned). We were rather proud of the fact that we had been able to get everything together two months before Boy's birth.
"Wrong stroller, wrong car seat, wrong, wrong, wrong," Fiona pronounced succinctly.
I was stunned. "Excuse me?"
"What if your child falls asleep in the car? A car seat like ours you just unlatch and carry the baby in without disturbing it."
"But it's not comfortable for the baby to sleep in and besides that, I'm not really a fan of the baby bucket. And my friend the cop said that those things don't always latch back on to their base right."
"If they click, it is attached properly," Fiona said with a sniff of authority.
"My friend said that isn't always the case," I said calmly though I was not feeling it.
"What does your friend know? Do they have a child?," she asked.
"Well, she is a cop who is certified in the proper installation of them but she doesn't have a kid," I said.
"If she had a child, she wouldn't say that," Fiona said.
I refrained from telling Fiona about Renee who had her baby bucket car seatfall out of her car when Renee's daughter was two months old. Exhausted from constant feedings, Renee had put the car seat in with the click sounding but it hadn't really latched. When she stopped at Target to pick up some more diapers, she opened the car door and out tumbled the baby bucket with baby inside. Renee was horrified and rushed her daughter to the pediatrician to make sure she hadn't caused brain damage in her first born.
Renee's second child had a Britax convertible car seat much like Boy has.
Don't even get me started about the competition on what kind of birth method or whether or not you're the biological Mother or an adoptive Mother debates I've stumbled upon. Holy shit. And the breast feeding thing is a land mine field that should have an organization to help defuse it before someone gets killed. Oh and God save me from another Mom who treats her child's food allergies as if they needed to be the toddler in the plastic bubble - or at least, we should all refrain from having anything remotely nut like in our systems lest little Golden breath in the fumes of a peanut butter cookie your kid inhaled before you got to the park. Just make sure little Golden doesn't wander over when I'm giving Boy his graham cracker afternoon snack - which means get off your cell phone so that you can Mom Up and take care of your little gluten sensitive angel instead of expecting me, the Mom who doesn't know you from a hole in the wall - to know that Golden can't have wheat, sugar, or anything with peanuts.
Motherhood should be a sorority. It shouldn't be a competition. We're all Mothers whether the child came through our vaginas, a slit in our abs or through someone else's gift. Being a Mother is challenging, frustration, joyful and one of the toughest jobs on the planet. We should be fighting to get the government to subsidize child care for women who have jobs and women who need a couple of hours each week to be able to pull their shit together.
Let's put down all the books that say there is only one way to do something and remember that all the right answers are only good for some children and not all. Just because little Romena was able to go from bottle to sippy cup at 11 months doesn't mean that every single child can do it without a fight. Just because Nemo sleeps from 730pm to 730am without waking up thanks to that $200 an hour sleep therapist doesn't mean that I haven't read all the same advice you got for $200 an hour and it still made not one iota of a difference to Boy.
Let's all agree that being a Mom really takes a village. Let's watch out for each other's children and each other. Let's all agree that being a Mom is the hardest job you'll ever eventually love. Let's all agree that it's a bitch to juggle raising a child and being a human being. Let's all agree that even with the cell phone stowed into the car while you're at the park, you can't always keep up with a speeding toddler so please, try to make sure my kid doesn't do a header down the steep stair case and I'll make sure your toddler doesn't drown while playing in the fountain.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Let me introduce myself
I'm a late to the game Mommy. My husband and I met in our 30s, got married after a couple of years of cohabitation then waited a few years to have fun before deciding to join DNA. Our son, Boy, is nearing the two year mark and is to put it mildly, a hand full of action.
When I got pregnant, I was prepared for the horror stories. Women who would tell me about marathon labours where the Mommy died a horrible brain blow out death or something. But I was shocked at how the horror stories were about how I was already to shit Mom because I had:
A. Wrong stroller, wrong car seat (Britax which a friend who is a cop said is the Cadillac of car seats)
B. Getting a elective C section
C. Actually paying attention to the doctor's warnings on my gestational diabetes rather than just stuffing my face with whatever I wanted
D. Being completely unwilling to find out the gender of our child before he was born
E. Not signing Boy up for the Right Preschool before he was born
It goes on for awhile. You cannot believe the amount of crap you take for just being alive. I thought it would stop when I finally hatched Boy. Oh was I insane
One of my decisions was to avoid Mommy Groups. You know, that world where Mommys get together with their precious spawn to discuss how to deal with the world of babies and toddlers. It's very warm and fuzzy sounding until you meet some of these crazy judgmental women who is quick to tell you how you are doing it all wrong.
Husband, Boy and I went out for ice cream last summer and met another new family. The Mom was quick to tell me that because Boy wasn't in daycare and I wasn't working, I was short changing Boy. Boy would be unable to be socially adept.
Now, Husband and I live in the Bay Area. Husband works in the tech field and makes just enough money for us to have the luxury of me being a stay at home Mom. I couldn't make enough cash to pay for Boy to have good daycare (unless I took a second job) and I'd rather he had a good beginning with his Mommy - like Husband and I had (both our Moms stayed at home for a first years). We rent a nice house in a nice neighbourhood in the hills. (Another discussion people have bombarded us with - why don't we own a home? C'mon, a decent house in a decent neighbourhood starts at $900K around here. We can afford nothing)
My blog will just me finding a place to vent about how incredible it is to be a Mom in modern America. The joys of Working Mom versus Stay At Home Mom. Why driving my SUV doesn't make me a terrorist anymore than your driving your Prius makes you a tree hugging patriot. And such.
When I got pregnant, I was prepared for the horror stories. Women who would tell me about marathon labours where the Mommy died a horrible brain blow out death or something. But I was shocked at how the horror stories were about how I was already to shit Mom because I had:
A. Wrong stroller, wrong car seat (Britax which a friend who is a cop said is the Cadillac of car seats)
B. Getting a elective C section
C. Actually paying attention to the doctor's warnings on my gestational diabetes rather than just stuffing my face with whatever I wanted
D. Being completely unwilling to find out the gender of our child before he was born
E. Not signing Boy up for the Right Preschool before he was born
It goes on for awhile. You cannot believe the amount of crap you take for just being alive. I thought it would stop when I finally hatched Boy. Oh was I insane
One of my decisions was to avoid Mommy Groups. You know, that world where Mommys get together with their precious spawn to discuss how to deal with the world of babies and toddlers. It's very warm and fuzzy sounding until you meet some of these crazy judgmental women who is quick to tell you how you are doing it all wrong.
Husband, Boy and I went out for ice cream last summer and met another new family. The Mom was quick to tell me that because Boy wasn't in daycare and I wasn't working, I was short changing Boy. Boy would be unable to be socially adept.
Now, Husband and I live in the Bay Area. Husband works in the tech field and makes just enough money for us to have the luxury of me being a stay at home Mom. I couldn't make enough cash to pay for Boy to have good daycare (unless I took a second job) and I'd rather he had a good beginning with his Mommy - like Husband and I had (both our Moms stayed at home for a first years). We rent a nice house in a nice neighbourhood in the hills. (Another discussion people have bombarded us with - why don't we own a home? C'mon, a decent house in a decent neighbourhood starts at $900K around here. We can afford nothing)
My blog will just me finding a place to vent about how incredible it is to be a Mom in modern America. The joys of Working Mom versus Stay At Home Mom. Why driving my SUV doesn't make me a terrorist anymore than your driving your Prius makes you a tree hugging patriot. And such.
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