Potential careers
for Townes (a short list based on his current interests):
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As part of Mighty Messy Mama, I’m planning a monthly post where I share some quick, down and dirty reviews on books I’m reading. In terms of format, I hope to do two book reviews a month – one on purely recreational reads and one more parenting-focused. I’ll announce the books I am reading each month early, in case anyone wants to read along and offer feedback. I am hoping that as my readership grows, we might even be able to blow this out into an online book club geared toward busy parents but I’m putting the cart before the horse at this point. Baby steps. This month I am reading Far From the Tree for the parental units and Where’d You Go, Bernadette just for kicks. I’m mounting (insert crass, Fifty Shades of Grey joke here) a one-woman campaign to illustrate the fact that literary fiction and “page turner” need not be mutually exclusive. There are so many authors worth reading that are also beach reads. Emily Giffin and Stephanie Meyers don’t need your money, ladies. Challenge yourself to go beyond the top ten lists. It’s not so scary out here.
If you are looking for interesting though not necessarily required reading for moms, two recent reads of mine include Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother and Bringing Up Bebé. Somewhat coincidentally they both cover cultural differences in childrearing. Each book plays into some obvious cultural stereotypes, but I would also say there is value in each just in offering refreshing alternatives (Bebé) or insight (Tiger Mother).
I’ll also share with you books the kids are loving and reads that we want to get for them. In the former category Townes is loving My Big Truck Book as well as a few classics including Ten Apples Up on Top! My Big Truck Book has been an education for me as well. The day I came home and Townes was pointing out the exabater (Excavator), the odor (Front Loader), and the Dump (dump truck)to me was a shocker. My one-year-old was teaching me a thing or two. I knew the day would come when he had knowledge I don’t possess. I did not realize it would happen before he was even out of diapers. Next on my list of books to buy is This Moose Belongs to Me. Because how can a book about a boy and his moose be anything other than awesome?
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Once we were committed
to the bris, things moved pretty fast. My mom and dad were not as shocked by
our temporarily Jewish status as I expected them to be. I think it helped that my
dad was given a special role in the ceremony. Rabbi Greenfeld (not his real
name) did ask that we schedule it as quickly as possible – even though we were
already late to the bris party in terms of the standard regulation (the eight
day rule), he asked that we not be egregious about it and schedule as close to
that magic number as possible. We invited
a few friends over the next Saturday and dove right in.
The rabbi showed up on time and quickly began working the room like Bill Cosby – if Bill Cosby was your slightly inappropriate and goofy Jewish uncle. At first I was a little bit taken aback by all the joshing and Borscht Belt banter, but after it was all over, I realize that his sense of humor did much to diffuse the nervous-nelliness of the new parents and guests. It was a little bit like a magician’s sleight of hand – while we were all looking over HERE and laughing at his bad jokes, he was setting up his work area quickly and professionally, without having to field any questions about pain or cutting or bleeding or babies in pain. We had our list of supplies on hand – nothing terribly mysterious, fairly standard hospital grade gauze and ointment. Some grape wine to be used as part of the ceremony as well.
Rabbi Greenfeld then got the ceremony started. He presided over a short, extremely thoughtful and general blessing that both explained the traditions of the ceremony and gave us a general overview of Judaism.
I want to be respectful here – both of the ritual as well as of Townes’ future feelings on the subject so I am choosing to refrain from sharing the gory details. Let me just say this: the rabbi had promised us his procedure took less than half a minute in total as opposed to a hospital’s standard fifteen minutes, and that his anesthetic of choice – sugar water – was more effective than any hospital local anesthetic. I was dubious going in, but in the end he completely won me over. Not only did it take less than 30 seconds, but other than a small squeak and his first single tear, Townes remained calm. In fact, he went right to sleep post-procedure in Tim’s arms. The rabbi had told us this would be the case (also that he might sleep pretty much round the clock for the next 18-24 hours).
I couldn’t believe how simple and quick the whole deal was. The most uncomfortable moment came not to Townes during the ceremony, but afterwards when my mom tried to hug the rabbi in thanks. Not being well-versed in rabbinical law, none of us knew that he was not permitted to shake a woman’s hand let alone receive the full-body hug she was attempting. His body language cut her quickly off at the pass, and with that small hiccup in decorum, his work was done. He was quickly on his way – off to another bris in the city. I guess the one area in which the hospital would have been preferable to the home circumcision was in cost, If we had chosen to have circumcised T at the hospital, our insurance would have covered it and we would never have been out of pocket. Doing it this way cost us a few bones. But we both felt like it was well worth the pain to our bottom line to save little man the greater pain.
When he left us, we had the feeling that Rabbi Greenfeld was going to be a part of our family for a long time to come. That turned out not to be the case, though it was a testament to how readily he was able to put us at ease in a situation fraught with natural anxiety. He did come by to do a follow-up with Townes a few days after the ceremony. The verdict upon exam? Some of his best work ever! A very fine looking penis! The parents could not help but concur. He is perfect in every way. A year later, long after this episode had started to blur for me a bit around the edges, Townes received a greeting card from the good rabbi on his first birthday. It reminded me of how kind he was to help our family, and also of the fleeting nature of T’s babyhood. Our little man.
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I genuinely was not aware going in to this parenthood gig how many decisions you have to be ready to make – some of them potentially life-changing - before the kid is even born. One week pre-baby delivery, we were still on the fence about circumcision. If we lived in Europe, it would have been an easy decision. I’ll save the political debate for another kind of blogger to tackle – but let’s just say we were sufficiently convinced of circumcision’s optional nature. We were firmly in the natural childbirth camp, and that campsite is populated with an extremely opinionated, if well-meaning group of fleece-clad, makeup-free campers/activists. We found out from our birthing class friends that there are a LOT of procedures done for expediency’s sake in your typical U.S. hospital on newborns. Some of them are unnecessary. Our birthing class instructor shared with us a laundry list of optional procedures the hospital will do as a matter of policy with a newborn and circumcision was right at the top of this list.
Early on, I think we were pretty convinced circumcision was not for us. I realized this choice could make him susceptible to some locker room hazing in middle and high school, but at this point we were still making decisions based on medical necessity (it's super easy to be theoretical pre-birth). I studied up on what percentage of babies still underwent the procedure, and was relieved to see that in California it was on the decline, with only 32% of all little boys being circumcised at the hospital. Of course, this statistic does not take into account the number of babies that undergo circumcision at home during a bris or in a urologist’s office, but at the time I leaped onto that number as all the rationale needed to avoid cutting our little man.
Then of course, after Townes was born, while we were still in the hospital the world’s most reasonable pediatrician told us that while she had no preference whatsoever medically (the research is just about exactly split down the middle on whether the procedure is beneficial or entirely unnecessary) – she always recommended to parents that the little boy “match” his dad. Makes sense. At this point, Townes had already been poked and prodded and had a lot of blood taken so we decided to table the whole circumcision question till later. In the meantime, I did a LOT of online reading on the subject. Basically, I found that if we decided to conform to societal pressures (oh, the drama!) there’s a significant amount of online chatter that extols the Mohel over the surgeon. A Mohel is basically a professional circumciser while a doctor performs the procedure as a very small percentage of his overall practice. Without getting too technical, a surgeon’s whole setup traumatizes the newborn (the over bright lights, the local anesthetic, the longer length of time it takes to perform the procedure) while the Mohel’s setup (at home, sugar water as anesthetic, the efficient expediency) seemed to suggest a much less painful experience. Music to our jittery, first-time parents’ ears.
At our first office visit, Townes’ pediatrician listened to me explain my exhaustive research with the patience of a saint and then finished the exam. As we were leaving the office she handed me a brochure for a local Mohel. I told her I wasn’t Jewish, but that didn’t really seem to faze her. Just call him this week, she advised. I got on the Mohel’s website but couldn’t find anything that would suggest he might perform a circumcision for a couple of non-Jews. So, I decided to call him. My parents were staying with us to help for a few weeks, so I furtively stepped out on the porch that night to call Rabbi Greenfeld (not his real name – you’ll understand why in a minute). The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi. I was wondering if you ever do circumcisions for non-Jews (cringe). We don't need a bris, just your professional expertise (this was me trying to assay his fears of my being some weirdo gentile from Echo Park practicing the worst kind of cultural appropriation. I wanted to add that I was not this sort of annoying personality. I didn’t have a Hindu or Buddhist “phase” when I started taking yoga. Hell, I didn’t even LIKE yoga! I wasn’t trying to co-opt his people’s experience – I just wanted a safe and professional circumcision for my tiny, little son). Luckily, I kept it simple for once.
Rabbi: Just a minute, young lady. I am en route from a bris just now as we speak. Let me get a pencil and paper to take down some information (lengthy rustling of papers). Ok, I’m back. Are you there?
Me: Yes.
Rabbi: (Clears throat loudly and lengthily). Ok. Yes, young lady. Well, here is the thing. You understand we cannot have a bris unless you or your husband is of Jewish descent. Are you or your husband of Jewish descent?
Me: (dejectedly). No. we are not. That’s what I expected. Well, thank you for your time.
Rabbi: Not so fast, young lady. As I said, we cannot have a bris unless you or your husband is of Jewish descent. Are you sure you are not?
Me: I’m sure. We are not Jewish. (I didn't share, but in fact my husband's family is Baptist and mine is about as Roman Catholic as you can get).
Rabbi: Not so fast, young lady. Are you certain?
Me: (Now, starting to feel a bit unsure)…..uh. Yes. I mean my husband’s part Polish so I suppose there is a possibility, somewhere…
Rabbi: Mmmm. I see, I see. Just a second. Wait. What is your background?
Me: Well, on my dad’s side we are mostly Irish and English and on my mom’s side we are mostly Mexican but there is also some Spanish and…
Rabbi: (Interrupting me mid-ramble)….Wait! Wait! This is good! Did you say Spanish?
Me: Well, yes. It’s sort of unsubstantiated though my grandfather’s side of the family claims we were part of Ponce de Leon’s legendary exploratory party to Florida…you know, with the Fountain of Youth and all but I’m a little skeptical and…family folklore...
Rabbi:(Interrupting again). You are for sure a Jew. For sure. You are from Spain? You have Spanish blood? I would say I am 97% sure you are a Jew. I am happy to provide the services you are requesting.
¿Que Paso? Uh, say what? Er…okaaaayyy. Once the deal was done, (a few slightly inappropriate penis jokes later – I kid you not – the guy clearly had a comedian’s soul) I immediately swung from fear of Bris Rejection (caps intentional) to being a little spooked that I had might have been living a lie my entire life. This guy was legit. Is this the underlying, unconscious reason I broke with my Roman Catholic upbringing? I’ve been a Jew all along and just not realized it? Some of the signs were there. I’ve always been interested in Judaism. I love a good Seder dinner. My ambiguous features typically have folks from just about every ethnicity claiming me. Quite a few people over the years have misidentified me as a Jew. Perhaps they were right all along! I did a little research via Wikipedia (where else?) and was somewhat surprised to find that the Rabbi’s overreaching had a pretty undeniable historical precedent. So we set about organizing a bris for Townes. Part 2 tomorrow on how we sold this to my Catholic parents and how the ceremony went (here’s a hint: far better than expected).
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Apps are everywhere. Apps are awesome. No, not apps, short
for appetizers, dad. There are quite a few in the “make my life easier” vein. My
current favorite is RunPee. RunPee gives you a
selection of three to five minute breaks in every movie to optimize your pee
run. The creators of RunPee identify the ideal times in the movie where nothing
funny, important or exciting happens. You also get a synopsis of what you
missed in case you care when you get back to your seat. The app even lets you
know if there are any scenes at the verrry end of the movie after the credits
worth sticking around for. Genius! If I’m
ever able to get back to my old movie-going schedule, RunPee will revolutionize
my film-viewing life.
Here’s the thing. Now that I have the convenience of RunPee on my radar, I’m a little bit irritated that there isn’t an app to show you all of the restaurants in the city that have changing tables in major metropolitan areas. Ok, I’m a lot irritated. There is one app that purportedly shows you all changing tables available in your vicinity, but it relies mostly on crowd sourcing for the content. I just can’t imagine a scenario in which a parent in the throes of a serious diarrhea emergency for example, has the time or inclination to post updates and additions to the content. If you’ve got a baby in diapers, you’re probably not swimming in free time for smartphone updates. If you’ve got a wailing baby in a leaky, poopy diaper? That’s DEFCON 1. That’s a code red. That’s the ninth circle of hell.
The other day, Tim and I took the kids to lunch at a LA fixture, a popular place we’ve never been before. There was a bit of a wait for a table, so I headed to the ladies room to change Daisy. Big shocker. Not only was there no changing table, but there was not even enough floor to put a changing pad on. When T was a baby this scenario would have been frustrating. But we’re used to it now. There are just not a lot of baby friendly places in town. We have two in diapers so you either just learn to deal or you don’t go out. In this case, we just headed for the car. I have changed a lot of diapers in cars. But it’s not ideal.
I’d love to be able to identify restaurants for their diaper changing capabilities/kid-friendliness. Most of them fall far short. When I find a place with a clean, well-lit stall for diaper changes it’s almost embarrassing how happy it makes me. So having said that, I need to give a shout out to Square One Dining in Hollywood. On Fountain, right across from the Scientology Center (Bonus! KOOKOO crazy people watching!) Staff are the requisite attractive actor and actress types you expect to find in LA, service is seriously good. Menu is diverse and delicious. Coffee strong. Bathroom? Heavenly. Large, bright, spotless with a changing table. Seriously considerate – they thought of everything at SquareOne and I will be back with my little monkeys.
Also:
Seriously, Lance Armstrong? and..
Really, Taylor Swift? I guess I'm in the minority but I don't think writing about all of your exes and their bad behavior makes you a tough cookie. It just makes you look super invested in your old boyfriends. And spiteful. Listen to Tina Fey and spend some time on yourself. and...
razzle dazzle!
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You know what’s awesome about toddlers talking? Everything. I can already see the day fast approaching when T will say everything properly. That makes me a little sad.
Stuff Townes says:
This little piggy had ghost beef…
“Agua mountain” instead of the correct (but completely boring) “water fountain”
Thank you, Daisy (said sweetly while yanking away whatever Daisy is holding.)
Papa: (In awe at Townes’ voracious appetite at dinner) Geez, Townes. Where are you putting it?
Townes: (matter-of-factly) In my mouth.
What’s daddy dooin?
Opatus (for octopus)
Townes: (while chasing a ball) “get it get it get it get it. I GOT IT!
And my current favorite:
“Mama funny.” And he really made me work for that one.
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When you realize you are terrible at doing something as traditional and conventional as sending Christmas cards, you either become a person who doesn’t send Christmas cards or, if you’re like me, you come up with what you think is a brilliant, but lazy work-around. A long, long time ago in my less responsible years, I viewed the sending and receiving of Seasons Greetings as a mark of maturity. This view was not without precedent. Both sides of my family took part in the ritual exchange of cards. The great aunts with their spidery, shaky cursive signatures; the grandparents (senders of the most valuable cards, so valued due to the cash that resided within); cousin Yvonne, Aunt Pete, Sis & Jim, Uncle Joe, Uncle Pat, Aunt Inez, etc. etc. When I got out of college, some friends who had been unrepentant hedonists morphed into upstanding citizens almost overnight. The cards were a sign of their grown-up-ness. These were my (mostly married) friends who sent photo cards, the reformed party girls who now replaced passing out in the coatroom with the sending of the annual photocopied “Year in Review.”
The “Year in Review” was a particularly tricky document. Done properly it could be a cheeky, frisky paean to the year we were about to abandon to Father Time, but nine times out of ten people did not do it properly. The spirited, intelligent version was a bit of a unicorn. More often these “Ambersons in 2002” missives, these “Playing with the Paulsons” printouts detailed the minutia and tedium of life with little people in dizzying detail. I Evelyn Wooded my way through several of these babies every year.
I did envy my friends for taking the plunge and becoming grown-ups while I was still struggling to take care of myself. It says a lot about my mentality that I equated holiday cards with adulthood, but there you have it. I spent a few years attempting to be one of these card-sending folk, but always fell far short. My rock bottom was the year I handwrote a note of apology for being so late, sheepishly popping the cards in the mail on January 28th. You read that right. With that, I realized I was fated to never quite hit the mark on Christmas and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Send New Year’s cards instead! And just like that, a new tradition was born. People enjoy receiving a card a week or two after all the Christmas hoopla has ended, and I enjoy not rushing to mail them out. This year, we kept on and carried on. I didn’t send a “Yearly Review” but I kind of wish that I had. I’m not so much a yearly review kind of girl, but if I was…it might look something like this.
January Mom (that’s me) waddled her way though the month, everyone getting very excited to meet the new little peanut. We are nowhere near as prepared for her arrival as we were for Townes’, but we’re pretty sure with one baby moving easily on to toddlerhood that we got this.
February Townes turned one! We had a breakfast celebration with all his friends and a whole mess of pancakes.
March Daisy Jean made her debut. Not only did mom’s obstetrician not make the event, but daddy and nurse pretty much took care of the delivery on their own. Some hapless med students showed up at the last minute to keystone cops it. Mom was not amused.
April Adjusting to life with two babies-Townes adjusting beautifully, mom and dad doing almost as well. Townes experienced his first bouncy tent at Zoe’s birthday party.
May Trip to Phoenix to visit lots of family: Jennifer, Papa and Meema, Aunt Erin, Uncle Steve and the cousins.
June Townes started swimming lessons at the Hollywood YMCA with daddy. The lessons received a lukewarm reception from Townes initially, but he soon took to it…wait for it…well, swimmingly.
July Daddy went camping with Uncle Shane for his birthday. Mom stayed home with kiddos and papa and meema. Daddy had a fun time but it was really hard for him to leave the family.
August Los Angeles hit with a brutal heatwave. We spent a lot of time in the backyard playing in the sprinkler. Sharlie’s wedding (‘twas lovely), visited Bolivar and Damas, Nathanael, Oo-ee, Sal, Kaya and lots of other family. Labor Day picnic and hiking at Letchworth. Enlisted Aunt Kayla in an overnight babysitting gig. Townes having extreme sleep disturbances made it tricky for Gradma and Kayla, but they were troopers and he only vomited once (don’t ask).
September Mabern’s housewarming (the house party to end all house parties with live streaming seen round the world). The Marvins were early arrivals and early departers. Had to get the babies home. Townes got his BIG BED which he immediately adored and immediately started sleeping SO MUCH BETTER. Mom and dad thrilled (to say the least).
October We had an “Up” Halloween theme with somewhat complicated and un-baby-friendly costumes. Adorable for photos, not so fun for kiddos. Mom and dad learned hard lesson and Halloween will be a much more low-tech affair next year. Townes obsessed with all things “truck.” His favorite toys are the “Exabater, the odor and the dump.” (Or excavator, loader and dumptruck, respectively.)
November Daddy starting to spend a whole lot of time at the “sand,” Townes’ name for the playground. Not too much interaction yet with other kids and T still not that keen on going down the slide. Daisy and Townes love the swings, though Daisy might be a tad more adventurous. Not too much else to report. Matty and Miranda came over to make us dinner, shared exciting news about their growing family. Townes is more of a little man now. Talking up a storm. Daisy coming into her own. Thanksgiving was a bit of a bust, with daddy ending up sick with the stomach flu before we could even carve the turkey, so Shane stepped in to save the day. One youtube video on how to carve a bird under his belt, and we were on our way!
December Daisy got two teeth! All the better to eat everything in sight with. Daisy can now say mama, dada, toe-toe (turtle) and pretty much anything else she wants to say. She is our little Myna bird mimic. Big Christmas celebration with lots of fun toys to open. Papa and Meema joined us for Christmas, Laura, Mia, Gina and Corey came for Christmas dinner. Too many generous friends shared gifts for Daisy and Townes. Lots of friends found out they are having babies! Will be exciting to have playmates for T. Mom and dad popped a bottle of champagne at midnight while the babies slept through the New Year fireworks on Dec 31. Can’t wait to see what 2013 will bring.
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A fashion blogger, stylist and founder of an online magazine for teenage girls that does not suck, Tavi Gevinson really makes me examine what I’m doing with my spare time. Rookie Magazine is thoughtful, stylish and all about real girl power (not spicy, sporty or scary – not a cartoonish version of girlhoodyoung-womanhood). I wish there had been something like it back in the day when I was reading Tiger Beat and Seventeen. It’s people like Tavi that remind me there is ALWAYS time to work on your creative projects. Also, she’s sixteen. I can’t decide if that’s inspiring or depressing.
This lady from the eastern Zhejiang province in China is a real hero…
Even elite skiers suffer from depression. Thanks, Lindsey Vonn for helping lift the stigma.
Maternal mortality rates are still very high around the world. Christy Turlington Burns started Every Mother Counts so safe childbirth might someday be a reality for all.
Michelle Obama. ‘Nuff said.
The comic genius of Amy Poehler. Plus, she’s a girl’s girl and gives her time to the Smart Girls project.
Also her bestie, Tina.
Ok. Not technically inspiring, but Hannah Hart makes me laugh. Hard.
Have a great weekend!
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