Stay On Target

Shopping has never been my thing. The sound of clothing hangers screeching along and clicking into each other is up there with nails on a chalkboard. That action of mindlessly looking at one piece of clothing after another just screams of time wasting to me. Sure, every now and again I hit the retail lottery and find a shirt I like in the right size -- but when time is money this is a costly hobby. I've always tried my hardest to get in and out of clothing stores as quickly as possible. In junior high, I somehow (likely peer pressure) was in a teen group at the Bloomingdale's down the street from my house. It was sponsored by Mexx, and all I remember is that I learned you could wear a tube top and it could double as a skirt. I'm sure parents were thrilled to see such valuable information being taught to their young impressionable daughters. I would get lost in the store at the end of the class. Not because I was busy looking at stuff, but because the perfume smell, the persistent sales people, and the mannequins would distract me from trying to find the closest exit.

Today I still have little patience for clothes shopping. I do it when I have to, but I don't enjoy it. My mother taught me to just buy it, try it on at home, and then go back if need be to return. She lived walking distance from stores in NY though so that wasn't as much of a waste of time as that would be here. I now have three people to shop for. I somehow love buying kids clothes more than I ever did for myself. Don't get me wrong: I love new clothes, I just don't like going on a scavenger hunt for them.

Then suddenly, everything profoundly changed when Target entered my life. Target did something right. If there aren't support groups out there for Target addicts there should be. I love Target so much it feels unhealthy. I have a Red Card that now takes the first slot in my wallet over all my other credit cards. I live dangerously close to one Target, and a short drive from two others. I've read that study on de-cluttering your life, and putting an end to consumerism -- I understand it, but Target keeps calling to me.

The whole layout of a Target was done so strategically. Place knick-knack bargain items that appeal to any child or any crafty bargain hunting adult, and you have successfully suckered victims into purchases before they even remember what they came to the store for. Oh Target knows how to Target, they have the woman and girls stuff first. They know who is buying. Then as you attempt to get to the home needs section on your right you will be very much distracted by the home wants section on your left. More crafts, cool vases, faux taxidermy and other random eye catching items that you definitely don't need. I seem to justify a trip to the store for a bottle of soap and then end up with $85 worth of stuff. I know I am not alone in this.

Recently improvements were done to our local store. Thank goodness they didn't have to close during renovations. I don't know what I would have done. They did have to temporarily close the Starbucks. That was a big problem for me since I enjoy a nice iced beverage while I Target. Two corporate addictions quenched in one trip is a good day for all. I have thought more than once that Los Angeles does have earthquakes from time to time. I have recently thought of this when buying earthquake supply kit materials from Target. Where else? At home I have a back pack filled with some bars, water and a blanket. I worry about being stuck at home during an earthquake, but I fantasize about being stuck in a Target during an earthquake. I know, I have a problem.

Win, Lose, Or Dye

My eight year old daughter is a bright, little girl. She can be so charming, lovable, and amazing -- but boy oh boy, can she be persuasive. Rarely, do I feel like I say no to her and she rolls with it. Flexible is not her middle name. I often hear myself saying to her "assess the situation" before she asks something of me. Her requests are usually reasonable ones so we have both learned how to navigate and negotiate, but this last one turned into a bit of a battle. She came to me fifteen minutes before bedtime with a bottle of fuchsia hair dye and said, “Can you please dye my hair?”.

I took a deep breath before responding. I was not going to color her hair, but I could tell by the look in her eye this was not going to go away easy. I explained that coloring her hair is fine but not at this time of night. She begged, she pleaded, and when those didn't work she began to state her case. She would wake up with no issue, she has already done everything else that needed to get done. She would read while the color sat in her hair, she would make the shower part super fast. Her testimony went on and on. I calmly restated my answer. I explained that my answer wasn't going to change and so she had a decision to make: she could choose to be upset for the rest of the time she had with me before bed, or calm down and enjoy our time together.

For the next twenty two minutes she tried to keep me hostage while I listen to her beg. She was hysterical. At one point I escaped with my head spinning and sent this text to my husband who was out ("Wow she is hysterically screaming. I've tried for a very long time to calm her, or negotiate or asked her to stop asking me and she is repeating "mama." This is what she did when she was 4.  I got up and walked out. I am sure the neighbors are about to call Child Protective Services on us. So much for asking them to be a bit quieter at night.") As I pressed send on this, I realized that it was so ridiculously humorous, but neither my daughter or myself felt that in the moment.

The fit continued for roughly 15 more minutes, but the kicker was when I returned to her room and tried to rub her back, because that is what she had turned to me, she wouldn't stop crying. I offered some breathing suggestions and then asked if there was anything I could do that would help her calm down. What was I thinking? She sat up faced me and yelled "DYE MY HAIR." Apparently I must have missed it the 500 other times she asked earlier. That was it for me. I was done.  That's what I got for saying, “Not tonight, but we can some other time."

Being a mother is really not for the weak.

BFF's

Third grade is supposed to be challenging for little girls in the friendship department. I heard this a few times but when I recall my own third grade experience, I don't remember it being in issue. I do remember it in seventh grade, but at eight I was blissfully ignorant to any big issues with friends. I also didn't have as many friends as my daughter has now. I was friendly, I had a few really good friends, and then one best friend. That's back when you really did have one best friend. Now that "best" word gets thrown around too often and it is really quite a tricky description for a type of friend.

Arielle and I met in second grade. I was a new student, coming in from a different school after the year had already started. I spotted Arielle right away and she had a roller skate hairband in her low ponytail, and a superman lunch box. The shock of coming from a school where all girls had to wear dresses, and the desks were all lined up in neat little rows, to this room where the desks were set up like tables and kids wore what they liked was a big change. There was so much color in that room compared to what I came from, not only in clothes, and skin, but also in the fun way the class was set up. It was decorated. Arielle had the cutest sneeze I had ever heard. The class giggled when she sneezed because it sounded like a little mouse: achoooooeeee. I thought to myself if this kid (who I wasn't so sure at that point was a girl or a boy) had such confidence to sneeze this way, sport a superman lunch box and a pony -- then this kid is interesting. I was right. She became my closest friend and remains that today.

Arielle and I played after school for hours. We would later be allowed to walk to each others houses. There were days and years  where all of my memories of childhood are combined with her image. We shared the deepest secrets and the darkest fears. During the summer we would go our separate ways and I would cry at our goodbyes. We stayed close until junior high when it seemed everyone around us got shuffled around. We were no longer in class together and she matured a bit faster than me. It took me a bit longer to adjust to not having her around. It also took me longer to find my way in a big new school. Eventually we found new friends. We went our own way but were never far apart and in college we became close again. Despite my move cross-country, Arielle is still a very close friend. We see each other anytime I am home in NY, and now our children play together.

As girls, if we had a disagreement, we would be upset for a minute and then be laughing the next. Our moms only got involved if we asked them too. Now, I feel like everyone is on high alert with anything that fits under the banner of being "bullied." I reached out to a mom last year whose daughter wasn't exactly being warm and fuzzy to mine. I put a lot of thought into reaching out, but after quite a few days of my daughter feeling hurt, I wanted to know if she had heard anything on her end. She was very receptive and explained that her daughter indeed has a hard time playing with more than one child at a time. She apologized if it was at the exclusion of my daughter. She also said she didn't want to get involved unless I thought my daughter was being bullied. Well, I would define bullying to be something more aggresive than leaving someone out, so I dropped it. I did some reading on the subject, and I learned tools to help my daughter to communicate with her friends. I also learned that after a certain point she has to handle these obstacles independently. 

I recently went to her classroom for "back to school night" and I could tell third grade is a step in the more serious direction. Gone were the drawings and presentations about what they did their first week of school. It was all busness. My daughter doesn't seem to notice that it's a bit less play and a bit more work, and that's as it should be. She is where she is supposed to be. She is still learning, in her classroom and with her friends. Her closest friend she met when she was a baby — they are inseparable when they are in the same country, but unfortanatly she lives in London. She has a bunch of close friend here too, but I don't think she has an Arielle yet. I look forward to when she finds her. As tricky as it can be to navigate close friendships, life is much sweeter with good friends.

He's Got A Way About Him

When I found out I was having a baby boy, my friend told me that little boys love their mamas. She described that love as a deep, strong bond that was unbreakable. 

Just after my baby boy was born, I waited for that feeling to start. For that love to grow. It wasn't instant, so I wondered if it was because I was so in love with my little girl that this new little baby in no way could ever mean as much to me. Then one day when he was only a few months old, I was holding him in his room and all of a sudden -- I felt it. I kissed his soft, warm, bald head and said "I love you. I really do."  The rush of it all was so surprising.

From that moment on, I understood what my friend meant, because I felt it. The way my little boy looked at me made my heart melt. The way he would reach for me, hold my neck, or hold my hand — I would fall in love all over and over again. There is no comparing siblings of different genders. Girls and boys are very different. Sure I can talk about their births, or how long I nursed them, or what stuffed animals they both gravitated to, but that is about where it ends, because my two kids are very different. I  know you can have two daughters and two sons be very different from one another as well, but in my own case, I can see some clear differences that fit more into typical girl or boy behavior. My daughter is more emotional and will come snuggle in a gentle way, and my son is more physical and will tackle me to the ground, all in the name of love. His hugs can be painful, his kisses hard, and his cuddling is anything but still.

Over the summer, he went through a tough period. He was freshly four, and well I could just stop right there, because four has never been a fun age for me to parent. Again, though this four looked very different from the whining, pouting, crying four from my daughter. This four had whining, but also anger and hitting. At the time, I feared that my son was Dennis the Menace in the flesh, and I began read as many parenting books as I could. I tried every tip, trick or piece of advice, none of which worked. It felt like all the fun, cuddly little boy stuff seemed to disappear. He wasn't as affectionate and he honestly wasn't very easy to like during that time. The only that I had forgotten was that this too is a phase, and "this too shall pass."

Indeed we came out on the other side and my little wrestling bundle of love returned. We are back in a delicious phase of intoxicating hugs and kisses. They are random, and impromptu, and I welcome every single hug and kiss.

Countless Times

One is how many times I would like to have to ask my kids before they listen. Three is the amount of times I ask before I start getting annoyed.

Five is about the number of times I threaten to take something away if they can't get it together. Zero is the amount of times I tend to follow up on those threats.

Daily, I ask if our morning tomorrow can please go better than this one is going. One out of five is the amount of days we get to school without someone crying.

Two are the amount of emails I have received from my husband with a schedule of how we should operate the morning so it goes well. None, are how many days it went according to the plan. Despite our efforts.

Ten is the number of times this school year we have said we should set an alarm. Two is the amount of days that stuck. One of which we ignored.

One is the amount of days this year that I got up before everyone else in the house, exercised, made breakfast and was dressed before the kids. It was the first day of school. It was a great idea. Fifty two days since that I didn't do that.

This morning, I got my kids out without any tears, we weren't rushed, it was a small miracle and I am proud. We got to the back of school where there is a gate that is usually open. It wasn't today,  and we had no time left to go around to another entrance before my daughter would be late for student council. I made the only rational decision I could think of in that moment, and I had her scale the fence. The first try wasn't successful. She was too scared and didn't want to climb back down the far side of the fence. When she came down to me and said she was afraid, I told her that I believed she could do it. I explained that it was okay either way with me, but that she might be late if we go around. Thats when I saw the fire in her eyes, and she attacked that fence. She stuck her Doc Martins in those diamond shaped holes and swung her leg over the top. The only moment of pure panic came when her leggings got stuck on the top of the fence. I climbed up right to her, mother and daughter scaling together, and I ripped her lavender, (already such dirty pants, so now we can throw them away) right off leaving a tiny hole, and encouraged her to keep going. It was then that she said "Mommy, is this illegal?" I assured her that we were fine as long as there isn't any barbed wire on top, we are good to go. She made is down on the other side. Two feet planted on the ground, with her little brother whining behind me that he wants to try, she looks at me blows out a big exhale and we smile. I tell her "you made it, yay, now go" and she runs off into school. I did not set a great example, and I definitely wasn't thinking about safety first, but she learned she could climb a fence. Those are some mad life skills.

Over one hundred times I have said to my kids "Come on, we can't be late for school" Zero is the times we have been late. Not an option.

Infiniti: the amount of time I will say "I love you, have a great day!" No matter how we get off to school.

Countless Times

One is how many times I would like to have to ask my kids before they listen. Three is the amount of times I ask before I start getting annoyed.

Five is about the number of times I threaten to take something away if they can't get it together. Zero is the amount of times I tend to follow up on those threats.

Daily, I ask if our morning tomorrow can please go better than this one is going. One out of five is the amount of days we get to school without someone crying.

Two are the amount of emails I have received from my husband with a schedule of how we should operate the morning so it goes well. None, are how many days it went according to the plan. Despite our efforts.

Ten is the number of times this school year we have said we should set an alarm. Two is the amount of days that stuck. One of which we ignored.

One is the amount of days this year that I got up before everyone else in the house, exercised, made breakfast and was dressed before the kids. It was the first day of school. It was a great idea. Fifty two days since that I didn't do that.

This morning, I got my kids out without any tears, we weren't rushed, it was a small miracle and I am proud. We got to the back of school where there is a gate that is usually open. It wasn't today,  and we had no time left to go around to another entrance before my daughter would be late for student council. I made the only rational decision I could think of in that moment, and I had her scale the fence. The first try wasn't successful. She was too scared and didn't want to climb back down the far side of the fence. When she came down to me and said she was afraid, I told her that I believed she could do it. I explained that it was okay either way with me, but that she might be late if we go around. Thats when I saw the fire in her eyes, and she attacked that fence. She stuck her Doc Martins in those diamond shaped holes and swung her leg over the top. The only moment of pure panic came when her leggings got stuck on the top of the fence. I climbed up right to her, mother and daughter scaling together, and I ripped her lavender, (already such dirty pants, so now we can throw them away) right off leaving a tiny hole, and encouraged her to keep going. It was then that she said "Mommy, is this illegal?" I assured her that we were fine as long as there isn't any barbed wire on top, we are good to go. She made is down on the other side. Two feet planted on the ground, with her little brother whining behind me that he wants to try, she looks at me blows out a big exhale and we smile. I tell her "you made it, yay, now go" and she runs off into school. I did not set a great example, and I definitely wasn't thinking about safety first, but she learned she could climb a fence. Those are some mad life skills.

Over one hundred times I have said to my kids "Come on, we can't be late for school" Zero is the times we have been late. Not an option.

Infiniti: the amount of time I will say "I love you, have a great day!" No matter how we get off to school.

Feeding Frenzy

When I was in college, my sister was in law school. We lived together in one house: our parents, her husband and her growing belly. I listened in awe with every new idea — birthing classes, natural birth or c-section, breast feeding or formula. While I had no intention of having a baby at that point in my life. I was so intrigued, and feel undoubtedly formed ideas about how I would do it when that time finally came.

Watching my sister made me realize that the path we choose as a new mother is not always the path we follow. My sister wanted a natural birth so badly, and after hours in labor, ended up with a C-section. The birth of your child is step one in learning that so much of birth and life is out of our control. My sister had also planned on breastfeeding, and that didn't exactly go according to plan, either. She gave birth to her son in the middle of a snow storm in NYC, and finding an available lactation consultant proved to be impossible. We made the best of it — when my nephew wasn't on the breast trying to latch he was in the arms of my dad, or mine, getting nourishment from us via a tiny feeding tube. It was a bonding time for all of us that is sealed with a smile in my memory.

Years later, when my husband I decided we wanted a baby, I was reminded again how things don't always go according to plan. Pregnancy did not come easy for me. After months of trying to have a baby, my husband and I ended up in the ER. It was here where I found out I was pregnant, but that due to lack of blood supply to the baby, it would be a wait-and-see situation. The baby was strong and thriving. I was out of the woods and ready to enjoy pregnancy, but then I began vomiting. I was diagnosed with something called Hyperemesis Gravidarum. Hyperemesis affects less than three percent of women, and it's basically a condition defined by non-stop vomiting. It was awful. Right around the fifteenth week, the nausea finally subsided. As I recovered, and my belly began to grow, my husband and I took a birthing class. The woman who taught the class suggested that when we think about how we would like our births to go. She suggested that we make a birth "wish list" as opposed to a "birth plan.” Little did I know then, that this small change in language would be the best parenting advice I could have ever received.

My pregnancy did not go how I wished. My daughter's birth had elements that I wished for. A few years later my miscarriage wasn't something I wished or planned for. When I got pregnant with my son, I got sick again. I planned on that but certainly didn't wish for it. I had hoped that I could breastfeed my children. It was one wish that came true for me. It felt like one of the only things that came easily after such a difficult pregnancy, and for that I was grateful.

 Just like there are many ways for packages to be delivered, there is no one way to have a baby delivered. Snail mail or express. In the end, natural delivery, c-section, drugs or no drugs, at home or in hospital, fertility treatments, egg donors, adoption, the end goal is the same for all new parents.: a healthy child! The same goes for feeding your baby. I have friends who could nurse and didn't want to, and friends who wanted to nurse but couldn't. As new mothers our new responsibility is huge and daunting. We need to make informed educated decisions for what is best for us as individuals. Breast is best for some, but not for all. There are many support groups and lactation consultants for those who need support for nursing, and there are wonderful, healthy alternatives such as those available on the  Honest feeding page for those who choose to use formula. Connecting with your baby is crucial — nursing is a great way to do that, but not the only way.

When I first brought my daughter home from the hospital, I was so overwhelmed with the idea that I had to do everything "right." Like every new mother, I wanted the best for my baby. I went over the top with this idea though and it took me a while to realize that there is no "right" way, or one way for that matter. I remember I was nursing her once, and I got distracted and she came off my breast. Milk sprayed across the room and when I looked down at my baby she had gotten milk sprayed in her eyes. She was fine, but she was covered in drops of milk. I could have laughed, but in that moment, I burst out in tears, as if I had damaged her for life. I was so sensitive and here was this innocent baby looking up at me just wanting to be fed. It was that day that I began to realize I needed to be easier on myself. We were all doing well, healthy, thriving, and if no one is hungry then I shouldn't be crying over spilled milk, even if it is spilled breast milk. I started over that day and began to take heart, that it all works out in the end, but it certainly does not go according to plan.