An experiment in single parenting. It's not pretty.

I totally know how he feels

The Mister is out of town.  He's in Utah on non-Mormon related business.  Books and stuff.  This means that I am alone with the twins for five days.  I won't lie.  It's been hard.  Like, soggy-rice-chex-hardening-on-the-kitchen-table hard.  Like, no-time-to-shower hard.  It's even been grab-your-kid's-arm-just-a-little-too-hard hard.  I know, I'm a wimp.  All hail to the single parents of the world.  Truly.  I've never been more appreciate of the Mister's contributions around here than I am right now. I miss him.

Here's a scene from our little experiment:

This happened last night after the burrito battle, and the bath battle, and the one-more-story battle, and the light-on-a-little-more battle.  The kids are in bed.  The door is closed.  I can finally do something fun, like clean up the huge mound of dishes.  

And then I hear it, the potty pleading.

So I get them up, and walk them in to the bathroom, and take off the complicated footsie p.j.s, and undo the nighttime diapers. 

OLIVER (sitting on the potty and looking thoughtful): Mommy, are you happy?

ME (astonished and sort of not that happy): Yes, honey.  I am happy.

OLIVER: But, are we driving you up the wall?

ME: Not anymore.  But you were earlier.

OLIVER (gazing philosophically into the middle distance): Yeah.

A thing I like

This thought from George Bernard Shaw:

"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; being a force of nature in stead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy." 

Kind of harsh, I know.  But a good one to keep in mind.

Buy Nothing January, an update

A cascade of crap I do not own

I'm almost through the first month of my three buy-nothing months and I've gotta say, I'm sort of loving it. Austerity is so contrary to my personality.  Self-denial makes me angry nearly instantly, and yet, there is a certain foreign but distinct pleasure to not shopping.   The best way I can describe it is as a sort of spaciousness. Ignoring those little blips of desire is liberating.  Plus, you mostly forget instantly what it was you wanted. 

Before I get saddle sores from my high horse, however, I do have to come clean: I bought some stuff. Here's my list, followed by my justifications (I think you'll agree they're good).

Item 1. a frame and mat--$70

Justification: I bought the Mister this really snazzy poster for Christmas.   I felt that if I didn't frame it, the whole gift would go to waste.  So I was throwing good money after good.  No regrets.

Item 2. Memory card--$20

Justification: The Mister bought be a snazzy little point-and-shoot camera for Christmas but it came with the wimpiest, puniest memory card imaginable.  Three photos and it was wheezing and fanning itself and begging to sit down.  Without a replacement card, the camera would have gone to waste.  No regrets.

Item 3. Two yards of fabric--$3

Justification: It was $3 (in Mexico) and my mother-in-law is going to make Maggie an adorable outfit out of it.  No regrets.

Item 4. A little hand-embroidered blouse for Maggie--$8.

Justification: I was drunk.  It was cute.  Pesos don't feel like real money.  Considering Maggie's extensive collection of embroidered Mexican blouses, I really could have gone without.  Minor regrets. 

I mean, come on, how cute is this?

Item 5. Three plastic under-the-bed-tubs--$23

Justification: Either that or piles of rubber sheets and dress up clothes in the middle of the floor.  No regrets.

Item 6. Cover Girl Outlast lip stain--$6

Justification: I tried to sneak this in under the "toiletries" category but the Mister says no dice.  Minor regrets, especially because it doesn't look as good on me as it did on Drew Barrymore. 

TOTAL: $130

Except for the fact that we spent a ton of money on other stuff, like going to Mexico and fixing the Mister's motorcycle and replacing some closet doors, I'm feeling pretty superior right now. 

A thing I like

Vinyl wall decals from Elephannie at Etsy.  I bought these cold little birds (back when I was buying stuff) in lime green for Maggie and Oliver's room.  They sit over their beds. Now I want to stick stuff all over the house. I mean who among us has a home that wouldn't benefit from giant dandelions growing up the wall?

Just a little more about Yelapa, Mexico

I was a fourth grade pie lady

Exactly a year ago I published a story in Sunset about Yelapa, the Mexican village where I went to fourth grade and which I have visited nearly every year for 30 years. In it I waxed extremely nostalgic, basing much of my argument that it is one of the best places in the West on my thesis that it had barely changed at all in three decades.  

The Mister and Ollie on the panga to Yelapa

A lot of people traveled to Yelapa because of that story (I saw some of them holding the article in a plastic sleeve and consulting my restaurant recommendations!) and I sometimes feel a little squeamish about that.  Yelapa is a beautiful place, maybe even magical in its way, but I feel the need to set the record straight. So here it is, my revision:  

Yelapa has changed A LOT since I was a kid and there was no electricity and my friend Fermina had never seen a pizza and no one, not one resident, had a TV.  Yelapan teenagers dress like Kanye West now.  They have cell phones and designer jeans.  Gone are the pigs rooting around in the mud on the trail, in large part because the trails are are now PAVED with cobblestones, allowing ATVs to zip up and down. There are drug dealers and yoga instructors and a full-time doctor in Yelapa.  You can buy Diet Coke at the grocery store and hear Norah Jones at the taco stand.  If you go you will most likely see more gringos than Mexicans.  But the biggest change, the thing that made me sad and wistful like nothing else this year, was the total lack of pie ladies.

Yelapa has been known for its pie ladies, they of the sturdy calves and impeccable balance, who trudge up and down the beach selling fresh, homemade pie out of Tupperware balanced on their heads.  And now they are gone. It's the end of something good, truly.  I haven't had enough time to properly grieve and process this loss, but I know for sure that life will never be the same.

Still, the kids liked it.  

Maggie discovers her inner Cousteau

Ollie discovers his inner Luke Skywalker

A thing I like

I'm finally reading Obama's Dreams from My Father (my last drop of the Koolaid) and man, it's really good.  He can write.  I would probably even read this book if it weren't written by the holy savior of America.  This guy, this smart, human, complicated, flawed, compassionate person is our president.  It hardly seems possible.  Pinch!  

Obama's inauguration in Mexico, lovely Mexico

Here's an image:  We are sitting in plastic chairs, huddled around a TV inside a cinder block house/restaurant at the edge of the jungle. Roosters interrupt us in their boorish and macho way.  It's hot.  The door to the bathroom is a moldy plastic shower curtain. Everyone is eating bacon and eggs and drinking the world's worst coffee.  Then Obama appears on screen and the room, filled with maybe 50 Americans—mostly middle aged, mostly Berkeley-esque—is silent and we watch the inauguration and some of us cry and everyone claps, especially for Aretha, giant hat and all.  

Everyone, that is, except for the Mister.  He's busy reading If You Take a Mouse to School out on the patio to our twins, who have chosen the exact moment of Obama's speech to get all squirmy and testy.  I try to relieve him, I do.  But he has martyr tendencies and maybe I don't try all that hard.  Anyway, I owe him one.

On our way upriver to watch the inauguration

And, Mexico.  Here's what I forgot when I was spazzing out and getting all worked up and worried about the trip: I love Mexico and I'm sorry I ever joked about cheating on it with Disneyland.  I would never do that.  Disneyland may have a better sewage system and a more reliable sense of time, but Mexico has soul.  And mariachi music, and margaritas (which, in combination, always make me weep).  They have boats painted orange and aqua. They have fishing poles made of bleach bottles, and way better Cokes, and lollipops covered in chili powder, and geckos that chatter in the night. They have kids everywhere and baby girls in frilly dresses. They have waiters who pick up your kids, and brown pelicans patrolling in formation. Parrots. Palm trees.  Bananas growing in bunches of 100.  Donkeys carrying sand.  And they have best avocados in the world.  Bar none.

Paintings on the street I did not buy

Hot dog-lime cups I also did not buy

Maggie and Ollie are so not into pants in Mexico

We're here.  So far, so good.  Activities to date include:

-Happy hour margaritas down at the beach.

-Swimming in the pool.

-Much quesadilla eating.

-The kids trying to figure out the concept of Mexico.  Is that store Mexico?  Is that tree Mexico? It's all Mexico, we say.  Mexico is all around us.  They look at us like were crazy and then take off running down the beach like they've been here all their lives.

-One big fight with mom followed by a trip to the fabric store.

-Twelve hours of sleep (for us and the kids).

Tomorrow we leave civilization for Yelapa.  I'll report back in a week.  I certainly hope our trip is better than Mighty Girl's. Yikes!

Have a good one.  And drink some tap water in our name.

A thing I like

Twelve hours of sleep. 

Kids, surfing and why eco-paint is so great

True and real conversation overheard in front of the surf shop by my house:

GUY WITH SURFBOARD BALANCED ON HIS HEAD "Dude, the thing about kids it they totally cut into your surfing, big time."

GUY IN SURF HOODIE: "Dude."

ME: [to myself] "Duuude. You have no idea."

I mean, look at me.  Two kids and I NEVER surf!

A thing I like

I've edited stories and written about low and no-VOC paint for Sunset a couple of times without thinking too much of it.  That all changed last week when I decided to paint the kids' room a lovely mandarin orange (see it up there?  isn't it nice?).  I went with no-VOC paint because my overbearing conscious was going to accuse me of endangering my spawn if I didn't.  And let me tell you, it was a revelation.  Painting without those heady toxic fumes really does make a huge difference.  I could have painted forever.  I LOVE painting.  I'm going to paint everything I own and then I'm going to go to your house and paint everything you own just so you too can experience the joyful revolution that is no-VOC paint.  

How to win a fight with a toddler, I wish I knew

Picture if you will: 

ME: yelling and finger wagging, my face in its meanest mommy grimace. "Do NOT kick me!"

MAGGIE: laughing and kicking and refusing to put on her pants, "Mommy, you're fighting with me, ha ha ha."

ME: gritting my teeth and looking murderous, "If you do not cooperate right now, you are getting a time out."

MAGGIE: her face amused and placid, "I want a time out."

ME: to myself, "holy shit, what do I do now?"

Seriously, we just had our biggest fight to date and I was utterly defeated.  I mean, yes, I finally got the pants on her (after some abuse-bordering manhandling that made her laugh even harder), and yes, she finally took a nap.  But man, I really lost my cool and she, well, she just held her ground, cool as a cucumber.  I looked like such a blustering hothead compared to her. 

Not only does this not bode well for the future teenage years, but it just really bugs me to feel as if I am in opposition to my kids all the time. It's not at all what I had in mind.

My friend Vida, who has two of the most awesome kids you'll ever meet, once said her approach to discipline was to raise kids who wanted to do right by her, a we're-all-in-this-together approach. Right on, I thought at the time, back in those idealistic, pre-kid days.  And I still like it in theory. Only what do you do if you've accidentally raised kids who determinedly want to do WRONG by you, who stare down your requests and commands and laugh?  So far, the answer in this house is to become a yelling, angry, frustrated dork, someone so ineffectual and cloddy that two-year-olds look at you and laugh. I'm at a loss, really.

On a happier note, I've been super good about my resolutions, especially 3, 4, and 5.  I even brought the Mister a cupcake one day. The BUY NOTHING policy does not extend to food. Nice, huh?

A thing I like

Parenting help from the ladies at Symbio in San Francisco.  Noelle Cochran (above), infant sleep specialist extraordinaire, and Lele Diamond (below), marriage and family therapist extraordinaire, have come together to form Symbio, the biggest boon for frustrated parents since the invention of the cocktail hour.  They will help you with figuring out how to get your kids to sleep, bolstering your kid-ravaged marriage, disciplining your toddlers, finding the right preschool for your child, and just talking you down from the ledge when it feels like you are doing all the wrong stuff.  Really, they rock.  And their fees are reasonable.