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.

Be the Ball

Today I spoke with two of my closest friends in New York who both gave birth at the same hospital, one on Monday and one two weeks ago. After hearing each of their labor stories in great detail, I am really starting to reconsider my issues with only children. Does Mr. Monk really need a sibling to learn how to share? Won't they teach him that in preschool?

Speaking of preschool, I was basically told by three different mommy friends this week that I am woefully behind in the application process. Say what? How difficult could the applications be? My son doesn't do or say anything yet. That's why he needs to go to preschool! Is the fact that he has blond hair when both his parents are brunettes "what makes him special?" Are the school visits code for interviews? I know I should, but I just can't be bothered to care about the preschool competition. When he drops out of high school to run a meth lab, it'll all come back to this moment.

Speaking of bad mommying, I realized yesterday that there is a reason that parents of young children tend to schedule their activities around their kids' naps. I used to think it was so annoying when my friends couldn't ever do anything during nap time, like it was the holiest of holies. I mean, who's in charge here? Ah, that was back in the days when my baby would sleep anywhere, stroller, car seat, wheelbarrow. But, when I met someone yesterday smack in the middle of Mr. Monk's nap time, I found myself in a world of pain. No coffee date was worth having him scream himself to sleep in the stroller only to wake up thirty angry minutes later or the general surliness he exhibited the rest of the day, including two of the longest 15 minute car rides ever. We had carguests and Mr. Monk decided to treat them to his best impression of a drowning cat. My friend I sang "The Wheels On The Bus" and "Old MacDonald" more times than I could count. For some reason, he finds my screetchy voice soothing (I actually think I saw my friend wince). So, from now on, I can no longer plan to leave the house between the hours of 10:30 am and 1:30 pm. The shorter, late afternoon nap be damned, Mama needs to play.

Speaking of playing, today was my husband's birthday and mine is on Sunday. Leos unite! We're having ourselves a partay at a friend's bar on Saturday. Sadly, 10 month olds are not invited.

Albeit with more hair

Recently I was chatting with a friend who just adopted a dog. As we were discussing what's awesome and what's awful about puppyhood, I realized that raising a dog is perfect training for raising a wild baby. To wit:

You clean up their shit constantly--especially in the beginning. Now at least the dog poops outside. Tony was far easier to house train then I imagine our crazy little monkey will be. Maybe I should have done elimination communication (this one mama had her 6-month-old poop into a tupperware bin in the middle of a yoga class!)

Everything goes in the mouth--and they always want what you're eating. My husband made the mistake years ago of enticing Tony to eat his food by giving him a little "topper." So now he won't eat his boring old dog food without some chicken, cheese, bacon, cocaine on top. Mr. Monk is showing the same snobbery towards his baby food. "Puree again? Only with caviar!"

Slobbery wet kisses--unfortunately, neither the dog nor the baby can give a kiss without tongue.

You're so excited when they learn a new trick--the fact that Tony pretty much only knows how to "shake" doesn't bode well for Mr. Monk's college applications.

Food motivated--I treat Mr. Monk's puffs as if they are the juiciest bone ever. Sometimes I'll even throw some in the snack trap so it's like a kong and he's got to work them out. Puffs = food + entertainment.

Brain development--my dog at least knows not to play with knives or dive headfirst off the changing table. Though neither speak much, both are very effective at getting their demands across through barks of varying pitch, duration and volume.

Exercise--they both need to be tired out before they'll nap. Mr. Monk spends much of his day crawling back and forth across the house. And back and forth. Exactly like Tony at the dog park. Sometimes I'll even throw a ball for him to "fetch."

I'm beginning to think that Mr. Monk identifies a little too closely with Tony. His new favorite activity is to race over to the dog food, pull himself up and take the food and sprinkle it out all over the floor. Let's not forget splashing his hands in the water bowl-that's THE BEST! And, just this morning, he figured out how to follow Tony outside...right through the doggie door!

"What?"

Kindness of Strangers

Yesterday was an exercise in resource management. I am not good at resource management.

I had planned to visit a good friend and her fresh new baby in the afternoon. Of course, the standard mom time handicap had me running a good twenty minutes late. Amazingly, I remembered to bring the gift, though I forgot the card. I also forgot to eat lunch and actually managed to do Insanity (first time in a week-rough) so I was starvation central. I wanted to pick up some of these awesome cookies for my friend and then grab some lunch on the way. As I was standing in line at the cookie shop (and helping myself to some samples, thankyouverymuch), I realized that I didn't have my wallet. Scrounging through my purse, I found $8 and a million pennies. At that point, I was all in on the cookies and too lazy/late to head home. The woman pushed out a baby, I thought she deserved some good cookies.

Minus the $6 spent on the half dozen, I had $2 left to get myself some grub. After driving around for a few minutes and consulting with a homeless person for advice, I stopped at a taqueria, thinking that they must sell dollar tacos. Apparently, non-Taco Bell Mexican restaurants charge at least three whole dollars per taco. Eek! I was starving and noticed that a side of rice was only 95 cents and a side of beans was the same. Unfortunately, when I went to pay there was a difference between the prices of the sides when they are in addition to a meal and when they are the meal itself. The tally was $2.85. Ruh roh. I stood there sheepishly and handed over my $2 and a fistful of pennies and apologized saying, "that's all I have." The two women minding the counter were so kind and told me not to worry. One said I just have to come back and order more next time. How sweet is that? I need to head over there later to drop off a big tip.

And maybe, just maybe, I should stick an emergency $20 in my car like a 16-year-old.

But, at least my friend got her cookies and I got to hold her sweet little babe.

My not so little babe...here comes trouble

Feeling the love

Photos via

This weekend the mister and I took in a whole lotta music, food and fun at the Outside Lands festival in Golden Gate Park. Mr. Monk was not invited. We both were getting a little sick of each other and mutually decided that it would be best for him to spend some quality time with a babysitter. Later this afternoon we're going to sit down and discuss some highs and lows of our time apart.

Some of our friends brought their kids and that was exhausting just to watch. There was some downright amazing eye candy (this is SF after all). We didn't really get the chance to check out many new bands but managed to see a few favorites, including Phish (don't judge, I married a Phishhead), the Meters, the Decemberists and Arcade Fire. Thanks to some friends in the biz, we got these fancy little bracelets that gave us special parking, free drinks and access to private bathrooms..now that is livin'.

We had some friends in town for the festival who were staying at the Claremont Hotel in Berkeley. This is where I will be moving. Please have all my calls and mail forwarded. Spending the afternoon at the pool, with Mr. Monk and his new friends (the kids of our friends!) and knowing that they clean the pee out of the kiddie pool during each of the regularly scheduled "10 minute breaks"...now that is livin'.



When I visited my home away from home, Whole Foods, this morning, I experienced the realization of my biggest nightmare/dream. The cashier recognized me! As I was checking out she said, "where's the baby today?" Gah! I started laughing and said I was wondering when I would be called out on my constant visits. She replied, "oh yeah, we know all the regulars." Being recognized for spending an inordinate amount of time per week at a grocery store...I don't know what that is.

Hear me roar

Well, there goes that theory that you can't get your period while breastfeeding. I am a woman now. Again. And so far it's really not that bad. I almost didn't even notice that I was menstruating (could a more awful word exist? I still have trouble pronouncing it, over 20 years after it became a regular feature in my life). Once you birth a baby using a tampon takes on a whole lot less importance. Though I am relieved that I can stop spending my non-income on pregnancy tests now. It'll be nice to have the whole "that time of the month" excuse again to buffer my everyday craziness.

Becoming reacquainted with my womanhood has made me think about how much more women have to deal with than men. Let's have a little recap, shall we?

1. Aunt Flo-bleeding for 4-7 days per month. Enough said.

2. High heels-I don't care how much cushioning a shoe has, your feet will hate you at the end of the night.

3. Bikini waxes-and we have to pay for the privilege.

4. Catcalls-I've never heard anyone say that they met over a wolf-whistle.

5. Pregnancy-clearly it would be the end of the human race if men had to carry around a growing parasite for 9 months.

6. Birth-whether surgical, natural or underwater, it still hurts like hell.

7. Breastfeeding-while they may go back to their former activities, your breasts will never be the same.

8. Cleaning duties- why is it that when my husband cooks, I clean and when I cook, I clean?

9. Less pay-even after all these years.

Then again, we get to talk about our feelings.

All the single ladies

Why is it that for the two days that daddy is off with friends pretending he's back in college, Mr. Monk decides that he wants to start the party an hour earlier than normal? When we normally don't see each other until 7:30, a 6 am wake up cry seems downright uncivilized (as does my decision to stay up till nearly 1 am last night. Stupid kindle and your easy-in-bed-reading ways). Yes, yes, I realize I am a lucky duck that the baby is normally a champion sleeper. Of course, because he woke up too early, he's been acting like he's getting his period all day. Just whiny, bratty and maybe a little bloated.

I am not cut out for single motherhood.

Speaking of single motherhood, I am currently reading a very witty, touching and thoroughly engaging (see idiotic sleep time above) book on the subject called "Operating Instructions," by Anne Lamott. It's a memoir capturing her son's first year and the most honest book on motherhood I've ever read. So honest that the author admits to wanting to leave her screaming baby out on the front porch all night to test his survival instincts. I too have wondered how Mr. Monk would fare on his own in those wee hours of the first few months. The book conjures up moments that are in turn hilarious, frustrating and incredibly beautiful--pretty much exactly like raising a child.