Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if it resembled a reality show - because really there are very few similarities between reality and "Reality". My day-to-day conversations don't usually involve extremely long pauses and not every drama ends with a neat little lesson to tie it up.
The differences became even more glaringly clear last weekend when I showed up at my daughter's dance class. I found the teacher and two cameramen in the classroom. Apparently an email I didn't receive had been sent out earlier in the week. One of the families in the class is shooting a reality show and they would be doing a segment on the class.
Thankfully I wore my nice leggings and a top that covered my ass that day. Though I hadn't had time to brush my hair, put makeup on or even look in the mirror on the way out the door. To reality mom and the producers credit, they were very good about not wanting to disturb the class - you know anymore than six people huddled in the corner of the room pointing cameras at you would.
I wondered how my daughter would react, but she didn't seem to care at all. To the kids it was just dance class. As for the moms - well, that was something different. I had recently switched time slots because this one had more outgoing and welcoming moms. Everyone participates and the energy levels are much higher. But point a camera and all of a sudden moms are hiding behind poles and doing everything they can to avoid screen time.
It was obvious what the narrative of this episode was going to be and I found myself unwillingly fulfilling it. Never the most active participant, here I was being super-mom swaying back and forth and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star off-key and sashaying around the room. All this in stark contrast to reality mom, who ironically had been my example for this behavior in previous classes.
Like all good reality shows, it's those little moments that wouldn't mean anything in real life that you know are going to be the centerpiece of the segment. Towards the end, as the girls ran around chasing bubbles, the star of the show ran with her outstretched hands and poked my kid in the eye. It was an accident. Not a big deal, but tears were shed and hugs were exchanged. I comforted my daughter knowing full well there was probably someone behind the two-way mirror willing me to back off so they could get a clear shot of the triumphant hug and superb manners on display.
Harmony restored. Bubbles all popped. Lessons learned. Cue music.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Monday, October 20, 2014
A Taste of Freedom
The weirdest thing happens when you are the parent of a toddler and faced with a moment of unexpected freedom - sometimes you don't know what to do with it.
There's been a horrible hacking cough being passed around the house. Not surprising, since Em won't sleep in her bed. She basically tosses and turns, spreading germs equally between her parents. It's led to several of those awful days when you stay home from the office but are legitimately too sick to enjoy it. Even catching up on Grey's Anatomy brings you no joy. But Friday was Parent's Night Out - daycare would be staying open till 9pm to give parents a glorious three extra hours to do whatever they wanted. Even sick I knew I was going to take advantage of it.
I've been dreaming of eating at a restaurant with no booster seats. One that would scorn the sight of my daughter. It's LA, so it's not too hard to find. A place with no reservations but also no tables - just counter space where one jostles elbows down the line yet every entree is still over $20. I wondered if eating dinner at 5pm at a place that didn't cater to families or the elderly would feel insanely early, but we were hardly the first to arrive.
Don't let the Thai restaurant sign fool you. Beyond the door of Trois Mec is a lovely little piece of Paris (that actually feels quite NY to me). And at 5pm on a Friday is was packed. I slathered French butter onto warm yummy bread and soaked up its fatty goodness along with as much adult ambiance as I could.
But the problem with eating at a place that doesn't even have tables is you can be in and out in 45 minutes, even when you eat two baskets of bread and three beers. Two hours left of freedom and we had no idea what to do with ourselves. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Not enough time to see a movie. But there was no way I was calling it a night!
In the end we followed our French fare with a German Expressionist film exhibit at LACMA and hand drip coffee served in mason jars. We shut that coffee shop down! And as much as we swore we wouldn't, we couldn't help but look at pictures of Em as we took our last sips. We walked hand in hand down the street back to the car - then realized it was eight minutes to 9pm and ran the rest of the way. We were the last parent to arrive, but I don't feel guilty about that. I enjoyed the freedom...as well as the next two hours - Em, hopped up on pizza and Umizoomi videos, jumping on the couch and refusing to go to bed.
There's been a horrible hacking cough being passed around the house. Not surprising, since Em won't sleep in her bed. She basically tosses and turns, spreading germs equally between her parents. It's led to several of those awful days when you stay home from the office but are legitimately too sick to enjoy it. Even catching up on Grey's Anatomy brings you no joy. But Friday was Parent's Night Out - daycare would be staying open till 9pm to give parents a glorious three extra hours to do whatever they wanted. Even sick I knew I was going to take advantage of it.
I've been dreaming of eating at a restaurant with no booster seats. One that would scorn the sight of my daughter. It's LA, so it's not too hard to find. A place with no reservations but also no tables - just counter space where one jostles elbows down the line yet every entree is still over $20. I wondered if eating dinner at 5pm at a place that didn't cater to families or the elderly would feel insanely early, but we were hardly the first to arrive.
Don't let the Thai restaurant sign fool you. Beyond the door of Trois Mec is a lovely little piece of Paris (that actually feels quite NY to me). And at 5pm on a Friday is was packed. I slathered French butter onto warm yummy bread and soaked up its fatty goodness along with as much adult ambiance as I could.
But the problem with eating at a place that doesn't even have tables is you can be in and out in 45 minutes, even when you eat two baskets of bread and three beers. Two hours left of freedom and we had no idea what to do with ourselves. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Not enough time to see a movie. But there was no way I was calling it a night!
In the end we followed our French fare with a German Expressionist film exhibit at LACMA and hand drip coffee served in mason jars. We shut that coffee shop down! And as much as we swore we wouldn't, we couldn't help but look at pictures of Em as we took our last sips. We walked hand in hand down the street back to the car - then realized it was eight minutes to 9pm and ran the rest of the way. We were the last parent to arrive, but I don't feel guilty about that. I enjoyed the freedom...as well as the next two hours - Em, hopped up on pizza and Umizoomi videos, jumping on the couch and refusing to go to bed.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
How 'Bout Them Apples
I mentioned yesterday that I am way more into apple picking than pumpkin picking. I look forward to pumpkin spice latte season as much as the next person, but I've definitely always been more of an apple girl. Apple pie, apple cider, apple cider donuts...I mean, seriously, what's not to like about an apple? Going apple picking is one of my favorite Fall activities (although to be honest the actual apple picking part is really only a small piece of the over all ritual).
When I moved to LA I thought I'd have to give up this favorite past time. Then, last year, I discovered Oak Glen. Oak Glen is a little piece of East Coast in the West Coast mountains. I wrote a little bit about it last year, but I thought I would give a few more tips this time around - in case this is your kind of fun.
Unlike Mr. Bones, this excursion is a commitment. It's an hour and a half drive from Los Angeles, so you need to be commited to an all day event. But the distance is really not so bad because after all the activities your kids will take a nice long nap on the way home. Things start to get busy around 10am so it's best to hit the road early and aim to get there at opening. There's a quaint map you can find here that gives you an idea of what to expect. It's one long road that loops through the mountains. The orchards are mostly close together and it's easy to walk from one to another, with a few exceptions.
Some have parking lots, but there is also free parking all along the road. If you get there early, it's not a problem finding space. I've always started at Riley's Apple Farm. There are several Riley's and they are owned by different people but this one is basically the first farm you will run into. In addition to apple picking they have archery and tomhawk throwing, press your own cider, and hay rides (I'd like to say for the kids, but the truth is the adults participated in this way more than any of our kids did).
Another good thing about starting at Riley's is if you go as a group you will all be able to find each other. Be forewarned - there is barely any cell reception in the area. I got a lot of text messages hours after they were sent. Walkie talkies? Maybe next year. But you're gonna have to go old school with your communication on this trip.
Once you've gotten your fill of what you technically drove up here for you can soak up the rest of the experience by driving into the town center. Or another way of putting it - driving into the past. Up the road you will find a series of old wood buildings that include a leather shop, a candy shop, and Apple Annie's - home to the largest apple pie I've ever seen. A slice fed the whole table on this trip. There are a few other places to eat, but this seems like the go to spot. You're going to wait in line for a while but the pie makes the wait worth it. You can pick some up to take home at the bakery next door.
And then, while you digest, your wallet can get gauged by overpriced children's activities! $7 pony rides, $5 petting zoos (that charge for adults too!), face painting...you know all the good stuff. But hey, the best of memories are paved with the empty lining of your wallet, right?
Oh yeah, bring cash. But not just for the ponies. Bring it for the apple cider donuts. 'Cause your next stop is really why you came - on to Snow-Line Orchard. As you drive up the scent will hit you strong - apple cider mini donuts. All that is good in the world. Their cinnamony goodness melts in your mouth. Here you can buy bushels of apples if you prefer to have the picking done by someone else. You'll also find an apple and apple cider tasting station run by a slightly curmudgeonly old lady who looks like she's been peeling apples for the last 80 years. (Part of the charm right?)
And that's what I really love about this place. It's exactly like I remember from my childhood - and I hope it never changes.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
The Annual Pumpkin Pic
Let's admit it. There are some annual traditions that are more about the picture than the experience. As much as I love apple picking, pumpkin picking wasn't one of my top Fall activities. It was always so cold. Bundled up in coats and scarves, just my eyes showing, stumbling around the vines and uneven earth in search of a heavy, dirty orange vegetable I'd have to lug back to the car. Each year ended with a photo of my siblings and I sitting on giant pumpkins looking sullen. That image, that was what it was all about.
When I first moved to LA and was feeling a little homesick I tried to replicate this piece of home. But tank tops and flip flops have their own problems in the pumpkin patch. You aren't stepping over vines because the pumpkins didn't grow there - they were brought there in an attempt to replicate a farm environment. It was a combination of everything that sucked about the experience in my childhood combined with none of the upside. Forget that.
I stopped driving an hour away for a faux experience and started buying my pumpkins on the cheap at Trader Joes. Then I had a kid. Kids make you want to capture a piece of your own childhood. Back to the pumpkin patch.
But this time I decided to embrace the LA of it all. If it's really all about the picture of your kid holding a pumpkin there is no better place to get that than Mr. Bones. It's like a real live 'celebrities are people too' section straight out of a tabloid magazine. In LA, it's common to find yourself just on the edge of frame of what will inevitably be captioned as a photo of a starlet in her natural habitat doing something completely normal just like you and me.
Mr. Bones is one giant photo op. Which is perfect because it's also the only pumpkin patch I know of with a designated area for paparazzi - and valet parking. You can easily drop $50 in a half an hour there on $7 pony rides, face painting, petting zoos and Lavender-Honey sno-cones. Plus, of course, the pumpkins perfectly organized by size and color.
Amongst the regular folk dressed in their just rolled out of bed best are the perfectly put together. The moms with every hair in place and their designer bags and jeans. They look better kneeling in the hay arguing with their toddlers who want to feed the animals but don't want to go into the petting zoo than I do at a special event. But in a way they have to, because their annual photo op will not be taken by them on their iphone - it will be taken by the 30 paparrazi with their telephoto lenses. Their annual tradition will show up online less than four hours later with hashtags and links to every designer item they are wearing. Which is really the only reason one would wear a lace dress to a pumpkin patch. Otherwise, you seem insane. But it's not insane here. It's perfectly manufactured normal.
The rest of us will struggle to get our kids to sit still for one second to get that shot. One dad asked me to take a photo of him and his kids with his fancy camera. He seemed slightly irritated that I only got six shots off - but dude, I only have so much time to dedicate to your memory before my kid has a melt down and I ruin the chance of getting one of my own.
When I first moved to LA and was feeling a little homesick I tried to replicate this piece of home. But tank tops and flip flops have their own problems in the pumpkin patch. You aren't stepping over vines because the pumpkins didn't grow there - they were brought there in an attempt to replicate a farm environment. It was a combination of everything that sucked about the experience in my childhood combined with none of the upside. Forget that.
I stopped driving an hour away for a faux experience and started buying my pumpkins on the cheap at Trader Joes. Then I had a kid. Kids make you want to capture a piece of your own childhood. Back to the pumpkin patch.
But this time I decided to embrace the LA of it all. If it's really all about the picture of your kid holding a pumpkin there is no better place to get that than Mr. Bones. It's like a real live 'celebrities are people too' section straight out of a tabloid magazine. In LA, it's common to find yourself just on the edge of frame of what will inevitably be captioned as a photo of a starlet in her natural habitat doing something completely normal just like you and me.
Mr. Bones is one giant photo op. Which is perfect because it's also the only pumpkin patch I know of with a designated area for paparazzi - and valet parking. You can easily drop $50 in a half an hour there on $7 pony rides, face painting, petting zoos and Lavender-Honey sno-cones. Plus, of course, the pumpkins perfectly organized by size and color.
My pumpkin picking experience
Amongst the regular folk dressed in their just rolled out of bed best are the perfectly put together. The moms with every hair in place and their designer bags and jeans. They look better kneeling in the hay arguing with their toddlers who want to feed the animals but don't want to go into the petting zoo than I do at a special event. But in a way they have to, because their annual photo op will not be taken by them on their iphone - it will be taken by the 30 paparrazi with their telephoto lenses. Their annual tradition will show up online less than four hours later with hashtags and links to every designer item they are wearing. Which is really the only reason one would wear a lace dress to a pumpkin patch. Otherwise, you seem insane. But it's not insane here. It's perfectly manufactured normal.
Jessica Alba's pumpkin picking experience.
The rest of us will struggle to get our kids to sit still for one second to get that shot. One dad asked me to take a photo of him and his kids with his fancy camera. He seemed slightly irritated that I only got six shots off - but dude, I only have so much time to dedicate to your memory before my kid has a melt down and I ruin the chance of getting one of my own.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Pre-K Wars: The Battle Begins
One of the things that stressed me out most when I was thinking about having kids was choosing a school. People say if you live in a competitive city like New York or Los Angeles you should be planning your kid's education while they are still in utero. I've watched Nursery University. I've seen the madness. People plan major life decisions around school choices and act like the facility where your three-month-olds take naps and poop will determine the entire course of their lives. So I stressed out about it. But like many things in life I stress about, I did nothing concrete to relieve this stress.
When my daughter was about a month old I went into full blown panic mode. Clearly I had waited too long. I had to go back to work in two months - nowhere near enough time to figure this out. So I did what I do when I don't want to make a major decision on my own. I polled my pickiest, snobbiest, impossible to satisfy friends and asked where they were sending their kids. Then I visited one of them and wrote a deposit check. (This is also pretty much how I applied to colleges.)
Despite the fact that my friend's kid lasted only about two months into our tenure there, we've been there for two years and love it. I don't regret not doing extensive research, but maybe we just lucked out. I'm sure it's not the best, it's certainly not the worst. It works for us, my daughter is super happy there and we're happy too.
And now she's two. While she can stick it out at the current facility through Kindergareten, the pressure is mounting to find the next place. As I watch others around me navigate this world, I am beginning to feel the anxiety creeping up. I had lunch with a former coworker and thought we would chat about our lives, but ended up finding myself getting a full on lecture about the school application process. "It's not brain surgery - but do what you need to do!" she shouted. She even suggested several real estate options in good school districts.
We've always had an idea of where we wanted to send our daughter. It's in a neighborhood we love and it offers the program we want and we have friends whose kids attend the sister school in the valley. In many ways it felt like an obvious choice so we've never really stopped to think about - what if she didn't get in.
I think one of the main reasons I have stressed out about this entire thing is not because of my daughter's future but because of other parents. I am not the kind of parent who discusses different educational and parenting philosophies. I've never been one that excels at navigating these popularity contests either. I don't want to go to school functions at a school I don't attend and pretend I love it. Combining these things and having the stakes be your kid - it's almost too much. But you've got to do it right?
So we went on a tour. The second I stepped on campus I knew the games had begun. Some parents were chatting with each other loudly, so as to show their connection to current students. As we stood in a semi-circle around the admissions director the size up began. It wasn't even subtle. It was pointed out quickly that parents fall into three camps - those that show up early (1 pt), those that get there on time, and those that show up late (-1). I'm not sure where you fall when you bring your governess and your personal assistant to the tour, but there was one of those as well.
We were quizzed on why we wanted to be there and I was happy to see my husband easily fall into the role of prize student. He had those answers down and I silently cheered, maybe we were the front runners. We asked questions (which we were told was good), we understood the philosophy and the system of the school, we laughed at her jokes, and we signed up for the high school tour to show we are committed to seeing this through (2 brownie points for that).
As we left, my husband turned to me and commented on how smooth it went. See - no problem. No, I pointed out - no problem so far because we did everything right. But I guess a lot can change in a year and a half. Hope we don't mess it up, I haven't explored the other options.
When my daughter was about a month old I went into full blown panic mode. Clearly I had waited too long. I had to go back to work in two months - nowhere near enough time to figure this out. So I did what I do when I don't want to make a major decision on my own. I polled my pickiest, snobbiest, impossible to satisfy friends and asked where they were sending their kids. Then I visited one of them and wrote a deposit check. (This is also pretty much how I applied to colleges.)
Despite the fact that my friend's kid lasted only about two months into our tenure there, we've been there for two years and love it. I don't regret not doing extensive research, but maybe we just lucked out. I'm sure it's not the best, it's certainly not the worst. It works for us, my daughter is super happy there and we're happy too.
And now she's two. While she can stick it out at the current facility through Kindergareten, the pressure is mounting to find the next place. As I watch others around me navigate this world, I am beginning to feel the anxiety creeping up. I had lunch with a former coworker and thought we would chat about our lives, but ended up finding myself getting a full on lecture about the school application process. "It's not brain surgery - but do what you need to do!" she shouted. She even suggested several real estate options in good school districts.
We've always had an idea of where we wanted to send our daughter. It's in a neighborhood we love and it offers the program we want and we have friends whose kids attend the sister school in the valley. In many ways it felt like an obvious choice so we've never really stopped to think about - what if she didn't get in.
I think one of the main reasons I have stressed out about this entire thing is not because of my daughter's future but because of other parents. I am not the kind of parent who discusses different educational and parenting philosophies. I've never been one that excels at navigating these popularity contests either. I don't want to go to school functions at a school I don't attend and pretend I love it. Combining these things and having the stakes be your kid - it's almost too much. But you've got to do it right?
So we went on a tour. The second I stepped on campus I knew the games had begun. Some parents were chatting with each other loudly, so as to show their connection to current students. As we stood in a semi-circle around the admissions director the size up began. It wasn't even subtle. It was pointed out quickly that parents fall into three camps - those that show up early (1 pt), those that get there on time, and those that show up late (-1). I'm not sure where you fall when you bring your governess and your personal assistant to the tour, but there was one of those as well.
We were quizzed on why we wanted to be there and I was happy to see my husband easily fall into the role of prize student. He had those answers down and I silently cheered, maybe we were the front runners. We asked questions (which we were told was good), we understood the philosophy and the system of the school, we laughed at her jokes, and we signed up for the high school tour to show we are committed to seeing this through (2 brownie points for that).
As we left, my husband turned to me and commented on how smooth it went. See - no problem. No, I pointed out - no problem so far because we did everything right. But I guess a lot can change in a year and a half. Hope we don't mess it up, I haven't explored the other options.
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