Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Don't Bake Your Fur Baby!

What comes to mind when you think of Gilroy in the summertime? Garlic, perhaps? Or more likely (if you've got young kids), Gilroy Gardens? To me, the mere mention of the name Gilroy makes me want to duck into a shady place and promptly pass out. The place is HOT. I'm more of a San Francisco fog type of person, give me a pea coat anytime! Yet since Gilroy Gardens opened weekdays for the summer season (about three week's ago), I've been there three, yes, three times already! We even met up with our old playgroup while there. So why do I torture myself? It really is a sweet little park and it's a great way to exhaust my kids allow my boys some summertime fun.

So this past weekend, under warming skies, my husband and I packed up the kids and headed down to Gilroy Gardens. We arrived around noon, donning sunhats, sunscreen and backpacks filled with bottles of icy water. I'd managed to misplace my premium pass somewhere in the car so I sent my family ahead while I clumsily reached between all the seats in search of it. When I finally started towards the park with pass in hand, something caught my attention.

Tragedy in West San Jose

Yesterday, around 11am, I was on my way to the Westgate Target when I noticed a couple of police cars and a lane closure up ahead. Usually, I would have pointed out the sirens to my boys in the back seat, but I was kid-free at that moment and thankfully so, for as I pulled closer to the scene, I knew that a terrible crime had recently occurred.

Police cars were all over the place, some in the street, some along the curb, and a few serving as barricades. Red crime scene tape had been pulled half way around the block. Small groups of onlookers had started to gather. I think I saw an ambulance of some sort. Obviously, I did turn my head and look. I'm not usually a rubber necker - I hate when people do that. But there was just so much going on, that it was hard not to look. Was there still a threat? What had happened?

Lattes and Things That Go

On the site of a former rail yard, sits the gateway to one of my favorite little known tot spots. You must drive to get there, winding your way through what is now the parking lot of a typical ugly San Jose strip mall of big box stores and fast food joints. Your adventure begins by way of the Starbucks drive-thru where for the price of a latte, you and your transportation loving children will jump straight into a page out of the Big Book of Transportation.

Not interested in things that go? Neither am I. But I do love a good cup of hot coffee and for 10 blissful minutes, I can savor my java uninterrupted while my 3-year-old boys take in all the action around us. (For the record, my boys have never been into Thomas or Hot Wheels or tractors; it's the live action they like.) We sometimes hit this spot when on our way to the popular Purple Museum. Surely, some of you are questioning my motivations. All this for a 10 minute truce? And via a gas wasting drive-thru at that? Hmf. Well, yeah, I hear you but 10 minutes is golden in my book and let me assure you, it doesn't happen with any frequency.

Remedial Math at the Amusement Park

Summer is upon us. But before you pack up the kids and head to an amusement park, let's first go over a simple math word problem:

A kiddie car ride has room for 10 riders. If you were the ride operator, what is the maximum number of children (riders) you would allow to board?

The correct answer, of course, is 10. However, if you were a certain ride operator on the day of our recent visit, you might have guessed a number greater than 10, say 11 or even 12.

Such was the scenario when I took my 3-year-old twins to visit our local amusement park. When the gate to the car ride opened, my children made their way to the open cars, with me following behind to help with buckles. Cheese Boy was first, securing a highly coveted police car. Chalk Boy had to run a bit further around the circle to find an open car, but before he could get there, a bigger boy had already plopped down into the very last car. Chalk Boy was out of luck. He'd been out run. All the cars were occupied. My boys had been 4th and 5th in line for a ride which seated 10. Somehow, the math is not adding up.

Chasing Mr. David

I hesitated at first, as tends to be my habit, standing towards the back, my old insecurities resurfacing. The music was live and it was brilliant and I'd secretly yearned to unleash the cool moves I'd practiced so many times in front of the mirror at home, starting when I was a teen. (Everyone does that, right? right?!) The stunned crowd stared motionless, electrified by the sounds of the acoustic guitar. I could feel the energy building and suddenly, we exploded into off beat movement, with some of us running in circles and some of us jumping up and down spastically. A few of us cried.

"Mommy, I'm standing on the J!" my then two-year-old son had shouted, bopping to the music.

"And I'm on the L, " his twin brother chimed in, bopping as well.

"Yes, " I'd shouted back, glancing at the circle time rug, "You certainly are!" 

Such was my introduction to the music of Bay Area family musician, Mr. David. He'd come to perform at  our old co-op preschool that day, toting a blue guitar and a bongo drum. For the briefest of moments, I was my long gone twenty-something self, dressed in black and out clubbing in San Francisco, hiding lurking

I want to tell you about this great new preschool

The notices had gone out. Friends who had already received theirs had promptly filled in the dates of their calenders. I envisioned the bold, black ink scrawled across the month of July,

<-----S U M M E R  S C H O O L----->>

I glanced down at my Busy Body Book, turning to the page in which I'd hastily penciled in, "summer school?" The pages of summer were all so woefully blank. I reread the forwarded email from my friend, searching for my name.

"I didn't see your email address. Did you get this email?"

No, I didn't.

Don't Laugh - I Flowbee My Boys!

We'd been talking about first haircuts, my friend and I, sharing notes, as usual, about the day to day minutiae of parenting twins. "My boys got certificates for their first haircuts, " I told her, explaining the whole kiddie salon scene of car stations and nooks full of toys. "Nope, " replied my friend, "we Flowbee'd our boys instead."

You did what to your boys? Is that even a verb? Sheepishly, my friend went on to explain that her husband had been (proudly!) using a Flowbee to cut his hair for well over a decade and was now thrilled to be able to use it on their young sons. (See him in action, here.) For the uninitiated, the Flowbee is a gag gift hair cutting system whereby you attach a special hose to your vacuum cleaner and basically vacuum cut your hair. Voila! No mess, no hassle.

In my attempt to visualize the whole process, I laughed. Oh, please. I'm an Aveda Concept Salon kind of gal. I want the whole salon experience of aromatherapy and relaxation, not the noisy whirl of a vacuum

Graduating to a More Challenging Playground

It all started with the junior play slide, a Craigslist find. My then 1-year-old twin boys had already been toddling for two months and I could see our future and it looked like this. Though they were still a little too young to be set loose at the playground, I thought I'd let them practice climbing and sliding in the comfort of our own carpeted living room. But that tiny 2 foot slide seemed to loom over my tiny tots like a giant tower. We hovered over our boys as they played on that slide, fearing the inevitable tumbles.

Around the time my boys turned two-and-a-half, they had long since learned how to slide down that first slide. In fact, they began using that slide for everything but sliding down properly; they climbed backwards up the slide, vied for the highest perch, jumped endlessly off the top and toppled the whole thing over so they could use it as a balance beam of sorts. That's when we we decided to move the slide into the garage for storage.

Ratatouille, Glitter Glue and the Booming Thing

A few Saturdays ago, I bought the G-rated Disney/Pixar film Ratatouille. I was in the checkout line at Target, next to the display of popular DVDs when I spied it. "Ratatouille" said the cover, a tiny Eiffel Tower gleaming in the background. "Buy me!" screamed the merchandise. My thoughts turned to Paris and I snatched up the DVD, tossing my impulse buy into my shopping cart while cursing my lack of will power. So here's the deal: I don't get out much and the thought of indulging in a little armchair travel with my children was heavily appealing.

Yes, it's pathetic that my trip to Paris would be by way of a cartoon rat with a bad accent but I was desperate. Besides this was no ordinary sewer rat, this was Remy, a rat of considerable culinary talent and he was French, oooh la la! I had not researched this film on-line, but I had checked with friends and they'd all said it had gone over well with their preschool age children. When I got home, I slid the Ratatouille DVD into the player and waited for my 3-year-old twin boys to wake up from their naps.

Hey New Nurse: Get Some Life Experience!

I miss my nurse practitioner! She was warm and earthy and had such wisdom. I trusted her completely. She was a part of an amazing team of staff at private practice of one amazing and much loved Silicon Valley OB/Gyn. I was there for my annual exam, expecting to see her. I heard the "Helloooo!" and the sprightly steps but when she pulled back the curtain, it was a new nurse and she was...young.

"How are things going?" asks the new nurse, smiling. We go through the usual litany of questions, finally arriving at the question of sex.

"Well," I say, "it's funny how life with kids can kind of zap away a lot of your energy. I'm always tired! Hey, can you test my iron levels"

She stops, leans in closer and tells me that it's very, VERY important to nurture a marriage. "People get busy, but we musn't neglect our marriage," she urges, her voice full of sympathy.

Um, my marriage is fine, thank you very much. But I'll step things up, if that's what you think I should do.