Who's The Boss?

We did it!

Technically, he did all the work. But I can't stop myself from feeling like we both accomplished this.

One month down, Nine more to go

We survived the first month of school! Darius is adjusting well to his new class, his two teachers, and the much longer, more rigorous learning environment. 

I, on the other hand, have been cranky and acting out.

Go figure.

Neville is taking Darius to school in the mornings on his way to work.  It's great for me to get them out of the house by 7:45 and be able to get focused on work right away.  I have to leave the house at 3pm to pick him up.  Yes, his kindergarten is an all day one.  Yes, I purposely picked a school that way.  No, he's not dying from being in school all day. I knew from the beginning that I'd have to be able to drop work in the late afternoons to be with Darius.

I just didn't realize that I'd have to drop everything else.

Daddy's girl

Last week my dad turned 60. It's not that old, but it's still... well, old.

I held a surprise party for him.  Invited a bunch of people from work and his closest friends. My dad teared up when he showed up to my house, thinking that we were running late for our dinner reservations, and instead walked into a room with nearly 30 people. 

It was in that moment that I realized that my dad hates surprises as much as I do. Clearly, this apple didn't fall far from that tree. Sorry, Dad to put you through that stress.

On the drive home from school

How was your day at school?

It was good.

What did you do?

We learned about the Indians.

Oh. What did you learn about them?

I learned that there are two Indians.  There are the ones in India like Daddy.  And there are ones in America that run around naked.

Really?

Yeah, Mom!  We saw a picture of a boy with only a napkin in front of his privates.  And we saw a girl's BOOBIES!

[trying not to laugh] Yes, the Native Americans didn't wear the same type of clothes of that we do.

Are you sure that Daddy isn't that type of Indian?

Daddy isn't Native American.  His family is from the country called India.

Are you sure? Because Daddy sure likes to run around in his underwear.

Can you get FIRED for breastfeeding at work?

When I returned from my maternity, my darling Darius wasn't even 12 weeks old yet. He was teeny tiny.  And I was a very bust-y nursing mom.  Armed with my super duper Medela breastpump (a gift from my mother), I was so thankful that my employer had just created super duper "Nursing Rooms" for the working mommas.  It was a good thing too.  There were five other women who used that room with me.  We all felt like we were doing the right thing.  We bonded over our babies while we each discreetly pumped behind designer curtains while sitting on comfy chairs. It was a working mother's dream.

So why did I quit pumping four months later?

Because pumping at work is hard, y'all.  Really really hard.

When Darius hit a growth spurt at 7 months, he literally wanted to be feed every hour during the night (mind you, I was working during the day so there was no "just sleep when the baby sleeps" anymore). After a few days of being totally exhausted, my milk supply was going down, not increasing. So one night, I asked Neville to grab a bottle of formula.  I had kept formula in the house for a few months, realizing that if I got hit by a bus or had to take a business trip that there was not enough milk in our freezer to last more than a day (and that had to go to the daycare lady).  Neville made a bottle, Darius took it like a champ, and then Darius refused to ever nurse again.

Who's the Boss Guide to Office Relationships

Those of you in California have been bombarded with the reports of our own government sex scandal.  For those of you too lazy to read the article (yes, I'm looking at you), here's my spin.  A married Assemblyman shags a lobbyist then brags about such conquests (in lurid detail) to another Assemblyman during the break of a committee hearing. In front of microphones.  That were still on.  That recorded the whole thing. Oh and did I mention that it was also videotaped.

The idiot has resigned.  And has also gone on the record to say that he made the whole thing up.  Yeah right.

While his unethical, lewd, and ungentlemanly behavior cost him his career, let's use this as a learning opportunity one the chance that you decide to have your own office affair.

Lesson 1: Don't sleep with married men.  Or married women.  If you are married, the only person who should be seeing, diddling, or pleasuring your private parts is your spouse.  Extramarital affairs never end well.  So if you want to have sex with someone who isn't your spouse, make sure that you (or they) end their marriage first. 

The Un-bloggable

For those of you who know me in real life or those of you who've read this blog for awhile, you know that Neville and I are not legally married.  We had our own intimate commitment ceremony years ago.  Yes, we often call each other husband and wife.  And no, we don't call each other that because we want to "pretend" or play house.  There is simply no other word, no other title, that seems to get through some people's thick skulls about our relationship.

So we lie.  Okay. We are not legally husband and wife.  If Neville gets run over by a truck tomorrow, I won't get his life insurance pay out.  And that's okay with me.  The not getting the money, not the part about him getting hit by the truck thankyouverymuch.  I don't need Neville's money.  I don't need Neville's work benefits.  I don't need anything from Neville other than the man I love.  I don't believe that a lavish wedding or a marriage certificate makes people committed to one another.  We are committed.  And yes, one day I may need Neville's benefits.  Or he may need to make medical decisions on my behalf.  And who knows, maybe one day we'll drive over to City Hall and he'll make an honest woman out of me.

Just don't hold your breath. 

This is where I cry "UNCLE"

We made it through the first week of school with only a few tears and couple of boo-boos.  Last Friday, Darius and I celebrated our accomplishment with a big bowl of frozen yogurt.

And yes, it was OUR accomplishment.  While he may be the one who is actually learning, I also had a few lessons of my own.  What was my curriculum:

1. Navigating the narrow parking lot while attending a conference call

2. Juggling homework, dinner, and an urgent email from my boss

3. Praying for extra dozes of patience so that my child has a soft place to land after a long day at school

4. Getting up before the sun to get myself ready before my boy has to get up and get himself ready

5. Learning when to step-in and when to let Darius step-up

In the daytime playroom of good and evil

In Darius' homework folder, the teacher had placed a form that the parents were supposed to complete about their child.  It asked if we were willing to volunteer in the classroom and if there was anything that she should know about Darius that would assist her in teaching him.

I wrote down that he often confuses is "b" "d" and "p" when reading.  And Darius insisted that I write that he "loves Star Wars and the Clone Wars."

When he had a Ya-Ya night this summer, my dad let him watch the Star Wars movie where Anakin Skywalker turns into Darth Vader.  Of course, it was a giant hit.  But it brought about questions of good and evil that Darius just couldn't reconcile in his black-and-white concrete thinking development. 

How could somebody choose to be bad? 

And not just a little bad.  But really choose to do awful things and hurt people and all that.

I'm becoming my mother

Things I say that my mother said when I was a child...

• That's inappropriate
• Are you listening to me?
• ONE... TWO....
• You are about to get a consequence
• Are you acting the right way?
• That's unacceptable
• Look at me when I'm talking to you
• What did I just say?
• You're smarter than that
• Wait till your father gets home
• Because I said so
• I'm the MOM, that's why!
• You won't get what you want acting that way

For record, my mother said lots of wonderful things too.  These phrases were her standards when we weren't behaving (and my brother and I often didn't behave).  Whenever I say these to Darius, I think of my mom and how well she raised us. Love you Mom!

Private School was our private choice

I've been keeping a little secret, only sharing amongst close friends and family.  When I've had to tell people about the secret, I've been quick to list of my many reasons for our decision. See, we live in an affluent area with fantastic public schools.  Our neighborhood school is one of the best in the district.  Many think that the home prices here have retained more of their value than other parts of the city strictly due to the great schools.

And yet we chose to send our kindergartner to private school.  Despite living in a great neighborhood with great schools with phenomenal parent participation, we chose to spend an arm and a leg on private school.

Before this summer, I honestly had never even considered sending my son to private school.  I was a product of public education from kindergarten through my university years.  When we bought our house in the real estate peak in 2006, we only looked in neighborhoods with great schools.  While my spouse was on the fence between public and private, I stood my ground.  Public was the only choice for our son. 

Then the economy took a bad turn.  And then the real estate market crashed.  And then California went into a budget crisis like none other. Too many foreclosed homes meant less property tax revenue meant less money for public education.  This summer, our district announced a 50% increase in class sizes for Kindergarten.  Nearly 100 teaching positions in the district were eliminated. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure about our choice to go to our neighborhood school.

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And he never looked back

 

The alarm went off at 6:30 this morning. As soon as Darius heard me turn on the shower, he bolted out of bed and ran to me.

"Is it FINALLY my first day of school?!?!"

It's a man's world

Some of you may watch Track and Field with a real passion.  Most of you are probably like me... you watch every four years during the Olympics.  I'm always amazed at the sheer number of events.  You've got the mammoths competing in strength events like shot-put.  There's the tall and slender athletes who've perfected the jumps.  And then there's the flashy sprinters who can run faster than what seems humanly possible.

Track and Field is as scandalous as baseball.  There's always someone getting stripped of medals because of steroids, or as we now delicately call it "performance enhancing drugs." I guess the competition is so fierce to be the World's Fastest Man or Woman that a few of these world-class athletes would do anything to get (and stay) at the top.

But what happens when the world isn't questioning if you've taken drugs but rather if you are a man parading as a woman to win?  That's exactly what has happened to Caster Semenya after she creamed her competition by over 2 seconds.  Before she can claim true ownership of the medal she already won, Semenya is required to complete a "gender verification test."

We have a reader!

Yes, that's my baby reading a book on his own. I picked up a collection of Bob Books at the store on Friday. Darius read the first three books without any help (a total confidence builder).  Amazing! I'm feeling almost as proud as the day when I no longer had to wipe his butt.  Almost. 

He's a cold-hearted snake

Mom, am I cold-hearted?

Huh?

Like snakes.  Snakes are cold-hearted, right?

Oh... you mean cold-blooded.  No, you aren't cold-blooded.

Why are snakes cold-blooded?

Because they can't self-regulate their body temperature.

Huh?

When you go into the shade, do you get freezing cold?  Or if you go into the sun, do you get super hot?

[laughs] No.

That's because your body works to keep you warm or helps you cool off when you are hot.

[laughs] It's good that I'm not cold-hearted.

[kisses his head] Yes, it's really good you aren't cold-hearted.

Invisalign Mom Blogger Straight Talk

 

Our family dentist has already told us to get ready for braces.  Dr Shah showed the X-Rays in Darius’ last office visit and I saw it for myself.  Darius’ permanent teeth are gonna come in crooked.  Add to that his adorably adorable baby-tooth smile isn’t gap-y enough to handle adult teeth.  And yes, for the record, “gap-y” is totally a real technical dental word.  I know because in the seventh grade I said I wanted to be a dentist, so I’m an expert.*

Lucky for us, we have a few years before we have to find a great orthodontist, make any decisions on treatment or pay through the nose for our son to have a great, straight smile.  I mean, the kid hasn’t even lost his first tooth yet.  But as I cry a little watching my baby go off to Kindergarten, I know that these next few years will fly by and before I know it, I’ll be asking for a payment plan for my son’s braces.

It's a bird... It's a plane...

 

It's a corn-husk Super hero.  It's also been a gun, Obi Wan Kenobi, and Batman.

Thanks to the volunteer at the Children's Discovery Museum who helped my son make a really special cornhusk doll after his mother effed it up by making a cornhusk girl.

One Working Mom's take on the Healthcare Bill

Read more of what I had to say at the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog where moms on all the sister sites were asked to blog about healthcare... and were I accuse you of smoking crack (seriously, people go read it).

Things I say at least 1,000 times in a day

• How can you be bored? You have a room full of toys!

• I'm not responsible for your things.  If you lost it, then you find it.

• No means no.

• Seriously kid, I said no.

• For goodness sakes, please stop asking me after I said NO!

• Time to clean-up!

• Shh... Mommy is on a call.

• No, you can't watch TV.

• No, you can't play the Wii either.

• Go play.

• It's time to go.

• Put your shoes on.

• Where are your shoes?

• Why aren't your shoes on?

 How about you?

HELP! We canceled the Cable!

  The conversation started months ago.  Maybe even years.  My cost-cutting spouse wanted to cut the cable.  I told him he was crazy! Abso-friggin-lutely crazy!  Television was my escape from the daily grind.  If I had a bad day at work, there was always the comfort of a classic movie on OnDemand brighten my mood.  If I was feeling bad about myself, there was always some jackass on insert-the-name-here Reality Show that proved I was smarter than that guy.  If I needed a break or wanted to cook dinner without interruption, there was always some educational programming that could buy me at least 20 minutes. 

Cable was my security blanket.  An expensive security blanket, but one that I was not willing to give up. 

Or so I thought.

When the economy started to show signs of collapse, my spouse convinced me to reduce our costs.  Digital cable was converted to basic cable.  It cost just $15 a month to have about 40 channels.  Sure, a third of them were in Spanish or some version of QVC, but surely he couldn't argue with just fifteen dollars a month.  Even Mr. Cheapskate could appreciate that, right? 

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There is no better smell than CLEAN

The house is tidy.

Every thing is put in its place.

The beds are made.

The sheets are in for washing.

The furniture is polished.

The floors are mopped.

The bathrooms sparkle.

I love Wednesdays. 

The housekeeper is here and I'm in 7th Heaven.

The WAT-AAH Summer Challenge

Darius is a juice junkie.  Whenever you ask him what he wants to drink, he'll always respond with juice.  Or lemonade.  Or juice-box.  Or something along those lines.  We don't keep much juice in the house.  When Darius was in preschool, I knew that the school served apple juice at snack times.  Sure, they watered it down just like we do at home.  But knowing that Darius could have as much juice as he wanted twice a day was enough to practically ban it from our house. 

When the kiddo graduated from preschool this June, he started to go through juice with-drawls.  Tack on a trip to Arkansas where he had his fair share of juice and what felt like gallons of Sweet Tea, we had an official juice addict on our hands. 

Working Moms Pop Quiz

When a PR person reaches out to you with an offer for a free hotel night stay in San Francisco in exchange for attending a seminar on a topic you are interested in (and of course, blog about it), do you...

a) arrange for a babysitter to take your child for the night so that you can have a romantic night away with man that helped create that darling boy?

b) book tickets to see Wicked and tell your mom to come for a Mother-Daughter bonding weekend?

c) schlep the whole family up.  Dad will entertain your kiddo during the seminar at the hotel pool and the next day y'all will spend the day at the Exploratorium?

d) go alone, call your gay best friend for a raucous night in San Francisco, stay out all night and sleep until the maid service literally kicks you out of your room?

Friday Link Love

Remember that fabulous giveaway not too long ago for the Tree of Life.  Well the great folks over at Black Mountain Jewelry are having an End of Summer sale.  If you know a mom, have a mom, are a mom, or are going to be one... seriously check out their stuff and buy some Christmas presents now. 

Donors Choose (one of my favorite charities) has partnered with the Gates Foundation to equally match your donations.  Check out these classroom projects that the Foundation will fund 50% - as long you fund the rest. 

Not on Twitter yet?  Here's a reason to join.  Land's End is hosting a Twitter Party on August 20th from 7-9pm CST (#landsend).  There will be 20 fab prizes plus folks willing to help you with all your Back to School questions. 

Yummie Tummie has a new fall fashions.  I know, they cost an arm and a leg.  But they work and are a thousand times cuter than wearing Spanx. I myself nearly peed my pants in excitement when I saw the new Strappy by Cup Size.

**Because people are all up in arms about product placement in blogging, I want to be very clear that I didn't receive a penny or a product for linking to the companies above.  They just happen to be companies I love and feel should get a little linky love.  If they want to send me truck loads of their product, however, you can bet your ass I'll be forwarding my mailing address immediately.

freedom

It's official!  I'm no longer wiping any butts (other than my own, thank you very much).

Five long years of ass wiping.  And it's over.  Can I hear a "Hallelujah" or a "Mazel Tov" or something equally fantastic like "It's about fucking time"?

Teaching the art of wiping took just as long, if not longer, than teaching the art of aiming into the toilet.  There were tears (mine), tantrums (also mine), and flat out refusals to wipe (again, mainly me). 

I was afraid that Darius was developing early signs of OCD.  I could see his future on the Obsessed show where most of the people have some frighteningly messed up fear over poop. The kid just wouldn't wipe his butt. 

heels

While I've only been working from home in an official capacity for a few months (in an unofficial capacity for nearly a year), I've felt a clear change in my life.  I've gotten out of the working-from-home-in-your-pajamas thing.  Thanks to having to take Darius to swim practice on a daily basis, then do drop-offs & pick-ups for summer camp, and knowing that I'll be doing the same when he starts Kindergarten this month, I've been forced to learn how to get dressed in the chaotic morning routine.  Having the short hair helps.  Bed head is a serious motivator to, you know, actually not look like I've just rolled out of bed at 2pm when I've really been up since 6am. But there is one part of my wardrobe that has slacked off completely. 

My shoes. It would probably be better to describe it as my lack of shoes.

I'm barefoot at home.  I lead professional calls with dirty feet that have gone outside to line-dry the laundry, or water the garden, or get the mail.  When it's time to pick up Darius, I throw on the first pair of flip flops I see (believe me, I own WAY too many flip flops for a professional working woman) and I'm on my way. 

My blog on the D-list

No, I'm not taking over for Kathy Griffin. But I think that some of us bloggers can learn something from her. Or not.

Kathy is all about upping her celebrity status and shamelessly recording it for the rest of us to see.  Frankly I love her and the show.  Because really, if you can't laugh at a celebrity wanting to be a bigger celebrity than clearly you have no sense of humor.

In the blogging world, there are a ton of Kathy Griffin type bloggers.  You know the ones that want to get invited to every party, get their feelings hurt when they aren't, and keep referring to blogging as "high-school" because they still feel like they can't sit at the popular table. 

His first trophy

 

On Saturday, the whole family woke up at what is officially the butt crack of dawn to attend the swimming championships for the league.  To say that it was a long day is an understatement.  But to have a finals that illustrated how much the swimmers have grown over the last two months was worth the heat, the hours of waiting, and the weak coffee.

Spammers suck

This weekend, the busiest weekend of our summer mind you, the spammers of the world decided to raid my blog and post their cyber-graffiti in comments on two dozen of my recent posts. 

It started on Friday night when I checked email after a spur of the moment Girls Night with Lia to see Harry Potter. At first, I thought that my being featured on the back cover of Brain Child magazine had paid off.  Until I started looking at comment after comment for Viagra and cheap computers.  I guess I'll continue with my blog on the D-list.  And really that's okay with me. 

But never will I be cool with spammers.  You want to take out an ad, email me.  You want me to review your product, request a review.  You want my readers to love you, plan a cool giveaway.  Don't clog my inbox with fake comments like "I really like your article, it's well written."  Because we all know that I'm not writing the next great American novel.  I talk about raising a boy and working full-time and trying to save an iota of sanity in the process. 

Lesson from my Grandmother

I just returned from a week long trip visiting my Grandmother in Arkansas with my son and my dad. For every meal, there was four generations eating, drinking, and enjoying one's company.   Every day I asked my Grandmother for a recipe for one of her famous desserts or prodded her to tell stories from when she was a child.  Since I only make it out to visit her every four years I realized that this could very well be the last time I see her alive and I wanted to soak up all that she was willing to teach me.

My Grandmother, Louise, is an 89 year old woman.  Raised on a working farm in rural Arkansas, she still rises before the sun.  She's been growing tomatoes her whole life and can make a Blue Ribbon berry cobbler without having to follow a recipe.  She's tough and sweet.  She's buried two of her four children and her husband. She hates asking for help but generously gives it.  She's survived the real Depression and has been known to hide money in a tin can in her closet. 

I've always thought of my Grandmother as a picture-perfect 1950s housewife.  She can rise at dawn to make biscuits and gravy from scratch, she still irons all of her clothes, and is the best baker in our family.  My Grandmother stills keeps the same housecleaning schedule that she created for herself when she married my Grandfather at the tender age of 17.  It's simple enough, every day has one major task plus light dusting and vacuuming.  Her house always looks perfect.  And she's never complained about how much work is involved in raising four children, keeping a tidy home, and cooking every meal without any help from anything in a box or can. 

In my Grandmother's presence, I've always felt more than less-than-perfect.  Sure, my full-time job is one in Corporate America and not one as the ultimate homemaker.  I have a cleaning service; partly because I'm too busy to do it myself but mainly because I'm just too lazy to do it myself.  I pride myself on making a healthy dinner nearly every night of the week, but have been known to refuse any request for breakfast that doesn't involve pouring milk over a bowl of cereal.  The only time I'm baking is when I'm using a Betty Crocker cake mix for my son's birthday. 

Continue reading at the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog