Her new thing is identifying red lights and green lights. Do you know how many stoplights there are in Studio City? Neither do I, but Sadie is helping to remedy this by helpfully pointing out each one of them.
We've been to the Americana at Brand three times since the holiday season began, and I think we could go every day for the rest of her life and she wouldn't get tired of it. Yesterday morning we met Amy and Narinder, Melanie and Dave for a really nice brunch, because I've been promising myself that I'd start inviting people out for more brunch dates. Afterwards we walked around the Americana, which is what it would look like if Christmas vomited on the lovechild of the Bellagio and Bedford Falls. Narinder got Sadie a balloon shaped like a dinosaur, and there are no words to describe what her mood was like the rest of the day. "Euphoric" comes close.
Okay, now I'm getting into the groove. I was dealing with a lot of anxiety for awhile over the pushing incidents at school, and Sadie's reaction to them. Which was, namely, to not want to be touched in any way by other kids whether it was pushes, hugs or random trips and falls. This is a problem, you know, because toddlers are all about invading the personal space of other people. When I sit and watch the other kids at school I notice little skirmishes happening constantly. Two kids will begin to argue over a toy, and it escalates incredibly quickly. From "Mine!" it goes to "MINE MINE MINE!" and then suddenly someone is smacking someone else. Sometimes there aren't even words first. The teachers intervene, the kids are pulled apart, and not one minute later the whole thing is forgotten and one is playing with the precious toy while the other is elbow deep in play dough.
Except with Sadie, it isn't like that. A kid pulls a toy from her hand, and she stares after them, crestfallen, but doesn't react. A kid pushes her aside on their way to the slide and she reels back in fear, sometimes yelling, "Be careful!" or other times, just bursts into tears.
At least, that's what was happening. Today we went to the Coop, and sat in the bouncy house. I had to be in there with her -- she wouldn't go inside by herself. But as we sat in there, kids came in and kids came out, and they cannonballed into each other at high velocities, and none of it seemed to bother her too much. That all changed, of course, the minute I tried to get out of the bouncy house without her -- she wouldn't have it, and stared at me with tear-filled blue eyes: "Mommy in the bounce house? Come in? MOMMY COME IN THE BOUNCE HOUSE." I'm hoping that means this storm might be passing.
Another nice thing happened, and that was that another of the moms at school chatted with me for awhile about what it's like having a sensitive kid. Her son, Sadie's classmate, is the youngest of four boys and one of the sweetest and most easygoing kids I've ever met. (Footnote: I haven't met many. Kids, that is.) Hearing her refer to Sadie as "sensitive" in such an off-handed way put it into sort of a nice, relaxing perspective. She has four boys, so she would know. Of course, shortly afterwards it put me into a panic. MY CHILD IS SENSITIVE, AND THIS UNIVERSE IS SO HARSH AND UNFORGIVING, HOW WILL SHE COPE??
Aaaanyway. One of the reasons why this post is so incoherent is because Scott has been gone for about ten days now, and he returns tomorrow, and the re-entry is always a little rocky so to be honest, I'm of mixed emotions about it. Here's how Sadie's and my states of mind tend to swing when we're living alone together for more than a week at a time:
DAY 1: Life is normal. Whee!
DAY 2: Hey -- where did Daddy go? I get suspicious looks and some serious attitude from my kid.
DAY 3: Sadie switches from grumpy to extremely clingy, on the off-chance that I, like her other parent, might become prone to long, unpredictable absences.
DAY 4: Okay, now we've settled into a groove. I get adventurous and do a bunch of laundry and cook meals for the following week. We spend the evening giggling.
DAY 5: My back's starting to hurt, and I could really use a full night's sleep.
DAY 6: SO. TIRED.
DAY 7: Sadie is convinced Daddy is never coming home, and when he calls over FaceTime she tends to busy herself with something else. I've crashed out at 9pm the past three nights after drinking too much wine.
DAY 8: When Ana shows up to take Sadie after four days of absence, Sadie is thrilled and I want to hurl myself into her arms and sob with relief. Then I spend the morning in the bedroom in front of the computer, quietly freaking about all the work that hasn't been done and the fact although I did laundry four days ago, I've neglected to actually put it away and now the hamper is already half full again.
DAY 9: Renewed commitment to the task at hand. It's her and me, together in this cold, cold world. (Oh -- and two dogs who need constant attention but haven't been walked in a week). We're both up to the task. We won't cry. We won't back down. We're tough. Invincible.
DAY 10: Oh hey, Daddy's home!
One month later: lather, rinse, repeat.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
New Things
I haven't updated in a few months, so if you happen to stumble back here upon this site and are wondering what's been going on, there are a few little tweaks and changes, but everything else is pretty much the same. I'll be trying to get back into my regular routine of posting weekly or so; there's never a shortage of things to say, only a shortage of time to ponder which of them might be interesting to other people and which could interest only immediately family members, if I'm lucky.
I went back through my old posts and labeled as many of them as I could. That should make it easier to find particular sections if say, you would like to refer some of my posts to parents who are dealing with physical delays like hypotonia. Or maybe you just want to read the post where I utterly spaz about having a nanny who stole from us, or you want to tsk for a few minutes over my ineptitude over finding other mom friends.Well, now you can!
I'll try to post more multimedia here regularly, because that stuff is what I most like to see on other people's baby blogs and it's much more gratifying than wading through fourteen dense paragraphs of text. As I'm as good as my word, I'm inserting this video of my child playing catch with my Dad. They each seem a little baffled by the novelty of the other.
I went back through my old posts and labeled as many of them as I could. That should make it easier to find particular sections if say, you would like to refer some of my posts to parents who are dealing with physical delays like hypotonia. Or maybe you just want to read the post where I utterly spaz about having a nanny who stole from us, or you want to tsk for a few minutes over my ineptitude over finding other mom friends.Well, now you can!
I'll try to post more multimedia here regularly, because that stuff is what I most like to see on other people's baby blogs and it's much more gratifying than wading through fourteen dense paragraphs of text. As I'm as good as my word, I'm inserting this video of my child playing catch with my Dad. They each seem a little baffled by the novelty of the other.
Shove Me, Shove Me
We're at two years and two months now, and let's see...what's going on in life? My kid's personality has bloomed and grown. Half the time, she's a little blue-eyed angel with a softly glowing halo surrounding her strawberry blonde curls. The other half, she's a crazy shitmonster.
School continues to be interesting. Currently she goes twice a week, from 1:30 to 3:30 in the afternoon. Any parent of a kid older than one who's reading this post understands why that is totally crazy. As her naptime gets pushed later and later, she's less and less happy about being woken up to go to school. Nevertheless, to school we must go, and by the time she gets there she's pretty happy. That is, until one of the other children looks at her and decides to let out a little anger.
So, yeah. Scott and I are pretty mellow, and we gave birth to a mellow, pacifistic daughter. Sadie does not like fights. She doesn't like people being angry, period. When you scold her for doing something wrong, her response is to yell "HUG, HUG, HUG" at the top of her lungs and launch herself at you until she's sure that you're too overwhelmed by cuteness to hold a grudge. I love this very much about her, and it's something I treasure and want to encourage and nurture.
Okay, that said? Her peace-loving nature makes her a natural target on the schoolyard, and it's already starting to manifest itself in ways that are going to make life tough for her. Other kids in class have learned that if they want a toy that Sadie's holding, she's not going to fight back. She gets stuff snatched out of her hands routinely; if another kid stakes a claim to something wants, she'll wring her hands and look distressed, but it won't go beyond that. Today, she picked up a bracelet and began to play with it, not realizing that another girl had already claimed that as "hers" (Toddler Rule #17: If I played with it within the last 20 minutes, it's mine). The girl protested, and Sadie jumped and literally hurled the bracelet back in the girl's direction, then scurried off to go squash some play-doh inside a garlic press.
Upside? I secretly suspect the moms in my class are jealous of her good manners. "Oh, how cute," they sigh when she accepts a green plastic necklace from another kid with a heartfelt "THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR THE BEADS." (By the way, she speaks in all-caps now.)
The downside? Well, we've been learning that over the past few weeks. It started with a girl in class who pushed Sadie...just once...just to see what would happen. What happened is that Sadie's lip trembled and she wandered away to complain to the air. After that, it was like open season on the shy kid. She's been pushed a number of times, and when one kid is yelled at and taken away, another comes to take their place.
Last week, I had a gnarly cold, so Scott took her to school. When he came home, he reported that Lady Pushalot had been picking on Sadie, and had received a stern talking to from a teacher. When I brought her in today, I noticed a difference in Sadie's behavior. She walked in hesitantly, looking around constantly. As luck would have it, two boys came barreling up right as we walked in, pushing and shoving each other cheerfully. Her response was to step back in alarm, eyes open wide, hugging her own body. It took her several more minutes to gather up the courage to step into the classroom and make her way to a safe toy.
Watching her make her way ever so cautiously around the room, I found myself thinking about our dog, King. King is ten years old and weighs a whopping eight pounds. He is the size of a very small cat. When he hasn't been groomed recently, he's so short that his stomach fur brushes the ground. When King goes to the dog park, he's surrounded by dogs who weigh literally ten to fifteen times as much as he does.
And yet.
At the dog park, nobody messes with King. He goes about his business, peeing on rocks and whatnot, and if other dogs sniff him he'll respond with a friendly sniff of his own. But if they get too friendly, he's not afraid to give a sharp little snarl -- just something that says, "Dude. STEP OFF." And then they do, and everybody's happy.
So when I watch my daughter in class, I find myself thinking about King, and wishing he could speak Human so he could give my daughter a few valuable classes about standing up for yourself. "Hey -- bald dog. If they get too close and you don't like it, LET THEM KNOW. Don't be afraid. We peaceful little guys have to stand up for ourselves in this crazy, 'roided out world."
But he can't do that, and I can't order her to stand up for herself. So when one of those brawling boys -- let's call him McShovin -- came up to her on the playground today and joyfully pushed her to the ground, causing her to burst into hysterical tears, I felt trapped and hamstrung. I went over to hug her, aware of the temporary hush that had fallen over the yard, but for once I had no idea what to say to make it better. I just kind of stood there, awkward, as a teacher took the offender aside and sternly told him that hitting wasn't okay, that she was going to stop him from doing it.
As she did so, another of Sadie's teachers came up to me. "I want you to tell McShovin that it's not okay to hit Sadie," she said.
"You... want me to tell him?"
"Yes."
She led me and Sadie, still hiccuping with tears, back over to McShovin. He was standing there with the other teacher, looking at Sadie with mild curiosity.
"McShovin, Sadie's mommy has something to say to you."
He didn't want to hear it, and he turned away, but the teacher brought him back to us. His mother was sitting twenty feet away, engaged in conversation with other moms, and I wasn't sure if she could overhear our conversation, but what I did know was at that moment I was being stared at by two teachers and a wide-eyed little boy. Most importantly, my own daughter stood there in silence, looking at her accuser, waiting to see what I would say. And that's why I took a deep breath, looked this kid in the eyes, and said loudly enough for everyone on the schoolyard to hear me:
"McShovin, DON'T. PUSH. SADIE."
Well. I can't say for whom it was more cathartic -- Sadie, McShovin, or me, a thirty-three year old woman who spent more years than she cares to remember getting picked on, taunted and just plain overrun by schoolyard bullies who were always far too intimidating to talk back to. Will it change anything? I hope so, but I'm not sure. If there's one lesson we soon learn as kids, is that relying on your parents to fight your battles only works for a very finite amount of time. But it felt good to do it. And it felt good when, later on, we rode home in the car and I said, "Do you remember when McShovin pushed you today?" and she replied, "IT'S NOT OKAY."
King would be proud.
School continues to be interesting. Currently she goes twice a week, from 1:30 to 3:30 in the afternoon. Any parent of a kid older than one who's reading this post understands why that is totally crazy. As her naptime gets pushed later and later, she's less and less happy about being woken up to go to school. Nevertheless, to school we must go, and by the time she gets there she's pretty happy. That is, until one of the other children looks at her and decides to let out a little anger.
So, yeah. Scott and I are pretty mellow, and we gave birth to a mellow, pacifistic daughter. Sadie does not like fights. She doesn't like people being angry, period. When you scold her for doing something wrong, her response is to yell "HUG, HUG, HUG" at the top of her lungs and launch herself at you until she's sure that you're too overwhelmed by cuteness to hold a grudge. I love this very much about her, and it's something I treasure and want to encourage and nurture.
Okay, that said? Her peace-loving nature makes her a natural target on the schoolyard, and it's already starting to manifest itself in ways that are going to make life tough for her. Other kids in class have learned that if they want a toy that Sadie's holding, she's not going to fight back. She gets stuff snatched out of her hands routinely; if another kid stakes a claim to something wants, she'll wring her hands and look distressed, but it won't go beyond that. Today, she picked up a bracelet and began to play with it, not realizing that another girl had already claimed that as "hers" (Toddler Rule #17: If I played with it within the last 20 minutes, it's mine). The girl protested, and Sadie jumped and literally hurled the bracelet back in the girl's direction, then scurried off to go squash some play-doh inside a garlic press.
Upside? I secretly suspect the moms in my class are jealous of her good manners. "Oh, how cute," they sigh when she accepts a green plastic necklace from another kid with a heartfelt "THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR THE BEADS." (By the way, she speaks in all-caps now.)
The downside? Well, we've been learning that over the past few weeks. It started with a girl in class who pushed Sadie...just once...just to see what would happen. What happened is that Sadie's lip trembled and she wandered away to complain to the air. After that, it was like open season on the shy kid. She's been pushed a number of times, and when one kid is yelled at and taken away, another comes to take their place.
Last week, I had a gnarly cold, so Scott took her to school. When he came home, he reported that Lady Pushalot had been picking on Sadie, and had received a stern talking to from a teacher. When I brought her in today, I noticed a difference in Sadie's behavior. She walked in hesitantly, looking around constantly. As luck would have it, two boys came barreling up right as we walked in, pushing and shoving each other cheerfully. Her response was to step back in alarm, eyes open wide, hugging her own body. It took her several more minutes to gather up the courage to step into the classroom and make her way to a safe toy.
Watching her make her way ever so cautiously around the room, I found myself thinking about our dog, King. King is ten years old and weighs a whopping eight pounds. He is the size of a very small cat. When he hasn't been groomed recently, he's so short that his stomach fur brushes the ground. When King goes to the dog park, he's surrounded by dogs who weigh literally ten to fifteen times as much as he does.
And yet.
At the dog park, nobody messes with King. He goes about his business, peeing on rocks and whatnot, and if other dogs sniff him he'll respond with a friendly sniff of his own. But if they get too friendly, he's not afraid to give a sharp little snarl -- just something that says, "Dude. STEP OFF." And then they do, and everybody's happy.
So when I watch my daughter in class, I find myself thinking about King, and wishing he could speak Human so he could give my daughter a few valuable classes about standing up for yourself. "Hey -- bald dog. If they get too close and you don't like it, LET THEM KNOW. Don't be afraid. We peaceful little guys have to stand up for ourselves in this crazy, 'roided out world."
But he can't do that, and I can't order her to stand up for herself. So when one of those brawling boys -- let's call him McShovin -- came up to her on the playground today and joyfully pushed her to the ground, causing her to burst into hysterical tears, I felt trapped and hamstrung. I went over to hug her, aware of the temporary hush that had fallen over the yard, but for once I had no idea what to say to make it better. I just kind of stood there, awkward, as a teacher took the offender aside and sternly told him that hitting wasn't okay, that she was going to stop him from doing it.
As she did so, another of Sadie's teachers came up to me. "I want you to tell McShovin that it's not okay to hit Sadie," she said.
"You... want me to tell him?"
"Yes."
She led me and Sadie, still hiccuping with tears, back over to McShovin. He was standing there with the other teacher, looking at Sadie with mild curiosity.
"McShovin, Sadie's mommy has something to say to you."
He didn't want to hear it, and he turned away, but the teacher brought him back to us. His mother was sitting twenty feet away, engaged in conversation with other moms, and I wasn't sure if she could overhear our conversation, but what I did know was at that moment I was being stared at by two teachers and a wide-eyed little boy. Most importantly, my own daughter stood there in silence, looking at her accuser, waiting to see what I would say. And that's why I took a deep breath, looked this kid in the eyes, and said loudly enough for everyone on the schoolyard to hear me:
"McShovin, DON'T. PUSH. SADIE."
Well. I can't say for whom it was more cathartic -- Sadie, McShovin, or me, a thirty-three year old woman who spent more years than she cares to remember getting picked on, taunted and just plain overrun by schoolyard bullies who were always far too intimidating to talk back to. Will it change anything? I hope so, but I'm not sure. If there's one lesson we soon learn as kids, is that relying on your parents to fight your battles only works for a very finite amount of time. But it felt good to do it. And it felt good when, later on, we rode home in the car and I said, "Do you remember when McShovin pushed you today?" and she replied, "IT'S NOT OKAY."
King would be proud.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Packing
Things I'll be taking with me on our Hawaii vacation this time around that I have never taken with me on previous trips:
- Five dresses. FIVE. I am not a dress person. Every time I buy a cute summer sundress in Hawaii I come back to LA and think, "This dress is tiny and strapless. I have no business walking around with a strapless bra on anymore." And the dress gets shuttled away to the back of the closet. But this time? All I can think is that if I only have to worry about putting on one garment each day, that's, like, two other garments that I don't need to worry about putting on. And so the dresses are coming out to play. I can wear a bathing suit underneath them, and if the suit is dirty, well, Hawaii is just going to have to deal with either visible bra straps or my unsupported bosoms.
- A carseat that has a telescoping handle and so doubles as a stroller. File this under "things I never knew existed and will use probably once."
- An iPad containing thirty episodes of "Yo Gabba Gabba" and also, for good measure, "Bubble Guppies."
- Just say that out loud. "Bubble Guppies."
- A bag filled with cheap, tacky crap, the sole purpose of which is to amuse a toddler for ten precious minutes at a time. Said cheap items include a booklet of Lisa Frank stickers, a yo-yo, a set of plastic car keys with Disney princesses on them, and Post-Its.
- A base tan, because my old philosophy of staying the hell out of the sun has been difficult to maintain this summer.
- An attitude of grim determination as I ready myself for a five-hour plane flight, which I'm POSITIVE will be followed by ten days of sheer bliss as Scott, Sadie, Yayo, Yaya, Auntie Kate and I enjoy spending time together in paradise.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Merrily, Merrily, Merrily
Yeah, I can't keep up.
I get now why moms keep blogs throughout their kid's first year. It's freaking boring. Nap, eat, poop, nap, make a funny face, nap again.
But I can't keep up anymore. Every time Sadie does something awesome I think, "I should put that on the blog." But then she does something else. And then fifty more awesome things. And then she says, like, forty-six words in a row, and sings the words to "Don't Stop Believin'" and writes out Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech on her place mat in blue crayon.
I'm just kind of following her, in awe. Occasionally I stop to take video, but she's too smart to fool now, and immediately stops whatever cute thing she's doing to give me a look like "Bitch, please." Oh yeah, swearing is another thing she does. That's my fault. She knows "crap" and "Oh, shit." I can't tell her not to say them, because that only makes her say them more. I can't punish her for saying words that, to be honest, Mommy says all the time and couldn't stop saying if my life depended on it.
Then again, I'm probably failing all of the mom classes, and I don't worry about it anymore. I don't helicopter -- I don't have to, because I have a weird kid who enjoys sitting in one spot at the park, sifting sand through her fingers and occasionally noting, "I found trash." I fully endorse getting kids drunk on planes for overseas flights. I gave her a sip of my wine tonight because I thought it was funny. She asked for another sip but I said no, so please don't call CPS on me.
We have an amazing kid. She is hilarious, insightful and wise. When we have conversations over her head, she retains bits and tosses them back at me days later. When I sing a song in her presence, she remembers the cadence and the melody, even if the meaning of the words themselves are lost on her. Similarly, she can read a familiar book to herself and speak the lines exactly the way I say them. She is paying attention, all the time.
The thing I like best about being a parent is teaching her something new and watching as she files it away in her brain to retrieve for later. I taught her that the man on my Labyrinth tee shirt was named David Bowie, and now she knows that David Bowie is his name. She asks me what something is in passing, and I'll answer her absently: "shampoo." The next day she'll ask me again, but by the time I answer "shampoo," she'll have focused on something else. But the third time, I'll pause and point to it, wait until she's really paying attention, and I'll say, "this is shampoo. It's called shampoo." And wonder of wonders, the next time she sees my bottle of shampoo, she knows that it's called shampoo. And will, forever, until the end of time, know that this thing is called shampoo. That blows me right the hell away.
Sure, the responsibility wigs me out. Wouldn't it wig you out, too? It should. Everything you say is of ultimate importance. You can tell them anything, and they will believe it. If you tell them that a wind blew the door closed or that Tootie from "Yo Gabba Gabba" lives under the bed and snuck out to slam the door before running back under the bed to hide, these explanations are equally plausible. One may cause more nightmares than the other.
I'm going to stop trying to catalogue everything that happens, and just settle back to enjoy the ride.
I get now why moms keep blogs throughout their kid's first year. It's freaking boring. Nap, eat, poop, nap, make a funny face, nap again.
But I can't keep up anymore. Every time Sadie does something awesome I think, "I should put that on the blog." But then she does something else. And then fifty more awesome things. And then she says, like, forty-six words in a row, and sings the words to "Don't Stop Believin'" and writes out Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech on her place mat in blue crayon.
I'm just kind of following her, in awe. Occasionally I stop to take video, but she's too smart to fool now, and immediately stops whatever cute thing she's doing to give me a look like "Bitch, please." Oh yeah, swearing is another thing she does. That's my fault. She knows "crap" and "Oh, shit." I can't tell her not to say them, because that only makes her say them more. I can't punish her for saying words that, to be honest, Mommy says all the time and couldn't stop saying if my life depended on it.
Then again, I'm probably failing all of the mom classes, and I don't worry about it anymore. I don't helicopter -- I don't have to, because I have a weird kid who enjoys sitting in one spot at the park, sifting sand through her fingers and occasionally noting, "I found trash." I fully endorse getting kids drunk on planes for overseas flights. I gave her a sip of my wine tonight because I thought it was funny. She asked for another sip but I said no, so please don't call CPS on me.
We have an amazing kid. She is hilarious, insightful and wise. When we have conversations over her head, she retains bits and tosses them back at me days later. When I sing a song in her presence, she remembers the cadence and the melody, even if the meaning of the words themselves are lost on her. Similarly, she can read a familiar book to herself and speak the lines exactly the way I say them. She is paying attention, all the time.
The thing I like best about being a parent is teaching her something new and watching as she files it away in her brain to retrieve for later. I taught her that the man on my Labyrinth tee shirt was named David Bowie, and now she knows that David Bowie is his name. She asks me what something is in passing, and I'll answer her absently: "shampoo." The next day she'll ask me again, but by the time I answer "shampoo," she'll have focused on something else. But the third time, I'll pause and point to it, wait until she's really paying attention, and I'll say, "this is shampoo. It's called shampoo." And wonder of wonders, the next time she sees my bottle of shampoo, she knows that it's called shampoo. And will, forever, until the end of time, know that this thing is called shampoo. That blows me right the hell away.
Sure, the responsibility wigs me out. Wouldn't it wig you out, too? It should. Everything you say is of ultimate importance. You can tell them anything, and they will believe it. If you tell them that a wind blew the door closed or that Tootie from "Yo Gabba Gabba" lives under the bed and snuck out to slam the door before running back under the bed to hide, these explanations are equally plausible. One may cause more nightmares than the other.
I'm going to stop trying to catalogue everything that happens, and just settle back to enjoy the ride.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Moms Baffle Me
I think I'm flunking Mom Friends 101. Warning: this is going to be a bitchy post.
First, let's get this out of the way: I have several absolutely fantastic mom friends -- and one good Dad friend. Sadie has a semi-regular playdate with her buddy Sam, whose parents have been friends of ours for years. We get together and gripe about feeding issues and in-laws and debate how one ought to amuse a toddler on long car rides, and all of that's great. Tomorrow, however, they will become parents to TWINS, in addition to their two-year-old. So our lazy, pleasant afternoon play dates are going to have to be put on hold for awhile.
I have a few other mom friends here and there -- but getting together with them is tough. One just scored a full-time writing position and suddenly she has no spare time anymore, for anything. Our weekly walks around Lake Balboa are no more. Another works in Santa Monica and lives in Hancock Park, which is hell and gone from Studio City, especially in traffic, so play dates have to be carefully coordinated days in advance. A third is great for get-togethers at the LA Zoo, but she and her husband and their daughter went to Europe for most of the summer.
All of this has made me realize an ugly truth: I am not good at making Mom Friends.
A lot of new moms complain about not having mom friends, but eventually they go and find them. I wanted to find some, too. So when Sadie was a few months old, I joined several internet meetup groups for new moms. I went to a couple of meetups. I hated them. These moms were SERIOUS about mommying. They wanted to discuss cloth diapering and sleeping in the family bed and the benefits of homeopathic medicine (hint: there are none) and the difficulties of having two year old twin boys WHO ARE STILL NURSING. Me? I just wanted someone to talk to about what good movies were out (even if we had no time to go see them) and how I couldn't wait to start getting manicures again, and is it really so terrible to have a glass of wine at four in the afternoon, if you're stuck at home and your kid is being extra screamy?
So, the meetup was not my scene. I began scouring kid-friendly places for groups of women who seemed cool, like the kind of women I'd LIKE to spend time with. I had no luck, until one day at The Playroom, I hit pay dirt. A group of women in their 30s, all with nice hair but food and spit-up on their clothes, were chatting and laughing and occasionally checking their email while their cute little kids played in the ball pit. Hey! I like to check my email while my kid plays in the ballpit, too!
I started talking to them immediately, and we hit it off. One, a woman named Michelle, introduced herself as a casting director. It was so refreshing to talk business rather than bottles. These women were like me -- they had help once in awhile so they could work and have their own lives, but they also loved being moms and spending time with their kids. When they left, Michelle gave me her phone number and told me to text her to set up a park play date for her daughter and Sadie.
Of course, I waited three days to text her. I didn't want to seem desperate.
When I did, it took her a day to respond. We finally set up a time and place, but as it often happens with baby play dates, it felt through -- Sadie had a bad morning and her nap ran long. I canceled and suggested we reschedule.
I never heard from her again. Sigh.
Being broken up with by a new mom friend feels bad, but it wouldn't be the last time that happened. I think my desperation is starting to show. When Sadie hit it off with another girl who attended the same physical therapist, I pretty much overwhelmed her mom with invitations to come over and play. We did a couple of times, but I haven't heard from her in months.
My mother-in-law swears that the preschool years are the era in which you start making your lifelong mom friends. I'm skeptical. I've met most of the moms that Sadie will be going to preschool with -- they're the same moms whose kids are in her toddler group right now. A couple of them are nice; others are, to be perfectly blunt, snobbish and unfriendly. I've yet to find a connection with any of them.
So what to do? My new tactic is just to wait for my pre-existing friends to start having kids already. Come on, girls -- we're all in our 30s now. Don't leave a bitch with a toddler hanging!
First, let's get this out of the way: I have several absolutely fantastic mom friends -- and one good Dad friend. Sadie has a semi-regular playdate with her buddy Sam, whose parents have been friends of ours for years. We get together and gripe about feeding issues and in-laws and debate how one ought to amuse a toddler on long car rides, and all of that's great. Tomorrow, however, they will become parents to TWINS, in addition to their two-year-old. So our lazy, pleasant afternoon play dates are going to have to be put on hold for awhile.
I have a few other mom friends here and there -- but getting together with them is tough. One just scored a full-time writing position and suddenly she has no spare time anymore, for anything. Our weekly walks around Lake Balboa are no more. Another works in Santa Monica and lives in Hancock Park, which is hell and gone from Studio City, especially in traffic, so play dates have to be carefully coordinated days in advance. A third is great for get-togethers at the LA Zoo, but she and her husband and their daughter went to Europe for most of the summer.
All of this has made me realize an ugly truth: I am not good at making Mom Friends.
A lot of new moms complain about not having mom friends, but eventually they go and find them. I wanted to find some, too. So when Sadie was a few months old, I joined several internet meetup groups for new moms. I went to a couple of meetups. I hated them. These moms were SERIOUS about mommying. They wanted to discuss cloth diapering and sleeping in the family bed and the benefits of homeopathic medicine (hint: there are none) and the difficulties of having two year old twin boys WHO ARE STILL NURSING. Me? I just wanted someone to talk to about what good movies were out (even if we had no time to go see them) and how I couldn't wait to start getting manicures again, and is it really so terrible to have a glass of wine at four in the afternoon, if you're stuck at home and your kid is being extra screamy?
So, the meetup was not my scene. I began scouring kid-friendly places for groups of women who seemed cool, like the kind of women I'd LIKE to spend time with. I had no luck, until one day at The Playroom, I hit pay dirt. A group of women in their 30s, all with nice hair but food and spit-up on their clothes, were chatting and laughing and occasionally checking their email while their cute little kids played in the ball pit. Hey! I like to check my email while my kid plays in the ballpit, too!
I started talking to them immediately, and we hit it off. One, a woman named Michelle, introduced herself as a casting director. It was so refreshing to talk business rather than bottles. These women were like me -- they had help once in awhile so they could work and have their own lives, but they also loved being moms and spending time with their kids. When they left, Michelle gave me her phone number and told me to text her to set up a park play date for her daughter and Sadie.
Of course, I waited three days to text her. I didn't want to seem desperate.
When I did, it took her a day to respond. We finally set up a time and place, but as it often happens with baby play dates, it felt through -- Sadie had a bad morning and her nap ran long. I canceled and suggested we reschedule.
I never heard from her again. Sigh.
Being broken up with by a new mom friend feels bad, but it wouldn't be the last time that happened. I think my desperation is starting to show. When Sadie hit it off with another girl who attended the same physical therapist, I pretty much overwhelmed her mom with invitations to come over and play. We did a couple of times, but I haven't heard from her in months.
My mother-in-law swears that the preschool years are the era in which you start making your lifelong mom friends. I'm skeptical. I've met most of the moms that Sadie will be going to preschool with -- they're the same moms whose kids are in her toddler group right now. A couple of them are nice; others are, to be perfectly blunt, snobbish and unfriendly. I've yet to find a connection with any of them.
So what to do? My new tactic is just to wait for my pre-existing friends to start having kids already. Come on, girls -- we're all in our 30s now. Don't leave a bitch with a toddler hanging!
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