Ouch.

I really enjoy being a mother. I love spending each day with my kids, I love hearing them call me "Mama," and I love seeing their little faces light up when I turn on the televi-- never mind. I even enjoy some of the things that many moms typically don't. Take breastfeeding, for example. I was happy that I nursed Benjamin as long as I did, and I am enjoying nursing Calliope. Lately, however, we've been having some, uh... trouble in that department. Let me explain by way of the following mash-up:
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If you take the character Boo from Monsters, Inc...
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And combine her with this lovable sea creature...
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You'll get this...
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Calliope, you'd be wise to heed the old adage, "Don't bite the boob that feeds you."

Whatever, Sheila

You may have noticed someone's been missing from my posts lately: Kayla. You know Kayla. The adorable little girl Benjamin and I first met in the neighborhood park? The daughter of my dear friend Sheila? The love of Benjamin's life? Well, the reason why I haven't mentioned her lately is because she moved. To Kansas City.
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I know what you're thinking: What the heck is in Kansas City? Well, to hear Sheila tell it, a whole lot. A new job opportunity for hubby Marco, for one. For another, both sets of grandparents live within hours of their new home. Also, they'll be able to live in a house with a yard around it. So, yeah, yeah, I get it... Moving to Kansas City will bring security, community, and comfort to her family. But what about us, Sheila? What about us? Do our weekly lunch dates at the food court mean nothing to you? What about the utter devastation you'll be causing Benjamin? Losing Kayla will be the heartbreak of his two-year-old life. And let's not forget about how awesome LA is. It's sunny, exciting, and fabulous. It's the place every person wants to be.
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Well, four million of them anyway.
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In the weeks leading up to their departure, we made sure to spend lots of time with the Ilardis. We got our fill of authentic, local dim sum (won't find that in KC, Sheila!).
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We had playdates at their house (which is obviously staying here, so nope, you won't find that in KC, either!).

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We even hired sitters, put on cute clothes, and had a night out on the town (look at all those Asians! You DEFINITELY won't find that in KC, Sheila!).

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The last few days before they left were especially bittersweet. The four of us who made up the Friday Lunch Crew met up one final time at the mall where we shed tears into our greasy food court meals.

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The night before they left, we had the Ilardis and the Bowens over for Chinese takeout. Though Sheila, Marco, and Kayla had a busy day ahead of them, we hung out long after dinner was done. We just sat around laughing, talking, and taking pictures. I guess none of us wanted to say goodbye.
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Especially Kayla and Benjamin.

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So, it's been about a month since the Ilardis moved. Sheila and I talk, email, and text frequently, which has eased the sting of her leaving. Gotta love technology! Sheila jokes that she'll have to call me when she's out shopping to ask my opinion on which boots to buy or which top to get. I joke that she doesn't have to call me for style advice because everything looks good on her since she's one of those tall, skinny b*tches that other moms love to hate. Joking aside, I do really miss her, and it's been an adjustment not being able to see her every day. But something Benjamin said has helped me feel like she's not that far.
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The Boo and I were standing in the kitchen one afternoon, when he let rip a rather loud fart. I looked at him and asked, "Benjamin, did you fart?" Cheeks aflame, he looked at the ground and muttered, "No. Kayla farted." After I stopped rolling on the ground in laughter, I realized that there was some wisdom in what he said. Though he was separated from his friend, he was close enough to her in spirit to feel as though she was right there next to him. So that's how I'm going to see my friendship with Sheila, too. She may have moved across the country, but she's still here in spirit. I can pick up the phone and call her at any time. With a bit more effort, I can even hop on a plane and see her in person. But until then, I'll just have to settle for blaming my farts on her.

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We miss you!

Big Balls, Little Balls

The other day, Benjamin and I were sitting on the floor reading a book when he suddenly looked at me very intently and asked, "Mama got big balls?" WHAAAAAAT?? I nearly fell over. But then I realized that he was talking about this:

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Ah, yes, my silver stud earrings which would look like balls to a toddler. And so when he followed up with "Calliope got little balls?", I knew he was talking about this:
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"Little balls" = Calliope's smaller silver stud earrings. I stifled a smile. But when he looked me dead in the eye and said, "Ben Ben got no balls?", I couldn't help myself. I totally lost it.
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Poor kid must have been wondering what was so funny about asking Mommy about earrings. I have to admit that I was a little disappointed in myself, too. I am, after all, a fully-grown, mature adult woman. So I took a deep breath and calmly explained to Benjamin that Mommy and Calliope are girls, and girls frequently like to wear jewelry in their ears. Satisfied with my answer, he left it alone, and I vowed never to behave like an immature, fart-joke-telling, pre-pubescent boy.
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Of course, that doesn't mean I can't show you a few more pics...

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Here are Calliope and I showing off our balls.
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And here's Calliope pulling on one of my balls.

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Sorry, I couldn't resist!

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Orange You Glad It's Halloween?

Halloween... Ah, Halloween! As I love to say, it's the most wonderful time of the year. And I could hardly believe that it has been an entire year since we strutted our stuff as blue-haired punk rocker family. I'll admit that I went a little nuts last Halloween creating our ensembles, and I'd had big plans for our costumes this year. My original vision was that we'd be a glam-rock family - Benjamin would be David Boo-wie (get it? BOO-wie?), Calliope would be Baby Gaga, I would be Cher, and Vince would be a party pooper (he wasn't too keen on this theme). But now that I have two rugrats keeping me busy, I'm much shorter on time to devote towards creating a concrete manifestation of my worth as a mother-- I mean, I have much less time to spend designing and sewing costumes. So, I choose an easier vision to achieve - the nefarious Droogs from A Clockwork Orange.

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We had ample opportunity to wear our spiffy white costumes and black derbys. One of the first events was the Halloween celebration at the Boo's preschool. Most people "got" our costumes right away, and they absolutely loved it. I did have one mom comment that the costumes were "sick and wrong," but she was kidding. I think. In any case, I prefer to think that we dressed up as pop culture icons and not as serial killers.
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The next day was the neighborhood Autumn Festival. There were food vendors, face painters, and bounce houses. There was also a performance by aspiring ballerinas from my friend Tanya's So Fly Kids dance class. The little dancers wore puppy dog ears and adorable pink tutus. As I watched them, I wondered if I should done what any other normal mom would have done and chosen a more typically "girly" costume for Calliope. She didn't seem to have an opinion on the matter either way, so I guess it was fine. Besides, her brother probably would taken it from her anyway...
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...just like he's taken some of her other tutus. Suffice it to say, my son is in touch with his feminine side.

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In addition to parties and cross-dressing, what Halloween is complete without a visit to the pumpkin patch? Every year since Benjamin was just a baby, we'd gone to nearby Shawn's Pumpkin Patch. He seemed to enjoy himself the last two years, but this year, he became obsessed! Over the course of two weeks, we went to the pumpkin patch five times. FIVE TIMES! We went with...
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...Benjamin's preschool classmates and neighbors Maxwell and Novella...
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...best buddy Nolan...
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...and all by ourselves - not once...
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...but twice!
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We also made one final trip with Benjamin's school buddy James on the actual day of Halloween. I was a little worried that Benjamin wouldn't be able to handle the fact that the pumpkin patch would be gone until the following year. Luckily, there was trick or treating to take his mind off of this huge loss!
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That evening, the four of us donned our Droog outfits and headed to the park for a neighborhood costume parade.

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I was especially tickled by the sight of Daddy Droog and Little Droog walking hand in hand.
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And as though a family of cinematic serial killers wasn't enough of a spectacle, my best friend Deb joined us dressed as a giant yellow Teletubby.

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At the park, there seemed to be at least several hundred people milling about. We saw witches, superheros, princesses, and cartoon characters, but no other Droogs. In fact, a few people didn't even realize that we were Droogs. One person commented that she thought it was so cute that we were all dressed up as Charlie Chaplin. Hmmm. I guess that's what I get for dressing my kids up as random serial killers. Next time, I'll be sure to pick serial killers that most people are familiar with!
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Flair

Looking like roadkill at the end of a 12-hour late shift. But check out my flair!
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Back in high school, I worked as a server at the Hard Rock Cafe Singapore. The male servers got to wear black pants and polo shirts. The female servers got to wear super-short white dresses with ruffled aprons. In Singapore, we called them pinafores. In the U.S., we woulda called them shirts. Or sexual harassment lawsuit-magnets. And to make it even better, we were required to adorn our lawsuit-magnets with flair. Lots of flair.
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Our flair consisted primarily of HRC guitar and memorabilia pins, but really, any sort of pin would do. So, I used my flair as a means of putting my super-enlightened, very mature 18-year-old views out into the world. Here were a few of my favorites:

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Ah, sweet folly of youth! If I had to wear flair now, I might wear something like this:
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Or maybe this:
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Or even this:
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Hmmmm... It's not as catchy as an oath to injure someone's privates, I suppose. Perhaps that's why moms don't sport flair.

Note added 11/10: A couple of readers have asked me why I still had all this flair. Was it in a scrapbook? Did it suddenly manifest on my doorstep in a fit of nostalgia-induced magic? Nope, the answer is it was in a box of my belongings from high school that my mom found while cleaning out her house. There were some other interesting items in that box, too, among them the dress I wore to my senior prom. It was a design of my own - strapless, floor length, slit to the hips on both sides, and made of black velvet trimmed with gold plastic beads - yes, gold plastic beads. Oh, and it had matching fingerless opera-length gloves, also black velvet with the gold beads. What was I thinking?? I guess it's a good thing I never went into fashion design.

Scuttlebutt

Calliope hasn't yet mastered the skill of crawling forwards. Like her brother, she's figured out how to crawl backwards, but that doesn't really get her where she wants to go. What she can do, however, is use her chubby little legs to move herself around on the hardwood floors while she's sitting on the potty. She'll scoot over to a nearby table or chair, and then use her arms to pull herself to a standing position. She's been motoring around the living room this way for the past 15 minutes. Hopefully, she'll remember to sit back down before she poops!

Bento-tastic

And now, for your bento viewing pleasure...
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Here's a bento I made for Benjamin that had four different foods in it: apple chunks dipped in lemon juice; mini-PB&J sandwiches; edamame, and hard-cooked eggs sprinkled with paprika. I had high hopes for this bento, but it came back only half-eaten. I think that I got overeager and tried to cram too many things into that one tiny box. As a result, the Boo just ignored it all.
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This bento had only three things in it - baked yam cubes; egg, parmesan, cauliflower, and pea frittata; and edamame. Since I'd had great luck with giving him edamame before, I thought I'd try upping the portion. Smart thinking, right? Wrong! The fickle Boo suddenly decided that he no longer liked edamame ("Mama, too furry!") and didn't eat any of it. So the next time, I decided to...
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...pull the little suckers out and mix them in with some peas and carrots. This time, Benjamin ate all the veggies - except for the edamame. Foiled again!
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Finally, here's a bento that he did eat: thawed frozen berries; avocado dipped in lemon and sprinkled with a little kosher salt; and my old standby PB&J. Well, there were a few berries left over as well as a bread crust, but all of that avocado was gone. You know what that means, right? I'll be packing him avocado slices, avocado sandwiches, and avocado frittatas until he decides that avocado has gone the way of edamame and he's over it. Who knows what the reason might be this time? "Mama, too green!" "Mama, too bumpy!" "Mama, too packed with vitamin E, carotenoids, and folate!" Whatever the reason, it's his prerogative to change his little toddler mind. Just not until after he's finished that crate of avocados I just bought at Trader Joe's.

Who's Got P.P.D.? (Guess what? Not me!!)

Waiting to see the shrink with mommy.

I've never been shy about the fact that I suffered from postpartum depression after Benjamin was born. In fact, I remember my openness about what I was going through scared some people off. Here's what a typical exchange between another new mom and myself sounded like:
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Other New Mom: Hi! How old's your baby?

Me: Six weeks old.

O.N.M.: Awwww, mine's also about six weeks old.

Me: So it's pretty tough, huh?

O.N.M.: What do you mean?

Me: The whole new motherhood thing. I mean, doesn't it suck right now?

O.N.M.: Uh... No. I mean the lack of sleep is tough, but I'm really enjoying it! I just love being a mom, and I adore my baby. Isn't it just great?

Me: Not really. I'm having a hard time. I mean, my baby's ok. But several times a day, I feel gripped with the near-uncontrollable urge to put him in an oven and then cut my wrists under warm running water. Unless I'm not at home. Then I feel the urge to throw him off my balcony and then swallow the vicodin left over from my c-section. Unless I'm not in a tall building, in which I case I feel the urge to drive us off the freeway overpass. Yeah, I'm not sure I'm cut out for this whole motherhood thing. I mean, I've like totally trapped myself for the next 18 years, ya know? And I'm kinda panicking about it. But I'm glad you stopped to talk to me, because I was just contemplating whether or not to bolt into oncoming traffic-- Wait, where did you go?

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Ok, so maybe I wouldn't say that last bit out loud, but it would be what was going through my head. In those first months, I hated being a mother, and I thought I'd made a mistake. It wasn't that I didn't love Benjamin. I was just torn apart by the incredible, intense, and violent sadness that was postpartum depression. At first I thought I was just going through the same baby blues that every new mom goes through, but after having to repeatedly call friends or my husband to rush home so that I wouldn't be left alone to do something horrible to myself or to Benjamin, I realized that I needed help. And help I got! Meds and a good shrink went a long way towards straightening things out. For the most part. I mean, I'm still crazy, but in that goofy, lovable (I think) kind of way and not in that scary, someone-distract-her-while-I-get-her-children-to-safety kind of way.

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When I found out I was pregnant for the second time, I was terrified that PPD would strike again. More than varicose veins, morning sickness, or recovering from another c-section, the spectre of being depressed like I was the first time filled me with dread. Well, I am thrilled to say that it's been eight months since Calliope was born, and so far, so good! I can say with complete sincerity that I have really enjoyed these last eight months. Sure, being a mom of two is exhausting and has its trying moments, but for the most part, I am loving it. I love watching Calliope grow each day. I love watching Benjamin grow into his role as an older brother. I sometimes feel guilty that I wasn't the same contented, cheerful mom for Benjamin that I have been for Calliope. But then I see what a happy and vibrant little boy he's turned out to be, and I wonder if it really mattered that much.

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I'm not sure exactly why I wasn't depressed this time. I think one reason why is because I already knew what to expect. Although having a second baby added more work to the load, it didn't completely throw me for a loop like it did the first time. Also, I was already in the care of an awesome shrink. For privacy reasons, I'll call her Dr. Shrink. And finally, I stayed on my meds throughout my pregnancy and delivery. Well, I did have to stop taking the meds my first trimester, and that went alright, except for the fact that I was a total bitch to my husband. Sorry about that, Vince.
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Aw, crap, I'm venturing into the overly emotional, weepy blog territory I promised I'd never visit. It seems like this is what happens every time I talk about PPD. Time to lighten it up!

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Can anyone tell me why it is that every shrink's office (and yes, I have been in quite a few) has the New Yorker in its waiting room? Every. Single. One. Isn't it enough that the patients in there are people who already have issues? Do we have to also feel stupid for not understanding those damn political cartoons?
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I'd ask Dr. Shrink, but she'd probably say something shrink-y like, "Hmmm. Let's talk about how the New Yorker, when rolled up, reminds you of a cigar which is actually a penis, which is actually the root of all your fears." Just kidding! Shrink sessions are only like that in the movies. Our sessions are completely different, but I can't give you details. Patient-shrink confidentiality, you know. ;)