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Working From Bed: How a sick mom does it

by The Totefish Blog
My Temporary Office

My Temporary Office

The inevitable occurred.  I caught my daughter’s germs and I’ve been laid up in bed for 2 days.   Now, I’m trying to launch a website in 4 weeks so one can imagine how convenient such a forced convalescence is.  But wait.  Turns out, this “problem” isn’t all bad.

The good things about working from bed:

1.)  Those lap desks really work.  No more laptop batteries unnaturally warming my reproductive parts.  I’m a convert.  

2.)  Spontaneous naps.  With pillows propped up around me, it’s easy to nod off for a quick 27 minute refresher.  Seriously, that’s awesome.

3.)  Take-dinners delivered to the door.  Two nights in a row, guilt-free pizza dinners.  It’s like we’re on vacation.

4.)  Instant weight-loss.  I’m too sick to walk to the pantry and grab my hourly “pick-me-up” handful of Oreos.   Who needs will power and sit-ups when a virus can jumpstart your goal to lose those extra 10 pounds brought on by stress and bad eating habits?

5.)  Wearing your pajamas while you craft a Powerpoint Presentation isn’t depressing, demoralizing or ironic (as in “working from home on my start-up feels like make-believe business”).  Instead, it’s empowering.  It shows stamina and commitment.   I’m a Mom with a start-up.  Hear me roar.  Who knew a virus could do what months of therapy couldn’t?

6.)  Taking a shower IS a big accomplishment.  When you’re sick, the little things matter and To Do lists are irrelevant.   I’m damn near becoming a Zen Yogi with this kind of wisdom, no?

7.)  When Mom goes down, the kids rise up.  Payback is a wonderful thing. My kids bring me cold drinks and fresh boxes of tissues, unprompted.   They do their homework on the floor in my bedroom “just so they can be close” in case I need something.  My son insisted on giving me a back-rub (“the way you do, Mom, when I’m sick”) and my daughter gives me “power hugs” to kill off the germs.  Forget Mother’s Day.  Sick Days rock!

Sure, the laundry is piling up, most emails have gone unanswered, I’ve had to reschedule important conference calls, and my kids have gone to bed without their usual array of Mom & kid bedtime antics.   I don’t welcome this virus on anyone but it’s not as bad as I would have thought.  Sickness acts a great reminder of what we take for granted.

Turns out, my water glass on my bedside table is half-full.

The Most Beautiful Woman in the World and I are neighbors

by The Totefish Blog
Courtesy of People Magazine

Courtesy of People Magazine

It’s like we’re twins:

  • We live on the same street
  • We both have a son & daughter between the ages of 7 – 9
  • We’re in our early 40s (that’s code for she’s 40 and I’m 41)
  • We both have blogs
  • We like to talk about the food we make for our kids
  • We’re “career moms”

Or not.

  • She just published a second cookbook.  I have 7 drafts of an unpublished manuscript in my living room armoire.
  • She sings on stage in leather pants.  I sing in my bedroom in my underpants.
  • She works out 5 days a week.  I talk about working out at least 3 days a week.
  • Her blog had 49,000 visitors in March.  Mine had 204.
  • She has a successful “Styled Just for Gwyneth” line of products from top designers.  I’m still trying to launch my website.
  • She has endless travel, cooking and lifestyle tips.  I don’t have a personal trainer, a personal assistant or access to a private jet.
  • When she needs a cooking lesson, she brings in a celebrity chef.   When I need a cooking lesson, I call out for pizza.
  • She’s a size a 0, she’s never photographed in the same outfit twice, when she walks around without makeup, it’s called “natural beauty”, she appears to have found the secret to balancing career and family (while working out 5 times a week), her predilection for short shorts (and sheer skirts) might cause a murmur but it’s not because she looks like crap, she does look better now at 40 than she did at 20, she’s achieving on her ambition, and she’s weirdly poised to become the next Martha Stewart, just sexier.   I… Oh, let’s stop pretending.   She might live down the street but other than our appreciation for old sycamore trees, we’re not going to be sharing a bundt cake anytime soon.

Oh, envy is such an unattractive emotion.   Especially, amongst women.   You go, Gwyneth.  I’m sorry for all my snarky thoughts.

#1: Don’t Raise Sucky Kids

by The Totefish Blog

I’m a woman at her best with a To Do list.  I have itemized lists for my start-up’s success, the dream house remodel, Christmas presents to buy, personal goals for de-stressing my life and Summer Camps To Look Into 2013.   I recently read that the human brain is only capable of remembering seven things at once: hence, the brilliance of a To Do List.  If you write it down, you’re more likely to remember to do it.

This past weekend, I attended a conference by child-development experts on how to raise globally-oriented, independent, creative, self-motivated kids.  My intent was to learn in 3 hours what it would take me 12 weeks to do by reading their books.  Yes, I learned a lot and yes, I did scribble a few notes on the back of the program.  This morning, a friend forwarded a link to the New Yorker article, “Spoiled Rotten.”  It brought up many of the same issues from the conference but it left my pre-frontal lobal taxed.  I’m needing a To Do list on what to do with my kids.  Trust me when I say, it’s not a joke.  The experts are right.  We need to raise less sucky kids.  And it’s all in the parenting.

My TO DO LIST: Raise kids who don’t suck in the future

1.)  Force them to make dinner for whole family once a month.  Teaches independence, resourcefulness and how to a use a knife & tourniquet.

2.)  Resist ALL temptations to double-knot sneaker laces.  Buy box of band aids for skinned knees caused by tripping.  Know that skinned knees heal but kids who don’t feel in control of their own wardrobe malfunctions do not.

3.)  Throw away one toy from the playroom when anyone says “I’m bored.”  Reinforce in a calm voice, “Don’t be upset.  You said yourself it wasn’t fun to play with anymore.”  Do not pick it out of the trashcan later than night.

4.)  Don’t pay allowance for household chores (unless someone pays you to unload the dishwasher, throw used tissues in the trash or make your own bed).  Teaches civic & community responsibility.   Also teaches that they’ll need a very good education if they want to afford a college-graduate as a maid.

5.)  Insist that the kids play outdoors all day on Sunday.  Then, insist they clean up all the toys they left in the yard.  Then, tell them to put the toys back “EXACTLY” where they found them.    Encourages creative play, responsibility for own actions and dealing with OCD bosses and co-workers.

6.)  Resist ALL urges to pick up the eraser and show child “That this is what you mean when you say erase it properly.”  Same goes for the computer (“This is what you mean by editing the run-on paragraph into a few solid, coherent sentences”).  Teaches everyone that 40 year olds have better way to spend their time than doing 4th grade level homework.

7.)  When child is reading silently on sofa, walk over to sofa and say, “May I sit here and read next to you?”  Read silently for 20 minutes.  OR.  If reading silently on the sofa and child comes over and interrupts in any way (other than for something that involves blood), say, “Why don’t we read silently next to each other for 20 minutes?”  Enjoy the closeness.  Enjoy the independence.  And enjoy reading a book that isn’t about the stresses of child rearing.  If you can accomplish this, then it appears you’re on the right track to raising kids who don’t suck by parents who are to blame.

Less-Than-Zen Reflections on My First Hot-Yoga Class

by The Totefish Blog

Since the stress of balancing a family & a career isn’t going away any time soon, I’m incorporating [all and any] stress-management techniques into my life.  Yesterday, it was Bikram hot yoga*.

Here’s how it went:

1.)  It’s hot like Las Vegas in March, which means it’s manageable for the first 60 minutes (or the equivalent of how long it takes to walk from Treasure Island to the Luxor, stopping to see a water fountain show & throw $20 into a “this feels lucky” slot machine).  The last 30 minutes… constant, angry negotiation with myself (just like the second 24 hours in Vegas).  The Yoga instructor (and my friend, who convinced me to try it) set one simple task — to stay in the 105 degree room for the class’ duration.  Fine.  Check.  Done.  I am 7 pounds lighter due to sweat loss.  That never happens in Vegas.

2.)  The 26 poses aren’t so terrible.  They’re a mixture of stretches from PE gym class, 12th grade ballet and Cirque de soleil.  And if you follow the recommendations and don’t eat for up to 2 hours before class, you won’t fart.  Phew, right?  ’Cause I was worried about that.  And trust me, if I’d had that tomato & avocado omelette I so badly wanted, everyone would have known about it.  Can’t believe I just wrote that, right?  Just trying to keep it real and loose.  Like my spine after the camel pose.

3.)  Oh, that floor.  That floor is crazy stinky.  Like, in a way no one can ever be prepared for.  The room smells less-than-fresh (as a 104+ degree room with sweating bodies has a tendency to do) but wow, that floor… a whole other zip code of odor.  I’m guessing that bamboo-fiber rug retains foot-sweat better than your grandmother’s sofa.  Your towel-covered mat becomes your little island in the middle of a shark-infested sea.   Don’t touch the carpet, you repeat in your head.  You’ll get a foot fungus, for sure.  Your chant is calming and helps you “be in the moment.”

4.)  Get a pedicure.  You reach for your feet, you grab your feet, you touch your nose to your feet.  Splurge on the spa pedi.  Not even an elightened yogi could endure staring at sock fuzz under his big toe for 90 minutes.  No toe-picking allowed in class.

5.)  Hot yoga gives you an inordinate, non-coffee-induced energy high.  Or so Bikram says on his website.  I returned home, booted up my computer and fell asleep sitting in my chair.   Couldn’t read an email.   Couldn’t focus a thought.  Couldn’t even focus my eyes.  Ended up sleeping for an hour, my head thrown back in the swan pose, drool running down the side of my neck.  Woke up, drank a cup of strong tea, ate half-a-bag of tortilla chips & a strawberry popsicle and stumbled through the rest of the day in a non-drunken haze.  So much relaxation, not even my typical “To Do List” could stop it.

I’m guessing it works.  Other than the stress of not accomplishing what I needed to accomplish while I was taking my nap, it was a calmer day.

I’m going back tomorrow.  Just don’t expect me to answer any emails afterward.  I’ll be much too relaxed to work.

*Wine not included

________________________________________________

Happy Mother’s Day: The “Real” Cards of an L.A. Mom

by The Totefish Blog

Love you. Mean it.

In case the start-up business doesn’t pan out, I’ve got my next career at Hallmark all tee’d up:

CARD #1 to Me (from my kids):

Roses are Red,

Violets are Blue,

I promise never to get

A Mommy tatoo!

CARD #2 to Me (from my kids):

Roses are Red,

Violets are Blue,

You’re taller than Sophie’s Mom

And you sing Katy Perry songs really good, TOO!

CARD #3 to Me (from my kids circa 2034):

Roses are Pink,

Violets are White,

I’m sorry I thought otherwise,

Because it’s true.  You were right!

CARD to MY MOTHER (from me circa 2012):

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Actually, moms DON’T know best

Their grown daughters do!

CARD to MY MOTHER-IN-LAW (from me):

Roses grow high,

Violets near the wood,

He’s my husband, this is my house, they are my kids

All clear?   We’re good?

CARD to MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW (from an oedipal  me):

Roses like water,

Violets, the bee.

Don’t think for a second

He’ll love you more than me!

CARD to MY DAUGHTER WHEN SHE’S A MOTHER:

Roses are lovely,

Violets are rich,

Now you’re a Mom,

You’ll understand why some days, I was just a bitch.

(Sorry ’bout that.)

_____________________________________

HAPPY MAMA’S DAY, everyone!

_____________________________________

Simple Rules for Monday Nights

by The Totefish Blog

1.)  Don’t order a caffe latte at the restaurant at 9:30 pm.  You’ll regret it at 2 am.

2.)  Oops.

3.)  Find ways to amuse yourself quietly so as not to wake husband & kids.

4.)  Don’t Facebook search ex-boyfriends.

5.)  Don’t Linked In search ex-bosses.

6.)  Do surf a lot of shoe sites.

7.)  Don’t answer when you husband murmurs, “What time is it?”  He’s really asleep.

8.)  Do give yourself a mud-mask facial.

9.)  Do shake your head “no” when your son stands in the doorway and asks, “Is it morning time yet?” and Don’t explain the mud on your face.  He’s really asleep, too.  Walk him back to his bed, tuck him in and steal two neck kisses.

10.)  Don’t give yourself a European bikini wax.

11.)  Ever!

12.)  Do pull out the first chapter of your incomplete novel from the armoire.

13.)  Don’t read it.

14.)  Do curse Hemingway, King, Seuss and any other damn prolific writer you’ve heard someone praise.

15.)  Don’t say anything when you husband says, “Huh?”  He’s still asleep.  Really.

16.)  Do read your past blog posts and tell yourself you’re not a terrible writer.  Not really.  You’ve got potential.  Kinda.

17.)  Don’t wonder if your followers are only following you because they’re your friends and they’re afraid you’ll know when they unfollow you and then, wow, won’t that be awkward at the next Christmas Cookie swap party.

18.)  Do send your followers chocolates in the mail.  Guilt is real.  And it works.  Just ask your Mom.

19.)  Do know that you’re fucked in three hours when the kids come and ask you to make their lunches because it really will be morning time.

20.)  Don’t post that blog list you dashed off in a moment of 2 am inspiration ’cause anything that seems witty at 2:44 am is certainly not witty at 8 am.

21.)  Oops.

 

My Enterpreneur Obsession: SARA BLAKELY

by The Totefish Blog

Sara Blakely, Founder of Spanx

Every week or so, I obsess over someone doing something.  They’re often famous, but not necessarily.   Now, I’m not into stalking and although I harbor male-size ambition, I’m not interested in “keeping-up-with-the-Jones” competition.  I’m too ego-centric for that.  This is about me learning to do whatever I’m doing… better.

This week’s obsession?  Sara Blakely

Why I’m obsessed?  I’ve got a thing for strong, female entrepreneurs.  In particular, I’m drawn to the ones who appear grounded, who give humble accounts of the struggle & climb and who are actively encouraging us newbies to follow in their footsteps.  (And, there’s the fact that her business is about girdles and pantyhose.  It leads me to believe that no idea is a bad idea if you believe in it…)

What my obsessed is doing:  Sara Blakely’s success is evident (who doesn’t own a pair of Spanx?) and recently, she was named to Forbes Billionaire list & invited to Time’s Top 100 Influential People Party.  But what I find most compelling is her use of the microphone to talk about her early years of boot-strapping and relentless rejection.    She’s motivating the kids.  Sure, she’s the first one to credit the luck of the Oprah’s magic but as far as I can read, she’s the one who’s been working non-stop since then to turn that opportunity into success.

What am I learning from my obsession:  Keep showing up to work every day.  The slow slog forward ultimately turns into a very good story about your success.  Embrace failure and rejection.  You’ve got to sell, sell, sell.  Ignore anyone who says your idea is dumb.  Hear their “No, No, No” — then keep on pushing forward.  Be nice to other women.  And wear your girdle to the meeting.

Here’s to a motivated Monday!

_________

Fueling the Fire:

Here’s her 28-minute speech at the Edge Connection (September, 2011) via YouTube.

And an article in The NewYorker (March, 2011)

And an interview for Entrepreneur (March, 2011)

And an article in Vogue (March, 2012)

_________

Just another “Wish I was a Mermaid” Monday

by The Totefish Blog

Artist: Waterhouse John William

On Mondays like these, I think I’d do the trade.  I’d go Mermaid.  No wait, hear me out.  I’ve thought it through:

1.)  NO TALKING

Mer-people don’t talk.  Neither do fish.  That means no phones calls, no sales pitches, no DNC calling for donations, no apologies for forgetting friends’ birthdays, no “how many times have I told you” rhetorical questions to kids under 9, and no inane grocery-line small talk.  I’m a mermaid.  I just nod and smile.  I can’t hear you under water.

2.)  NO ELECTRONICS

Anything with a cord would be suicidal.  I live in water, for god’s sake.  That means no bedside light to wake me at 6 am.  No computer.  No cell-phone.  No printer that keeps on jamming.  No rice maker that overcooks the rice.  No Facebook photos.  No Linked In resume lies.  No tweats from Ashton Kutcher.  I’m a mermaid.  I use a hairdryer to bat off sharks.

3.)  NO COOKING 

Sushi every night, right?  No food shopping.  No recipe books.  No standing in front of the refrigerator.  No washing, chopping, sautéing, stir-frying or steaming.  No ham sandwiches to make.  No crock pots to figure out.   No loading dishwashers in a symmetrical pattern.  No coffee beans to grind.  I’m a mermaid.  I make coffee out of seaweed and sand.  I have a trained seal deliver it to me.

4.) NO DIETING

No beauty magazines.  No 24-hour gyms.  No feeling bad about that power-walk that I didn’t take.  The only liposuction happening is with that kinky octopus from the Gulf.  Have you ever seen a fat mermaid?  How ’bout one with loopy breasts?  No more sucking in my stomach because I did eat all the bread in the basket and now, my jeans don’t fit.   My scales are flexible.  I’m a mermaid.  I’m the most beautiful creature a drunk sailer has ever seen.

5.) NO HARD THINKING

You never see a mermaid with a book.  Or wearing glasses.  They swim.  They brush their hair.  They eat some fish.  They play with some porpoises. They occasionally help save a cute man from a sunken ship.  They probably sleep 12 – 14 hours a night.   No teaching myself new technologies.  No trying to figure out digital marketing.  No wondering how I could be a better parent.  No teaching my kid pre-algebra or helping map out Tanzania on her multi-cultural poster.   I’m a mermaid.  I just sit on a rock and try not to cringe when the surf sprays in my face.

6.)  NO HARD LIVING

If I’m a mermaid, I don’t own a vacuum, Windex, tweezers or band aids.  My house is a shell so I know nothing about dust mites, mold and allergies.  There’s no traffic (other than the occasional feeding frenzy) so I never have to check Mapquest or SIG alert or Mulholland Drive before I leave the house.  There are no watches so I’m never late.  No poorly situated keyboards so my right shoulder never hurts.  Schools of fish don’t require large donations or creative Auction baskets.  Mer-children never bicker with each other.  Mer-babies never cry.  Actually, mer-infants, mer-toddlers and mer-elementary school kids don’t require a responsible adult.  It’s parenting by osmosis and new crops of perfect, well-behaved, well-trained mer-people arrive generation-after-generation in full-form.  There are no mer-careers, mer-feminists, mer-Tea Partiers, mer-stay-at-home-Moms, mer-Celebrities (well, except for that red-headed one but she went Liz Taylor so no one sees her anymore).  There’s nothing to think about when everyone is the same (except for your choice in hair color).  I have no worries.  I’m a mermaid.  People like to paint pictures of me.  And I’m friends with Peter Pan.

See what I’m talking about?    It’s not a bad trade when you have one of those kind of Mondays.

Birthday Bras & Blogs

by The Totefish Blog

This Baby’s Got Bundt!

Yesterday was my 40th Birthday and besides shoving 4 crazy-delicious slices of butter-laden “these-are-going-right-to-my-bundts” Bundt Birthday cake into my mouth, I spent the afternoon letting a very nice stranger plump up my breasts and pick out a slew of overpriced “no-need-for-silicone-here” bras.

Yes, it was my decadenal “Nordstrom Bra-Fitting Department Day.”

And it was Awesome.

Did I just say bras?  YES.  Bras!

Who needs a private party at The French Laundry when you have Nordstrom’s cadre of “we’ve seen it all, honey and your breasts, if you don’t mind us saying, look amazing” saleswomen waiting to make you feel fabulous even though you know they’re lying through their recently-bleached teeth.  My 34-year old professional bra-sizer even hugged me when she found out my mission was to treat my 40-year old “we-fed-two-children-for-a-year” breasts to their just due.

But such birthday extravaganza doesn’t come cheap.  But no fear.  It’s easy to rationalize.  What’s $400 for a week’s supply of bras when a.) you spend the same amount for a phone and you’re less likely to leave your bras on the restaurant table, b.) surgical solutions cost $5000, c.) that $375 brass-button, military-fashion-blazer you got talked into buying four years ago went out of fashion quicker than the Iraq war and d.) $400 doesn’t cover the bread-tab at The French Laundry.  My undergarment happiness:  PRICELESS.   Unfortunately, I can’t post a photo.  ’Cause this ain’t that kind of blog.

TO BLOG or NOT TO BLOG

Now, you’re wondering about the Birthday Blog part of the title.  No, this post isn’t it.  Late last night, after the family Birthday Sushi Dinner and two more “no-one-is-watching-so-I-might-as-well-have-another” slices of the Birthday Bundt, I started designing my start-up company Blog.  Yeah, that’s right.  Working on my Birthday.  And you know what?!  I LOVED it.  That’s how 40 I am.  It only took 5 hours to set-up.

By 2 am, I had 12 new followers.

Seriously.  12 new followers.  And 3 Likes.  From total strangers.

Happy Birthday to Me!

I’ve got great friends.  I’ve got budding Totefish fans.  I’ve got new bras.  I’ve got a family that I love.  And I’ve finally finished off that whole damn bundt cake.  That’s my kind of 40!

____________________

And If You’re Interested

Check out the new corporate blog at (http://totefish.wordpress.com).  Wadda ya think?  Remember… I’m just making up all this blog and internet and entrepreneurial stuff as I go.  Feedback and comments and uncensored criticism are good for my ego — and Totefish’s development.

Two Weeks of Movies: I’m a good parent, right?

by The Totefish Blog

Confession Coffee Hour.  During their two week Spring Break, my children did not visit one museum, complete any big art project or experience one educational or cultural event.   Our babysitter went to Hawaii to swim with sharks and I had to work.  So what did I do with two children, aged 8 & 6, that was interesting, time-consuming and could be done without substantive (or meaningful) adult interaction?

Easy.

I introduced them to the world of 1970s Television and Movies.

And they loved it.

Just like I did, when I was their age.

And here’s the crazy thing.  Family television shows and movies, circa 1976, are amazing!

Now don’t get me wrong.  I am one of those crazy militant moms who doesn’t let her children watch television during the week.  And I dole out weekend tv & movie privileges like a prison guard – stingy & strictly good-behavior-based.

I used to work in the Television & Film industry and I think a lot of current television & films are incredible works of creativity (I’m a religious follower of Jon Stewart & don’t talk to me while I’m watching “The Good Wife.”  And I’ve seen “The English Patient,” “Moulin Rouge,” and “Casino Royale” more times than I’ll admit.)  But modern-day children’s tv & film fare?  Other than the occasional inspired film (gems such as “Nanny McPhee” & most anything by Pixar), most are uninspiring & lackluster at best (or dysfunctional & gratuitously violent at worst).  ”Snarky,” “idiotic,” “one-dimensional” and “that’s no way to talk to adults” come to mind.  Oh, yeah.  I pride myself on my staunchly liberal social & political views but when it comes to parenting & media… I’m RSVPing “yes” to that Tea Party invitation.

But don’t cry for my children.  Because I’ve re-discovered the glorious decade of the ’70s.

So when you need a good 90-minute, guilt-free break from hands-on parenting, check out this list of my kids Spring Break ’12 favorites.  (Note: My 8 1/2 year old was able to follow the stories & “get” the humor but my 6 year old needed a pre-summary on most of these):

MOVIES

  • Chitty-Chitty, Bang-Bang (Two of the songs went on a bit long but the whole kids-locked-up-in-dungeon mayhem scene made up for it, big-time.)
  • The Apple Dumpling Gang (They laughed aloud thru this whole movie; they are still talking about the firehouse & the bank explosion scenes.)
  • The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again (They thought this was not as funny but they gotta learn about sequels at some point.)
  • The Incredible Mr. Limpet (Once they discovered Don Knotts, there was no going back.)
  • Bedknobs & Broomsticks (Angela Landsbury rules.)
  • Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (The Gene Wilder version — While I love Johnny Depp, this Willy is much more normal-kid-friendly.)
  • Charlotte’s Web (The original.  Both kids teared up twice… and my daughter asked if we could go to the Library to get the book as soon as the movie was over.)
  • The Rescuers (They asked if they could watch it again, immediately.)

TELEVISION 

  • The Brady Bunch (Season 1 & 2.  Mike & Carol demand respect, damn it.)
  • Little House on the Prairie (My 6-year-old son didn’t like these but my daughter has discovered the love of Laura.)
  • The Looney Tunes (Spotlight Collection volume 1 & 2.  Every kid should know that the Coyote & Sylvester never win and that TNT always explodes in your face.)
Happy Watching!

Easter ArmagEGGeddon

by The Totefish Blog

Easter, westside Los Angeles-style, isn’t for the casual “fly-by-your-fuzzy-bunny-tail” planner.  Hardcore Holiday-ers need only apply.

By 5 pm last night, CVS was sold out of pastel M&Ms, the grocery stores (two of them!) had only local BROWN eggs left and no one (not two pharmacies, not two over-priced coffee shops and not one gas station) could spare $2 worth of quarters, dimes or nickels.   And although inflation is real, I’m not in the business of stuffing plastic eggs with ATM $20s (I made that mistake when my daughter lost her first tooth and all the fairy had her wallet was a $20 bill).

“YOU’RE FIRED!”"

You see, for the first time in my long & industrious career as CEO of Family-Traditions, Memory-Making & Holiday-Preparedness, I dropped the ball.  I forgot to plan for Easter.  And on the westside of Los Angeles, that’s akin to being locked in the bathroom stall while the lifejackets are handed out on the top-deck of the Titanic.

Somewhere between our Spring Break vacation, the endless To Do lists for Totefish (my start-up), some grandparent health concerns and my general responsibilities of running a household & supporting the career of a busy husband, the third holiday of the season arrived without notice.  Sure, Easter is always around my Birthday so you’d think I’d remember it.  But a woman gets tired, you know?  Keeping up with the barage of post-Christmas holidays and their specific card-making, cookie-decorating, small-trinket-buying, special Brunch reservation-making, and taking-time-to-reflect-on-the-real-meaning-of-the-day is enough to make a woman pour herself a glass of wine and eat the heads off a whole double-box of green peeps.  Vinter’s note:  A crisp Sauvignon Blanc works best.

A GREEN EASTER

I didn’t dye eggs this year.  I bought the dye kit (I found a discarded box in the Children’s Cold Remedies & Tylenol aisle) but I couldn’t find the eggs.  Oh, these picture, you ask?  They’re Easter, circa 2011.  I’m going to reuse them in our 2012 Family Photo Album, for sure.  The eggs always turn out the same and nobody eats them anyway.  How hard can it be to convince the kids that they dyed them this year?   They think Spring Break has lasted “for, like a month.”  Time perspective isn’t their strong suit.

As for the annual crack-of-dawn egg hunt?  Luckily, I set the Easter Rules early in the game.  Our Easter Bunny long ago requested that we set out  a grocery bag full of empty plastic eggs (the same ones from last year) on the back porch so he can easily fill them with coins and candy and hide them around the garden.   The kids’ baskets sit outside the their bedroom door and the Easter Bunny quietly hops into the house and fills them with books & markers & leftover toys that didn’t fit in the Christmas stockings.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED (with a little bit of stealing)

I scoured the candy closet and found an unopened pack of jelly beans from last year & a handful of mini Halloween snickers with a bit of “give” in their hardened shells.  Candy: check!  I searched under both my and my husband’s car seats and found a fair amount of change (although not so much between the cushions of the sofa) and “bought” $10 worth of change from the kids’ piggy-banks (I’ll return it in morning, I swear).  Coins: check!   I ransacked the “Gift Closet” and pieced together two collections of “regifted” and Christmas surplus presents.  Tchotckies: check!  

Not bad for a lady who forgot to show up at the Bunny Office on time, eh?

Yes, I know what you’re thinking.  And you’re right.  There’s alot of “I” in this Easter tale.  My husband, while supportive of the efforts, is truly subordinate in these events.  Maybe it’s a westside LA thing.  Last night, the stores were filled with women — not men — politely grabbing the last remants of Easter gear.  My husband did help me hide the 106 eggs in the backyard although dumping the eggs in a small pile on the grass ”because it’s fun when the kids can scoop them up quickly” isn’t my idea top-tier execution.  I spent twenty minutes or so hiding his unhidden eggs so that the hunt would take long enough for me to pour myself a cup of coffee and remember that I should be video-taping the whole event.  Yes, I am that crazy.  And I have no idea why.

I finished the job and went to sleep.   I just wanted the holiday to be over.

DAWN OF A NEW DAY

The kids woke at 5:50 am and tore into their baskets.

“Look Mom!   A Star Wars Book!”

“A Whoopie Cushion!”

“New markers!”

“Hey, the Easter Bunny left the same chocolates as Santa!”

We made them wait until the sky was light before heading out to the hunt.  I gave the orders, horizontally, from my bed.  At 7:15, my husband could hold them off no longer.  They had finished their negotiations on the split (50/50 since there was only two of them and neither of them wanted to the loser) and wanted to apply the principle.  As I slipped on my robe, I mumbled bitterly about the state of holidays and our capitalist culture.  Easter couldn’t last much longer.  And then, I’d be home-free until Halloween.

My kids ran around gathering up eggs, giggling and encouraging each other on.

“There are eggs on top of the swing set!”

“They’re up in the tree!”

“How high can that Bunny jump?!”

An hour later, my son was sitting hunched over the kitchen table coloring with his new crayon set.

“Whadda ya doing?” I asked.

He waited a moment, then sat back, putting his hands behind his head.

“I’m making the Easter Bunny a card.  I bet no one thanks him.  But I love him.  He’s really nice.  And he makes kids happy.”

Makes the whole damn thing worth it, doesn’t it?

Happy Easter Everyone!

Games with My 8-year Old: Name that Lady!

by The Totefish Blog

  

       My Daughter:  “Mom, of all the famous ladies alive now, who do you like the most?

       Me:  “Oh, that’s hard to say.”

       My Daughter:  “But if you had to choose.  Who do you love?”

      Me:   “Does she have to be famous?”

      My Daughter:  “Yes.  Or else you’ll say ‘Me.’ ”

      Me:  “Famous to me or famous to everyone?”

      My Daughter:  “Famous on those magazines the babysitter brings over.”

      Me:   “Can I choose different parts from different ladies?”

      My Daughter:  “That’s not the game.  But.  Okay, fine.  But you have to write it down.  And you have to choose ONLY ONE who you want to be when you get older.  Those are the rules.”

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Some Famous Alive Ladies & Their Part(s) I Really Like

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Tina Fey

Her perfect funny and perfect nose.  Both are sharp and pointed.

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J. K. Rowling

Her copious, creative writing skills.  870 pages in one volume?  And kids read all of them?  The first twenty pages of my “great American love story” have taken me four years to write.  And no one wants to read them.  Trust me on this.

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Michelle Obama

Her seriously awesome “Don’t Fuck with me” thing.  In a gorgeous State Dinner gown or a “growing your own organics” stained sweatshirt, I wish I could exude that kind of scary.   Oops.  I meant to say, ‘Her “Don’t Fool with me” thing.’  My bad.

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 Arianna Huffington

Her accent, perfectly-coiffed hair and reasonable “Left-Right-And-Center” comments.  But mainly, for her accent.  And her blog business.

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Julie Andrews

Her cross-generational If-that’s-singing-then-I-want-to-do-singing inspiration.   There’s nothing sweeter than hearing my son lull himself to sleep with “those songs that the pretty lady sings in that mountain movie.”  It’s one of my favorite things.

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Meryl Streep

Her grace at being the most talented woman in the room.  No one wants to see her trip up (or down) the steps.  Not even other women.

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Hilary Clinton

Her enigmatic ambition.  Clearly she’s smart and driven but otherwise, impossible to define.  Actually, I don’t think I want to be like her but what I wouldn’t do to be a fly on her wall!

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Oprah Winfrey

Her wealth.  Billions.  Self-made.   She wields the same kind of influence as a dozen male Forbes billionaires.  What woman doesn’t want that?

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Ellen DeGeneres

Her next-door neighborliness.  Self-deprecating but not insecure.  Up-on-gossip but not catty.  Smart but not arrogant.   She makes you want to bake a bundt cake.   That’s good for America.

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Madonna

Her deep, unrelenting love of herself.  Every woman should love herself this much.  Just think about the problems we could solve if all women around the world felt as good about themselves as she does.

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One Alive Lady Who I’d Like To Be When I Get Older

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Betty White

Because of her charmed octogenarian life.  When I’m 80, I want to be that involved in the world around me, even if it’s just doing fun stuff.  Wait.  She’s 90?!   Well then, it’s settled.  I SO want to be Betty White when I grow up.

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And that’s a list that People magazine could stand behind