My Son, The Comedian

Written by Chris Loprete

My 3 year old is hysterical. Seriously. I’m not talking about the little “oh isn’t that cute” type of laughs that an infant elicits. Nor am I talking about the courtesy laughs you give to a joke told at a cocktail party or by the elderly…or your in-laws. No, I mean every day my 3 year old son says or does something that brings a genuine belly laugh out of me. I always thought I was a big shot because I wrote and performed a one man show a few years back. That’s nothing! My kid performs a one man show every night whether it’s on our living room floor or in the bathtub. And it’s all improv. You should see what he can do with a few finger puppets and plastic dolphins. He’s named every one of his toys and not your every day run of the mill names either. He calls his rubber shark, “Rusty”. Who names a shark Rusty? Brilliant! I’m dying over here! He’s tells funnier stories than Bill Cosby, he’s a better prop comic than Carrot Top and can make a bigger mess than Gallagher. He also works blue at times. His bathroom humor would make Howard Stern blush. I’m not all that fond of his potty mouth, but I understand that he has to work in front of all kinds of audiences. I don’t know, I guess some kids at day care go for that sort of stuff. And unlike every comedian who is just starting out, he never bombs. He goes out there and kills every night.

Is he funnier than your kid? Of course he is. To me. You wouldn’t find him funny though. Just like your kid is hilarious to you, but I probably wouldn’t get it. His or her musings and observations would be lost on me while you would be rolling on the floor laughing. Why? It’s all in the material. You’ve heard the question, “Where do they get this stuff?” The answer? Us, of course. Our kids are little Dictaphones. They just spew back to us what they hear. Good and bad. Their brilliance is spewing it back to us when we least expect it. Last weekend my toddler came in to our bedroom at 7AM looked at me in bed and said with extreme disgust and contempt, “Daddy, are you asleep? Oh, I don’t believe it” Not funny right? WRONG! It’s comedy gold. Tonight he looked at me and the trash bag in my hand and innocently said, “Oh! What have you got there?” SEE? That’s funny! It’s not just what he says, but the commitment behind it. I have no idea when I, my wife, or anyone else said those words, but we must have at some point. The fact that he chose these random moments to say them back to us just shows his penchant for comic timing. And he’s not the only funny preschooler in the family. My 4 year old niece makes me howl too. And the two of them together? Abbott and Costello only WISH they were that funny. I’m also excited because my 2 month old just learned to smile. I’m sure he’s starting to mentally jot some notes down that will soon turn into some real A material.

I’m writing this down here in this forum because it’s the kind of thing that only parents can understand. We are all dying to brag or joke about every single thing our kids say and do. We have to show some restraint though. Our friends who are single and married without kids would give us a smile or a courtesy laugh (see above), but they just don’t get it. Our friends with kids would genuinely laugh, but they would be thinking, “My kid said something much more cute and funny the other day”. Don’t believe me? When you update your Facebook status with an anecdote about your child, the only comments you get are from parents who will say. “That’s funny. It reminds me of the time my little Brittney said…”

Now if you’re like me and you have a toddler, enjoy these comedy sets because they will not last. As my kid grows he will always be funny, but he’ll be a different kind of funny. The innocence and complete lack of insecurity is what makes this stage of life so magical and uproarious. So do yourself a favor before it’s too late. Turn off the TV and take time to watch the show that your kid is performing right in front of you. I guarantee it’s better than any reality show or sitcom (except for the fine programming on ABC). And at times they’ll need a straight man so make sure you can keep up.

Chris is an actor/writer living in Los Angeles. He’s performed in movies, TV and on stage with the Groundlings Improvisation troupe, and the award winning Circle X Theatre Company. He recently performed his self penned critically acclaimed one man show “You’re From Philly, Charlie Brown” in several cities across the US. Chris currently works as an Associate Writer/Producer for ABC On-Air Promos for Reality and Comedy. He lives north of Los Angeles, in Santa Clarita, with his wife and two children.

Best Worst Mother

Written by Molly Beck Ferguson

I'll admit it. Parenthood has flat-out humbled me. I'm sure it has for many other parents out there as well - it has to have. No one REALLY gets it until you are in the throws of it. I only too-late realized how many ignorant and inadvertent judgmental thoughts I had when I didn't have a child of my own. "I'll never do this when I have a baby!" "Why is she always doing that with her kid?" I apologize to you all. I had no idea what I was talking about.

But that being said, there are still a few beliefs and ideas of child-rearing that I had in my former life that I am really trying to stick to now. Even though I now know I don't know very much, I'm honestly trying to be the Best Mother I can be by trying to make the best choices I can.

To let you in on one of our little "secrets" - my husband and I have never really been a big fan of Disney - particularly the ubiquitous Disney Princesses that we feel infect our consumer culture. My husband is afraid that after one princess-themed birthday party, before you know it we'll be shelling out money for the costumes, the dolls, Cinderella backpacks, Ariel Band-Aids, and Snow White multi-vitamins. I gotta say, I'm not really crazy about it either. It seems, I don't know - lazy. Easy. Like I should be more creative with my parenting than that. I owe it to her to open up her mind to broader views outside these unrealistic ideas of a handsome prince swooping in and making her dreams come true.

My 2 year old daughter and I were recently invited as a free guest of a friend who has a Silver Pass to Disneyland. Seriously - this is the way to do it. All the fun of Disneyland without the added pressure of feeling like you need to have an AMAZING time, because you've just paid the equivalent of a luxury car payment to get in. If we had the choice, it's a place we probably wouldn't pick to spend the day on our own, but we very excitedly and graciously accepted the invitation.

I know my daughter had a wonderful day at Disneyland, but I gotta tell you, I had the time of my life! Secretly. I don't know if I could have admitted to some friends or maybe even my husband what a happy crazy person I became being there. I became the Best Worst Mother ever. I coerced my toddler into eating a lollipop for lunch - which she all too eagerly agreed was a great idea. And didn't she need a Kermit doll too? Of course she did, the poor deprived child! Even though we have so many stuffed animals at home I consider launching some of them out into space just to get them off my living room floor? But we don't have a Kermit the Frog doll! Oh, wait! She needed a Mickey Mouse balloon! The same balloons that we found out our cats like to nibble on the string and vomit for days, you ask? Yup. Did that give me pause for a moment? Nope. "One $7 balloon, please."

What happened to me? I'm a rational, logical, frugal person who barely recognized myself that day. I was quickly becoming that enabling, lazy mother I was just thinking judgmental thoughts about a few paragraphs ago!

As we stood in line for the merry-go-round, I told my gracious friend with the Disney Silver pass how much fun I was having at the aptly-named Happiest Place on Earth. He said - "Yeah, I've invited other people to Disneyland before, but they never want to come. I think they don't even want to expose their kids to it for fear that it will just create princess-loving Disney consumers out of them." Uhh...who would think THAT, I sheepishly thought, not making direct eye contact. But it hit me in the wake of hearing about another person's similar judgmental thought - we weren't taking our kids to a firing range, or an opium den, or any other grossly inappropriate place for them. We are taking them to Disneyland! Where a kid can be a kid, as I believe the old commercial sang. And all of us were having fun. A LOT of fun. What was so bad about that, that people purposely avoided it?

I don't think that keeping your kid away from a consumerism-heavy theme park is necessarily being the Best Mother - because they are missing out on a truly magical, fun experience. I also don't think that exposing them to it makes you the Worst Mother either - because that certainly doesn't mean I have to buy every toy, t-shirt, or fruit snack with princesses on them. Can't I find a middle-ground and just be the Best Worst Mother I can possibly be? Isn't THAT what it's all about?

Letting her watch ONE MORE episode of Dora The Explorer - not only because I have to get one of a million things done in those 23 minutes, but because she loves it. Picking up a Happy Meal for dinner one night - because I can't deal with cooking, and frankly, she loves French Fries! Buying her a "Belle" gold lame' princess ball gown to play dress-up - because she loves looking at herself in the mirror with it on, it makes her feel special, and it puts a smile on that luminous little face. These are things that society makes us believe we are bad, lazy parents if we give in to them. I cannot believe that's true.

I told my friend while in line waiting for the merry-go-round at Disneyland, "You know, if you only feed a kid carob, they are going to find chocolate somewhere eventually." And it's true - we are responsible for our children, but ultimately, as they grow up, we can't control what they love, what they do, or even what they eat. I was a changed woman and a changed parent that day, humbled once again. I had a great time at Disneyland, and officially took one step closer to becoming the Best Worst Mother I really hope to be. And I'm positive my daughter will be better off for it.

On a final note, the next morning, still basking in the glow of our trip to Disneyland, my daughter refused to eat her breakfast. I did sink to a new manipulative parental low by actually hiding behind the giant Mickey Mouse balloon and asking her in a falsetto voice to "Please eat your yogurt!" It worked like a charm. Best Worst $7 I ever spent...

www.mollybeckferguson.com
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Here’s To The Moms

Written by Chris Loprete


It’s a scenario that’s happened countless times in the last 3 years and will no doubt happen countless times more. I get home from a tiring day of work only to have my wife shove my toddler son into my arms with a heavy sigh saying, “Thank God! Here. you take him for awhile.” and suddenly my work day has been extended for a few more hours. This has caused some very intense…uh…discussions between my wife and I. I thought why the heck should I have to pull double duty? I’m exhausted too. Can I sit and enjoy some mindless television entertainment for a few hours before I have to go out into the cold, cruel, working world again? It’s not that we don’t love our little boy or that he’s some kind of problem child. He’s my best friend and very well behaved (most of the time). It’s just that I didn’t get why my wife’s day was sooo much more exhausting than mine. I was the one getting up early, sitting in traffic and dealing with bosses, deadlines and the pressures of providing for my family. What’s so tough about occupation: homemaker?

Before all the ladies up and through this place start hatin’ on me, let me make my point which is this: Ooooooooh. I get it. See I’ve been a stay at home dad, Mr. Mom, “manny”, or whatever you want to call it for the last 2 weeks. My wife just gave birth to our 2nd little boy. Thank you. He’s the most beautiful baby that’s ever been born in the history of time. You heard me. My job has essentially been to cook, clean, chauffer, entertain and otherwise occupy our 3 year old son while my wife takes care of our newborn. So I’ve had a glimpse of what my better half does during the day for very little thanks and essentially no pay. Wow. There’s a reason why society dictates that the men go off to work every day. If it were up to us to raise the kids, they’d all be wearing pajamas, eating cheese sandwiches and watching Sportscenter all day. They should make a movie about a dad staying at home with his kids. Maybe get Michael Keaton to star in it. What? Really? When? Oh, I‘ll have to check it out.

Actually if I do say so myself, I’ve done an excellent job these past two weeks. But by 8:30 at night, I am 10 times more tired than I am after a normal day at the office. For instance I promise never to scoff when my wife tells me about her disastrous shopping trip to Costco with our son. Last week I treated the other shoppers to the wacky physical comedy of trying to maneuver a shopping cart filled with bulk groceries while chasing a 3 year old sprinting towards the hot dog booth. Trying to turn that cart quickly is like steering an ocean liner. No wonder the Titanic hit that iceberg. Yesterday I took my kid to Disneyland. By myself. Some friends from work said, “Geez. Aren’t you having the time of your life while we’re slaving away back here at work?” I say to them, “Think so? Wanna trade places for a day?” I do believe my wife has said the exact same thing to me during those intense discussions I was talking about before.

So raise a glass to the moms, guys. Out of the whole year they get ONE day set aside for them and it’s coming up. Make sure it’s a good one. They’ve earned it. Here’s to your mom, my mom, and the mothers of our children. And the next time your wife says, “I need a break.” believe me…she does.

And just because I can’t leave well enough alone, a note to the dads: Take heart. Our day is coming next month and we’ve earned it too.

Thanks. I got it.

Written By Chris Loprete

Why is it that when women see a father alone with a baby, they immediately assume we don’t know what the hell we’re doing? Now I don’t want to generalize here. I’m not talking about single women. In fact the single women tend to gravitate towards the daddies at the park or in other public places. Chicks LOOOOVE guys with babies. Babies and dogs. They say, “I want that.” Now of course we men are kidding ourselves because ‘that” is not specifically us, but rather a stable man who’s a good father, and the fantasy is fun. Anyway I’m probably already in trouble with my editor who happens to be my wife (and the two are very rarely mutually exclusive) so I’ll go on. No, I’m talking about the annoying mother who wants to give all kinds of unsolicited advice on how to raise your child. And rightly so. OBVIOUSLY I MUST need this unsolicited advice because my child’s mother is nowhere in sight. I therefore MUST be doing something wrong. And then, I imagine this “guardian angel” will go along her merry way and later at the dinner table tell her family how she saved a child’s life today.

Take this little encounter for example. It was a summer Saturday afternoon about two years ago. I was in my townhouse downstairs and my wife was upstairs with our infant son. I was watching a baseball game and cleaning. The cleaning part is not important to the story but I specifically remember doing it and I always like to remind my wife/blog editor that it does happen on rare occurrences. Anyway I could hear my son crying upstairs pretty loudly. He was probably getting his diaper changed which to him has always been the baby equivalent to a root canal. There was a knock at the door. When I answered it I saw a woman who was walking her dog in front of our door. She asked, “Do you have a baby?”
“Why yes” I said waiting for the inevitable compliment. Something along the lines of, I see you walking him. You have a lovely family. or Well, he’s obviously going to grow up to be a very good looking man. Why else would she take the time out of her dog walking to knock on our door?
This is why: She looked at me and said, “He’s crying upstairs.”
I paused to make sure I had heard her right. Then I said, “Yeah, my wife’s upstairs with him.”
She replied, “Oh, I heard the game on pretty loudly so I wasn’t sure you if could hear him”
Yyyeeeeahhh. Handled, honey but thanks. I’m sure the children of our housing complex are a lot safer with you roaming the sidewalks knocking on doors. Hey hero, I think I hear a baby coughing a couple of houses down. Do you want to call child services or should I?
Or how ‘bout the woman on the beach later on that same summer? I was walking on the beach, my son safely strapped into the front loader on my chest. I felt good. First of all the Baby Bjorn completely covered my huge gut so I wasn’t nearly as self conscious as usual. And secondly, it was a beautiful day and I was walking with my new son at the place I’m always the happiest: the beach. So when I saw a woman walking toward me and eyeing both of us, I started to feel even better. I was sure she could sense the good energy coming off of me and like I said the baby was covering up my huge white shirtless girth so I thought Hey, I think she’s checking me out.
So when she passed by and asked, “Does he have sunscreen on?” I was a bit nonplussed. First of all I had practically bathed him in SPF 560 or whatever the strongest baby sun goop is nowadays. This kid could have crawled across the surface of the sun and come away with nothing but a nice base.
So I told her, “Uh….yeah…plenty.”
She replied, “Oh. Cause his legs look a little red.” and passed by me never breaking her stride.
I immediately turned and shouted after her, “Yeah? Well they call his chubby legs and butt baby fat. They call yours cellulite!” ZING! That got her. Of course I didn’t actually say that but ooooh I wish I had.

And these brilliant pieces of parenting wisdom are not confined to just me when I’m alone. My wife has had to endure some slings and arrows of her own. It’s like divide and conquer. Once my wife and I are divided, they love to conquer. I don’t ever want to hear a sentence that starts with, “Y’know what WE do…” I don’t even like hearing it from our parents, but that I understand and tolerate because “parental interference” is in the grandparent’s code book. It’s a God given right. To tell you the truth as my wife and I get ready for baby #2, we’ve learned to tolerate buttinskys a little more. In fact I’m amazed how laid back we are about having another child and we’re only 3 months out. I guess we think of ourselves as old pros now. In fact it probably won’t be long before we’re handing out some advice of our own to other parents who obviously don’t have a clue what they’re doing. I’m sure they’ll thank us for it.

Déjà Vu All Over Again

My wife and I are either crazy or stupid or so self loathing that we feel we deserve to be punished. It must be that, right? How else would you explain it? Why on Earth but for any of the above reasons would anybody want to go through this again and so soon after the first time? Oh by the way, my wife and I are expecting our 2nd child. Thank you. Yes, it is very exciting. We’re thrilled. Sure. Whatever. It is said that the body and mind are able to block out memories of pain and misery. That must be true. If it weren’t, all families would only have one child. We would be a “single child” society. Maybe the Chinese are on to something after all. My wife is in the last weeks of her 1st trimester. She’s miserable, fatigued, nauseous, hormonal, oh and trying to raise a toddler on top of all that. It only gets better from here on out. Soon will come the heartburn, the restless nights, and the various physical ailments that accompany a pregnancy.
My wife will go through some of these symptoms too. Then it will all culminate in that “wonderful day” that I described in a blog a few months ago. Oh, but wait. There’s more. Just when we trained our first child to sleep through the night, here comes baby # 2 to carry the sleep deprivation torch. It’s time to get spit up on again and time to look forward to another 2 years of changing diapers. Now once the baby comes, our little boy will be 3 years old so I’m sure he’ll be able to take care of himself by then, yes? No, you say? In fact he’ll require even MORE attention so as not to incite any sibling jealousies? Oh great. So I have THAT to look forward to as well. We’ll be finding out the sex. I’m not sure I understand the “we want to be surprised” philosophy. There are enough surprises on the day your baby is born anyway so why not knock as many of them out as you can before hand? My wife and I want a girl. We would be happy with a healthy baby no matter what the sex ... but come on. Neither of us can handle another boy running around this house. We’re just barely able to keep this one from burning down the neighborhood, why would we want to unleash another Y chromosome onto the world?
Our little boy sees the potential though. The toddler Sith Lord needs his apprentice and knows that together they can rule the galaxy. He has stated very plainly that he wants a little brother. He has also made it clear that he wants us to name the baby “Braden”. We have assured him that while it is a beautiful name, it is also his name and things could get confusing around the house if we duplicated it. So, while we would love a little boy just as much, my wife and I are hoping for a girl. And then we’re hoping she’ll magically turn into a boy when she reaches high school. At least I am. So why do it? It’s not like it was forced on me. My wife didn’t suddenly leap across the bed and ambush me as I innocently read a book. (Believe me I would have loved it…) No, we actually tried to conceive another child on purpose and succeeded. In fact I am very proud to say that THIS time, we didn’t need any help from the medical industry.
Nope. All me, baby. A solo slam dunk with no time left on the clock.
Thank you. So why go through all of this again? The answer is simple. Why the hell not? I can’t go out anymore anyway, so I might as well raise another kid and get them all out of the house at the same time so I can go back to enjoying my life.
Okay that’s only part of it.
The truth is our little boy needs a sibling. He has friends, but he needs to be a big brother. He’s only two, but we can almost feel his loneliness. On a recent trip to the park he slid down the slide, looked around and shouted “Hello?!” to an otherwise empty playground. It was if he was saying, “this is only fun if I can share it with someone.” It’s heartbreaking to me when he wants to play with his toys and doesn’t have a playmate. Oh, shut up, I play with him plenty, okay? I just don’t have the energy of a 2 year old. I have the energy of a 37 year old that’s raising a 2 year old which amounts to… not a lot of energy. There are selfish reasons for having another child too. I got a little teary-eyed when I took his crib down and put him in his “big boy” bed for the first time this past month. It’s only been two years but I get very nostalgic when I look at pictures of my boy as an infant and how small he looked in my arms. I had been warned about how fast they grow up and while my son isn’t exactly borrowing the car or moving out of the house, I do feel like those early stages of life are past him. I’d like to experience them just once more. I’ll savor them a little longer this time. I promise. Then we’re done. Seriously. I don’t care how fast this one grows up. I’m not doing this any more.

My Life: Take 2

Written By Chris Loprete

It’s true what they say. Once you become a father, you start to live your life all over again. My son is 2 ½ and I’m finally getting it through my thick skull that while I have said goodbye to many aspects of my younger self (i.e. sleeping in on weekends, peaceful mornings and quiet nights at home, 2 AM drunken breakfasts at all night diners), I have just begun to experience an entirely new quality of life. The life of a father, nurturer, protector, teacher and dare I say, hero. While it is absolutely one of the hardest roles I’ll ever take on, the perks of daddy-hood are irresistible. For instance: nobody has ever been so happy to see me when I come home from work. Every day without fail! Only a dog shows that kind of loyalty and they emit a loud bark rather than an adorable, “Hi daddy!” And I challenge your heart not to melt when your son or daughter lays their head on your shoulder as you gently rock them to sleep.

Something that I didn’t expect was the flood of forgotten or suppressed memories from my own childhood that would begin to resurface. I’ve always prided myself on having an incredible memory. I can rattle off dates, places, historical and personal events at a clip. And don’t even get me started on movie and TV dialogue. I tend to give the impression that all I did as a child was sit inside all day and memorize cartoons and sitcoms. That’s NOT tr…well okay that’s mostly true, but it also has to do with the fact that I have a memory like a steel trap. I thought the extent of my memory only reached back to my 4th or 5th year however. So I’ve been surprised recently because ever since the birth of my son, memories of my toddler years which had been tucked away for one reason or another have been popping up without even trying to recall them. The memories are so vivid it’s as if they happened yesterday. When his cries split the night at 3:00 AM, I no longer curse under my breath while stumbling into his room to calm him down. This is because I recently remembered a particularly terrifying recurring nightmare that I had as a baby. While I don’t remember the details of the dream, I do remember jolting awake while screaming at the top of my lungs and looking towards my bedroom door through the bars of my crib just waiting for it to open and my parents to come to my rescue. I also remember a particular bully from when I was 3. Who bullies a kid when he’s only 3?! Anyway I think I remember him because of his name: Keith Newton Shot. Isn’t that the greatest name ever? Sounds like an assassin. “The Prime Minister’s life was tragically taken by Keith Newton Shot” Then the local news would interview me and I’d say, ‘It doesn’t surprise me. He used to push me off of my Big Wheel when I was 3.” But the point of this memory is whenever I see someone pushing my 2 year old around I have to restrain myself from shaking the kid while yelling,” I WILL NOT LET YOU BE HIS KETH NEWTON SHOT!” But I digress. Another wonderful memory hit me recently and inspired this month’s blog.

Last weekend I spent a lovely weekend at the beach with my family. I’m a HUGE fan of the beach. I tend to pine for days gone by. It drives my wife crazy. The summers are a particularly nostalgic time for me. Growing up I was lucky enough to spend 3 weeks every summer at the beach or “down the shore” as we say back East. 3 WEEKS! 2 weeks mid summer were spent at a rented house at the Outer Banks of North Carolina (the greatest destination…EVER! Don’t argue with me.) and 10 days at the end of August were spent at Ocean City, New Jersey. I looked forward to those weeks all year long. Every morning I would hit the beach with a ravenous appetite and stay there until sundown, alternating between boogey boarding in the waves and sitting in my beach chair listening to music or enjoying a good book. My family soon bestowed upon me the title of “Beach King”. Then at night the entire family would have a huge dinner and play games or head to the O.C. boardwalk and go on the amusement park rides, play mini-golf, eat Mack and Manco’s pizza (best pizza anywhere! Don’t argue with me.) And eat caramel popcorn or salt water taffy. It’s the kind of stuff that Bruce Springsteen songs are made of. They were the happiest days of my life. And not only did we kids enjoy those vacations, but the adults seemed to be having the time of their life too. Now that I’m a little wiser I realize that they were all completely drunk much of the time. We kids had no idea. We just thought that they were having a REALLY good time playing Charades with us.

Anyway ever since I became a father, my dream has always been to someday recreate those memories with my kids. Last weekend was my first taste of it. My in-laws own a lovely condo at the beach about an hour from our house. They have been generous enough to share it with us for which, believe me, I am eternally grateful. Last year my son was 1 year old and to him the beach was a brand new and wonderful world. He was terrified of the ocean though. You would be too if the only body of water you’d seen was a bathtub and a pool. This was water that actually crashed down and moved towards you! This year however he grew a little bolder. He would take my hand and actually lead me into the ocean and say, “I need up” which meant he wanted me to pick him up and carry him out to sea. While I was slowly wading out to just in front of the breakers feeling my son clinging to me in excitement with a touch of nervousness, I was blindsided by another memory. I remembered that I wasn’t born the “Beach King”. I had to earn it. When I was my son’s age, I HATED the beach. I used to stand at the top of the dunes and scream my lungs out because I wanted nothing to do with this hot and oddly textured ground and the roaring water beyond it. Then one day my father picked me up and carried me into the ocean gently telling me that he wouldn’t let anything happen to me and that frolicking in the waves could actually be quite fun. I remember how incredibly safe I felt in his arms and the complete trust I put in him. I survived my first foray into the Atlantic and an obsession was born. I saw that same trust in my son’s face along with that same look of cautious excitement as he truly experienced the ocean for the first time in his life. It was amazing. It felt like somebody hit rewind on my life but this time in a weird “Freaky Friday” experiment, the son had now become the father. I’ve begun to relive my life through my son. It made me realize that it was time to let go of the summers of my past and prepare myself for the summers ahead. We’ve conquered his fear of the waves. Can drunken Charades be that far away?

This all being said, is it too much to ask for the little guy to learn how to swim so I can relax in my beach chair and read a good book?!

Why I Love and Hate Whole Foods Market

Written by Chris Mancini

It’s always a treat to go to Whole Foods. It’s good food, it’s fresh, and everything tastes pretty good. Yes, it’s a great experience until you get to the cashier and you always think they made a mistake. I actually took a bag of grapes back because I thought $15 for the bag was a mistake. It wasn’t. No one needs grapes that badly, even of your winery just burned down.

With two kids, I want them to eat healthier. I want to eat healthier. So why is it now so freaking hard? When as a society did we get to the point where it costs more to have less shit in our food? “Oh, you want food that’s not going to kill you? Now THAT will cost you…”

So we’re trying to adjust our budget so we can afford food that won’t kill us. We mix in visits with Trader Joe’s and try to eat out less. And I told our three year old daughter that she’s now going to trade school instead of college but to enjoy the organic broccoli.

But there are other reasons I do love Whole Foods. There is entertainment value while you’re shopping. I love watching overly thin women in baseball caps take four hours to pick out the right vitamins. I also love watching the “poser” healthy people. The ones who want to be seen and want you to think “Look how healthy I am! I shop at Whole Foods. Look, I have a bottle of water in my hand right now.” You know afterwards they go home, eat four packages of Ding Dongs and then throw up. My wife even had a friend who would go there just to pick up men. And was never unsuccessful.

I love Whole Foods because they are trying to help me and my family eat healthier. I hate them because they are expensive and they shouldn’t be. I’m angry that it costs more to get fruit not covered in pesticides and food without chemicals in it whose names I can’t even pronounce. It shouldn’t cost more to get actual maple syrup out of a tree than to manufacture it in a giant vat from a bunch of chemicals. So until Costco goes organic, my second mortgage and I will be at Whole Foods.

Chris Mancini

www.daddyneedssomealonetime.blogspot.com

THE FIRST WEEK (A confession)

“It’s okay, buddy. It’ll be alright, pal. Don’t cry.” I say half heartedly. I’m only saying it because it seems like that’s what I’m supposed to say. I don’t really know what I’m doing. In fact I don’t even know this kid. I feel bad saying that because I think I’m supposed to be laughing and cheering as I run down the hallway with tears in my eyes handing out cigars. That’s what every new father does in TV shows and the movies. I’m trying to fake it, but I’m having trouble. It’s 10:00 AM on a stormy morning in April of 2006. I’m in the nursery of my local hospital looking down at my son who was born exactly one hour ago. He’s naked, bloated, still a little messy from the trip, and screaming his lungs out. He’s been bawling since the second I met him. I’m standing over his crib (or whatever they call those hospital issued nondescript wooden rectangles with mattresses.) and thinking he must be freezing. Then I touch his exposed belly and it’s actually quite warm due to the heating lamp above him. He resembles a Rotisserie chicken on display at the front of a grocery store deli. I look up at the big window and there are my in-laws in the waiting room looking in and beaming from ear to ear as they alternately snap pictures and talk on their cell phones heralding the good news of their newly arrived grandson.. Then they look up at me and I figure I should probably go into my routine again. “Daddy’s here, buddy. It’ll be okay. Just a little longer.” I’ve been an actor for as long as I can remember and this is without a doubt my worst performance ever. My wife is in the recovery room after her c-section procedure. She’s probably emotional, lonely and in pain. I’d much rather be with her. She needs me. I’ve known her 8 years. I’ve known this kid an hour. He has no idea who I am. I try to touch his hand but he pulls away. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. I can’t even tell who he looks like. I’m just not feeling it yet.


I’ve been up since 4 AM after getting about 3 hours of restless sleep. I drove down to the hospital in a deluge that would make Noah nervous. I’ve been trying to remain calm while at the same time keeping my wife comfortable and relaxed. Our birth plan has pretty much been crumpled up, and tossed into the recycling bin. What was supposed to be a calm, new age-y hynpo–birth without any drugs has turned into an early morning scheduled c-section with quite a few different drugs. All of this after a very taxing pregnancy. Obviously I wasn’t the one carrying the load (literally) so I shouldn’t complain, but I witnessed first hand what my wife was going through and you can’t help but experience some of the hardships too. Especially when the hormones rear their ugly head. I’ll never forget the day I came home from a particularly grueling day of work only to be screamed at for not wanting to name the baby at exactly that moment….7 months before he arrived. Apparently that proved I didn’t even WANT a baby. Pile on the 6 months of fertility treatments, the anxiety of not knowing if we were even going to be able to conceive children and if we did, how we would pay for them once they arrived and you can see what a harrowing year and a half it’s been. And the cause of ALL of that is lying in front of me howling away and not caring. He doesn’t seem to be sorry at all. If anything he should be comforting me. I know this all sounds heartless, but mothers have that maternal instinct. Fathers don’t. My wife has known this child much longer than I have. She’s felt him move. She knows his eating habits, when he’s sleeping and when he’s awake. She has been his personal Santa Claus. I have to learn how to be a father. And apparently I have to learn it right away because my wife is going to be out of commission for awhile as she recovers physically and mentally from a very invasive surgical procedure.

The next few days don’t get much better. I spend the entire week in the hospital room trying to sleep on a small cot that a prison would reject. The baby is awake every two hours of the night and I am still trying to find my way around a diaper. My wife has fallen into a serious post partum depression through the pain killing haze. Oh. And I’m suffering back spasms that would keep a professional athlete out of a championship game. And it’s all this 9 pound 21 inch “bundle of joy”s fault. When does the “you don’t just love your children, you fall IN love with them” thing start? Right now he’s just somebody I have to keep alive. Kind of like those bags of flour they give you for a week in high school Sociology class. Except I have my bag of flour for the rest of my life.

And then it happens. It’s the fourth day of his life. The doctor is about to perform a circumcision. My wife is still bed ridden so I am present at the “ceremony”. There’s a little bit of ritualism as my father in law recites a Hebrew prayer via cell phone. Since my wife and I are an interfaith couple, she being Jewish, I being Catholic and neither of us very good at being either one, we have decided to compromise on the Bris. No big party, but a nice prayer and coincidentally our doctor moonlights as a Moyle. So there we are in a small sterile room in the maternity ward, my son fast asleep and the doctor preparing to begin the procedure. The act itself is not something any grown man should have to witness so I stand back against the wall. I suddenly hear a wail from my son the likes of which I’ve never heard in the span of his short life. I’ve heard him cry pretty much nonstop for a week but this is different. This is a scream of pain. He’s in agony and he’s helpless against it. My boy. My poor, sweet little boy. I would do anything to take that pain away from him. In fact it was at that moment when I knew I would do everything within my power to keep him out of danger for as long as I’m alive. HEY! I think I’m in love. And then a week, nay, months of pent up emotions completely gives way and the levee breaks. I burst into tears and start shouting across the room, “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s here. It’ll be alright.” This time I mean it.

The week ended in love but started with indifference. 2 years and 4 months later I wish I knew then what I know now. I wish I could hop in my Way Back Machine and stand beside myself in the nursery that first day and whisper in my own ear, “Hang in there. You’re looking at a stranger now, but this little guy will soon be your best friend. He’s going to make you laugh harder than you have in years. When you have a bad day at work, he’ll run into your arms as soon as you get in the door and instantly make it better. He’ll look at you with awe and wonder. He’ll also laugh at everything you do and say and you can’t beat that. So take heart. This is the toughest week of both of your lives. It only gets better from here.” Unfortunately the 2006 me would probably turn and say, “I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN DAYS! YOU’RE OBVIOSULY A HALLUCINATION! BUZZ OFF, 2008 ME!” But still. At least I tried.

Parents Unite!

Face it, you are not the person that you used to be. Ever since you became a parent, you have a hard time recognizing yourself. Perhaps there is a bit of sadness because you’ve lost your own childishness, but there is no denying that you’ve developed a maturity that has absorbed itself into every fiber of your being. You’d been in love before, but when you children came along, this love encompassed you in a way that you never could have predicted. This metamorphosis might have even been painful for you, but only because the intensity of this love was so vast and unanticipated, perhaps even astonishing. Becoming a parent has driven you in ways you never thought possible. Parenthood has made you more devoted, more committed and more determined to succeed in providing for your family.
For some of you going back to work was never an option. For others, working for someone else to get that steady paycheck seemed like the only option. It doesn’t matter what kind of parent you became. We understand your devotion to your children and the intense fervor you feel to provide for them.

Our Milk Money is an Organization that was built for parents like you.
Our Milk Money is an online directory that lists only products and services sold by parents. But we are much more than just another business directory. We are an organization that provides a support network for parents who have chosen to stay home with their children, and we do what we can to encourage each of our members to make their purchases from each other- keep the money we are already spending "in house" because it's more valuable to families than it is to large corporations.

We believe that we have a chance to make a difference, but we must all work together.
Our concept will succeed if everyone does their part. No other group has taken on a task so great, and the reason WE WILL SUCCEED is because we all have one thing in common: Our devotion to our children. We must not fail them.

You don’t have to be a member, or even a parent to participate in this concept. If there are children in your life and you want to make a difference, we welcome you to take part in Our Milk Money. Link your site to us. http://www.ourmilkmoney.com/
We are not just another business trying to move up the ranks. We are an organization dedicated to parents who need support their children. If we all commit to this concept, we all have a better chance of rising up TOGETHER.
Imagine the possibilities.

We've started a campaign that will educate consumers on the value of purchasing from a mom or a dad. We believe that in time we will have created a mini-economy, and a better means of survival- especially during this recession where every dollar counts. We want parents to feel that they can make their own choices in how to raise their children, provide for them, and how much time they spend with them. Not be a slave to a job that promises a paycheck, or a boss that represents keeping that job.

Join the Our Milk Money Organization, and you will know immediately that you are contributing to a good cause, because it’s your own.

Find out more about Our Milk Money, and what we are doing to promote parent owned businesses everywhere.

Learn about Our Milk Money’s mission to empower parents and help them provide for their children.

Join us. http://www.ourmilkmoney.com/

By Working Together We Are Empowering Ourselves!

There is going to be times where we lose the momentum and we forget what we were working for, but right now we have it, and we feel the energy from all of you. It’s feeding itself. We can see very clearly what we are able to accomplish. This takes everyone’s support. We are giving memberships for only $25 for the year, because right now your passion and excitement is worth more than any amount of money. We will lead you in anyway that helps you stay committed to the over all goal, and your faith in us keeps us accountable – so we thank you for that. We need you just as much as you need us. If everyone does there part, we will succeed as a team.
We’d like you to do what you can to adopt our philosophy and our way of thinking. In this virtual world of intra-personal communication, we need to believe that there is a force that binds us all together. I believe it’s the love we have for our children…because, let’s face it, none of knew this kind of love until we became parents. It changed everything about who we are as people and what is ultimately important in our short time on this planet. No matter what you personal goals are for your family, what kind of house you want to live in, the monetary limit you've put on yourself to feel successful, we all have our children in common, and no one should ever be able to tell us how much quality time we are able to give to our families. No one’s priorities are more important than yours and your children’s. Sometimes we get confused by what we have to give up in order to have the things we need for our families. “I need to keep working at this terrible job because it allows me to pay for food and clothes for my children.” Throw out that way of thinking! You are in charge of your achievements. You are not in this alone. There are others just like you who are passionate about a real network to give you the support you need. Your team won’t let you down, because you are one of us, we know that you won’t let us down. By helping others, you will be helping yourself. It is your responsibility to recognize the opportunities in which you can contribute, and act on them. Then you can trust and know for certain that when you are in need, someone will be there to help you, too. So many of you have already done exactly that, and we are incredibly grateful to have found you. You’ve told us how excited you are about our mission, you’ve put your faith in us by asking to be a part of a website that doesn’t even exist yet, you’ve written blogs about us, you’ve passed out our fliers, and you’ve referred new members to us. You wouldn’t believe how it’s transformed us, every little thing you have done for us, we’ve noticed and taken it to heart. We are more excited now than even the day we came up with the concept for ourmilkmoney. You helped us bring our idea to reality and we will never forget you for it. It’s the yin and yang, and the balance of the universe. We believe that we can create any environment that we want and the more positive it is, the more inspired we will all be.
You have already pushed us beyond what we thought was possible with ourmilkmoney, and because of that we can’t contain our excitement for what lies ahead…whatever that may be. We haven’t bound you to any contract, you don’t HAVE to contribute in anyway, but we trust that you’ll bring something to the table when the time is right. You believe in us, and we believe in you. That is what sets us apart from other organizations, and that is why we will succeed beyond anything else.

Help us to show the world that it is possible to belong to a network that is based on a common goal, and trust in each other. We know that we will be rewarded for our integrity and our commitment to our families and each other. Your success means our success. We can’t do this without a team. YOU are our team. Congratulations on becoming a part of something that matters and may shape the world into something we can be proud of giving our children.

No matter what tomorrow may bring, I will remain grateful.

I am grateful to have a roof over my head.
I am grateful that we have 2 cars, and even if they are older than the city we live in, we no longer have payments, and we somehow they always get us from point A to point B.
I am grateful for who I am, and who I’ve become over the years, and the road I took to get here, no matter how treacherous it may have seemed at the time.
I am grateful for my 2 year old son, who took 2 years to be conceived.
I am grateful for those 2 years of trying to conceive, because if it was any easier, I might not appreciate every moment I have with him the way I do now.
I am grateful that I am able to be my own boss, and to never have to make someone else’s priorities more important than my own ever again.
I am grateful that I am able to share my experiences to benefit others, and I am grateful for those who continue to share their experiences with me.
I am grateful for the friendships I’ve made through the years. Although some friends have come and gone, I’ve learned amazing things from each unique soul that I am happy to never forget.
I am grateful that my husband supports my need to stay at home with our son, even though it meant giving up my once very large corporate salary.
I am grateful to see how my son has flourished since I came home to take care of him.
I am grateful for the internet, for it has allowed me to connect with so many others just like me who want great things for their children.
I am grateful to have met so many wonderful parents across the country who believe in my mission, have joined me in this ambition, and are willing to give what they can to make a difference.
I am grateful that I am imperfect, because learning is half the fun, and each day I am able to grow wiser and more knowledgeable.
I am grateful for my health and the health of my friends and family. Even when we are sick, we find ways to heal, and each illness makes us stronger.
But most of all, I am grateful for the life I have yet to live, for each day brings new lessons, new reasons to laugh and cry, and new insights to the mystery of my purpose on earth.

The Family That Laughs Together, Stays Together *

* Blogger’s note: Due to the graphic nature of the following story and the family nature of this website, please note that throughout the blog, the word “laugh” and it’s uses will be used to represent the word “vomit.”

Ever had a stomach virus? For those that have, you may skip this next paragraph as I would hate to conjure painful flashbacks. For those that have not yet had the pleasure, let me describe a bout with a stomach virus. Imagine the worst 48 hours of your life. There. That’s pretty much it. Imagine dying of thirst, but not being able to drink even water because you can’t hold any liquids down. Imagine setting up a makeshift bed on the bathroom floor tile because there’s no real point in leaving the room where you’ll be spending most of the night plus you can’t waste precious seconds running all the way from your bedroom. Imagine involuntary chills, but a temperature of 102. Imagine if a genie appeared to you and said, “What is your wish, master?” and you unhesitant in your joyous answer, “Genie, kill me. I wish for death. Make it swift, but make it happen.” Of course this would be a strategic error because you could probably just as easily wish for the stomach virus to go away and still enjoy the rest of your life.

The TODDLER was taking a late afternoon nap when he laughed *(see above note) for the first time that Saturday. As adults when it comes to the unpleasant but inevitable task of laughing, we are experienced enough to run to the bathroom commode, laugh it up and flush it down. Toddlers can’t get to the bathroom so they just laugh and laugh. And man, there’s nothing more unpleasant than cleaning up projectile laughter. You find laughter in places that seem impossible. The TODDLER wasn’t done though. He began laughing every 15 minutes. The poor little guy was miserable. He didn’t understand what was happening. He only understood that he wanted it to stop. Every time he felt the laughter start to rise he would whine a meager, “No. No. Done. Done” as if to reason with his stomach that he was no longer enjoying this thank you very much. A doctor was called and prescribed an anti-nausea medication. Since it was after 6:00 on a Saturday evening, the prescription was called into an all night pharmacy. It was in the next town over and about a 15 minute drive. The FATHER raced over only to find that the all night pharmacy was closed from 7 PM to 7 AM that particular night due to “unforseen circumstances”. Of course it was. Upon arriving back at home empty handed the FATHER discovered that the TODDLER had been laughing in his own room, giggling in his parents’ bed, chortling in the hallway, and guffawing everywhere else. The MOTHER and FATHER would try to put a bucket in front of him, but the TODDLER began to associate that action with laughing and would push it away in hopes that it would stave off the next joke. Of course it didn’t and only made things quite a bit messier. Carpets needed to be scrubbed. The TODDLER’s bedsheets were soon soaking in the bathtub in an attempt to save them for future use. An attempt that would prove futile. The MOTHER and FATHER’s bedsheets were thrown into a washing machine that was about to have a very long night.

The FAMILY rushed to the Emergency Room of the nearest hospital. The title “emergency room” is one of those oxymorons like “jumbo shrimp” or “holy war”. Nothing about that place moves at the pace that emergencies should. And if you ever feel depressed because you’re sitting home on a Saturday night, take a walk over to your local emergency room. After spending 5 minutes in the packed waiting room of miserable, injured, and sick people, you’ll walk out feeling like a million bucks happily returning to your boring but healthy Saturday night at home. The FAMILY arrived at 9:00 and was seen at midnight. The TODDLER was given some medication that actually seemed to help. He stopped laughing long enough to hold down some liquids. The little guy was exhausted from his 6 hour ordeal however. The doctor looked at the PARENTS and said, “It’s so sad isn’t it? You just wish it was you going through it rather than him, don’t you?” Stupidly the FATHER agreed. And the irony began. When the FATHER turned to the MOTHER, he noticed that her face had gone deathly pale. She looked at him and said, “I don’t believe this. I’m about to start laughing.” She excused herself and went off to find a ladies room to chuckle in private. It was like the end of The Exorcist. The TODDLER was no longer possessed, but the evil spirits had hopped over to the nearest warm body. The hospital prescribed an anti-nausea medication (the same one the doctor had prescribed over the phone 5 hours before) and released the FAMILY. The pale MOTHER and recovering TODDLER headed out to the parking lot while the FATHER settled the bill. As he was filling out the paperwork, he suddenly felt the blood completely leave his face like the tide rushing out to sea just before a massive tidal wave. He felt his mouth go dry and his hands go clammy. You’ve got to be kidding me. The clerk handed his insurance card back and said cheerily,”You’re all set. Good night!” The FATHER grunted something incomprehensible and pondered turning right to the bathroom or left to the parking lot. Being the good father that he was, he decided to get his sick wife and baby home. He walked out to the car where the MOTHER was already in the driver’s seat. He was trying to talk himself out of laughing until he arrived home. No such luck. Things were just too funny on this night. The car was barely moving when the window was rolled down and the FATHER shared a joke with the parking lot. And then there were three…


Upon arrival home, the MOTHER and TODDLER wearily climbed into the master bed which was now a bare mattress with a bare comforter. The TODDLER quickly fell asleep while the MOTHER made a few more trips to the bathroom. The MOTHER and FATHER debated getting the prescription filled immediately or waiting until morning. The MOTHER reasoned that there would be no sleep without some form of medication. The FATHER reluctantly agreed, climbed into the car that didn’t have remnants of laughter all over the passenger door, and headed out to the other all night pharmacy which coincidentally was in the strip mall across the street from the previous all night pharmacy. This begs the question: what’s wrong with the inhabitants of this town that they need two all night pharmacies within fifty yards of each other? The FATHER felt queasy and exhausted, but was proud of his heroic efforts to take care of his family at 2:30 AM. In fact he felt downright thirsty. And he remembered that as a small boy, his mother always let him have Coke to help his upset stomach. So he picked up a bottle on his way out of the pharmacy. But always mindful of his weight, he settled for Diet Coke. Now this was stupid because A. he had probably dropped a pound or two anyway in the last couple of hours; B. the sweet coke syrup not found in Diet Coke was what helped upset stomachs and C. sipping the Diet Coke was probably the way to go rather than gulping half of the 20 ounce bottle in one swig. Needless to say the FATHER was halfway home when he felt the urge to cackle which quickly turned into a strong urge to hoot and holler. Having no time to pull over he rolled down the window and leaned out while acrobatically keeping the car straight. Now this was also stupid because if he had paid attention in Physics class he would know that expelling an object out of a vehicle moving 50 miles per hour would just bring said object right back into the vehicle at an equal velocity…or something like that. The joke was now on the FATHER not to mention the front seat of his car. Laughter: 2 Family Cars: 0. Had anybody been witness to this pathetic display, they would have seen a grown man driving a car down the highway screaming,
”AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHH! OH MY GOOOOODDD!!!!” Upon arrival at home, the FATHER quickly undressed and threw his clothes into the overworked washing machine. He jumped into the shower, scrubbed himself with the ferocity of an obsessive compulsive, toweled off, gave a pill to the MOTHER and took one for himself. He then staggered into bed and the family enjoyed a restless sleep for 2 hours.

The next two days were spent alternately on the couch and the bed. Frequent trips were made to the bathroom by both the MOTHER and the FATHER. The TODDLER was thankfully good as new and couldn’t understand why his parents didn’t enjoy it when he gleefully climbed all over them or jumped on their heads and why they remained in bed moaning all day. The MOTHER and FATHER were actually grateful that the TODDLER felt better. It would have been impossible to take care of him in this state. The FAMILY eventually recovered and actually relished in the weight loss. But they never will forget the night of 1000 Laughs.

So why do I recount this graphic tale that at times crosses the line of over sharing? Because looking back, it was a 72 hour period of time that can only be endured by people who truly love each other. Never has the term “for better or worse, in sickness and in health” been put to the test more. Because nothing says happy family like a night filled with laughter.

You Can't Have a Rainbow without First Having a Storm (Part 2)

The storm did stop, but it rained on and off for a few weeks after that- the kind of drizzle that makes you feel like you can’t get out and accomplish anything, and the moment you try, it’s such a big dramatic event, you decide not to attempt it again until there is the slightest bit of sun poking through the sky. These dark and dreary days were the days I realized I was turning into a hermit in my house. There was only so much conversation I could have with my 15 month old, the house was cleaner than a hospital and my laundry had been folded and sorted by color 15 times since breakfast, and it was only noon. I was bored. I didn’t miss work, and the stress of leaving my son in that awful daycare, or the boss who wouldn’t let me leave 30 minutes early to go pick him up. But I did miss my friends. I missed the excitement of the day to day, and the gossip, which surrounded me on a daily basis working at a network television studio.
I needed friends. Although I had lived in my house for 4 years, I’d been commuting into the city for work, and my social life. I didn’t know a single person in my community.
I decided to join a play group. As selfish as this may sound, this group was more for me than for my son, and with every outing we made, you could probably tell how desperate I was.
You would have thought I was a teenager starting in a new highchool mid semester. Every day I woke up excited of all the possibilities.
I spent time researching our local paper and internet for activities and made a list of all the things we would attend together. Every morning I got us both dressed in our cutest baby and mommy outfits, paying extra attention to details such as dressing down enough to be the perfect stay at home mom, while applying my make-up flawlessly and practicing my “friendly smile” in the rearview mirror while in the car in route.
Although the rain and stopped, the clouds were still following me around as I desperately tried to attach myself to a group that I could connect with. I was still used to my friends and colleagues at work, the artsy entertainment folk, most of whom didn’t have kids, or if they did, left the raising of them to a nanny or a relative. Perhaps I seemed too eager to make friends. I’d sit in the mommy and me groups participating, singing, laughing, commenting on the other children, and rarely got much response from the other moms. I imagined them going home together, getting on their cell phones and laughing about the “new mom” who was obviously trying to hard. Perhaps I’d seen too many movies and TV shows about Desperate Homemakers, but since I wasn’t yet at ease in this new culture, those fictional stories were all I had to draw from.
I began to wonder if I’d been living in a vacuum for 4 years, and since I’d been commuting, I hadn’t noticed the zombies that were living next door. I couldn’t imagine myself ever being this cold to another human being. No matter what group I belonged to, I’d always made the newcomer feel welcome, and most of the people I’d known up until this point all would have done the same. What was wrong with these people? Did the koolade in this town turn stay-at-home moms into Babylonians? Would I eventually become one of them? I imagine a modern day version of Stepford Wives, except that our only form or communicating with one another was singing, “Come on everybody it’s parachute time” to the tune of “the wheels on the bus go round and round.”
Everyday while getting my infant son and I ready for the day, I’d remind him, “today, we are going to go out and make some friends today!” I was determined. Finally after 2 very long months of wondering if I’d ever fit in to any of the mom groups, I broke down and asked one of the teachers at a Mommy and Me class we’d been attending. Actually, it was just after she approached me to thank me for always being so smiley, upbeat, and participating in all the songs and activities, despite the obvious fact that I was being so rudely ignored. I hugged the teacher her with such relief and thanked her for noticing what a struggle it had been for me to fit in! “Please,” I whispered, “Tell me where all the ‘cool’ moms are!” She put her arm around me and said, “you didn’t hear this from me. Show up to the music class 9:30am on Friday.” It was as if I was getting a secret tip in Vegas to take part in an underground operation. I was so excited I could hardly wait.
Friday arrived, and I discovered exactly what I’d been looking for. A group of women just like me- just my age, first time moms, incredibly happy to be right where they were in their lives, and thrilled that I wanted to “play” with them. That day, the sun burned through the clouds for good. And it didn’t rain for the rest of the summer. Now, when it does rain, I have a nice cozy group of mommy friends to spend time with, and our kids all get along great too. This rainbow was definitely worth the storm that created it.

You Can't Have a Rainbow without First Having a Storm

Becoming a stay at home parent is like culture shock. At least, I believe it is after you’ve already been a working parent in the corporate world. Had I gone straight to staying at home when my maternity leave was over, it may have been easier to adjust, but for me, it was culture shock.
Culture shock isn’t such a bad thing. We adjust, we always adjust, and most of the time we realize AFTER the adjustment period that every electric zap to our system, no matter how painful, was worth it. Infact, I am beginning to see after everything I’ve experienced in the past 3 years, that in order to reach a cleaner and clearer destination you have to wade through waters of muck and filth. I like to call it the storm before the rainbow. I’ve been using that analogy very often these past few years.
We had a “storm” before the rainbow while trying to conceive my son. You can read about my husband’s perspective here.

There was a storm when I and found a less than warm welcome back to work upon my return from maternity leave, but then the rainbow appeared as I got back into the swing of things and was recruited to a new department.
There was a new storm when my new department laid off our entire team just 2 weeks after recruiting me. The wind and rain were fierce with fear and horror as we tried to figure out how to exist without my corporate income, and once we realized we could subtract daycare expenses, and survive on severance and unemployment, the rainbow emerged.
I had a #$^(*$ storm when I started my stay at home status and realized I didn’t know how to care for my child because the terrible daycare I had him in refused to tell me anything about the details of his day, his schedule, what he ate, or when he slept. That was much like going through a 2nd post-partum. My husband received many panicked calls from me that first week sobbing, “We should just give him back to them. I can’t even take care of my son as well as that awful daycare.”
What I didn’t realize is that the rainbow had already begun to form. As the days wore on, I began to settle into this new culture. It began to fit me so well, I wondered if I ever truly fit into the old culture of being a working mom. My son and I began to bond more than ever, and I was amazed at how he began flourishing. He never battled me on nap time, and it almost seemed as if he was happy to go down, knowing that I would be there when he woke up. My husband came home to a full cooked meal every night, a refrigerator filled with food, and his laundry done. So the only thing left for him to do was spend quality time with us until bedtime.
This was the culture I belonged to, and I decided that I was going to stay. The rainbow that has filled our lives has burned so brightly since then, that no storm has every come close to washing it away since then. I wonder sometimes if others have this same rainbow in their lives, but they forget to notice it because it’s always been there. Or maybe, there truly does need to be a storm sometimes before the rainbow can exist. If we hadn’t struggled to get where we are now, how would we know that it’s better over here? It’s times like these that I am glad for the dark times, as much I am the bright sunny ones.

Things We Learn When We Are Sick

I am a HUGE baby when I am sick. No, seriously. Much bigger than you are. It's not just that I need to be pampered and can't take any responsibility for anything, it's that I seriously want to take care of things, and CAN'T.
I become so cranky about it that I tend to waste more time complaining about it than I do trying to get better.
I just had a very "sick" month. I suppose it had to do with the fact that my 2 year old just started pre-school. We'd been warned by friends with kids a bit older than ours that we needed to up the Airborne in our house, clear away any important events and get ready to host some hostile germs. It's not that we didn't believe them. We heard them. We just didn't imagine it would be quite like THIS.
Since the first day of school, just over a month ago, my husband and I have caught ear infections, strep throat, pink eye, bronchitis, and just this past weekend, a horrible dose of stomach flu.
Just as one illness subsided, it seemed the next one was on the way in. I knew I was in trouble when last week my doctor prescribed the miracle antibiotic "Z pak" for me and I had to remind him that this was the 2nd time in 3 weeks that I was taking it. His eyes widened, and then frowned as he added another antibiotic to the prescription.

So what have I learned after all this? A great deal, actually.

I've been working hard since the beginning of the year. OMM has been a true passion of mine ever since I became a "self-employed" parent, and as we can all relate to, it's easy to put a large amount of pressure on ourselves to follow through with daily tasks when you’ve committed yourself to a project…or ten.
Well, as my husband and my business partner will tell you, I will sometimes take things to the extreme. Recently I began pulling all nighters catching up with emails and paying extra attention to detail on each and every client service situation, researching online, reading about business plans, connecting with co-marketers, learning and applying and working at top speed as if I have a race to win. I’d promised my husband each night I’d come to bed before midnight, and often he’d find me the next morning sitting in that very same spot 7 hours later.
I'd become, dare I say it? a work-a-holic.
This month of being sick didn’t stop me, either. At least not right away. Even though I was vomiting, and possessed chills and a 103° fever, I was practically crawling toward my laptop with an ever staggering, "must...check...emails..." before my husband whined back, "are you SERIOUS??"
It was in the moment that I realized it wasn't preschool that had made me sick. Life was trying to grab hold of me. It literally grabbed me by both shoulders, looked me squarely in the eyes and told me to STOP. Life made me sick, and sick was a GOOD thing...Sick wasn't trying to punish me. Sick was helping me by slowing me down since I refused to do it myself. When I recognized this, I became so grateful for it.
WHAT WAS I DOING?
I'd made a decision to work from home so that I could watch my son grow up. Was I watching him grow, or neglecting him to answer an email? I started my own business so that no one could tell me ever again that their needs were more important than my family's, but was I putting my family's needs first? I was in charge of my own schedule, so why wasn't I slowing my schedule down?
Sick taught me so many things this month, but the biggest thing it taught me was how precious our lives are, and how nothing is more important than taking a moment to laugh with the people you love.
I am my own boss, now...something I am learning to adapt to after years of working for other people. It's an adjustment, but I love it.
No one can fire me. I often repeat that to myself several times on a daily basis, and I still can’t fully grasp it.
Yes, I have responsibilities. Yes, I have clients that are relying on me and expecting me to deliver. Yes, I have a responsibility to the company I've created and to my business partner who works just as hard as I do. No, I don’t get paid for sick days and vacation time, but I also can take as much time as I need to heal, or relax.
My partner and I both have families.
It's the love that we have for our families and families across the country that has inspired us to create OMM. It’s the passion for our families that keeps our integrity alive in everything that we do, and keeps us at home with our children where we belong. It’s the reason we chose to employ ourselves and why we want to encourage others to do the same for themselves and for families of their own.
When I came to that realization, my fever broke. I felt truly healed.
I closed my laptop, picked up my son who had been trying to get my attention by throwing toys at me, and instead of reprimanding him the way I usually do, I took him to the park where we played the day away. It felt good.

Daddy's Blogging. Go bug Mommy.

A Walk to the Park

On Sunday my wife wanted to get her car washed. And she’s pregnant. Needless to say she was going to get her car washed. So that left me with our three year old daughter, Isabella. She wanted to go to the park. Fine.

We decided we would walk there, just the two of us. As we walked she was looking at her surroundings with wonder in her eyes. I stopped and noticed this. Remember when everything was big and new? It was so long ago. I tried to remember walks with my parents and how everything looked so absolutely huge, endless, and full of wonder.

As we walked Isabella looked at every car and compared them to Mommy and Daddy’s car. She then compared my car to a Mercury Grand Marquis and I had to correct her. A Volkswagen Passat is NOT the same. Never too early to learn the difference. Plus, the Grand Marquis was up on blocks.

We continued walking. We saw two outdoor cats. They came over to say hi and we petted them. Bella got a real kick out of this. She looked at both of them, petted one of them and started talking about them.

We kept walking and she talked about the cats, the spider webs she saw in the hedges, and the swing at the park. This was her day. Her world. Me, I was thinking about work, bills, and how I could trick my wife into letting be buy a Playstation 3 even though we’re supposed to be saving up for the new baby. But then I made myself stop. I looked around and thought about it. I looked at the trees. Although we live in LA we are fortunate enough to have trees in our neighborhood. It’s Paper. Our lives are ruled by paper. Paper that was once trees. Sometimes you really have to stop and look at the trees. And then feel guilty about using so much paper.

We continued walking. Only a block or two now. So when does the “Brazil”-like avalanche of paperwork begin? It already has. Grandmom bought our daughter Disney stock one year as a gift, and it cracks me up every year when Isabella gets her shareholders proxy voting material in the mail. I give it to her anyway. If she wants to draw on it, tear it up, or fill in a vote for the board of directors that’s her business.

So we made it to the park. Bella went on the swings and the slides. She didn’t want to leave but it was getting really crowded. Sadly, overpopulation in the parks as well. There are kids who are far too big for the structures on them because they have nowhere else to go. But one complaint at a time. Bella never cares how crowded something is as long as she gets her turn. After 10 “this is the last time’s on the slide we were finally able to leave.

I didn’t want to walk back so I had Mommy pick us up on her way back from the car wash. She couldn’t find a parking spot. So she parked in the handicapped spot. She is pregnant, so that’s not really that far from the truth. On a side note, I still let her do a lot of the housework because I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable that I’m treating her differently just because she’s pregnant. That wouldn’t be right.

But I digress. It was MAYBE four seconds into the car when my wife said “Now Bella leave your shoes on because I just got the car washed and I don’t want sand—“ Too late. How so much sand can fit in such tiny shoes is a complete mystery. It’s like the footwear equivalent of a toddler clown car.

So in the three minute drive back to our house I thought about our walk to the park. Sometimes when it gets to be too much, too big and too stressful, change your perspective. Just take a walk to the park. But do it in your toddler’s tiny shoes. You’ll be smiling before you know it.


By Chris Mancini

http://www.daddyneedssomealonetime.blogspot.com