Breaking Up with My Blonde-Maker

October 19th, 2011, posted by Aimee

As an admitted blond-aholic who’s been highlighting her locks since high school and who has cried herself too many times to admit over hair that looked “too ashy,” “too rooty,” “too dark,” “too brassy,” etc. there are few things more emotionally traumatic than facing the prospect of breaking up with my longtime, trusted hairdresser . But that’s exactly what I am about to do … and it’s all in the name of love for my son.

You see, for the past four and a half years since Tav was born, I have been dragging my butt down to probably the priciest salon in the city just about every seven weeks to get just the right combination of bleach and tint to achieve the “baby, butter blond” hue. Hours are spent in the chair sans cell reception – bad enough – but now that I’m also commuting in from the ‘burbs, the vain pursuit of a roots-free existence had started to eat up entire weekend days. Damnit – I only get a few solid days with my son every week outside of work and only about two days with my husband and son, and hell if I really wanted to spend so many of these days flipping through fashion mags with foils on my head. One night when complaining about the time suck that my hair had become, a friend of a friend offered a suggestion:  Why not go to someone else, closer to home?

Sure, I had considered the option of breaking up with my hairdresser before, of course. But I never trusted anyone else with this precious (angel fine, pain in the ass) mop, either. But something about the way this girl described her salon and the colorists persuaded me to give it a try. I made an appointment for a consultation, then an appointment for real. And then I chickened out, canceled, and went back to my girl again.

Finally, last week I took the plunge. I put my neglected dirty blond roots in the hands of a colorist just 10 minutes away, and cheated on my colorist.  And guess what? I love it. The color is spot on – far better than the highlights I spent nearly twice as much on two months ago. And I was home in time to take a bike ride before dinner with my boys.

But that was the easy part. Friday I have to go back to the same salon for a cut (I know, I know – baby steps!) and it’s a good likelihood I will see my colorist again. She’s going to take one look at my head and know I was unfaithful and that we’re over. Today, I almost chickened out and canceled my cut appointment. But the ends are almost as bad now as my roots were and it’s just time to face the music.

Any advice on how to break up with a hairdresser you once loved?

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Staying Cool

October 7th, 2011, posted by Aimee

Lots of people could care less about losing their hip, cool, trendy status. They descend happily into the land of swim team, minivans and mom bobs without a hint of angst about it. And then there are the ex-urbanite, design focused and admittedly youth obsessed dorks like me and my husband … and, I’m guessing, quite a few of the readers of this blog. Especially among the crowd of late-to-the-party parents who have spent more of their adult lives in the City (whatever “city” that might be) than the ‘burbs, those of us who vowed we would never ruin parties with boring discussions about preschool applications and would never trade jaunts across Southeast Asia for all-inclusive Disney resorts – we’re the ones who have the hardest time realizing we are simply not cool anymore.

A recent episode of “Up All Night” (I know, I know, but they did get it right again) got this phenomenon just right when it showed Christina Applegate and Will Arnett obsessing over the uber-hip neighbors who had moved across the street. In one hilarious scene, the two fight over whose music to put on. Which playlist will showcase their unique, hip taste? Which songs (like the “Train” song Will has as his ringtone) will serve as a dead giveaway that they no longer have a clue? Later, they freak out over a decision about whether or not to call the cops to shut down a raging party at the same neighbors’ house when their baby can’t sleep.

I’ve been there. Before we moved to the leafy bedroom community where we now reside, we had a super cool, teeny Victorian condo in the heart of the City, living below just such a hipster. He was covered with tats, rode a motorcycle to his bar in the Mission, lived with a rotating cast of 20-something hipsters upstairs. Cool, dude, whatever was our motto in the beginning when we would hear the garage door rattle open at 4 a.m. and the stomping of boots on the hardwood floors above our room. Whatever, dude we thought when he adopted an adorable Pitbull puppy. We were fine with all of it and even slightly embarrassed about our 9-to-5 jobs, tame little cat and Banana Republic attire.

And then Tav arrived on the scene. Slowly but surely our tolerance levels began to lower. Loud boots and garage doors (added to the fire engines and sirens screaming past our house through the night) were not at all conducive to a 4-month old baby sleeping through the night. Industrial equipment from the bar cluttering our back patio was suddenly a horrible accident waiting to happen. And that cute little puppy? Yeah. We lived in terror she’d escape down the back steps and encounter our little dude to disasterous results. Suddenly, we couldn’t care less about keeping up with the hipster upstairs. So we moved.

Now we live in a decidedly unhip town, a place where people proudly drive around cars painted with the names of their kids’ swim team and decorated with bumper stickers declaring their child is the “Student of the Month at Stanley Middle School.” And yet, even here, it seems, there might possibly be a hierarchy of cool we can obsess about. Turns out our next door neighbors (also ex-urbanite, late parents) are pretty darn cool. Dad plays in a band, collects vinyl records, watches artsy, noir flicks, drives a vintage car. He wants to start a movie night where we all bring our picks – no RomComs allowed – and now the pressure is on. Will he think we’re lame if we bring “Boogie Nights?” Is “High Fidelity” cool enough?

And so it never ends I suppose.

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“Up All Night” … Hangovers + Babies = Hell

September 22nd, 2011, posted by Aimee

For once it seems, TV land seems to have gotten it right … or at least close. I’m talking about a new show called “Up All Night” starring Christina Applegate and Will Arnett that struck a little close to home for at least a few of my friends who caught it.

If you didn’t, the premise is pretty simple – new parents with baby struggling to deal with new reality, mommy going back to work, blah, blah. In most Hollywood renditions of this scenario, however, nothing ever rings very true. The mom looks too skinny or young. The hubby is typically relegated to idiot jokes and is always a dumpy Jim Belushi type that the gorgeous 20-something childless actress would never pay the time of day in real life. And on top of it all, a damn laugh track punctuates every joke and makes you want to puke. (OK, that’s just me.) But you get the point.

So, this show gets it right for me and my Womo friends on a couple of levels:

o Christina Applegate is older, both on the show and in real life. She’s 37 and a new mom in real life … and she kinda looks it. Her skin is not perfect, her body is a tad softer than her usual teeny frame, and her roots are showing. As a late-to-the-party mom whose friends almost all didn’t get around to child bearing until our mid-thirties, I love that.

o The new parents/couple get in the typical arguments about who’s getting more/less sleep, etc. … but they still have chemistry and seem to have fun together. How often do you see that on TV?

o Will Arnett sits around playing X-box, chatting with his buddies about his wife while killing guys in Halo. Maybe this isn’t everyone’s reality, but it sure is mine. Hell, it’s the only reason I ever get to see any HGTV or Bravo around here.

o Christina’s character, Reagan, seems to be a little charged up about going back to work. Sure, she admits to missing her daughter and stares longingly at her photo on the desk. But she gets right into the swing of her job and seems to relish the change of scenery and the feeling of being wanted by the staff who have suffered her absence on maternity leave. Great to see a woman with more complexity than just the stereotyped “grieving for my baby” working mom for once.

o On the other hand, the show accurately captures the struggle any working mom goes through trying to balance out the need to get right back in the saddle and prove her devotion to the job again, with the needs of her marriage and baby. In particular, it’s the love department that most often gets short shrift. The last scene of the show, “Reagan” (Christina) makes a decision to stay home and spend the day with her family. You can tell in that instance she’s doing it almost more for her husband than for her child, and I have been there many times with Nate.

o Hangovers + babies = hell. Hell, hangovers + toddlers or preschoolers is hell, too. Who out there cannot relate to the horror of waking up in full makeup and perhaps fully clothed, with cotton mouth and a pounding headache, to the sound of “Mommy!!!” or just the wails of a hungry baby? It’s times like those most of us swear to never drink again.

Was the show perfect? Nope. It wasn’t even rip-roaring hilarious. I have to watch “Curb Your Enthusiasm” to fall off my chair. But it was fun to see something so close to my life on TV. I hope they can keep it up through the show and not get cheesy.

If you saw the show, what did you think?

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Working for a Womo

September 11th, 2011, posted by Aimee

I’ve been struggling with how to write this blog entry for weeks now, pondering just how to admit to the world that I, champion of the frazzled working moms of the world, seem to have an issue working for … (gulp) working moms. That’s right, I said it. I can’t stand working for a working mom.

Okay, so maybe not all working moms, although it does seem to me that lately the little sisterhood I always dreamed existed between us womos may be a bit of a fantasy according to my recent experience.

The “working moms make lousy clients/bosses” epiphany arrived on the heels of a horrendous client call that left me in tears, along with the shocking instance of my first-ever removal from another client’s business. You guessed it – both clients happen to be of the womo variety.  And both situations have served as a reminder to me to watch just how my rushed, multitasking style of communication and management are likely to be perceived by my own colleagues and employees. When I started to think through all the complaints I (and the rest of my team) have about the tear-inducing mother of two small children client, I realized she and I share a few unfortunate traits:

o She’s too busy to take the time to fully communicate with her team and answer our questions about an assignment – then chews us out when a task is done incorrectly. Umm, I have to admit I have been guilty of this on too many occasions. So rushed to get things done before heading home, I often skip the face to face meetings and phone calls that some people really need to understand a project.

o Her emails are short, terse and sometimes somewhat insulting. Sure, we understand she’s juggling a huge job and working round the clock while raising two kids under the age of five, but man sometimes those emails (often sent between 1 and 4 a.m. by the way) sting. Do I do this, too? Guilty, even when I am not trying to be aggressive, the tone of my emails can be bitchy I have been told.

o Praise for work well done is few and far between. Again, we know she’s crazy busy, but it still would be nice for a short little “Great job, guys” note every once in a while. Suddenly I’m reminded of all those calls for “kudos for the company call” that I’ve skipped and laudatory emails to colleagues I couldn’t find the time to type.

o She puts her family obligations ahead of times we really, really need her for work. We had to move an entire meeting by a week just to accommodate her daughter’s first day of school, and weekend bookings on coveted morning shows have been forfeited to birthday parties.  Hmmm; I think I would make the same decisions.

Obviously, working for a Womo is no walk in the park. Even though she and I share so many things on a personal level, these same similarities in our lives create conflict on the job. And now I see even more clearly how hellacious it must be working for me sometimes. Sorry guys, anyone out there reading this. I promise to take more time and be a better communicator and manager … as soon I finish these five other things on my To Do List.

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Coming Clean (e.g., Womo Confessions Part II)

August 21st, 2011, posted by Aimee

‘Fessing up comes pretty naturally to me. Those who know me are well aware of my poor lying skills and my sometimes unfortunate propensity for volunteering too much information, as well as, let’s just say, being a little too blunt for my own good. So, “coming clean” is definitely not the toughest task for me. Except, that is, on the topic of my mothering skills.

Like most moms – particularly us working moms constantly battling guilt and self-doubt – I have a really hard time admitting my short-comings in the mothering department. I may not care a whit about leaving the house with a rip in my skirt hem or admitting that most of my jewelry comes from Target. But confessing anything related to my kid is, well, tougher.

But after reading last week’s Today Show/Parenting Magazine survey, I kept thinking about coming clean about my own worst sins. Candid copy is good copy, right? Plus, many of you can read this post and feel so much better about yourselves afterward. So, in the name of taking one for the team, here goes. Enjoy!

This Womo’s True Confessions

o I use TV as a babysitter for my son often – and very few of his shows are even close to educational. Yes, it’s true every morning, “Scoopy Do,” “Pokemon” or “Ben 10” are what enables me to make the bed, empty the dishwasher and check emails uninterrupted. I cannot in my wildest dreams imagine going TV-free like some of my “good mom” friends.

o While I use the Cartoon Network like crack for my kid in the mornings, I also long for the day when I will be able to watch the TODAY Show again in the mornings as we did in our pre-parenting days. Crap, you can add that to a pathetically long list of things I have to admit I miss from my childless existence like reading the newspaper (hell, reading ANYTHING), long runs, exotic travel, flat abs …

o I didn’t experience that “love at first sight” phenomenon when my son was born that so many people talk about. In fact, when the nurse showed me my son’s red, puffy and oddly wizened face after he entered the world, my first thought was that he looked a bit like my grandfather. And I was befuddled by what in the heck to do with a boy, let alone a baby. It was probably at least a week or more before the true bonding, maternal instincts and overwhelming emotions of love started to take hold.

o I hate Legos. Really, I know how they are “so great” and try to get excited about the latest tiny creation my son has built, but living with teeny plastic bricks all over our floors and dealing with the inevitable tears that ensue midway through construction of a new Lego set are excruciating.

o M&Ms are my secret weapon for just about everything. Despite nagging concerns that I could be setting my son up for terrible candy addiction habits for life, I have recently come to the conclusion that often the only way to get him from one place to the next (ie., out the door, out of the bath, onto the potty, etc.) is proffer a chocolate candy out of my pocket. Stupid? Yes. Effective, sadly, yes.

o Vanity – and all the expenses that go into maintaining a youthful, attractive appearance – play a not so small part in my decision to continue working almost full-time. Honestly, I think we might possibly be able to swing a single income household if I were able to sacrifice my ridiculously priced highlights and those regular visits to the registered nurse down the street, but come on … I am married to a younger guy and maybe he would leave me if I became a dumpy old hag. Shallow, I know, I know.

Alright, that’s as far as I can go tonight. Come on guys, anything you’d like to ‘fess up?

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Mom Confessions, Womo-Style

August 11th, 2011, posted by Aimee

So, the headlines of the recent survey from Today.com and Parenting Magazine were admittedly jarring i.e., “44 percent of moms would rather be 15 pounds thinner than add 15 points to their child’s IQ.” By the time Huffington Post had picked up the story, emails from 20-something (childless) coworkers, tweets and Facebook posts were flying.

“OMG! Can you believe these horrible moms? WTF?”

Well … actually, I can believe it. And, um, I would venture to say that a solid percentage of the working moms I know – given a hefty dose of truth serum (aka, tequila shots or large quantities of chardonnay on a long girls-only weekend) would probably agree with many of the most seemingly shocking confessions in the poll.

To take one for the team, I thought I would take the same poll and bare my soul in the name of womo-solidarity. Confessions are cleansing, right? So here goes, girls … how I stack up against the scary statistics:

From the Today.com story:

44 percent of moms would rather be 15 pounds thinner than add 15 points to their child’s IQ.

Not guilty … but just by a hair, and I am willing to negotiate. How about 20 pounds for 5 points? Or what about 15 pounds for 15 points off my own IQ? Would that really be so bad?

Nearly one in five moms admits medicating their child to get through a special event like a plane flight; one in 12 does it just to get some peace and quiet on a regular night.

Not guilty  on this one, but probably mainly because I think they took that kids’ Benadryl stuff off the market recently and hell, we rarely travel these days. But really, we aren’t much of a medicating family overall.

Half have knowingly sent a sick kid to daycare or school.

Guilty. Come on, the kid had a runny nose every other week this winter, and if we honestly kept him home for every sniffle, he would have essentially required home schooling. And god knows no one in this household has the brains for teaching math, even at the pre-school level.

85 percent use their kids to get out of social obligations.

Uh, guilty. Sorry all my single friends and distant relatives who may be reading this, but there are definitely times that Tav has provided an easy “out” for a more convenient/less expensive/more fun option.

Nearly one in three uses work as an excuse to avoid taking care of the kids.

Guilty-ish? I definitely think quite often that work is much easier than entertaining and disciplining a four-year-old on the days when I fly solo with Tavish. And while I moan and groan about not having enough time with him due to work, I have to admit that quite often writing pitches seems more appealing than building legos and playing Star Wars

One in four fears their partner is a better parent than they are.

Guilty, absolutely. Although I’m not sure I would characterize it as “fear.” It’s pretty much a known fact in our house that my husband has the lions’ share of calm patience and decisiveness needed to rear a child, not to mention an affinity for (again) Legos and Star Wars. I always knew he would be the better parent and that’s why I chose him!

One in ten wishes their child was the opposite sex – and of those moms, 60 percent have boys.

Not guilty – although I will admit freely that I didn’t find out my son’s sex while I was pregnant because I was terrified he would be a boy and I was honestly afraid I would be so disappointed that I would not be excited about having a baby at all. I wanted a girl like nobody’s business and pretty much had the clothes and the name picked out for her. Even when Tav first arrived on the scene looking like a red-faced miniature version of my grandfather, I was sorta bummed for a minute or two. Within the first hour, however, once I saw Nate’s proud face beaming over his “boy,” all that melted away. And now I love having a boy and cannot imagine life as a “girl mom.”

Honestly, these are not the worst confessions I have ever seen. Next week I will venture forth a few of my most hideous confessions that blow this poll away. Anyone want to join me?

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One Kitty, One Kid

August 5th, 2011, posted by Aimee

our new kittten, Targa

How pathetic is it that I am stressing out more right now about whether to get a second kitten than I ever worried about whether or not to have a second child? Don’t answer that.

Yes it’s true. I have been putting in sleepless night after sleepless night and filling endless yellow legal pads with pros and cons all dedicated to the ridiculously mundane decision over whether to adopt a second baby cat into our home. And yes, it’s also true that I never lost a single night of sleep over our decision to make our son an only child.

Okay, some background on the issue:

1. I was an “older” mom to begin with. When you have your first child at 38, it doesn’t leave a ton of options for large families or even any siblings. I think this gave me a convenient excuse to disguise a long-held personal desire for the simplicity of a one-child household. That and the desire to avoid the anxiety over possible ill-health effects from my “mature” eggs.
2. I am a slightly (okay, totally) neurotic individual by nature who is fraught by indecision over most decisions in my life, even the smaller ones like whether to eat out or order in most nights.
3. I have a bittersweet kitty memory clouding my judgement on this issue. A few months after Tav was born, I made the heart-wrenching decision to find a new home for my “first baby,” a cat I had since she was a kitten for more than seven years and loved to death. Kimba, a purebred Tonkinese, had been my little sweetpea until my son was born, when her aggression and alpha cat unpredictability made all of us terrified to let her out. She had never been around children, let along anyone other than Nate and I, her whole life and so it was probably not surprising she was unsure about this new bundle of joy in our lives. But this time around with our new kitten, I have been determined to do everything differently to make sure he would be great with Tavish … and all kids. Adopting two kittens would mean they would have a friend with whom to play during the day rather than getting bored and overly attached to either Nate or I.

My job has scaled back and the biggest part of that is that nobody is expecting me to lead or grow my company. I just get to be a worker bee, keep clients happy and get results and great! My house is small but sweet and perfect for us. My family is small and manageable – one awesome son and a great husband – what else do I need? And now I again have a soft, cuddly pet to cuddle with while watching “Real Housewives of New York” … does life get any better than this? I think it’s time to count my blessings and call it a day.

But here I sit on a Friday night with our new little guy, Targa, curled next to me while I type, while my sweet little son snores lightly in his room next door, and my hubby plays his X-box … all in our cozy little 1,400 square foot home (a big step up from our 890-square foot San Francisco condo), and I wonder … why? Why do I need more? Life is pretty good right now, right here. Keep it simple, stupid, as they say. So why is it still so hard for me to pick up the phone to let that woman know we don’t want her kitten? It can wait until tomorrow, right ?

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What Would you Do with an Extra 24 Hours?

July 28th, 2011, posted by Aimee

Okay, time-pressed, stressed out working moms out there:  What would you do with an extra 24 hours a week? What if you could wave your magic wand and receive the truly part-time work schedule you have dreamed about so often on conference calls and in boring staff meetings? Would you learn to cook and make meals with farmers’ market vegetable every night? Would you start doing those craft projects with the kids you saw on a “Rachael Ray” show the other day? Would you get your ass in shape with pre-dawn runs and spinning classes? Or would you end up just pulling more all-nighters to squeeze in the same amount of work you were doing before, but now for a reduced paycheck and no benefits?

This is the situation I am facing now that I have finally, officially pared back to three days a week. That’s right:  I have finally received what I have wanted since first contemplating a return to the workforce after having a baby – a truly part-time schedule. But now in typical Aimee fashion, I have begun to fret about how to make the best use of that extra Thursday of every week, wondering if I don’t do something great with that time, perhaps I will have failed. Should I get more active with this blog and revitalize the book proposal? Could I take on some freelance work? Maybe I will start training for a half-marathon. Perhaps I can get active in our local community and my son’s school.

“Why don’t you just relax and spend some fun time with your son?” asked my mom when I started to detail for her some of my grand plans for creative endeavors and ambitious projects I was thinking of taking on in my “extra time.” And you know what? She’s 100% right. Spending time with Tav – waking up with him in the morning, playing legos, taking him on play dates and watching him do Tae Kwon Do – that’s all I should be focusing on right now. I just want more presence in my son’s life and a tiny bit of balance for my own (read: get more sleep and more exercise). I need to work hard to keep the self-doubt at bay and realize that it doesn’t mean I’m a slacker for not doing more, more, more, more. Sometimes doing more means doing less.

Something about this situation reminds me of when I went away to college and immediately took a job, joined a sorority and started writing for the school newspaper in my freshman year, all while trying to get a 4.0. At some point, something had to give and I finally quit the newspaper. I was distraught and my father so sweetly reminded me that it was okay just to focus on school and fun for a while. It just doesn’t come naturally to us Type As, i.e. relaxing.

I will do my best to try. But first I need to write up a to-do list for tomorrow.

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Play Date Conundrum

July 18th, 2011, posted by Aimee

For the past few months since moving to our new house, Tav’s been sadly bereft of playmates in the ‘hood. Still in preschool two towns over and enrolled in activities better suited to my mom’s schedule and address, he’s spent the better half of this year hanging with kids from outside his neck of the woods. Then of course when lovely Friday rolls around, a familiar dilemma arises:  who can this little guy play with besides his mom?

Most of my good friends have children much older than my dude and want nothing to do with a four-year-old. Ditto the adorable nine-year-old girl next door, who rushes inside at the sight of Tav’s blond locks approaching their driveway. Now that it’s summer and his first day of school here is still two months away, I am getting a bit desperate to drum up some friends for Tav to hang with. As a working mom, it’s not like I am out and about at the parks and local kid spots meeting other moms, either. Pretty much our selection is limited to our street or the randoms we meet along the way on my one day off during the week.

This weekend, I called and emailed a mom down the street off the local directory who has two boys close in age to my son and …. Crickets. It’s been two days and I am checking my voice mail and email like a teenage girl waiting for an invitation to the winter dance. Next, I called the mom who we met last Friday at the community swimming pool. Her son and Tav played and swam for hours last week and even invited him over for a “play date” at their house that weekend, where the two scampered after turtles and had strawberry fights. Again, no response. I am starting to feel truly pathetic and insecure at this point, wondering if it was me or if it was Tavish. Maybe he was too rough? Maybe he mentioned guns and shooting (damn “Ben 10”) too much?

The funny part about it is how uncomfortable these play dates can actually be for us parents. Sure most of you can relate to the times you have wondered silently how much longer you would have to make inane small talk with a person you have little to nothing in common with just so your kids could chase each other around in a playground together. Even that is better than the “at home” play dates, where you are uncomfortably stationed in some strange family’s home for the better part of two hours twiddling your thumbs and sipping tea.

Maybe more pathetic are the play dates in which you meet a super cool mom – a Womo you’d love to get to know better, have over for BBQs and introduce to all your friends – and your kids simply do not hit it off. Maybe one kid is more shy than the other, or they have nothing in common and don’t like the same kinds of toys or games. Unless yours is a friendship forged pre-kids, you might as well kiss it good-bye for now, or reserve it to after-the-kids-are-in-bed girls night out affair, because it’s never going to work. One of my best friends from our infant mommy group fell victim to the incompatible play date phenomenon. Tav was too active and outgoing for little Sean and alas my sweet buddy pretty much stopped calling.  Michelle, if you’re out there reading this, I miss you! Let’s grab a drink soon!

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Friday Free Day … So Now What?

July 7th, 2011, posted by Aimee

Tomorrow’s Friday. Yay, free day with Tav! No work! What could possibly stressful in this scenario? But leave it to me to find something to worry about even as the weekend has descended upon our household. Tonight I find myself fretting over … how to fill the next blissfully unscheduled day with my four year old.

Can you smell the irony here yet? All week I pine for quality time with my boy, away from the stresses of client deadlines and coworker drama. And all week I kvetch on the blog and Facebook about how much I want to simply wake up and make my kid French toast and play legos. And yet, now that the day I dreamed about is on the horizon suddenly it seems a slight bit terrifying.

First of all, Tav no longer likes French Toast. He likes waffles now, and mommy has never quite gotten the hang of that honkin’ machine and who wants to make a huge mess of the kitchen anyway. Secondly, legos are actually my personal idea of hell. Just as I settle in for some focused mommy-son time with the instruction sheet and those little plastic pieces, somehow one critical piece goes missing and all hell breaks loose. Screams, crying, sometimes a few throwing fits ensue until we finally throw in the towel and I beg Tav to turn his attention to some other activity … any other activity.

Overall, the idea of filling more than eight hours of unstructured time with my dude sans TV or Leapster (a girl can have ideals, right?) seems daunting to say the least. After legos, there’s always books and puzzles and the library … all of which last approximately 20 minutes on Tav’s attention meter, if I’m lucky. What to do next? We’ve been to the zoo, the wildlife museum, Fairyland, Pixieland and just about every “-land” within an hour’s drive and we’ve run through all the options.

It’s times like this Friday when I occasionally question our decision to have just one child. Would Tav be happier to have a sibling to play with rather than his lame mom, especially a mom who tries to sneak peeks at her iPhone while he’s tackling that lego castle?

Maybe next year, when Tav finally goes to school in our neighborhood and begins to make friends around here and we can start to arrange play dates, these Fridays won’t seem so pathetic. Or maybe they really aren’t after all. Even if we sometimes resort to simply schlepping around to Target and Whole Foods rather than spend all day doing “crafts,” at least I get to steal hugs and kisses and listen to a nonstop chatter about aliens and “Ben 10.”

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