Monthly Archives: September 2009

It’s Gosh I’m Tired O’Clock here and I had to just say thank you to The Vons family of stores. I had more fun than any woman could ever hope for, preparing a no cook dinner for four in their store this afternoon. I’ll tell you all about it another day.

But I wanted to tell you a little bit about Tom Keller, he’s the president of Vons and was a charming host for us ten mommy bloggers (plus my mom) as he led us up and down the aisles of the store. Well, Tom slipped up and said this was the First Annual No Cook Dinner Competetion. When really it should have been The First No Cook Dinner Competition.

But I’m going with the first one. I’ll be standing in front of Pavillions on the 4th Wednesday of September in 2010, patiently waiting for the second annual no Cook Cookoff. Poor Tom Keller… I’ll be tapping my toes and just waiting for him to show up. (I know it’s every executive’s DreamComeTrue or not)

Cuz, seriously, that was too much fun to just do once.

Thank you to Mr. Keller and his rather extraordinary team. I know the grocery business is about as different as you can get from a bunch of techy ladies.

But gosh, we’ve all got to eat, we’re totally into you, and we just love it that you’re willing to take a look at what we do.

I don’t have a name for what is happening here online, I do know that strangers are coming together to form friendships and within the bounds of these friendships, actions are taken. I met Melissa once in Chicago and it was like finding your friend you’d been searching the world for. I didn’t need more of her than just those moments, nor she I. Melissa was recently in town for a taping of Dr. Phil so the kids and I met her for a quick dinner at Hollywood and Highland.

In keeping with it being Hollywood, I met Bob Saget on my way to Melissa and later we were both greeted by a delinquent smoking a joint in the hallway of the Raddsion. I had the children avert their eyes, “clove cigarettes” we explained to them.

We had dinner and took a brief walk on Hollywood Boulevard. “Oh my gosh Melissa, I know her.” I grasped Melissa’s forearm. She looked at me and I continued, “Melissa, I know her from Mark Hovarth’s videos. I know about her dog and her catheter, and her need to see her family. I know her three wishes.”

Standing on Hollywood Boulvard, buying my children toys they don’t need (and may or may not want) I grabbed my friend’s sleeve and whisper again, “I know her.”

But I don’t do anything, because just as quickly as she appeared, she disappears again. My middle class guilt has me gasping for breath.

Mark made Viper visible.

My kids are in a private school.

My kids aren’t in private school because I believe so deeply in a tiered education system, or because I think they’re too gifted/talented/smart/special to be in school with the general population. We actually bought our home in part for the local school. My children are in private school because The Los Angeles Unified School District (LAUSD) is a colossal failure. We didn’t opt for private school when we found out that there was no art education or PE, we knew there would be none of that, but we also knew that we’d be able to afford to supplement those activities.

We put our son in private school when his kindergarten teacher refused to help him clean his glasses after lunch without an IEP. An IEP is an Individual Education Plan, and it’s available to children with special needs. I understand that technically wearing glasses is a special need. I simply could not start my son’s academic career with with a teacher who didn’t feel like she was on his team.

After moving both kids to private school I realized that they really do deserve it. The classrooms are spectacular, and it’s nice that they have brand new computers and smart boards, but they have something even richer. My kids have amazing teachers who love learning, teaching and who revere and respect childhood. My kids also have a peer group that will elevate them. Everything else is truly a bonus.

I try to keep this in mind when as my husband travels the world, and asks why we don’t take European vacations with the kids. “They go to private school.” I reply. He doesn’t seem to understand it, as his trips are planned by his assistant at work or by me at home. We don’t have $15,000 for a family of four to have a nice time in Milan or in London. I guess we would if we lived more modestly in other ways, but the big expense is school.

I try to not resent it, and for the most part I’m grateful that my children were accepted there. Sometimes I look at the quality of their work and just pinch myself. I went to Chadwick, my husband went to a school of the same caliber, we both understand the import of rigor, and that a good education is the one and only gift we can give our children that no one can take away. Ever.

Still, I feel a little overwhelmed when I see other families who don’t pay for school, and seem to have a lot more expendable income. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being jealous, but I know this is the right thing for our kids.

This post was inspired in part by this expose by the LA Weekly.

I’ve picked him up from the airport. I love him, I’m so happy to see him. My body defied me.

I’m a heap of exhaustion after eight days of heat wave and parenting. It’s been over 100 degrees for the past five days, and though I’m absolutely delighted that my husband is home, it’s not primarily that I want to be with him. It’s because I cannot stand one more solitary moment of being a single parent.

I can’t break up fights, listen to music, entertain or cajole. I can’t play Rock Band, Monopoly, spoons, soccer or catch.

It’s only when I see my husband, that I realize how terribly exhausted I am, and though I’d love to hug and kiss him, what I really want to do is cry.

I’m tired.

We’ve named it reentry. Much like atmospheric reentry there is a certain amount of risk. Now that we are twelve years into marriage and almost eleven years into parenting, we have a solution. I leave the house.

When the kids were tiny his job took him away much more than it does now. There would be several weeks each spring where he’d be gone and then another few weeks following that where the days were so long, that all we’d see of him was his laundry. The locations changed but the scenarios seldom did.

He would leave and the first day I would miss him, the second day I would be tired and trying to keep up with the kids, and the kids would miss him. Somewhere between days three and four we would catch our rhythm, the rules of the house would subtly change, and the kids and I would adapt to a life without Dad. The day before he came back home, we’d anxiously prepare ourselves and our home, and the day he returned we would be awkward, loving and excited.

Then the first full day back we would fight.

My husband and I aren’t fighters, we don’t bicker, we don’t agree on everything, but fighting is unusual. I realized it was me. The dynamic was just not working for us. I’d shift our household rules ever so slightly to allow for the fact that there were two of them and just one of me, and when my husband would return, he’d shift the rules back. I felt like I’d been inadequate, and like they were my kids, not ours.

I’m not really one to cater much to feelings. Though I’m sure a therapist would tell you that they are “valid” feelings, that doesn’t mean they need to be acted upon.

Now, when he returns, in an effort to avoid the destructive nature of reentry I leave. I greet my husband as I typically would, but for that first full day I find errands to do, or tennis matches that must be played. I leave my husband with his children and the trio enjoys one another for a day. I don’t tell him he’s doing it wrong, and I’m not in the room for a day where he’s fairly certain I’ve done it wrong. On day two I rejoin the family, and we are a family again, no fighting, and everyone is happy to be together.

He comes home tomorrow night, Monday is Yom Kippur. There will be reeentry coupled with fasting. This I’m not ready for.

Heh, I opened up my email and the topic for September is “Me Time”. I thought, “ooh I’d love to write about that, me time is so important.”

Then I got busy with my me time, so I never got around to a proper post. I exercise, it’s a non negotiable part of my day. If I don’t exercise, I don’t sleep well, if I don’t sleep I cry. I don’t cry like whimper either, I cry in great big sobbing gusts of snottiness peppered with I hate my lifestyle.

So me time matters.

Now if September would just slow down, stop playing cruel tricks on me and allow me more than 42 minutes a day I’d be very appreciative. Right now, me time has turned into we time, and I’m chasing kids.

I could resent it, but I’m opting to embrace it, because any minute they might not want to be with me.