Saturday, Soil, Sweat, Strawberries, Sun, Son & Sara (the beagle)

I am a garden girl at heart. Yes, I very much like to get dressed up and go out wearing something bright or sparkly. But I’m most myself amongst the plants, hair pulled back, wielding a pick axe. There is just something so divine about getting lost in that timeless space, covered head to toe in soil: sweaty, smelly and totally blissful.

My son and I were lucky enough to enjoy that type of morning yesterday. My husband had to work so we visited a nearby plant nursery and spent the best three dollars imaginable on a six-pack of strawberries. We spent a few hours in the front and back yards digging, weeding and ultimately planting our little sweet gems. There is nothing like seeing your seven-year-old son humming and singing as he throws dirt around and tells stories only a child can come up with (there’s also nothing like seeing your two hound dogs digging up the garden bed you’ve just planted – but that’s a different story).

We each have our place where we feel most at home. If you’re lucky you know what it is, and if you’re even luckier, you make the time to go there. It could be the mountains or the water, maybe even the middle of a busy city.

I know that I will blink my eyes and my son will be all grown up, moving out, creating a life of his own. He won’t be flinging dirt around (unless he turns out like me), because he’ll have his own path to carve. But that little boy will always be with me, in a garden somewhere, in the soil that’s still stuck under my fingernails, which I’m not so quick to wash away.

Like mother...

....like son.

She's cute until she's digging up your plants

The less glamorous side of parenting (things most people won’t tell you)

Being a parent is not for the faint of heart, at all. Not even a little bit.

It’s a constant flip flop of your emotions, patience and energy. One day when the house is clean, and your kid remembers to say please and thank you and together you’ve cooked the perfect dinner, you’ll think: “This is so easy, I’ve got it all figured out, how could anyone complain about the challenges of having kids, what’s wrong with them?” Flash forward 24 hours and your kitchen is infested with ants, nobody is listening to you, and you are wondering if you can start the bedtime routine at 3pm. Answer: yes you can.

even the dog doesn't listen

They will test, push, frustrate and challenge you over and over and over again. They will put hair on your bare chest. They will not let up. They will break you.

Polite people don’t tell you this when you are contemplating having kids, or are already pregnant. They will tell you parenthood has its ‘ups and downs’ only to clarify, after the kid is already here, that children drive you insane like nothing else can.

It’s not about love. I love my son unlike any other human being on this planet. He grew in my body, has made my life infinitely better, and without a moment’s hesitation, I would give my life for his. Not even a question.

But that jaw-dropping ocean of love that you feel for your kid does not always smooth over the day to day absurdity that comes with being a parent. Being a mom or dad is the only thing you cannot walk away from (though, sadly, some people do). You can move to a new city, change jobs, remarry, and even have surgery to change your gender, but you can never ever go back to not being a parent. It just isn’t possible.

just like building something, parenting is a daily, long-term effort

Which means that for a good two decades (but really their entire life – or yours for that matter), you are pretty much wrapped up into every detail of their business (at least in the early stages). There are no breaks. None. Because even when they are at school for a few hours, you have to check your phone to make sure you don’t get the call that something has happened (no joke – the one and only time I turned off my phone when my son was at school, I missed the call that he needed to go to the ER for stitches).

Newborns eat every two hours (around the clock for the first 6 months), poop constantly and don’t sleep. Toddlers have to be watched every second so they don’t fall and kill themselves. Six year old boys have an entirely new set of requirements like dealing with them not sitting still and paying attention in elementary school (you mean this isn’t a running around free-for-all like preschool?).

You’re making breakfast, boxed lunches and getting them dressed at 7am; doing homework and a million other things at 3pm; and dishes, laundry and school paperwork at 10pm. In between you are also actually trying to have a life, and a marriage, and friendships, and volunteer, and an exercise routine, and healthy eating, oh, and pursue your passions and life purpose as well.

You are responsible for everything. Their health, education, happiness, physical and emotional development, socialization, playdate schedule, manners, dietary needs, creativity and overall well being. Everything. You don’t get weekends off, you don’t get nights off. Or mornings. When they are up sick at 3am five nights in a row, you don’t get to tell them to figure it out on their own. You don’t get to decide, “I don’t feel like being a parent this weekend, so I’m going to sleep in, ignore this little person in my house and do what I feel like doing.” Being a parent means that much of your time is spent doing what you don’t necessarily want to be doing. But you do it anyway, because you love them, and because it’s just part of the job.

And there’s a lot at stake – you are, after all, raising a human being with feelings and an emotional memory. Unlike other jobs (of which I’ve had many), it’s not the end of the world if there is a typo in meeting minutes, or if a plant in your landscape design dies, or if you are late. Those things may get you in trouble, but they are easily fixable and aren’t potentially fucking up the fragile, developing psyche of a child. Except for the rare occasion when we all lose our patience, on a day to day basis, you have to be calm, consistent, and clear all the time. You have to hold your ground when they melt down in the middle of a store and you have to stay patient when it takes them weeks, months or even years to grasp a concept that seems totally obvious and basic.

Having kids pushes you to your greatest limits and shows you what you are really made of. And even when my son is driving me crazy beyond belief (not listening for the 47th time that day), he gives me the opportunity to remember to enjoy things in the moment, because that’s all you’ve got. The love you have for your kid inspires compassion (and even humor, when possible) for the things that ‘need improvement.’ Children gift us with innocence, kindness and genuine love like no other.

We all find our way and we all work it out…eventually (at least I hope so!).

My son turns 7 next week and in spite of all the challenges that are inherent in the ‘job’ of being a parent, I love him more than I could ever say. I’m sure most people reading this would agree. We all love our kids like crazy, but it’s the job of raising them that makes us (sometimes) feel just a little bit crazy.

Happy holidays and happy parenting.

a slightly lop-sided family is still a happy family

Perfectly un-PC Dinner

Being politically correct seems to be the norm in most major cities. LA is no exception. We compost, we recycle, we drive hybrids and when it comes to what we eat, we love our food to be local, sustainable and organic. These buzzwords would have been laughable a hundred years ago when everything was organic and local, because it was basically grown in your own backyard, free of chemicals and processing. It’s crazy how these days we make such a big fuss about doing things that were just common sense to our grandparents. Go figure.

I will say, though, that having an un-PC meal from time to time can be a lot of fun and quite delicious. Tonight my husband had to work late (I mean he played poker with his work friends – but who’s keeping track) so it was just my son and I for a Friday night date at home. Because I knew he’d be bummed that Daddy wasn’t coming home for dinner, I decided to forgo the free-range chicken and backyard broccoli for something much more decadent: homemade mac and cheese, tropical fruit salad, oh, and a side of bacon.

My son is, um, ‘lactose sensitive’ (read: don’t sit in a sealed car with him after he’s had regular cheese or ice cream, if you know what I mean). So I got all the processed, chemical laden non-dairy products I could find – Lactaid, rice cheese and soy butter – and made him his very own special macaroni casserole. Then, since he loves bacon, I decided to fry up a couple of strips, just to round out the meal. Then, because he loves pineapple (pineapple juice was the only thing I craved while pregnant) I made him a tropical fruit salad of pineapple, papaya and kiwis – all fruits imported from South America that I’m sure left a horrific carbon imprint while travelling thousands of miles to get to my kitchen.

We sat at the dinner table in our robes; spoke extensively about Star Wars (I’m good at pretending I know what I’m talking about); discussed why giving someone the middle finger is a bad idea (yes, he just learned that one at school); ate fruit salad with our fingers and left a horrible mess of dishes, pots, pans and cooking utensils in the kitchen sink (and all over the counter) that I refuse to think about until the morning.

In short, we had the perfect evening.

Simple Sunday

We had such a lovely morning, and I learn so much from watching my son and dogs. They know how to keep it simple. It’s the ‘smarter’ grown-ups who over-think, over-analyze and over-complicate things. We worry too much about what we ‘should’ be doing or if we are making ‘good’ use of our time.

Not kids and dogs. They pretty much do what they enjoy, move on when they’ve had enough, and rest when they need to. It’s really simple, and appealing, and I feel like the more I watch my son and two hounds, the more I get to track things back to a place that is exactly as it should be. It feels right, it’s so basic and it’s always been there. I’m grateful for the reminder.

This morning, my son wanted nothing more than to sit under our massive backyard tree and pick seeds out of the huge pomegranate we’d purchased a couple days prior. There were hundreds of seeds in that ancient fruit, and we were determined to extract each and every last one (not quick work – if you’ve ever done it – you know what I mean). I set him up at the little table with his sky blue kid’s apron, a plate to hold the pomegranate halves and a bowl in which to place the seeds. He had a ball, and was covered head to toe with bright crimson juice when it was all over. Then we sat together in the sun and devoured the seeds and juice. Heaven.

Next he wanted to comb our raised veggie bed, taking stock of the up and coming harvest: eggplants, hot peppers, broccoli, herbs and greens. He grabbed a basket and made me a nice little “Mom’s salad mix.” I love that.

My dogs were also up to their usual antics. Mostly sleeping, and then scouring the yard for a smell that apparently wasn’t there five minutes ago. I’ve placed an old mirror that belonged to my friend Marylee in the garden. Today I caught the Beagle watching her reflection; when the Basset sees himself, he usually barks hysterically at the intruder. Sweet simplicity everywhere.