Falling apples

This morning I walked into Target just as a mom and her 8/9 year old son were walking out, fighting.  As we reached for the same door, I overheard the mother say, "well, that's why you're not getting a toy, because you're a GODDAMN ASSHOLE."  Looking back on it now, I almost wish I had said something to her.  Of course, she probably would have decked me. 

The saddest part was that the son didn't look at all hurt or surprised.  I'm sure he hears far worse at home.  When I told my mother, who was a social worker for twenty years, she said I probably should have reported her to the police for verbal abuse.  How terrible for this poor boy to be publicly shamed by the very person who should be providing unconditional love.  I can't imagine that will bode well in his future.  My new parenting goal is to never call my son an asshole.  At least not to his face.

Mamas and money

pic via Jezebel

I came across this article yesterday and found it fascinating and frightening.  While there are some slight differences in the European mentality with respect to materialism/spending/savings, it really resonated with me.  Given that I haven't been working for the past year and a half, I do find myself spending less and less on shopping excursions that are solely for my benefit.  I wish the same were true about my Whole Foods adventures.  Back when I had my own salary, I wouldn't think twice about popping into a store on my lunch hour just to pick up something pretty.  Now, whenever I do that, I hem and haw and often feel guilty about it.  It's not that I think my husband will judge me or even begrudge my spending, I just don't always want him to know what I consider (or used to consider) to be "necessary."  Granted, I probably derive more than a healthy modicum of satisfaction from looking at all the clothes/bags/shoes in my closet, but I least I know that I worked hard for my money and chose to spend it how I wanted. 

Deep down, I know that the work I am doing now, teaching my son to touch gennnnntly, keeping my floors relatively uncrunchy, washing my husbands thousand pairs of socks, is important and valuable.  Yet, I miss the paycheck.  Lately I have been more seriously thinking about finding some consistent form of employment, be it part-time or consulting.  In addition to the mental stimulation, I am simply excited to earn more than my babysitter!  I started working when I was ten years old as a mother's helper and always had an income, through college and law school.  For a while I joked with the mister that I would take a certain amount of money out of our joint account every month and put it into my personal one, as compensation for services rendered.

Beyond the lack of income, there are deeper issues at play.  I'm no longer in charge of the finances and neither are many of the women I know.  When I was younger and running my household of one, I knew the details of every bank account, credit card, 401K in my name, down to the last dollar.  Now I am relatively clueless about what's happening in our portfolio day to day.  Though I still think of myself as a (mostly) smart, capable woman, I suppose I just find it easier to be ignorant and leave it to my husband.  Just as the author notes, some of my closest friends, lawyers and businesswomen alike are content to let their husbands run all the household money.  Isn't this how women end up broke and homeless when their husband finds a hotter, less nagging second wife?  Or when their husbands have been investing money into failing businesses?  Of course, that's not happening with my husband, right?

It seems like such a cliche and still it's sad but true for so many women who are completely dependent on their spouses, especially those of us who aren't earning a salary.  I'm resolving to start being more aware of what's happening with our money, not just for my sake but for my son's as well.  And, also, to maybe stop nagging.

Sadness!

This here is a real travesty. Tomorrow morning I was supposed to go with a friend and her beauty baby to check out the new DVF line at GapKids. I was ready to throw down to get my kid some uber trendy graphic tees. I've been to the Barneys Warehouse Sale. I know what's up. Only I clearly don't because I just realized right this minute that the DVF line is girls only. Sorry little dudes. And moms of little dudes. Boo! Don't we deserve some fun designer fashions on the cheap too?

Perhaps my son could pull off a wrap dress. There was a little girl wearing a full-on mermaid costume at the playground yesterday. What's a little feminine styling going to hurt? The boy's got great legs! Should I still go or will the pain be more than I can bear?

Typical toddler behavior is technically psychotic

At least according to the family psychotherapist who just gave a talk at my pediatricians office. Confirmation! Finally. The discussion focused around discipline and how to teach your toddler to develop the emotional intelligence to self-regulate his/her behavior. As with any lecture that I've attended in the previous 25 years, I had to take notes to force myself to pay attention. Here are some of the highlights for any of you dealing with your own little psycho:

1. Talk to him/her. Especially about FEELINGS.
2. Establish authority. Not through screaming.
3. Encourage good behavior more than you discourage bad behavior.
4. When your kid is in the throws of a tantrum, this isn't a learning time. Go back and revisit.
5. Do what you say you're going to do or what you say means nothing.

Speaking of good behavior, today I stole from Trader Joe's. Well, technically my son stole, but I opened was the one who opened the package for him, let him eat as we walked around, realized that I didn't have my wallet at the checkout counter, told the cashier that I was sorry but I would check for money in my car, spent a good 20 minutes looking for change in all the dark and pinchy undersides of the seats, didn't have the heart to walk in with $1.15 and 27 pennies, and just went home, defeated. Do you think they'll put our picture up in the window?

So last night I decided to get all sorts of exotic and made a chicken fried rice stir fry for dinner. Fried rice! At my house! Good thing I have a wok for just such an occasion. Or for making eggs. Everything is more fun in a wok. Anyway, here's the recipe I used for anyone craving an msg fix. I actually used way, waaaaaaay less soy sauce than the recipe calls for-1/3 of a cup seemed a bit crazytown to me. I'm already concerned about our salt intake ever since I started noticing how much sodium is in the foods I buy for the toddles. It's insane how these "kid-friendly" snacks have more salt than the adult versions. I also added zucchini, red pepper, shallots, honey, ginger and some fresh-squeezed orange juice/flesh for some depth of flavor. Next time I intend to undercook the rice a bit as it would have tasted even better with a little crunch.


Happy frying!

You know where to find me

OK folks, now that the great pukefest of '12 has subsided, it's time to get serious on ye olde blog. I have to make some major decisions. About my closet. My new walk-all-the-way-in-and-kind-of-turn-around-closet!! I mean...this should make the months of dragging my baby and our soiled undies to the laundromat a whole lot less painful. We didn't really set out to create a bigger closet, but we had some extra space due to the renovations and, voila, I am appeased. Personally, I think it's all a ploy on my husband's part to buy some more time in SF.

It's hard to imagine that once it's done I won't have to wear the same three outfits because I will actually be able see what's in my wardrobe. You don't even want to know what's going on in my current closet. While technically a barely there walk-in, there are so many clutterings and crappings all over the floor that it's more of a lean-in. If you looked at my closet I think you'd be scared for my sanity and my baby's well being. It's creepy and smelly in there. I'm not sure how it got this bad, but it's pretty much the opposite of the rest of my home. I'm a neat freak and have to constantly straighten up so that everything is just so. But, of course, I have my dark, ugly secret closet where I shove it all in and hope for the best. No wonder most of my shoes barely make it out alive after their first year inside.

Naturally, I put off the design until the absolute possible last minute and am now trying to become a quasi architect overnight so I can draw out what I want. The fact that the space is actually kind of small and we can't use all the walls makes it a little less complex, but still. I'm trying to remember how to make those three dimensional boxes that I used to think were so cool in the third grade. Here are some of my pinterest faves to inspire me. Too bad my whole bedroom would fit into these rooms.

Via

Via

Via

Dog Days of Denim

Maybe we need to start from a different baseline

So yesterday I went through the joy of shopping for new jeans. I find jean shopping to be second only to bathing suit shopping in the humiliation department. I spent the last week fighting my husband's suggestions to go get "some jeans that fit." Finally, I caved realizing that at least I'd get some new jeans out of the horror show. Although he doesn't seem to care about any other items of clothing, Mr. Schneed is compelled by a greater force to comment on every single pair of dungarees* I own.

It all started a few months ago with some confusion on the part of my body and my wardrobe as to what fits post-baby. While my pre-baby clothing is in theory the same size as before, in reality much of it has been stretched out due to my refusal to wear maternity gear for much of the pregnancy. So...those pre-pregnancy jeans now look both tight and saggy at the same time. Sexy!

Although I've been buying new jeans every few months since having Mr. Monk, I've also been losing weight slowly but steadily. Other than boyfriend jeans, which those of us with hips can't rock without looking like a dock worker, most jeans look better fitted. Therefore, most of my jeans look a little not good.

One of the friends I saw in NYC who has a four month old baby asked me when she's likely to get back to her old body. As I was saying that it takes a (looong) while, she turned to me and wondered aloud if I was at my old self yet. Well, clearly I must not look it! Apparently, everything on the body does not just go back to the way it was before. Even if you're at the same weight or lower, things settle and hang and jiggle differently. Fun times. But, I birthed a baby, and I'll be proud of my body no matter what. (And I'll keep reminding myself of this on the beach next month).

As for the jeans, unfortunately, there is only so much they can do for the shape, length and size of the legs, hips and butt they contain. Too bad there's no store that sells some newer, firmer models.

*My mom cannot call them jeans. Once dungarees, always dungarees.

Read this and thank me later

How cool is Mindy Kaling? I used to read her old blog, Things I Bought That I Loved, in the yesteryears of the mid 00s. Back in my non-profit lawyer days, I was so jealous of her Hollywood budget. Girl is damn funny and I definitely bought a few things per her hilarious suggestions. Her book, "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)" came out a few days ago and I'm already 68% through it (ever since I got a kindle, I no longer think in page numbers). I haven't laughed this much while reading a book since the first time I read "Me Talk Pretty One Day" (David Sedaris, I heart you big).

Seriously folks, if you're looking for a good time, read this book. Even though she's famous and a successful tv writer and actress, it's so easy to relate to her merciless stories about camp horrors and jobless struggles post-college in New York. You feel like you're chatting with her over coffee and cookies as opposed to lying in your bed laughing so hard that your husband gets irrationally angry at you for having such a good time without him. I now want to move to LA and stalk Mindy. We'd totally be besties, assuming she's into a whiny mom and her even more whiny baby.

Check out the recently revived shopping tips section on her website.

Mrs. Schneed Finds The Good!

At Thursday night's Rosh Hashannah dinner with good friends, the hostess asked us each to reflect on how we want to better ourselves or the world in the coming year. The ages at the party ranged from Mr. Monk (almost one!) to mid forties, with a good number of four- and five-year-olds mixed in there. As the rounds of "cleaning my room" and "listening to Mommy" were heard, I started to wonder how easily I could enhance the world or myself. Shouldn't I be already be striving to do that every day in some way? How else could I teach my son to value life if I wasn't actively trying to improve it? Maybe it was the sense of community and love in that room, maybe it was the wine, but I had an epiphany that I want to share with y'all. This is it! This blog is going to be part of my betterment project. Instead of just babbling on about how cute my baby is (quite) and the latest weather in SF (gorgeous), I will do that AND write about at least one thing a day that you can do/see/make/experience that will either improve your life or the life of those around you.

From now on I am dedicating some space in every blog's stream of consciousness ramblings to finding the good.

I figured it might be best to start with the familiar. I've been doing a lot of shopping lately (must stop), so why not combine the impetus to do good with the desire to look good. Here are three retail companies that really try to make the world a better place:

TOMS--I just recently bought my first pair of TOMS (and I call myself a San Franciscan...). The company was founded on such a simple concept--for every pair of shoes purchased, a pair will be donated to a child in need. Just think of what could be accomplished if more entrepreneurs thought this way. Plus, the shoes are darn cute and comfortable. My husband looks all hipster in his grey ones. Even better, tiny Toms!



Warby Parker--So, my eyeglasses do not get a lot of time out in the sun. I wear them exclusively at night and in my house. Never liking myself in glasses, I always think I should buy a cool pair and find the right look to give my eyes a break from contacts. Thanks to Kathy at Foodebia, I learned about this cool, quirky eyeglass shop that a) offers attractive rx glasses for less than $100! and b) partners with a non profits to provide one pair of glasses to someone in need for every pair sold. Win win! I'm excited to get myself some once my shopping hiatus is over. In the meantime, I may just have to test a few out through their smooth home try-on program.



Baby Eggi--These baby/kiddo clothes are stylish, soft and sophisticated. Buying the adorable threads for your adorable ones is totally and completely justified by knowing that 20% of the net proceeds go to a partnering charity benefiting children and families. The company was started by two sister moms and an LA tattoo artist to the stars designs the artwork featured on their tees. Coolio. Best of all, some of my favorite pieces were in the sale section.

Sliding doors

I am leading a double life. These past few days in London I have been mostly on my own as my husband attends a business conference. Wandering around neighborhoods, popping into shops, ordering meals for one and generally doing whatever I want, whenever I want has been marvelous (or marvy as they'd say here). I feel strangely like myself again. My old self. The pre moving to San Francisco, pre marriage, pre baby, pre me now self. And, I like it.

Without your baby around, you don't always have to talk about your baby. While the hub and I have the "I wonder what Mr Monk is doing right now" conversations about 30 times per day, no one else here cares. Which is just fine by me. As much as I enjoy being the source of nourishment, entertainment and overall contentment for my wee one, I am appreciating the reminder that I have other interests. Such interests mostly involve shopping and gawking at the pretty, pricey pieces. But, I did manage to check out the Tate Modern today. London is undergoing a face lift in preparation for its coming out party at the Summer 2012 Olympics. It seems the entire city is under constant construction and improvement. A little nip here, a little tuck there. The Tate, already a glorious museum, is in the midst of a major transformation and even has its own cool cranes.


These few days are a lovely little respite from mommyworld. I'm sure come Saturday I'll be pushing people out of my way to jump off the plane and grab my bebe, but until then I'm going to enjoy being just me. The me who has to force herself not to buy her son the most adorably British outfits because no.

(School) Supplies

When I was a kid, I used to get so excited about fall. Fall meant a new school year, which meant new outfits for school. I would plan out the first week's wearings in my head and obsess over the slightest changes. Even though I am far (decades, eek!) beyond those days now and don't even have an office to go into anymore, I still crave some new fall classics. Mr. Monk has been pleading with me lately to update my look. Can't be cramping his style, yo.

Living as I do in a city where the temperature hardly ever leaves the 57-67 degree range, having a go to lightweight coat is KEY. Unfortunately, my black not too warm, but just warm enough coat up and died on me last "winter." So, I'm in the market for a new perfect coat that can carry me through the faux seasons that make up life in San Francisco. I *think* I may have just found it. Thanks to a tip off from A Cup of Joe, I discovered the beauty of EmersonMade. I'm in love, y'all!

Check out my new best friend...





Bring on the fog!

Thou Shall Not Covet

Today when I was getting my hair done (everyone deserves a blowout for her birthday), I read "People" magazine cover to cover. Something about a beauty salon makes me crave celebrity gossip. I just had to know how Sandy Bullock got her life back on track--short version: she loves being a mama (and I think she got extensions).

I happened upon a picture of Jennifer Aniston and her new man, whom I will always think of as the premature ejaculator from Sex & The City, looking quite fetching.

She was carrying this purse:



And, she has it in brown!


I want! In black, preferably.

Too bad it's $4,000. While I am quite a shopper, there's no way I can pull that rabbit out of my hat. I met Jen once years ago when I was in law school and working at an entertainment law firm in LA. She was a client of the firm and seriously could not have been nicer. This was back in the Brad days, so I got to say hi to his hairy self too. I completely forgot about that five minutes of my life until I started writing this. Anyway, do you think maybe if I call her up and explain how much I like the bag she might just give me one? She has two! I'd even take the brown.

What Do People Do All Day?

I cannot stop watching "The Shawshank Redemption" even though I've probably seen it five times. Even more pathetic, I just wikipediaed "The Shawshank Redemption" to make sure that it ends the way I think it ends. Now I really want to go to Zihuatanejo. A friend spent her honeymoon there and said it was perfection. We went to Cabo last year when I was newly pregs and couldn't drink. Bad planning. Cabo without cerveza or tequila is no divertido. We also managed to catch the only two days of rain out of the whole year. Still, we were so excited about the baby news that we couldn't help but tell every single waiter/waitress/taxi driver/absurdly drunk college student who offered to buy us shots at cabo wabo.

My poor husband had food poisoning today. I certainly felt bad for him but who felt bad for me? I couldn't get the diarrhea song out of my head all damn day! Thankfully, he's feeling better now and is only a very mild shade of green. What does Angelina do when Brad gets food poisoning after eating questionable vegan food?

A FF just sent me a link to Suri's Burn Book. Out of the mouth of babes.

How did I manage to spend nearly $200 at Babies R Us today when a) I hate that store and b) I already own every known baby gadget. I'm on my third thermometer people. Clearly I need help. I managed to completely forget the reason I went there in the first place and had to go back in after heading to my car, looking at the windows in the daytime glare and remembering that I wanted a window shade to protect Mr. Monk's sweet paleness from the scalding sun. Now, how long will it take me to remember to install the shade?

Let The Games Begin

Imagine you are walking down a sunny block in the middle of New York City on a holiday weekend. The streets are almost deserted and you are sticky and happy after basking in the sun’s glory in Central Park for a few hours. You drank a beer wrapped in newspaper and ate berries purchased that morning at the Union Square farmer’s market. All in all, a fairly spectacular afternoon.

Now, picture this blissful scene gone horribly awry when you look down at your beautiful baby giggling in his stroller with his hands covered in shit. Yes, shit. His own shit, mind you, but that hardly matters. Apparently, somewhere between Park and Madison, my little love let out a gigantic poop that was no match for his diaper. The waste burst through both sides and left a nasty little puddle in his stroller that Mr. Monk was busy exploring with his fingers.

After my head exploded, I pulled the breaks on the stroller, grabbed the baby and immediately began the clean up process. Spreading the changing pad out on the middle of the sidewalk, I went to work trying to contain the damage before the fingers made their inevitable way into his mouth. Using every wipe I had, I managed to salvage the hazmat contamination. Unfortunately, I had gotten a little too comfortable in believing that Mr. Monk was past the blow out stage and left an extra outfit at home. Clearly I was not a girl scout. Given that it was about 90 degrees out, I figured we had about ten minutes before the smell of his stained onesie became unbearable. After wiping up the outfit and the stroller as much as I could, I came to the only logical conclusion that one could while walking with a shit-stained baby on 62nd street—let’s go shopping!

As we walked into Bloomingdales, I instinctively knew that Mr. Monk had orchestrated this whole fiasco just so that he could be in a giant store full of ladies. Apparently, everyone who didn't leave town for July 4 was in full on shopping mode. Thankfully his cute smile allowed the other elevator occupants to momentarily forget the foul odor coming from below. The salesladies took pity on me and gave me an extra 20% off the sales price for the snazzy new ensemble. Not the best way to get a bargain, but not the worst either.

While changing him in the bathroom, I met a woman who was trying to convince her 3-month-old that her breast and the milk therein was far more interesting than the wall he was busy staring at. As I was washing the poop off the stroller, I was telling her how much fun parenting is now. And it is, even on the shittiest days.

Damn you, Isaac Newton

I saw "Bridesmaids" this week. And I laughed hard. But, mostly, I couldn't wait to get out of the theater to look up Kristen Wiig's age because she was rocking some serious wrinkles and do I look that old?! Her character was definitely supposed to be a bit haggard and she was more than a tad on the skinny side, but I just kept thinking that I hope she's older than I am. She is. Phew. Skin aside, she was pretty damn awesome in the movie and more power to her for writing a funny movie for the femmes. But, ever since the matinee, I can't stop thinking about my face and how it's falling. Is it time to freeze time with Botox?

Some of my friends back in New York regularly indulge and have been for years. Out here, I imagine people would frown on Botox, unless it was organic. Most of the women I know in SF seem to embrace their wrinkles and hardly even wear makeup to cover them up. Today, however, I ventured into Neiman Marcus and saw a whole other world of ladies. On a Thursday afternoon at about 3 pm, the high society gals come out to play! I saw many a tightened neck, tucked eye and implanted cheek. I wandered over to the La Mer counter to check out the ridiculously priced creams. I pretended to be interested in spending $135 on 1 oz of cream and scored myself a sample. Based on my calculations, the .11 oz sample is worth about $15. Nice!

I am still at the stage where I think I just need to find that magic cream--the Today show was all about the Oil of Olay Regenerist Cream this morning. Botox, Restalyn or any other fillers kind of creep me out. Are they just gateway drugs and, once you go down that road, you're soon wanting a face/butt/breast lift? The idea of having my face cut off and lifted, even 30 years down the line, sounds rather extreme. Maybe I should just buy a bigger sun hat.

Oh, and the La Mer cream seems almost identical to that thick Nivea spackle that you can buy for $5 at any drugstore. Perhaps someone should tell the lunching ladies at Neiman.