Sybil -- Enlightened or Bitchy, or Both?

Well, my writing class ended and I’m quite glad. I met a few people I enjoyed there and did receive some great handouts, but the useless time sucking factor was major.

Here’s an email I sent to my posse of missing classmates on my last day of official attendance:

Dear Ditchers,

Tonight was TV sitcom night. You missed the reading of a 59-page (no, I'm not exaggerating) "Rosanne" script read by SpyBlond doing her best Rosanne impersonation.

One word: Excruciating. I got all itchy just sitting there.

Despite numerous attempt by the instructor to "please read faster," SpyBlond faithfully held to her perception of the role, complete with screechy and drawn-out Rosanne whine, steadfast was she in her acting moment.

Finally, even the instructor had to cut the impersonation short...and only 45 minutes into it. No idea now what happened in Act III.

So bored was I that I snapped the attached photo of what could be the most hideous pair of shoes ever to land on toes. View them with envy, fellow fashionistas.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1...Who knew they made platform suede lime green clogs?

So, that was my last class. I have handouts for all of you. Everyone looked at me oddly when I asked for 5. If anyone makes it to the last two classes (I believe one week will be on the one-hour drama and the other will be on marketing), please grab handouts for the rest.

And then we'll drink. :)

Alright, by posting my email publicly, as well as the accompanying photo taken on my under the desk with my cell phone, I’m sure I’m categorizing myself as a major b-word, but really, it was all in fun.

I almost got my ass kicked because I made fun of some girl's day-glow lime-green shoes at a Simple Minds concert in the 80s. You’d think I’d learn not to make fun of blond girls in green shoes.

But I cannot. Please blond girls everywhere: Stop the senseless donning of lime green shoes!!!

On that catty and contradictory note (I’m so Sybil sometimes!), I’m halfway through Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth, which I love. The brain surgeon and I started listening to the audio version on our road trip and it makes so much sense to both of us.

Not that we could apply all that philosophical mizymaz to real life, but I’m trying. I’m also listening to certain parts over and over again in the hopes that Eckhart’s soothing voice will brainwash me.

I especially love what he says about parenthood. One line in particular was something like, “Just because you are bigger and temporarily know more than your child does not mean you are not his or her equal.” That is not an exact quote, but this thinking really aligns with some of what I’ve enjoyed about Scott Noelle’s Daily Groove (all parents should subscribe to this free email) and some of what resonates with me when I read about radical unschoolers (even though many of them are oddly rude, but that’s another topic).

There is a lack of respect and trust for children in our society that is pervasive and disheartening. It’s part of the overlying power-over mentality that seems to permeate everything. More and more, I believe massive changes happen first within the heart and then within the home. And they probably don't involve making fun of people's shoes.

Toodles.

Road Trippin!

So, I thought no one was reading the BSB blog until three people asked me why I hadn’t been updating it. Three readers in one week – I’m flabbergasted! I thought I’d give it an acronym on account of how incredibly popular it has become now that three of you read it. The “BSB blog.” Yah, I can dig it.

I even received a comment from someone I don't even know about how I ramble. That rocks! I'm a ramblin' (wo)man! Thanks, Euthymic!

By the way, I know few people who know what euthymic means and I just LOVE that she named her blog that!

It has been an eventful period. We drove to Sacramento and Idaho and then returned via Reno, only because the brain surgeon’s dad gave us a coupon for a resort there, but it turned out to be surprisingly fun for the kids. I’m not sure if we have a knack for road trips, but we did quite well with our three little ones in the MV. The trip made me appreciate my family AND my MV, which I still say is the best in its class. No, I don’t work for Toyota.

First, we briefly (and I mean BRIEFLY) visited my gorgeous cousin and her new baby in the postpartum neurotic phase at a stifling 110-degree park in Sacramento. No one came within 10 feet of that baby and we stayed at the park (plenty of germ-free air circulating so the baby wouldn’t catch the plague) – so very obviously NOT invited to bring our three little germlettes to her abode. I’m looking forward to laughing about the whole thing with my lovely cousin, who is one of my favorite people in the whole world, once her hormones get back to normal.

Then we went to Idaho, which we were both dreading, but which ended up being a perfect fun-filled time with waterskiing, inner tubing, horseback riding, ranch-handing and general fun stuff. The only little downfall was a forced trip to some ghastly hunting store to buy red suspenders for my father-in-law’s Father’s Day gift. No, I didn’t think of that myself. Who wears these?

I used to ask, “Who buys these?” too, but now I know the answer – me!

The place was like a cemetery with open wall graves displaying dead animals. Yuck. I agreed to the purchase in my attempt to be Zen and let things go, but I still haven’t let it go.

Yes, Eckhart, just flap my duck wings, I know.

On the way back, we hit Reno. The resort happened to have all sorts of fun things to do. My children won 800 tickets with just $20 dollars of tokens in their family fun center. I’ve never seen so many tickets. My eldest cried when we left, because “there is no place like this by our house!” I said, actually there is and it’s called Chuck-E-Cheese, and that it’s skeezy, but we could go (Please God, I hope they sell salad). The kids also enjoyed a round of aqua-golf and a few rounds of bowling (are they called rounds?) with their dad while I went to a $3.00 movie by myself. I saw BabyMama, which had amusing moments, but was rather predictable. I got excited when they mentioned the perils of HFCS and how unhealthy it is, which proves what a loser I am. We swam (they had very cool cabanas that I didn't get to enjoy). We ate. We had general fun.

Oh, and some guy in the Starbucks came up to me and said I look like Alanis Morissette while I was writing the Wednesday drug news. He said it was my eyes. I've had a lot of you-look-likes, but that one was just bizarre. By the way, if you're a Starbucks fan (the brain surgeon is, but I'm partial to the Coffee Bean, which is clearly superior), they just announched they're shutting 600 U.S. stores. Is this the beginning of the death of the coffee boom era or just another sign of our crashing economy?

Now we’re back in the daily grind and the brain surgeon is back to slicing heads open in the giant red-tape bureaucracy that he calls work. I just finished writing the Wednesday drug news again and I’m off to finish some editing before enjoying a little R&R with my babies.

Toodles!

Risky Boobness

I have high-risk breasts.

No, there will not be photos posted here.

Perv.

My mother had breast cancer almost five years ago, her mother died from breast cancer, my sister had precancerous breast lesions and I’ve got at least two cases of female organ cancer on my paternal side.

Bummer.

But the good news is I think my lifestyle – healthy diet, lots of activity and trying to keep stress low – helps.

I also firmly (pun?!) believe that breastfeeding helps reduce breast cancer risk and the studies show that each year of breastfeeding lowers your breast cancer risk. I’ve been breastfeeding for almost six straight years (three kids, but not all at once!), so I’m hoping that’s cut my odds to nothing.

Anyway, I took the L-man with me today to the Revlon High Risk Breast Center. More unschooling activities! You have to be special to go there and I’m special. They examined my breasts, said there was nothing to worry about, but then upped my visits from twice a year to three times a year and threw in an MRI in addition to my mammograms.

Even though there’s nothing, it is a bit freaky that they think my risk is so high. Oh well.

The L-man was hilarious, interviewing me about my life between clinicians. "So, tell me, have you ever broken anything? Was there blood? Did you cry?"

I can hardly believe he was 2 just two months ago.

Before we left, I had a client call for that CME poster I’m writing. Usually I take Miss M when I’m working, since at five years, she can keep herself occupied if I have a call, etc. But L-man was so excited to join me today that he completely freaked out and started kicking the door when I was on my call. It was very loud. I had to run to the bathroom.

If I had a dollar for every call I’ve done in that bathroom. I swear.

Anyway, after my breast cancer evaluation, I found out I got the editor gig (remote, of course!) at FiercePharma and then the L-man and I had lunch with the brain surgeon’s sister. The brain surgeon wasn’t there today. He was down at the county hospital doing – you guessed it – brain surgery to cover for a colleague who had a baby today.

This particular brain surgeon and his wife couldn’t be nicer and we are so happy for them.

We are also happy that we are now not the ONLY couple in the neurosurgery residency program with kids. Seriously. All this time, it’s just been me and the brain surgeon with the kiddies.

Today was also a miracle day. I’ll tell you about this particular miracle.

The L-man crashed on the way back from the hospital. I carried him up the stairs, through the gate, into the house and laid him on the bed AND HE STAYED ASLEEP. I noted that BooBoo was also asleep.

For other mothers of three, I'm not lying. The aforementioned and what follows are absolutely true.

I took Miss M to her afternoon class.

Would they both be sleeping when I returned?

That NEVER happens. It's impossible.

But they were! They slept for almost 2 hours.

And Carmen helped hang up the laundry today.

Bless her! Oh holy day!

I’m really weird about hanging the clothes in outfits, so I cringed at what was on a few hangers, but beggers can’t be choosers and I’m focusing on the gratitude!

Two hours of naptime. ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I should've watched the evil television or read a book, but I didn't. I'm just stupid.

After the little ones woke, I took them to pick up Miss M and we went to the park. We stayed about an hour and then I hit the wall of exhaustion, so I packed them up and we went home.

Then we did our bedtime routine:

1. Dinner (I try to clean kitchen as I go)
2. Baths (I try to clean bathroom while they're in the tub)
3. Pajamas
4. Brush teeth
5. Brush hair
6. Floss
7. Read stories
8. Lights out
9. “Dark stories”

I also like to pick out their clothes the night before, but I’ve been forgetting to do that a lot lately. I does help the mornings go more smoothly.

If I was really on my game, I’d pack tomorrow’s lunches since it’s home school park day.

I'd also pick out my clothes.

I'm not on my game.

I also was accepted to write for Demand Studios today. But they pay crap. Truly crap. I didn’t know this when I sent them my info or I wouldn’t have bothered.

Then I wrote a couple of super easy articles for them based on stuff already in my head, so it's fine. I want to do some consumer writing in certain areas where I’ve been mostly in the trade press or not at all, and this is a surefire way to get clips. It certainly isn't a way to get money. I earned more babysitting when I was 12.

But, it was pretty easy. My articles will be up on eHow, which by the looks of some of the site's content and writing quality, I'll likely rename, "eHow embarassing." That's why they hire professional writers on the side, I guess.

Toodles!

Back in Babysitter Hell

Today was hectic. Back to the office with Miss M. There were way too many people there. I was desk and computer hopping. We didn’t have enough Ethernet cords or parking spaces.

It was ridiculous. Truly.

I had one interview (that IVD Technology news story) one meeting, two conference calls and one brainstorming session. In between, I ran Miss M to her afternoon program. By this, I mean I literally ran.

I had 10 minutes between meetings. I rush that poor kid. Out of the office. Down the stairs. Into the car seat. Out of the car seat. Run across the park. Sign in.

Kiss Kiss. Here’s your snack. Here's your sweater. Bye!!!

She was an hour late and would have to leave an hour early and she wasn’t at all happy about it.

I jogged back to my car, sped back to the office, did the brainstorm, then ran back to my car, back to the park, picked up Miss M – who was not eager to go to ballet and who wanted to play on the monkey bars – but…

I sped to the house so the brain surgeon could throw me the ballet gear, which I had forgotten, and so I could nurse BooBoo, which I had not forgotten, but which I literally had not a moment to do earlier. Then Miss M and I headed off to the next park for ballet with the harsh-looking-but-actually-quite-warm Russian ballet teacher.

Miss M isn’t quite up to the intense new ballet hours or the change from British to Russian ballet. She enjoys going usually, though. I did have to promise we would play on the monkey bars after class today. Also, the ballet training is getting more intense and she gets tired before the hour-and-a-half is up.

Then I came home and put the three little lovelies to bed and desperately wanted to go to sleep with them.

I thought today that I had a potential new backup babysitter. I have a friend – one of BooBoo’s friends’ mothers – who’s in entertainment and her show is done, so she only needs her nanny part time. Perfecto! I trust this family and this woman has been with them a year, so I figured it would just be a matter of a background and reference check and a few test days.

BUT, she apparently has a dog phobia. At least that’s what she said.

Or maybe she just doesn’t want to work here. She knows Carmen, so I’m sure she’s seen my crew. I admit, I’m a tough gig. I’m usually working from home (babysitters hate that) AND I have three relatively young children.

Even though I usually bring Miss M if I leave, it’s still a hard job. I know this. I do.

But really, I just don’t have the dang energy to go on the nanny hunt. I just don’t. So, I talked to the brain surgeon tonight about a plan for just toughing it out.

Since he’s on research and mostly not on call, I can work nights and he’ll handle dinner, baths and bedtime. If I’m not getting enough sleep, he’ll give me a sleep day on Saturday. When I have conference calls, I’ll head to the hospital and he (or his sister) will watch them for the duration of the calls.

If I end up with an offsite meeting, who knows what I’ll do.

As I type this, I’m remembering I already have two – maybe May 5th and 6th?

Uh oh.

As for tonight, I'm tired. I've got four news stories to finish editing and I need to finish draft 1 of a poster by tomorrow. I just want to sleep.

Overall, though, I’m really grateful.

Even with these challenges, I know I'm very lucky that I have the flexibility I do and that I can support the troops without being away from them for more than about 15 hours a week.

That means a lot of conference calls in the bathroom or out in front of the house, with a fair amount of muting and shushing, but a mama’s gotta do what a mama’s gotta do.

And really, it's a hectic life. It's a chaotic life. But it's a good life.

BooBoo's up for her nightly feeding!


Ciao!

Date Night

I really have very little recollection of what happened today. I went into the office. I know that. Did I do anything useful? I’m pretty sure I didn’t. I did scramble to pull interviews together for the IVD Technology news story I’m writing about the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services’ competitive bidding demonstration project.

Maybe that’s all I did. I can’t be sure.

I do know that Carmen announced that her two weeks off in May for her trip to Mexico might really be three or four or even five or six.

K. Thanks for that.

Last time it was five months before she returned.

I will not panic. I will not panic. I will not panic.

I asked if her daughter-in-law would help (she has a baby BooBoo’s age and a daughter Miss M’s age), and she said, probably not, because she naps when her baby does, and then what would happen to my children?

Um, yah, that’s not an option.

The best part of today is that the brain surgeon and I actually had a date night. Whoa. It almost never happens and we ruined the last two almost-date-nights with miscommunications about time and misinterpretations about each other’s interest in each date. (FYI, that’s all code for “fighting.")

But last night was really nice. Our lovely 80-plus-year-old neighbor joined us for dinner at Trilussa Ristorante in Beverly Hills on Brighton Way. Yummy. I had a carb-fest, which is atypical for me. I ate lots of bread dipped in pesto plus an endive and radicchio salad followed by their incredible mushroom ravioli. Yes, I can put down the chow.

Or should I say, “ciao”? la la la la

My sister speaks Italian. Very cool. My sister-in-law pronounces it Eye-talian.

We also had a decent bottle of wine. I believe it was called Intensio.

How intense.

Then the brain surgeon and I went to a movie alone.

Oooooh. Ahhhhh.

We saw “Smart People,” which could have been titled, “Smart People, Slow Movie.” It was, in fact, quite slow. Not horribly bad or anything, but definitely sloooooooooooooow.

We popped in on "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" first, since we were early. I thought it would be stupid (okay, it is), but the 10 minutes we watched were definitely funny and we were both laughing out loud. This movie had one of the better marketing schemes I've seen, too.

I also got all excited during the previews about the release of the "Sex and the City" movie!!! Even if it’s bad and even if the trailer showed the whole damned thing, I don’t care. I need my Carrie fix.

Anyway, we got home after midnight. BooBoo needed to have her midnight snack (aka ME!) and that was that.

Toodles!

An Ad Agency and an Acting Debut

I didn’t blog yesterday, so already I don’t get to be OCD about this blogging business. Not that it’s a business.

Yesterday was another open house day. My realtor was out of town again, but instead of me, he had this guy sit my house. He was somewhat annoying. Oh well.

Overall, the day was dull and unproductive for me. I cleaned and staged. I edited a few papers. I prepped for my meeting today.

The brain surgeon took the children to the Page Museum and to the Boone Children’s Museum at LACMA.

Today was weirdly fun. I worked from home this morning, had a brainstorming session at Carat in the afternoon and my writing class (AKA “social hour”) in the evening.

Miss M went to work with the brain surgeon today in the brain research lab. He’s studying a hideous type of brain tumor called glioblastoma multiforme. She was so excited to go, she couldn’t sleep last night.

The brainstorming sesh was fun. I sometimes enjoy ad execs and that kind of creative atmosphere, especially when it surrounds a product I can stand behind.

Plus they had sandwiches.

I had about 15 minutes at home before it was time to go to class. The brain surgeon had already taken the kids to the YMCA for me. I walked the Vizsla .



Then I realized this was the longest time I’d been without seeing BooBoo since her birth. I realized this because my boobs were huge, as well as a tad achy and lumpy.

So, in full corporate mom mode, I ran back into the kitchen to grab my breast pump. Then I remembered I had given it away. Now someone else was enjoying the fun of electronic milking.

You, too, can moo. Woo!

Oh well, I know how to do the manual expression thing, even if it’s been a while.

It’s at moments like these when I see what a turn my life has taken. I’m wearing my corporate mom clothes and writer bag for class over one arm, and I'm leaning over the kitchen sink squeezing milk out of my boobs into a sippy cup.

If you’d forgotten how glamorous my life is, I’ve just reminded you.

Then I put the milk in the fridge and went to class, WHERE…

I made my first acting debut since high school (unless you count Pi Beta Phi rush week)!!!

It’s true. I read not one, but two parts tonight.

In one, I read the part of a 28-year-old wife of a philandering husband for a sitcom. In another, I played a dominatrix in an action adventure.

I actually read this line aloud:

"Do you want me to take off my panties?"

Then I finished my dialogue, which involved me nearly peeing on an undercover cop for a fee of $300.

I waited with bated breath for that slow rumble of applause all actors live for. Although no one has clapped for a writer or actor before in our class, surely this was because they hadn't yet discovered the hidden gem amongst them.

It never came, but I remain hopeful.

Perhaps they were all just jealous of my obvious and enormous talent despite my lack of formal training.

A girl’s gotta start somewhere.

I’m off to Hollywood!!!


Toodles!

I Have Fake Nails and My Children Swear so I had a Brain Surgeon Dinner Party

The brain surgeon and I were still a little discordant today and had not fully recovered from the food incident. Two days, I know.

Lame.

But we had worked through it by this evening. We had to. We were having a few resident brain surgeons over for dinner.

I miss when I was the dinner party queen in med school. I loved cooking elaborate vegetarian meals (easier than vegan) that pleased the carnivores. I loved bring out the decorations, the candles, the crystal.

Tonight’s dinner was more me running in the door, sweaty, with groceries well after the guests had arrived. Then we (well me and my brain surgeon) threw together a vegan taco dinner that was okay, but that was also clearly an I-have-three-kids-5-and-under meal.

Still, I enjoyed myself.

But let’s start at the beginning.

I was up too late last night and I got up too early this morning. Cranky and still dealing with post-fight residuals from the scorned brain surgeon.

I took Miss M to the nail salon. She chose blue for her fingernails and pink for her toenails. I had acrylic nails put on, which was just plain dumb for a variety of reasons. One reason is that I'm a writer (shameless plug) and it takes me like three days to relearn to type with my tacky fake-o-la nails. Another is that I so rarely have time to get my nails done, and it is so sporadic, that I can’t really get these things filled.

There should be a market for temporary acrylic nails.

Because really I think they’re a little cheesy and a lot tacky, yet then there are moments where I’ve just gotta have them. And SOMETIMES (rare, but it happens) people get a nice set of fake nails that don’t make them look like a chick in a Girls Gone Wild video.

The last time I went to a nail salon, I had the same ridiculous urge. The lady said to come back every two weeks for a fill. They were gone by then (both my nails and the salon), but didn’t have time to go anyway.

If I’m a brain surgeon’s babe, shouldn’t I be living a life of leisure? Shouldn’t I have time to get my nails done?

Anyway, I bit them off. I’m not a nail biter (though sometimes I’m a finger sucker) UNLESS I get fake nails. There’s something delightfully crunchy about them.

Don’t worry. I don’t swallow.

Nails, that is. I don’t swallow nails.

That’d just be F*d up.

Speaking of the F word, my children swear. I just admit it now.

Usually it’s just my 3-year-old and usually it’s just around us, but he does drop the F bomb in the car sometimes and actually said, “Damn it!” in proper context last week.

Maybe I should punish them, but I’d feel wrong about that since they likely learned it from me and the brain surgeon.

Plus, truth be told, swearing has its place. Rather than abuse them by shoving soap in their mouths, I prefer to teach my children the ins and outs of swearing.

Some might call this bad parenting. I call it honesty.

If you have your own kids, you can handle the nuances of swearing however you want. If you don’t have kids, you don’t know what you’re talking about when it comes to parenting, no matter how much you think you do, but feel free to continue boring parents with your cluelessness.

Sorry. Maybe I’m PMSing.

Anyway, I thought I’d share my (unique, I hear) philosophy on swearing and what I tell my children.

First of all, words are words. I’m a writer (plug for me, oh wait, I already did that) and I believe words are powerful, BUT really, they only have as much power as you give them.

For example, take the “See U Next Tuesday” word. Many women cannot stand that word, so if men or other women call them it, they become super offended, giving said word so much more power than they need to. Just own the word. Demystify it. Who really cares?

Okay, people care. Some people. My job as facilitator of my children’s journey through life is to help them navigate these tricky waters, because, be honest, sometimes a good F word is all you need to get you through the day.

Miss M is very rules oriented and very analytical, so the night she said “f*** it” in front of her grandmother (on the brain surgeon side) I just explained its use to her (despite the brain surgeon’s mom preference for the soap method and obvious disapproval for my method). Here’s about what I said:

“Some words are strong words. Sometimes they feel good to say. But, most people don’t like to hear kids say those words. Grandmas and grandpas and other adults might think you aren’t as nice. We know that’s not true, because words are just words, but I’m simply telling you what other people might think. Also, some mommies and daddies won’t let their kids play with kids who use those words. Even as an adult, I am careful not to use some words around my grandparents or parents, some people I work with and around kids. And we shouldn’t say those words around babies, because they can’t quite make decisions yet about if it is okay to use the words. You have to know how and when to use those words.”

Miss M indicated understanding and I haven’t heard her swear since. No soap required.

Now, what’s really funny was that the brain surgeon’s sister was the object d’venting of the brain surgeon’s mom, who was sharing that she disagreed with my method and thought the mouth laundering method would be more effective.

To which the brain surgeon’s sister said, “Yah, Mom, that f*ing worked. I did not f*ing sneak and swear with my friends then, and I do not f*ing swear now. That REALLY f*ing worked.”

Total poetry.

That’s not to say Miss M hasn’t sworn again. I just haven’t heard it.

My poor mother, though, nearly peed her pants one day at my house. I was in the room with BooBoo, who was tiny then, and the L-man. My mom was playing with Miss M and came to check on me. When she returned to the living room, she heard Miss M whisper while reaching under the couch for an unreachable toy, “This is so f*ing frustrating!”

Okay, how she did not urinate in the hall, I will never know.

Later, Miss M had a straightforward talk with me about the F word, without saying it. She said, “You know that word that starts with the ‘fuh’ sound, Mommy?”

She was in her car seat and had clearly contemplated our talk.

“Yes, M, what is it?”

“Well I can’t really say it around adults, my friends or babies, so I don’t really have anyone I can say it around, huh?”

Dang. She figured me out.

“Yah, M, it’s tricky. But you can say it when you’re alone if you need to, like when you’re in the bathroom.”

Then she said, “Well, can I say it in front of you, then?”

I thought about that and said, yes, if she felt she needed to, she could.

We drove in silence for a while. Then she said, “Mom?”

“Yes, M?”

“You can say it in front of me if you need to, too.”


Damn, I have a cool kid.


Toodles!

Homeschool Playgroup Day

So, I’m over my psychotic food police moment. I’m crazy. I know it. The brain surgeon knows it, but loves me anyway. Can we just move on now?

Good.

Now yesterday, my friend, D, who has been in home-buying hell, came to spend the night with her two little ones. They recently moved about two hours away and have been homeless, basically, while the banks and realtors made one idiotic mistake after another. I keep saying buy Tupperware from D, and I mean it: colbyandbingo@yahoo.com. You know you need something.

D’s eldest and Miss M are absolutely positively best friends. Miss M, one night when their impending move was upon us, cried her eyes out and said, “I love her so much, I just can’t let go.” No idea where she got the scorned lover speech, so I just held her, brokenhearted for my baby and stifling a giggle at the same time.

Parenthood is like that.

Anyway, today is one of the four days I try REALLY hard not to have scheduled work during the day. Of course, a new client scheduled a call for today at 1:00 pm. This is that new client with the less-toxic cleaners that I’m quite excited about. So for this one hour, I needed to figure out what to do with my three little ones. Four options:

1. Hire Carmen

2. Drop them with the brain surgeon and have said conference call in car

3. Go to homeschool park day with D and have her watch them while I have said conference call in car

4. Put movie on in car, hope and pray BooBoo sleeps rather than screams (still facing backwards; can’t see movie), and ruin environment by running car/air conditioner for duration of call

#1 wasn’t a great option. She has a 6-hour minimum and then I’d feel guilty hiring her and not getting more work done. #2 and #3 were both okay options, but I went with #3 because D was here and we all miss each other.

#4 was one of those conference-calling-while-hiding-in-the-bathroom options. Desperate measures like these are only okay in the absence of all other options.

Plus, D has been bugging me to try this group. Neither of us clicked with the other two groups we’ve been to (too far, no real bonding, etc.), but D swore I’d like this one. I’ve been hesitant, though, because there have been a few stories she’s told me that set off my “judgmental mom” alarm.

I go crazy when I hear mothers being hard on other mothers about whatever, though I’m quite judgmental myself.

(I should just call this the hypocrite blog, because it is what I am. I do try to be consistent, but life is confusing!)

Anyway, so I went. After a hectic morning getting there and a successful conference call that I literally choked my way through.

Do you ever just randomly choke on your own spit? I occasionally do. No idea why. It’s inconvenient when you’re sharing PR capabilities with an ad agency that you’re working with on a new cleaning product.

But I digress. (Oh, and I like digressing, so you’ll see a lot of that).

Shortly before leaving, D introduces me to another mom, Tricia, who is also a writer and who is also a mother of three kids (mine are 1, 3 and 5; hers are 3, 5 and 7; I have one boy; she has three).

We chat about writing and blogging. I tell her I’m just coming out of the closet with my blog (you’ll see the irony of this later). We exchange LinkedIn, MySpace, iFreelance and blog info.

I liked Tricia immediately. She’s now the third person I’ve told the actual name of my blog to and the first stranger. She mentioned briefly that she’s had some rough experiences online and that she’s “complex.” She said she pulled down blogs that resulted in a lot of crying.

Before I started writing this, I checked my email and noticed an invite to connect with her on LinkedIn. I accepted and sent her a MySpace invitation in return. Then I browsed through her stuff.

I have to say, she could be the most “complex” person I’ve ever met.

She’s a lesbian, she says. Maybe she's a nonpracticing lesbian. She’s happily married to the father of her children. She writes very dry technical stuff for organizations like NASA. I relate to that. Best part, she’s a comic, like the guy in my mean girls clique.

What are the chances of meeting two comics in one month?

She’s been lamented online for being homophobic (more irony!), anti-fertility treatment (we might agree there) and anti-adoption (and I'm learning about why).

She’s clearly controversial. I like that. Clearly she’s judgmental, which I can’t stand, but again, I’m that, too, and a hypocrite, so who am I to judge?

Damn I’m witty.

I haven’t read much about her views and her personal controversy yet, but I’ve read enough to tell so far is that she’s brilliant, regardless of viewpoints, and very, very brave. That makes her interesting.

Plus, she was just plain nice.

Toodles.

Tax Day

Tally Ho.

The last two months were tight financially. I’ll just put that out there before I even get started.

Part of that is because I’m a classaholic and I spend a ridiculous amount of money on classes for my children to attend. It's not very unschooly, but that’s fodder for another post.

So today it was time to pay Uncle Sam. Oh boy.

I’m usually pretty adept at keeping track of expenses, saving receipts and guesstimating how much our family will owe the government come tax season. Usually the brain surgeon doesn’t mark down any deductions, so we have a hefty amount from his paycheck going to the IRS. This plan doesn’t leave the brain surgeon any spending money, but that’s what his babe is for.

The babe's bringing home the (vegan) bacon.

I make some estimated payments so by the end of the year, we’re usually pretty good to go. I usually even overpay, so I can roll the amounts over each year for extra insurance.

But I really screwed up this year.

Somehow I owe almost $6,000 more than what we’ve paid. That’s fun. I’m a freelance writer. I'm supposed to have more writeoffs than income. Clearly I’m doing something wrong.

It’s the self-employment tax that got me. The total was over twelve grand and, obviously, I paid only about half that. Yikes.

That got me thinking about what projects I have in the pipeline and things are looking up.

At the moment, I’m working on three articles for a hospital alliance that I’ve been working with for about four years: one for Health Affairs, one for HFM magazine and one for Critical Care Medicine.

All of these publications are peer-reviewed in a sense, but I’m most interested in publishing the Critical Care Medicine piece. It's a manuscript about Rapid Response Teams and has a lot going for it as far as topic and data, and I swear this manuscript has been with me for years. Really.

Anyway, it's medspeak, but trust me, Rapid Response Teams matter if you're the person lying in the hospital bed.

I’m also working on a peer-reviewed manuscript on adrenoleukodystrophy. This one is for a physician who’s wife works with the brain surgeon when the brain surgeon works trauma at the county ER. Good stories from that place. Anyway, adrenoleukodystrophy is the disease that is the focus of the movie Lorenzo’s Oil.

Great flick. Horrible disease.

I’m ghostwriting two books for addiction specialists this spring. This one is two separate projects. The authors know each other, but are not working together. These are newer projects and are quite juicy, but I'm not sure how much I can disclose.

I’m writing a poster for a CME provider, writing a news story for IVD Technology magazine, and doing my usual copyediting and occasional writing for the Center for the Advancement of Health: that’s my current nonprofit gig with Health Behavior News Service. I think I’m well into the hundreds of articles edited for them, but only write about one a month. Still, if you see proofing errors, they are likely my fault. I’m starting to really like writing those stories, though, especially the more controversial ones.

I’m doing some PR work this month on a product launch for a line of greener cleaners. More on that as it unfolds.

Oooohhh.

Ahhhhh.

What is this mystery cleaner?

Stay tuned...

Oh, and Thursday I’m writing an edition of FiercePharma to as a mutual test to see if I will write and edit for them, as I’m on the West Coast and they want their news to the copyeditor by 11 a.m. EST. Not sure that gig’s gonna work, but we’ll see.

So that’s it on the writing front at the moment.

Today was hectic (like that’s unusual). We had a broker caravan parade through our condo at 11:00 a.m. With client calls – which I try to pack in on Tuesdays and Thursdays – and three kids, imagine how NOT FUN it was to try to scramble and get the place spic and span by 11. It sucked.

It especially on tax day and especially when I had nowhere to actually put the kids during the caravan.

My office space on the strip was packed full and the caravan was, of course, right during lunchtime and naptime. Urgh.

After the logistical caravan hell was over, the kids finally had a brief (and late) car nap. Then we had dinner (vegan spaghetti and mushroom meatballs from Trader Joe's) cooked by the brain surgeon.

I'm going to miss him when he starts operating again.

Then the brain surgeon put the kids to bed while I finished up everything with urgent deadlines. Mainly, I copyedited one news story on mistletoe and another on exercise and cognition.

The brain surgeon ordered “Alien vs. Hunter” from Netflix, so I made fun of him all night. He was hoping it was like “Alien vs. Preditor,” so I made even more fun of him.

He apparently thought a sequel to a bad movie would be entertaining. The brain surgeon sometimes (usually) enjoys movies that allow him to be brain dead, but even had to laugh at himself on this one.

Toodles!

School Night

Except for my writing class, I spent the day playing with my fabulous children.

The L-man has his mommy-and-me class in the mid-morning (10-12), but it’s really mommy-and-all-three on Mondays, since I take them all. Today, BooBoo crashed right when it was time to leave. I let her sleep, so we missed all but the last 10 minutes of the two-hour class.

I packed a picnic, though, so we stayed at the park until 1:30, which is when Miss M’s afternoon class (no mommy) is. While we ate, a nice woman approached me and asked if I was homeschooling the kids.

I felt so crunchy.

And sort of itchy.

Do I look granola? I wondered. Or like a born-again? How does she know?

But then she clued me in. “I noticed you have an older one not in school.”

I felt better when I realized I hadn’t developed the universal homeschooler sign on my forehead, but sad when I realized Miss M had grown up so much.

It really goes by much faster than people say. Just seconds ago, it seems, I wasn’t yet a mother. Now, my oldest is over five-and-a-half. Whoa.

After dropping Miss M off, I took the younger two to the library. We read stories until they started to melt down and began YELLING in the library. I dropped the books and headed out through the annoyed stares. L-man then threw himself on the sidewalk in front of the car and had a crying fit because he wanted to go to the sand park. I hugged my tired muffin and let him know I felt his pain.

That's when I realized I had POOP on my arm from carrying BooBoo. How had I missed that?

So I changed her, head to toe, wiped my hands and the affected arm, doused myself in sanitizer and strapped the babes in their carseats.

We headed home for naptime, but they both were out cold before I left the parking lot.

I didn’t know what to do, so I went to Del Taco. I’m not vegan at Del Taco - or even health conscious. I had cheese on my bean burrito. Yummy Del Taco, artery clogging, unhealthy cheese. Ummmmmmmmmm…

Did you know you can add Del Taco as a friend on MySpace? I did and now I have two friends, including Tom.

The embarrassing thing about this trip to Del Taco, though, wasn’t my flagrant disregard for my commitment to veganism or good eating habits in general. Nooooooooooooooooo. What was embarrassing was the fact that I had no cash and had given my debit card to the brain surgeon so he could pop by the bank for me. As a result, I had to charge the Del Taco run on the credit card.

Suze Orman would so disapprove.

And I’m a-double-whammy-shamed. Del Taco and using plastic in one day?

Okay, the guilt has passed.

Soon the brain surgeon came and met me back where Miss M was so I could go to class, but I couldn’t pay much attention because I had to finish a draft for the HFM paper. I worked on it while the, um, star of itsallaboutmetv read his stuff.

I did finally learn about screenplay formatting, though.

My mean girl (if you don't count that most are boys) clique became official when the ringleader emailed the five of us after class. Since the other four are showbiz types, I feel pretty special to be included. They’re more than just the pretty people…they’re pretty ACTOR people.

Since they’re aching to be famous, I think I’ll direct to you them here, especially since Tom Kiesche made it so easy with his email last night:

Tom is here, here, here, here and here. No, I did not surf for all of those.

The comedian is here and here.

I had to Google Shannon and Seth.

Really, I’ve been surfing the four of them when I need a writing break and they’re all quite entertaining. I laugh all through that class and it's usually because of something one of the mean girls said. They're witty, I tell you.

Plus they all want to be famous.

So, I'm adding that to my task list.

1. Hug a brain surgeon.

2. Help actor types in the mean girls clique become famous.

I went to class to bring some creativity back to my writing. I stay in class cuz I like my new posse.

Toodles!

Art Star

It’s dang hot in LA today. The brain surgeon took the kiddies to the pool and my mom is here. I’m taking a break to blog and to edit a few news stories – one on baldness, one on cord clamping, one on children taking antihistamines and one on dopamine agonists.

It’s Saturday and usually BooBoo has mommy-or-daddy-and-me swimming lessons at the YMCA in the morning, but we skipped it because of her little cough. In the afternoon, there was a first birthday party for one of BooBoo’s friends, which we almost forgot after the chaos of the swim-tap-dance-art-contest-fair day. Instead, we were just very, very late.

Miss M had a serious scheduling conflict today. She had a tap dance performance at the YMCA’s Healthy Kids Day. I have no idea why they call it “Healthy Kids Day” and then serve hotdogs, hamburgers, chips, pseudo-juice drinks and candy. Are they insane? It’s a total junk food fest.

Really, it is hard going to many of the events in LA that supply food, because it is always just crap. We bring our own, though we do get the occasional crap, but when every table we go check out offers candy, it makes my day challenging.

Anyway, Miss M had to miss her tap performance, which is a bummer, because she loves Teacher Michelle and her friends in tap. Today was also West Hollywood Kids Fair, and little Miss M won FIRST PLACE and a blue ribbon. We tried to race between both events, but they ended up delaying the art contest and Miss M had to choose. She chose to collect her prize.


Now, I hate to brag, but I must say I was shocked when I saw the sheer number of entries. This was the 20th anniversary of the art contest and my daughter beat out over 50 other kids. (Somehow it was the 20th annual art contest at the 13th annual Kids Fair, but whatever). Seriously! Could I be more proud?

AND...(could there be more to this fascinating story???)...it was her second time winning an art contest. I swear. I think the first one was rigged, but still...What are the odds?

More bragging: I can see why she won. Every other entrant, even the 6th-graders, used one medium for their project – crayon, colored pencils or colored pen. But not little Miss M. She used pencil, crayon, markers, glitter glue, pipe cleaners, pom-poms, craft sticks and more. She’s a flipping creative genius.

The theme was “What I Want to be When I Grow Up.” My daughter chose to be a cheerleader. Yes, Heroes fans, Save the Cheerleader, Save the World! But, she didn’t want to be a lily-white cheerleader to match her own fair skin. No. My daughter wants to grow up to be a black cheerleader.

Now there is irony in this. I grew up during the Cabbage Patch doll frenzy. My dear mother waited in long lines and spent way-too-much money getting me the coveted dolls. And I just had to have a black Cabbage Patch doll. Much like my daughter, I was somewhat oblivious to race or genes or how it all worked. I told my mother that when I grew up, I was definitely having a black baby and my mother said that would be great.

I didn’t. I married a man who is German and Italian – and quite pale at that, although he tans better than I. But if my daughter’s wish comes true (they often do), I’ll apparently have my black child someday – and she’ll be cheering for her favorite team.

Miss M did recently ask about skin tones and I explained melanin to her. She loves science (should I call her “Brain Surgeon’s Baby”?), and so she found the explanation of melanin fascinating.

Mostly, I love the innocence that is still in her at 5 years old. She has no concept of race or racial differences. Her friend Ava has a little more melanin than her; her friend Emma has a lot more; her friend Tabitha has less. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. They love each other for who they are, and when they fight, it’s over whose turn it is or who is first or who gets to sit where.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Toodles.

PC Hell

Today started uneventfully. BooBoo was feeling better and I was feeling a little worse. I tried to get some work done since the MIL is still here and the brain surgeon stayed home until about 8 a.m. because he had a dentist appointment this morning.

On the writing front, one of my favorite editors assigned me a news story for this month and I had another ghostwriting offer. It’s my second in the self-help psychology arena. It’s about sex. Writing a self-help book is like getting to play psychologist in a way. Since it’s about sex, it’s also like being a voyeur in a way. I also fixed the references and sent off the edits on a peer-reviewed medical manuscript for Critical Care Medicine. Am I boring enough yet?

Mostly, today was a day I planned to take off with the kids. And mostly, that didn’t happen. The brain surgeon had to take his mother a follow-up appointment with the cataract surgeon and decided to take the kids along. I took my evil laptop (PC) to my office to switch out the keyboard with a different one.

Oh, and when I say, “my office,” it really is one of my client’s offices. Annually, they have been one of my largest clients for the last few years. I use one of their laptops for work with their clients, so they service it when there is a problem. My beloved Sprint card (also provided by said client) works only in the PC, so it tends to get a lot of use.

Anyhow, the POC has been freezing and the “A” key came off in my hand the other day. IT had a spare for me to switch the keyboard out with, but of course, after 20 minutes toiling as a wannabe-IT guy, when I finally had both keyboards off and tried to do the switch, it didn’t work – there was a tiny connection difference despite both computers being R51s. Then my dear colleague, V, attempted to pull the “A” off the one we were supposed to switch with, but that too broke. Oops!

By the time we put it all back together, my laptop had clearly had it with me and we clearly f*d something up, because it kept freezing even before it would boot. So, we packed both up and called FedEx. Too late for a pickup.

So, I get in my husband’s car – which would be even more embarrassing than hopping in my minivan if I cared about cars, which I don't – and I head to the FedEx at Sunset and Doheney, next to BlowFish (I’m now linking to everything, just for fun, but this is actually a pretty cool sushi place – even though I only eat vegan sushi, which might just be an oxymoron) and, of course, there’s no parking and nowhere to turn around. On the second round, I get a meter, but there is no change to be had. I always throw mine in my car, but apparently the brain surgeon does not.

So I played meter roulette, dropped the two laptops in one box on the FedEx counter, ran back to the care and beat the meter maid. Whew.

But when I got home, the FedEx guy called to tell me anything insured for over $500 is subject to inspection. What? By the time that conversation was over, I purchased two laptop shipping boxes for 10 bucks each and paid 10 more bucks each to have the guy pack them.

I tried the “I have three small kids and can’t bear the thought of coming back there” sob story, but it didn’t work at all.

Now I’m on my Mac, which I prefer anyway. But what a pain.

I asked the brain surgeon to take Miss M to ballet, which is near a park where BooBoo and L-man could play. I don’t know why it is, but Miss M, who loves ballet and her other classes (since I try not to enroll her in anything she doesn’t love) has meltdowns and doesn’t want to go to class when the brain surgeon takes her. I think she is just trying to see what her daddy is made of. I coach him through what to do and say. He usually succeeds.

I need an editor. I write too much and I bore myself.

Toodles.

Sophomore English

Okay, this is going to sound really bitchy at first (or maybe throughout), but at class the other night, five of us were standing around bonding, joking, perhaps being a little catty (actually, doggy and catty, as three of “us” were men) when I realized that high school just repeats itself and we were forming our clique.

Now, of course, it is because the week before, we had actually gone back to high school. It was Caesar Chavez day and our normal room was closed, so we went to Fairfax High School, which was much more depressing a place than my high school ever was.

Anyway, we all sat there in our high school desks. Several people I spoke to admitted it made them feel rebellious just sitting there. Everyone was less engaged, sighed more and seemed genuinely bored.

Of course, it might have more than just the setting that caused the boredom, but anyhoo…

I definitely have already figured out with whom I’d choose to break bread – or in reality share nachos with – because if I’m gonna break code and eat something processed, it may as well be a gastronomical joy.

I’m just going to say it. Some of these people are really quirky. I’m quirky. I know this. But I’m quirky in a nondescript, mainstream kind of way. I’m pretty vanilla.

But SOME OF THESE PEOPLE. Well, a lot of them are actors and we all know how actors are. At those of us in Los Angeles do.

See? There you go already forming opinions about my opinions before you even know what I’m going to say.

I love actors. Some of my best friends and favorite family members dabble in the sport. Actors are the people who will go out on a limb in my writing class. I love this.

In my class, we have:

• People who can write, but cannot act. They read well, but they don’t get all into it.

• People who write well and read well, adding an appropriate level of oomph.

• People who write not-so-well, but read and act so well, you start to think, "maybe this guy's writing is not so bad after all."

But then, there are my absolute favorites:

• People who cannot write to save their lives and cannot act either, but read as if they are putting on an academy award-winning performance of the best screenplay ever written.

And then there’s this guy, who wears a shirt advertising his public assess TV show each week and seems a bit too peppy.

I honestly don’t know why I haven’t wet myself a few times. So damned funny.

Toodles.

Blogging Me for Real

Okay, so I honestly started this blog just to have a sample blog I could show clients. Cuz I’m a righter. Yee Haw. No, seriously. I’ve never blogged publicly as “me” before. Does this make me a coward?

But now, looking at the stats, people are actually reading this thing. Okay, not many people, it’s true. Still, I feel like I have an obligation to my 67 new fans. I’ve gotta blog.

For fun.

A lot.

And I’ve also realized that I’m at the point in my writing career where I don’t really need to worry about what potential clients think of me or my personal life. That realization gives me a whole new feeling of freedom. Blog publicly. Fear ye!

I’ll leave the medical/science/journalism stuff on this blog for now, because I don’t really know what else to do with it. The epilepsy stuff I wrote for the brain surgeon, but then he never used it, so here it sits. In case you’re like, “What the hell is this epilepsy stuff?”

Anyway, I’m taking my first class since becoming a mom. When I think about it, I’ve been in class my whole life until procreating…and then I went to Mommy and Me classes (or Nanny and Me here in L.A.)….but this is my first class for me for like five years.

It is a screenwriting class. I have no idea why I’m taking it. Partially because it is only 45 bucks, the brain surgeon is on research and it is just down the street from my house. Partially it’s because a lot of what I write for pay is BORING. No offense, my dear clients, but you know it’s true.

If you look at my partial portfolio, you'll see what I mean. I do find ways to keep myself amused and luckily the people who hire me are often pretty cool, but really, few want to read what I write.

Enter my screenwriting class. I think I’m learning much more than many of my classmates, because I really have NO CLUE how to write a screenplay. Maybe tomorrow I’ll write more about that.

But my classmates are the most interesting parts of my class so far. Seriously, I just laugh through the whole class (seriously…or not seriously? Whatever.)

Toodles.

Miss M Loses a Tooth

Today, Miss M lost her first tooth. I cried. It’s certainly a milestone when one’s firstborn loses that tooth and I’m sentimental anyway.

A few weeks ago, I had one of her homeschooling friends over for a play date, who bit into a piece of toast (Ezekiel low-sodium) and started bleeding and crying. Her tooth was loose. I made a big deal of it, called her mom and told Miss M that one day soon she, too, would lose her tooth. What a glorious day it would be!

Not less than a week later, Miss M was using her teeth to open her Silly Strawberry toothpaste when OUCH! Her own bloody, loose tooth.

On a side note, Miss M lied (unusual for her) about how this happened for a moment, despite me being right next to the bathroom. She said she hit her face on the wall. The brain surgeon was like, “Oh my gosh! She knocked her tooth out,” but I knew better. She had no marks on her face and I didn’t hear a major slam against the wall. For a smart guy…(just kidding, Honey).

Anyway, it was the same tooth (bottom-middle-left and I don’t know the tooth number for you dentist types) as her friend and – once the shock wore off – she was thrilled. Then she told me the truth with a, “Sorry, Mom. I thought you would have been mad that I opened the toothpaste with my teeth.” (I wouldn’t have.)

But what really pissed me off was today (only two days later) at the YMCA, the brain surgeon comes to trade with me because I’m taking this writing class while he’s around during his research time. Miss M kept asking when the tooth fairy would come.

I was occupied with BooBoo and L-man when all of the sudden, Miss M is jumping up and down, bloodied like Carrie on prom night (face and hands), screaming that daddy pulled her tooth.

And when I say “screaming,” I mean in that way only a 5-year-old girl can do. It was an odd scene. Now the tooth fairy would come.

I can’t describe how annoyed I was, but the brain surgeon knew with just one look at me. “She asked me to pull it,” he stammered sheepishly.

And indeed, she was bloodied, but joyful. “I did, Mommy. I said, ‘pull it’ and he did and it didn’t hurt at all!”

I should have just been happy, but the truth is, I had unfinished plans. I wanted to photograph her tooth and videotape her wiggling it. So what if it had been a couple days? Most kids wiggled for at least a week and it takes me time to get my act together, but I had plans.

I had a dream – and the brain surgeon shattered it.

And I wanted to put it under her pillow. But I had to buck up and smile for the sake of my bloody little girl. I got excited. I jumped up and down. I cleaned her up. I went to class.

When I came home, I wrote a note from the tooth fairy and covered it with glitter glue. I found a yellow feather (from an art kit she received and not very vegan, I suppose) and placed it with the note and a shiny quarter in a bag (Call me cheap, but I’m not the type to leave a twenty). Then, I went in and felt under her pillow for the tooth.

This turned out to be remarkably easy, as the brain surgeon had placed it in Tupperware. Tupperware???

(By the way, if you want Tupperware, get it by ordering it from my friend at colbyandbigo@yahoo.com. She's a SAHM and will tell you all about why Tupperware is safer plastic and about her favorite products.

Anyhow, my daughter – who figured out that the Easter Bunny does not exist and that some of the Disney Princesses at parties are “imposters” – was beyond thrilled that the tooth fairy came and then volunteered to do a tooth wiggling reenactment for our video camera.

Toodles!

Arm, Leg, Penis, Vagina

So, the L-man asked about his testicles for the first time yesterday. Specifically, he had just gotten out of the shower and asked (while checking out his discovery), “Mommy, is this the ball of my penis?” He said it kind of like, “Is this the ball for my bat?”

These are the moments where it is very hard to keep a straight face.

I said, yes, many people call them balls, but the technical term is “testicles” and there are two of them.

He looked confused. “Is the other one in here?” He referenced his scrotum. I explained that it was, he found it, looked happy and went about his day.

We try to stick to anatomical terms for body parts. We’re science people and I’m straightforward about sex anyway, but it really freaks some people out. You certainly can’t say the word “vagina” in mixed company.

I do it anyway. I'm crazy like that.

And my kids do because they have no idea it freaks people out. For safety reasons, we do explain what a private part is and why it is private and read them a book we like, but otherwise, we just talk about all body parts in a matter-of-fact way.

Once, Miss M announced, very loudly in a crowd, “Mommy, my vagina has an itch!” That drew some disapproving stares, but whatever. She had a problem and she was just telling her mom. I’m not easily ruffled.

Another time when she was three, she interrupted her yoga teacher and said, “Sometimes my baby brother gets poop all over his penis, but it’s okay, because my mom cleans it off when she changes him.”

The yoga teacher was luckily cool (as most yoga teachers are) and didn’t skip a beat. “Well, that’s very nice of your mom,” she said. “Now, let’s all sway like a tree.”

The brain surgeon and I had to work at coming up with a family policy on nudity. In his family of origin, nakedness was not the norm and they didn’t openly discuss things like puberty, periods and sex.

In my family, everything was open for discussion. Most of my childhood was spent in a single-mom household with just one sister (though I have many siblings) and we were always getting ready together. Nudity didn’t matter at all.

We didn’t want any of our kids to feel weird about being naked and we didn’t want nudity to be a big thing, but we also don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable or inappropriate, and we want to make sure our kids knew what is safe.

We talked and read and read and talked and finally came across some information on the topic that made sense: Let the kids tell you what’s comfortable, because most kids reach a point where they feel uncomfortable having their opposite-gender parent see them naked and also where they don’t want to see their opposite-gender parent naked either (although the timing can be different for these). This is usually later (or not at all) for same gendered parents.

So, we decided just to be laissez-faire about it all and see what happens.

We aren’t nudest types, but we aren’t uptight. In other words, we tend to be naked only as a function of changing clothes or for bathing, but we don’t all run for cover either.

So as the kids grow, when they say, “DAD!” and are embarrassed if they see him changing or when my son freaks out if I walk in the bathroom (or if I freak out – it goes both ways), then that is that.

I also LOVE how our pediatrician handles nudity and the genital exam with our children.

Once they are old enough to have an opinion, he explains that there are very few times when it is okay for an adult to look at or touch a child’s private parts (mom, dad, doctor). He then explains that the parents should be there and say its okay. But, he says, most importantly, the child needs to be okay with it. He asks their permission before any exam, which, when necessary, are brief and appropriate.

We also talk to the kids about keeping secrets with other adults and so on. But mostly, we’re just with our kids. To me, it’s the best way to keep them safe.

Lastly, if you’re feeling down, just shout “vagina!” It will change your mood. I promise.

Toodles!

Working Mothers

Working mothers, I think, can be just as productive as other working men and women, but flex schedules help. For my situation, it works perfectly. I work off hours and can be available at weird times, which works for my clients -- many of whom are on the East Coast.

Women can add tremendous value to any business, but businesses need to think outside of the traditional 9-to-5 box. The fact that men can (or choose to) shirk more parenting responsibilities should be all the more reason to support flex schedules, telecommuting, etc.

With technology today, there isn't a lot of need to be in an office. Many of the people I work with (mostly men) work from a home office a significant portion of the time.

My friends and I joke, though, that not much has changed since the 50s, except that now women are expected to add paying work to the list! Men "help" more...They watch the delivery of their children (if they don't pass out first) and do an occasional dish.

Okay, that is so not true of my husband. He is pretty fabulous, but is a rare gem in the sea of husbands around here!

I suppose if your job involves physical labor, that is another story. If you are a secretary, I can see the problem if phones need answering and what not (though that can be accomplished remotely as well...I do it all the time) or with doctors (who truly can't just leave). But for most professional jobs that use common technology (phones, internet), that isn't an issue. For example, I know quite a few lawyers who work part time, on flex time, or telecommute the majority of the time.

The beauty of technology is that you don't always have to be there. Actually, I can think of some examples in medicine where this is true now, too.

I've seen studies that say multitasking is good, multitasking is bad, taking breaks is good, prolonged focus is good, but I think the jury is still out.

I do believe women being better at multitasking, but that it isn't necessarily a good thing. I guess I haven't seen anything conclusive either way. I have heard that creativity and efficiency increases when you have children, but if we do have increased neural connections, I assume they would function in a multitude of positive ways.

It is why women rock!