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Supermarket Shambles

There I was pushing the shopping cart down the isle, working on borrowed time as my nine-month old slept in his carseat propped awkwardly in the large part of the cart, while my two-year-old was nearing the end of her patience as well as the banana she stole. Before I was a real mom, I was a perfect hypothetical mom. “I will never let my kids eat food they haven’t paid for,” I would say to myself when I would see a kid in a cart devouring a box of cookies while the mom pondered between the name brand or generic ketchup. Before I was a real mom I was also a perfect disciplinarian, “If my kid started demanding stuff while we were in the grocery store and then had a fit if i didn’t give it to her, I would scold her and leave the store immediately.”

As a real mom, there are days when I just completely throw in the towel. My kid will refuse to wear shoes, refuse to have her hair brushed and literally laugh at me if I threatened a time out, promise a sticker on her chart, take away her favorite toy or TV show or any of the other tactics all you-know -it-alls have said to do.

My first born is strong, smart, funny and cute, but she is not easy. Sure she is “easy” for those who see her once in a while, but for me she is not. However, I wouldn’t change her for anything the world.

But i digress…

So there I was with my feisty daughter and my sweet sleeping son, trying to squeeze a few more borrowed minutes when I looked down past the smeared rice [...]

By |March 29th, 2016|Articles|0 Comments|

Judgement Day

When you are not a parent, your instinct is to judge those who are. When you are a parent your instinct is to feel like you are being judged.  Before I gave birth I knew everything about raising a well-adjusted, well mannered, healthy, non-shy, but not obnoxious child, who listens and does what he is told, who is potty-trained before she is two and can put on her shoes, get herself dressed well before she is two and half. Oh and let me also mention that as a non-mother, my child would never throw a temper-tantrum in the supermarket, never talk back, never watch TV and wouldn’t even dream about trying to play with my phone.

Then I became a mom and I realized how dumb I was about thinking how smart I was.
Having ideals about how you are going to raise your children is a lot different than actually raising them.
First off, according to my fantasy timeline of accomplishments, my child is supposed to be swimming the length of the pool by now. So what if she is only 17 months old? I had plans for her and I bragged about those plans to many people before she was born, so who is she to say she is not ready to dive in and swim my expected 50 meters?
And another thing, why won’t she sleep until it’s light outside? All the books as well as my previous nanny experience have taught me that if you do “A,B and C” it will equal a child who sleeps from 7-7. Not my wired up at 5 a.m. kid, she claims she is starving before sunrise. “Nana (banana,) Wawa (water),” she will yell at [...]

By |February 19th, 2015|Articles|1 Comment|

Lost and Found

As I look back on the past several months, I’ll admit I had a tough time transitioning from busy working mom, who went to school at night, to being a stay-at-home mom (SAHM,) who basically just has to care for one well-behaved child, who sleeps 3-4 hours a day. “You know how lucky you are?” I have heard over and over and over again, both because I am now a stay-at-home-mom and because my child takes two predictable naps a day. “Yes, I know, I am super blessed,” I have often said, not wanting to sound at all like I don’t appreciate the wonderful life which has been bestowed upon me. However, truthfully inside, I was screaming, “I am freaking board! What the hell does one do when they are at home that many hours a day while their child sleeps?”

The go-getters of the world write blogs and do some sort of online job or they use their time to research how to be a better mom or they start their own business or they keep a spotless house or they play tennis or do yoga or bake or sew or plan parties or work on scrap-books or all of the above. But for whatever reason, I didn’t feel like doing any of these things and as the minutes ticked by while my child lay peacefully sleeping, I thought of ways to distract myself from being truly productive. TV has never been an option for me, but I do enjoy a good chat on the phone. Um who should I call? I would think to myself as I folded laundry (a productive task I do love doing.) But for whatever reason, I would rarely [...]

By |February 3rd, 2015|Articles|0 Comments|

Fireworks and Sippy Cups

So there I was driving down the street in my new ride, hair flowing, tan skin and feeling good about the recent baby weight I’ve dropped. Katie Perry was telling me I was a firework and in that moment I believed every word she said. A little louder I said to myself as i turned up the volume and started singing along. The baby’s carseat was empty and I was on my way to meet a friend for some much needed “sister time.”

I glanced down at the center console and saw an old familiar friend, lipgloss. Why yes, I will put on that slight sexy shimmer I said to myself as I greased my lips at the next stop light.

That is when I saw him out the corner of my eye. His motorcycle engine revved as the light turned green and although his helmet covered his face, I imagined that he looked a little like Heath Ledger meets Vince Vaughn with just a sprinkle of Tony Soprano (what can I say,  I have a very specific type.) The traffic didn’t allow him to move too far past my side. However, I didn’t realize this was going to allow him to want to communicate with me. My windows were up and the air conditioning was on, but it was clear that he was trying to get my attention.

Wow, there is nothing like a little Burt’s Bee lip gloss to get the day started.

Needless to say, I was obviously very flattered that this Top Gun body looking guy on a crotch rocket wanted to speak with me in traffic. He nodded his head in my direction rather quickly as to not take his eyes off the [...]

I have a Love Hate Relationship with Target

I have a love/hate relationship with Target. I mean don’t we all? We love that it has everything from birthday cards to bananas, but at the same time we hate that when we go there to buy paper towels we suddenly feel compelled to buy a new coffee maker and redesign our entire kitchen.
“Okay I’m going to Target, I need a pep talk,” I told my husband as I clutched  the brown paper bag with the all-too-familiar bullseye logo.  Inside the bag was a receipt and a colorful bikini  which I bought during one of those brain-fart moments when I somehow forgot that my butt, belly and boobs don’t stay up on their own anymore. I remember the day of purchase,  it was glorious. There I was in Target by myself sans my constantly moving baby, who doesn’t stay still in a shopping cart unless I put her in a straight jacket, which even Target doesn’t sell.  I had gone in there to buy pajamas for the baby, bacon for the husband and a bathing suit for me. However, next thing I knew, I had spent 20 minutes debating between a coconut or cinnamon scented candle and somehow my cart was filled with picture frames for the grandparents, a toy for my sister’s dog, a onsie for my friend’s new baby, four tank tops for me, two fold up lounge chairs, a pink plastic kiddie pool and a “# 1 dad” trophy.

By the time I arrived to the bikini section, I realized that my two-hour window of time without my ever-crawling-climbing-squealing monkey was done. I flashed to my to do list and realized that getting my car washed, stopping by the bank and [...]

By |July 18th, 2014|Articles|1 Comment|

Thin Mint Binge

Why is it that I don’t think twice about eating like four thin mints at a time? It’s as if those crispy little pieces of chocolaty-joy shouldn’t count on my daily caloric intake. They’re too easy to eat and they go down so quickly. By the time I have closed the freezer door I’ve already popped one in my mouth and in the time it takes me to walk from the kitchen to the living room I have probably consumed enough calories for a three-course-dinner (salad dressing not included.)

I keep a sleeve or two in the freezer at all times from about March until about May. I just checked and the last sleeve is half-way done, which is a good thing because this hot weather reminds me that in about a month, the whole, “I-just-had-a-baby-so-don’t-mind-the-pooch-belly,” excuse isn’t going to work anymore. My goal is to lose the weight before my baby is old enough to eat Thin Mints. However, if she is anything like my husband or I, she has probably got up in the night without us knowing, climbed out of her crib and eaten her first Thin Mint. If she could say anything other than Momma, I am sure she would tell us, but thankfully I am left in the dark about her late night baby-eating-binge-adventures.

“Why don’t you teach her sign language?” my mom and everyone else who knows more about being a mom than I do, will ask me.

“I should, shouldn’t I,” I respond pretending that I will consider it.

As if I don’t have enough to do besides teach my kid how to wave her hands around to sign, “more” and “all done.” I know when she wants more and I [...]

By |May 19th, 2014|Articles|2 Comments|

High Heels

Sometimes I wonder if my life would be different if I regularly wore high heels. I have never been a girly-girl but this doesn’t mean I am tomboy either. I’ve just been a little slow to learn things like plunking eyebrows, wearing perfume or putting on lipstick. The kind of things most girls start doing in their teens, I put off until my mid 20’s. You know how you always have at least one friend in the group that you want to do a “make-over” on? Well, that’s me. I’m that friend.

So although I have been taught it’s not cool for a girl to have bushy eyebrows and callused feet, nobody has been able to break me of my high-heel-fear. To be honest, it’s a serious risk if I wear them, I’ve personally done my own research and I know that have about a 30 percent chance of falling or tripping when wearing high heels and if I have to walk on a sidewalk, the percentage goes up about 20 percent.

The highest I have ever gone in a pair, is about two inches. I can’t even think about those super sexy spiky high heels, if I even look at those on the shelf I feel wobbly in the knees. You know how some people, who are afraid of heights look at a tall buildings and get nauseous, that’s how I am when I go to Macy’s women’s shoe section and spot a pair of four-inch risk factors.

Because my fear of heels is rooted in experience, it’s hard for me to let go of it. Imagine if every time you put on a certain item of clothing, you had a flashback of falling in front [...]


So I will admit I’m a flake sometimes. I’ll blame it on my ADD…I recently self-diagnosed. Last year, I made a commitment to myself and to my readers that I would stop using plastic bags and bring my own bags to the grocery store.

Dated April 22, 2010 I wrote, “I am going to use those bags and if I forget them, I either have to carry my groceries or buy another bag.”

Well, that commitment lasted for about a month or two. Then to make matters worse, I wrote at the end of that same column, “I would like to spend the next couple of columns on this same subject. I promise it will be riveting and if it’s not, at least do me a favor and toss me in the recycle bin.”

That last line is kind of clever, don’t ya think? However, I’m a columnist not a politician so my clever-cute ending doesn’t make up for the fact that twice I didn’t do what I said I was going to do.

So, first and foremost I would like to apologize to you and the environment for my lack of follow-through. I really don’t know why I can’t just remember those bags when I go in the grocery store. It’s probably the same part of my brain that forgets to charge my phone or forgets where I put my keys or my sunglasses. Unfortunately, that part of the brain doesn’t forget how good wings and pizza taste. I mean if I could forget how yummy wings and pizza tasted, instead of forget to take my re-usable bag into the store, I would look like one of those size-two women you see walking around Whole Foods in [...]

Grandpa’s Shirt

While waiting in line at the bank the other day, playing my little game of, “If I had to pick anyone in this room to date, who would it be,” a four-year-old toe-head offered me some fashion advice. Swinging from the bars, feet dragging on the floor, the little ray of sunshine looked up at me, pointed and said without introduction, “My grandpa has that shirt.” Before I had time to respond to her precious observation, the child’s red faced grandma, attempted to buff out the little “fashioniesta’s” comment by adding in her own insight. “No, no honey, grandpa doesn’t have that shirt, grandma does.

I looked down at my deposit slip and thought to myself, “wow, not only am I broke, but now I am also aware that I have the fashion sense of an old man.”

Oh and to think that I almost used the drive up teller.

Little “Sunshine Suzie’s” take on my daily décor had interrupted my decision between the skinny guy in the suit and the beefy guy in the jeans. However, I aborted my little game so that I could turn my attention to more important matters.

“Is that a tattoo on your foot?” the little pumpkin with the blue eyes asked me. “My daddy says tattoos are bad.”

Grandma, who was collecting her money at the stable, looked like she was going to pass out from embarrassment. “Yes it is,” I replied. “And my daddy thinks they are bad too.”

Seconds later, “toe-head” and I waved goodbye to each other and it was my turn to step up to the window where I would find out that this week I broke even.

As I left the bank I wondered if “pumpkin’s” dad was a [...]

Getting Lucky

The other day I hugged a guy with arms bigger than my own and I swear if I had the power to make time stop I would have. Don’t confuse this comment with desperation, I am not desperate, I am starved. Starved of affection from someone who isn’t my friend, isn’t my relative and isn’t the sweet little child of one of my friends or relatives.

I know that this is a very delicate subject to talk about and if I am not careful I could be perceived as someone who is on the verge of going to Redondo Beach to get a “special” massage. But no, that is not the case. I am just expressing what it feels like to be a single girl who doesn’t hang out at the bar scene on a regular basis and hasn’t gone on a date for what seems like years. Actually, if I were a dog it would be years.

For so long I was doing so well at not caring if I had man-arms in my life, I would pride myself on changing the oil in my car and not needing man the way other single girls seem to always have to have one. When hearing how irritated some of my friend’s were with their husbands and how stressed out they were with their kids, I counted my blessings that I didn’t have to deal with such irritations. But now all of a sudden, I find myself a little bitter that I don’t get to partake in the “my husband or my boyfriend” conversations.

Honestly, I think this new serge of neediness for man-arms started after attending a funeral last week. I was sitting in the church, sandwiched [...]