LA Moms Blog

Southern CA: are you watching? Are you ready? We may be next.

The disaster in Haiti is all over the news.  My heart ached hearing about all the tragedy, homeless orphans, and problems they are now faced with.  I joined the actions, donated money, and contemplated jumping on one of those aid planes.  But now my thoughts turn to my own family.  We live in a part of the world that faces the certainty that an earthquake, of possibly great magnitude, will happen one day soon.  We accept that as part of the deal with living in an amazing city.  What happened in Haiti could very likely happen here.  I doubt our buildings are any more reinforced than theirs.  I doubt our people, faced with catastrophe and the unknown, would act any differently than those in Haiti, resorting to violence and looting.  What would we do?  Are we prepared?

Choosing between the good and the paycheck

Today I got an offer for a job.  One that would come with both a good paycheck and the professional status I have been seeking.  But I hesitate.  I already have a good job.  But my present job does not come with either a paycheck or the title that gets me recognized in my field. 

“Oh! You’re a personal chef to such and such celebrity!! Tell me more!” or “How nice, you run your school’s garden, voluntarily.  Oh, and you’re a stay-at-home mom.”  Enter silence with unspoken preconceived notions of “stay-at-home mom”.  I know what they are thinking but no matter how much I explain all that I do, all that is heard is the “stay-at-home mom” part.  Even in my own mind, all I can hear is failure.

I’ve tried to convince myself that I am satisfied with what I do, being available for every school activity and event, running the garden twice a week, organizing the going-ons of the PTA, and having time to myself to exercise, visit with friends, and alone time.  But in the back of my mind, I think about my unpaid student loan, my degree going to waste, my lack of professional status, and dwindling self-worth.  How can I call myself a chef if I don’t even work as one? 

I love what I do, I love working with urban kids who need the garden and one-on-one attention.  I love being able to spend the day at school, organizing and helping out.  I love that I can take off on a moments notice, for a road trip or vacation.  I love that look on my kid’s face, that look of pride and admiration, when I do a lesson in their class.  I love seeing kids around the neighborhood, smile and say hi to me because I touched their lives in some way.

Three adults and two kids in a one bedroom house

Every year is same. My husband stays home and works, while I drive my kids and I the 18 hours to Seattle, to spend the summer with family. Every year I feel the same excitement, as the summer gets closer. And then, the same anxiety, when the days draw near.

I love traveling, so it is natural for me to anticipate my next adventure. Getting out of LA, to spend the summer camping, visiting friends and family, and cruising around the Northwest, is a perfect summer for me. But then I am reminded of the difficulty and drama that arises every year. First there is the difficulty of driving 18 hours, with kids anxious to be there already. Then there is the drama that arises when we are stuck for too long in a one bedroom house with three adults and two kids, one that does not usually contain children. Then the drama that arises while spending 10 days camping with three other families, and the drama that arises when grandma's methods come in conflict with my own.

I need to mentally prepare myself now. The first couple years, I really took every outburst and frustration personally. But now, I have come to understand that it is not about me. I think we all have hopes and expectations of how the time will be spent. But it doesn't always work out like expected. Normal routines are thrown out the window and the natural balance upset. No matter how much our families love us, having two rambunctious kids in the normally quiet house can be overwhelming.

Becoming a Californian

Growing up in Seattle,Washington, we used to curse out the Californians, for their crappy driving and for coming in, buying up the houses, and raising our real estate prices.  We’d see someone with CA plates and make comments such as “there goes another damn Californian!”  or “those f***ing CA drivers!”, as they pulled in front of us in traffic.  But more and more these days, I see myself becoming one.

The first time I caught myself was in the grocery store, visiting my sister in Arizona.  Entering the store, a woman had leisurely left her cart in the middle of the aisle, as she browsed the shelves.  Irritated, I shoved her cart aside, as I crazily rushed past to complete my shopping.   In my mind I thought, “how inconsiderate, to leave the cart in the middle of the way!”  I looked to my sister for validation, but all I got was her staring back at me like I was a mad woman.  The store was not busy; it was midday, during the week.  We were in a small desert town, accompanied by only a handful of other shoppers.  I caught myself.  It makes sense in LA to be an assertive shopper, as almost any time, or day, of the week finds the best stores packed, but we were no longer in LA.  I realized my heart was racing and I was in some sort of fight or flight mode.  Unintentionally, every time I started towards a store, my primordial self took over.  I took a deep breath and tried to relax.  There was really no hurry.

"Shh! Be quiet so I can be a lousy guest!!

"Shhh! I'm trying to read!!", snaps my 9 year-old's friend, who is currently hogging the video game controller.  Did I hear that right??  I focus in on the conversation.  My son begins up his normal chatter, again, after a momentary silence from the shushing of his playmate.  Then the friend says it again, tells my son to be quiet, so he can play the video game in silence, while the other kids sit and watch.  A quick glance to my husband, who has just entered the room, and we agree, without words, that something needs to happen. 

I step in and remind the boy that we talk kindly to friends.  He says nothing and doesn't even bother to look up from the game.  I am reminded of  a similar incident with the same offender.  A couple weeks back, at his house, they were again playing video games, well, he was playing, while my son sat and watched.  Like today.  My son recounts that the boy told him to "stop talking! you're being annoying".  I didn't like the sound of it, but brushed it off as a bad day.  But this was quickly becoming a real issue.

Why have my son over then, if he's a bother?  Why invite him over every Friday?  Why ask, over and over again, to come play at our house, if only to play video games alone, without interacting with the other kids? 

Life in the bike lane

I had a perfectly good and dependable car a couple weeks ago.  Then some lady turns left in front of me and my car is totaled.  Not my fault, but I still have to go through all the hoops.  Deal with insurance, doctor's appointments and bills, rental cars, and settlements.  And the worst of it all, finding a new (used) car that is dependable and in my price range.  This flippin' sucks!

Needless to say, the journey has been long and stressful.  The insurance only covers the rental for two weeks, so I am left to car hunt on foot.  Great fun with two young children and a husband who thinks we don't even need a car in the first place.  (He is oblivious, as he does none of the shopping or childcare, and rides the bus to work.)  He would rather save the money to buy land, when we move, years from now.  I could go on and on, but that's another story.

A month later and I am starting to adapt.  We ride the bus to get groceries or for entertainment, and I ride my bike for neighborhood errands, solo.  I have come to realize that I live in the most perfect place for the bike lifestyle.  It hardly ever rains, everything I could ever need is within three miles, and many streets have special bike lanes made just for me (or people like me). 

Thirty-three (white) hairs blowing in the wind

I sat in the car, checking my reflection in the mirror.  Not too bad today.  As I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, I noticed a white hair on the side of my head.  Upon further inspection, there was a whole patch of them!  Salt and peppered along the whole side of my head!  Horrors!  I knew they had begun, as I had pulled a few, here and there, from the part on the top of my head.  Short, thick, little white hairs trying to make their debut.  But I would not let them.  Not at the too young age of thirty-three.  White hairs are for grandmas!  I am only beginning my thirties! 

I have seen them popping out in many unexpected places lately.  On the heads of friends, who are near my age, of younger women in their twenties (I would definitely be freaking out even worse!) and, of course, on my own head.  I would have been prepared if my mom had them, but I have yet to see any sign on her head.

I never had this problem before I moved to LA.  Maybe it's LA that's doing this to me.  Maybe it's the  measurable black soot on the window sills and in the air I breathe.  Or maybe it's just age catching up with me, though I would like to put it onto something else.  I feel too young for this to be happening!

Feelings of a Party Failure

I told myself it didn’t matter to me.  We sent out invitations to everyone in her class and I was prepared for chaos.  But when only four families showed up, I was disappointed.  I was disappointed, but she wasn't.

Not wanting to buy into the consumerism of party themes, with matching napkins, plates, table covers, etc, I begun planning a month ahead, bringing together a little this and a little that.  I organized craft activities, a bean bag toss, sports and party bags.  I expected a good turn out, as her friends in her class really seem to like her.  I planned big, making goodie bags for twenty five, and food for more.

The day was cloudy and breezy, cold by any southern Californian’s standard, but the park we reserved was full of happy kids.  Arriving shortly before the party was to start, we begun setting up.  At a half hour after the party was to start, with no guests arriving, I begun to worry.  At an hour past, major concern set in.  My kids begun to question me and were visually anxious.  Had I not written the correct time?  Were people not familiar with the park?  Was it just too cold for folks to want to play outside?  Should I have given a reminder?

Shedding my childish expectations

My husband and I never, hardly ever, go out, just the two of us.  The last time was two Halloweens ago, at a work costume party.  Before that was really before kids.

And we went out a lot, probably every weekend, then.  I would spend hours picking out the perfect outfit, fixing up my hair and makeup, until I was transformed into a sparkling princess.  Upon seeing me, his eyes would light up and not stop shining until the night was over. 

Since he was underage when we met, we mostly hit underground parties and spent the night dancing away in our own little world.  There was never a quiet moment, always finding something to share.  It didn't take much to make a night memorable, just the two of us, some conversation, and great beats.  The fire burned strong.

One day in January, a friend offered to watch the kids for Valentine's Day, even taking them overnight. Overjoyed, I started planning right away.  Had to find the perfect spot, perfect outfit, and make a plan.  I booked reservations at an expensive restaurant I had passed by many times and wanted to try. I took myself shopping, picking out three beautiful dresses, which I could choose from, depending on my mood that night.  And I started thinking of ways to do my hair.  Up do? Curls? Straight?