Sunday fun

The agenda for today:

- take daughter to "hip hop" dancing birthday party. Assuage her concerns that she doesn't know how to do hip hop, and that she'll have fun anyway

- post-party lunch with friends

- go to local dance store mecca and purchase new ballet shoes and dance outfits for daughter

- clean up all the microscopic lego pieces that have seemingly multiplied on my living room floor, before I step on one again and teach the kids all kinds of colorful new curse words that they can't ever repeat in public

- stay indoors as much as possible to avoid triple digit heat and fire-induced horrific air quality

- start outlining my next novel (yep, I'm starting a new one, even as I wait for the first one to be published)

- enjoy awesome Sunday night tv, where I curse Big Brother's Jeff for being so stupid at this game, staunchly wave my Team Bill banner during True Blood, and cap it all off with a little Don Draper.

Happy Sunday!

Kodachrome

A friend recently sent me photos from her vacation. 238 of them, to be exact. And all I could think (aside from the fact that I don't want to look through 238 photos of anyone's vacation) is just how "unspecial" photos have become.

I'm old enough to remember when having photos of an event was a big deal. You had to wait days to get them back from developing and see how they turned out. Sharing meant getting double prints. You had no idea if you had anything worth keeping until you had the prints in your hand. And if you never took more than a 24-exposure roll of photos at any one event. I recently went through ONE of my childhood photos albums (trying to find baby pics for a certain taskmaster named Ida) that contained photos covering a 3 year span.

In contrast, I have albums of my kids that cover a single day. With enough undiscernably different photos that I could make my own stop motion film.

When my kids pretend to be parents during a game of make-believe, they always have a pretend camera or video camera in front of their faces. This is their constant view. A crowd of parents documenting every move they and their friends make.

My new school year resolution to is try and stop the insanity. I'm tired of seeing my kids' childhoods through a camera lens. I'm going to take fewer pictures of the moment and actually be in the moment instead.

In the immortal words of my uncle, when asked why he wasn't going to videotape my cousin's school play: "Because that's what memories are for."

Wish me luck...like all resolutions, I expect to break it by the 2nd week. iPhone pics don't count, right? :)

Happy Birthday-ed

Lessons and Insights Gleaned From This Weekend's Festivities:

1. Happiness is a little boy's first "taller than 40 inches" visit to Disneyland

2. Gossiping via text message with a friend makes the Space Mountain line go faster

3. A 10am party with school friends after a full day at Disney is a tad ambitious

4. Letting your child carry their newly-purchased double-sided light saber helps clear a path through post-parade Disneyland crowds

5. Just when you think you own every Star Wars themed toy there is, you are proven incorrect

6. Hero worship of friend's 8-year-old son leads to video game/pokemon obesession

7. Cold pizza at 10am is delicious

8. Just because people don't RSVP doesn't mean they won't show up anyway

9. Birthday cake can never have too much chocolate fudge

10. I am a lucky, lucky girl

Look What I Was Doing 5 Years Ago...

At one minute past midnight, my baby turns 5. Sniff.

Hope you all have a great weekend. We'll be off celebrating with Mickey and Minnie.

xoxo,

Jessica (who's suddenly feeling the urge to ignore Future Girl's prediction and have another baby since this one is all grown up)

p.s. THANK YOU all for reading, following and commenting! I love reading what you have to say, and am truly honored that anyone cares to read my ramblings. Love you all!

The Future's So Bright...

My daughter came home from camp today and announced that her new friend (another 7-year-old girl) is "super talented" because she's from the future and could tell her what was going to happen, just by staring into her eyes. Among the girl's predictions:

1. My daughter will have twins
2. I won't have any more children
3. My son will marry a girl named Isadora
4. My sister-in-law will have one more child, which will be a boy

Why can't Future Girl make herself useful and give me something I can work with, like some winning Lotto numbers? I mean, really.

My god, who let me wear that sweater in public?

Me, circa 1984. Found this photo as part of a work project (we're celebrating our 25th anniversary, so everyone is submitting photos of themselves from the year the company began).

What I've learned about the 1984 version of myself: I had an unhealthy attachment to legwarmers and purple pants. I also really, really loved my cabbage patch doll.

Mean Girls

I'm in mama bear mode this morning.

Some backstory: The daughter has been spending a lot of time this summer with a "friend." And, by extension, I've been spending a lot of time with this friend too. I have to say, I am stunned and appalled. I truly had no idea how toxic of a relationship this was for my kid.

It seems to be this little girl's goal to make my daughter feel as insecure and bad about herself as she does. And while the grown-up in me totally gets that, and feels sorry for her, the mama bear in me wants to go into attack mode and protect my cub.

The irony is this is supposedly her friend, not some random bully. But at 7 years old, this girl has already learned the passive aggressive girl crappy behavior. She's threatened by my daughter's self-confidence and independence, so she starts to chip away at her the only way she knows how.

I can see it happening and I feel powerless to stop it. My daughter, never one to lack confidence is now afraid to wear a favorite shirt because she thinks her "friend" will laugh at her and say it's babyish. I remind my daughter every day how fabulous and wonderful and special she is, and not to let anyone ever make her doubt that. But it's hard. Especially when it's a lesson I'm still trying to learn myself.

A friend recently told me that I'm a "people pleaser" and it's definitely true. I don't like to cause a scene. I don't like drama, and I want to be liked. But that means I have let people walk all over me. I have remained in "friendships" for years that weren't good for me, all in the name of not wanting to hurt the other person's feelings. Kindness can be twisted into weakness.

One benefit of age is that you become more comfortable in your own skin. I've started to realize that I don't need everyone to like me. All I care about is if the people I like like me. And if a relationship isn't working for me, I don't have to maintain it. There's no scorecard being kept. A friend is someone who makes you feel good and enhances your life; not someone who fills you with doubt.

I know my daughter will learn these lessons too. I just hope she's a quicker study than I was.

And Now Back to our Regularly Scheduled Programming

I'm a happy girl.

No, not because my kids are behaving (for the moment). Or because I've managed to make some major headway on the to-do lists.

I'm positively giddy with excitement because 2 of my favorite shows are starting new seasons. Mad Men (best show ever, and not just because I work in advertising) Season 3 starts tonight. And Project Runway finally gets out of legal hell to start a new season on Thursday. I'm beside myself.

Sure, it may be considered gauche in many circles to care about television, but I couldn't care less. I'm a Gen X girl through and through, raised on Sesame Street and The Electric Company. I love my shows. I practically need an Excel spreadsheet to coordinate my DVR's daily schedule. Tonight is no exception-- we're recording Mad Men, Big Brother, True Blood AND Entourage.

Of course, finding the time to actually watch everything I've recorded presents its own sets of problems. It's even caused me to finally give up on certain shows altogether. I figure if there are more than 2 episodes waiting for me (and it feels more like homework than something I really want to do) it's time to cut the cord.

I'm not a TV snob either. When I was on maternity leave after my daughter was born, I became addicted to Full House reruns and Judge Judy. I love watching House Hunters and trying to figure out which one they're going to buy. My reality show card is full, with American Idol, SYTYCD, Big Brother, Project Runway and The Real Housewives as my must-sees. I love the soapy drama on Grey's Anatomy and Lost. And of course my "critically-acclaimed" cable shows round out the schedule.

I even take it one step further. I buy the DVD sets of my all-time favorite shows so that I can watch them over and over. Of course, I don't, but the fact that I could if I wanted to is all that matters. And now I'm having the fun of watching my daughter discover some of the shows that I used to love.

TV helps create the fabric of our national conversation. It gives us shared experiences and memories; a touchstone for our lives. It can bring us all together. Not bad for a medium that has had almost everyone writing its obituary lately.

Whee! And now if you will excuse me, I have a date with Don Draper in only 8 1/2 hours.

The Bucket List

Things I still want to do:

1. walk on the Great Wall of China
2. finish a conversation without a child interrupting me
3. sing on Broadway
4. Take a shower without a child interrupting me
5. visit the pyramids
6. get dressed without a child interrupting me
7. figure out a way to make lots of money without working so hard
8. write an email without a child interrupting me
9. make a lasting contribution to the world
10. make a meal that both children eat (yes, without them interrupting me!)

As I've gotten older, my dreams have changed. As my friends and I approach "milestone birthdays" we've learned to appreciate the joy in what is, rather than the longing over what isn't. The lofty goals of my youth have evolved into the often unexpected joys of my present. I may never be President (much to the chagrin of a daughter who idolizes Sasha and Malia), but I get to be the recipient of a wildflower picked by my son. I get to revel in the feel of a sticky hand grabbing mine tight, or an unexpected hug of my legs from behind. My life is rich.

Of course I still have goals and things I want to experience. But at the end of the day, being loved and needed by the people I love and need is really the most I could ever ask for.

That, and hair that doesn't frizz. C'mon, I'm not made of stone people.

Friday Night Fun

Last Friday, I went out for a very enjoyable and much-needed Girls Night Out. I don't know what it is about spending time with friends over cocktails that makes all the stresses of everyday life simply melt away, but I'm a big believer in them and they are a regular component of my social calendar.

This particular evening, the subject of our children came up. You see, I had just finished an especially challenging week with the daughter, who was suddenly acting more like she was 17 rather than 7. There was a lot of "everyone else got to do it!" and "that's so unfair!" And then, my personal favorite, "you're the meanest mom in the entire world!" Ouch.

In talking with my girlfriends, I was pleased to discover that we were all going through a similar phase with our kids, and my child wasn't the only one on brattiness overload. We shared war stories and traded tips. And leaning on "my village" made me feel invigorated and a little more able to suffer the slings and arrows another day.

Of course, I also must admit to playing a little dirty. The next day, I took the recommendation of a close friend and showed my daughter the movie Annie. She loved it...but now has a new appreciation for the fact she even has parents to complain about. I expect her revelation to last all of another day or so.

These days, I'll take what I can get.

I'm not the perfect mom, but I'm also fairly certain that I'm not the worst or the meanest one either. I need to learn not to assign self worth based on the whims of a 7 year old who is starting to discover that the approval of her friends means more to her than the approval of her parents.

And until then, there's always martinis and girlfriends to soften the blow.

Lots and lots of martinis.

And They Lived Happily Ever After

I have a confession to make.

At times, I can be a little too critical of my husband.

*Waits for the gasps of shock and horror to die down.*

It's not entirely my fault though. He often does things that I just can't understand. Like letting our 4-year-old son eat a bag of potato chips, off the floor, 10 minutes before dinner while watching Spongebob. Or take our daughter to a birthday party but forget to bring the beautifully wrapped gift I left for them to take along. Or going to the store to buy some milk, only to come home with 4 bags of groceries that contain everything except milk.

But last night he earned his keep. I was lying on the couch, watching SYTYCD, when all of a sudden out of the corner of my eye I see a black something the size of a child's hand MOVE RIGHT BY MY HEAD!

I am a total girl, so I immediately jump up screaming, scaring my cat and causing my neighbors to think Mary Murphy had suddenly stopped by.

The husband? Totally unphased. He looks over calmly and says, "oh, look at that huge cricket that got in here somehow." And then he PICKS IT UP WITH HIS HAND and escorts it outside while I'm still a trembling mess who refuses to go sit back down on the couch.

My hero. *Sigh*

So the next time he gives our son a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup for lunch, I will remember that we each bring different skillsets to our union. I handle schedules, logistics, shopping, lunches, transportation and pretty much everything else, while he gets rid of bugs.

I'm thinking I'm getting the better end of the deal.

Parenthood, Melnick-Style

It's 7:30 on a Monday night. Your daughter informs you that it's "Dress Like an Alien" day at camp tomorrow and wants to know what she can wear. What do you do?

If you're my parents, you laugh and say "good luck with that" and go back to reading your book.

If you're me, you make an impromptu trip to the 99 cent store (where everything is actually $1.59) and see what you can cobble together at the last minute.

I do this because I have an illness called "Give Your Kid the Perfect Childhood Syndrome." It leads to participation in a wide array of classes and teams, perfectly planned birthday parties and a playroom that could double as a Toys R Us annex. It also causes me to yell things like "we're here to have fun, dammit" during family vacations in Hawaii.

So this is why I find myself scouring the aisles at my local discount shopping mecca 15 minutes before it closes. A Muzak version of the Gone With The Wind soundtrack is blaring as I contemplate what can be made from sponges and popsicle sticks. It reminds me of that scene in Apollo 13 where the NASA team on the ground needs to bring the astronauts home safely with toothpicks and aluminum foil.

I silently curse myself for not being one of "those moms" with a craft cabinet that is perfectly stocked at all times. But then I remember that I'm not in the least bit crafty, so it's not like I would know what to do with any of that stuff, even if I had it.

Eventually I settle on a glow-in-the-dark headband, some pipecleaners, wire and some shiny green balls and hope they can transform themselves into acceptably alien-like headgear before 8am tomorrow morning. God forbid my child be "the only one" not appropriately dressed.

My kids have no idea how good they have it.

I know, I know, she should toughen up. We all survived the battlescars from our childhood and are none the worse for wear, isn't that what "they" always say? Of course given some of the things my friends and I remember from our own childhoods, I'm not entirely sure how true that is.

Things will be different for my kids. Their childhoods will as perfect as I can make them.

Whether they like it or not.