LA Moms Blog

Help! My Kid's a Vegetarian

Like any good parent, I worry about my kids and the internet. When my husband and I got them their own computer we made sure to put it in the kitchen in plain sight, so that I could keep an eye on them.  That way, while I was chopping potatoes I could make sure they weren’t chatting with any 43-year-old men pretending to be 12-year-old girls, or looking at R-rated pictures of Disney stars.  You know the ones.

But little did I know that the real danger lurked in things that got sent to them by their own friends.  Because it was one such email that had a drastic effect on our lives - a video emailed to my tween by a well-meaning classmate.

Calm down it wasn't porn. It was a grainy, black and white video of a slaughterhouse. And it turned my daughter into – shudder – a vegetarian.

Get Real: Octuplets mom getting a reality show?

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve probably heard about Nadya Suleman, the single mother with six children who gave birth to octuplets last month.  And hey – if you really have been living under a rock, you might be in luck since you’ll be able to hear all about the Suleman family on their reality show that’s being rumored to be in negotiations.  That’s right – stay tuned and you could get an up-close look at the life of the unemployed woman being called “Octomom” and her amazing ability to turn disability payments and student loans into food, shelter, clothing and medicine for fourteen children under the age of 7. Come to think of it, I'm not sure if it belongs on a reality network or the Sci-Fi channel.

Flung into the mosh pit of teendom

Five years ago a friend and I went to see the movie Thirteen.  It starred Evan Rachel Wood as a seemingly well-adjusted thirteen-year-old who falls into the wrong crowd and is seduced by a world of drugs, sex and petty crime.  At the time, my oldest daughter was seven and my friend’s daughter was five, but we both sat hunched in the theater, watching most of the movie through our fingers and horrified at what certainly would be our future.  I think it was the first time ever that I didn’t finish my tub of popcorn, and we both sat frozen, occasionally turning to each other saying hysterical things like, “I’m totally going to check her for piercings!“ and “No sleepovers ever!”  Forget Saw, or Halloween or any of those other horror movies; this was hands down the scariest film I had ever seen.

Want to embarrass your kids? All it takes is LOL

In case you haven’t heard, having your parents use chatspeak is the equivalent of seeing your dad dance the hula at your Sweet 16 party, or having your mom pick you up from school in her bathrobe. In other words, if you really want to embarrass the hell out of your teen or tween, try punctuating your sentence with ‘LOL’ or throwing in an 'OMG’ when you’re confronted with a long line at the grocery store. Chatspeak, the popular slang using acronyms found in chatrooms and texting, is apparently the exclusive domain of the under 20 set and any attempts at usage by parents or other old fogeys is, like, totally awful. IYKWIM (If you know what I mean.)

'Tis The Season For Hoping You Don't Get a Really Crappy Gift

Awhile ago I did a post on my personal blog about one of the worst gifts I had ever gotten.  People left me comments detailing their own gift nightmares, everything ranging from a woman who received a bathroom scale from her fiancé to another person who received $1.75 in change as a wedding gift.  This being the holiday season, I’ve been thinking about what really makes the perfect gift, and how everyone has their own opinion about the whole process of gift giving. All I know is that during the time when we should be celebrating joy and hope, the whole idea of Christmas shopping and having to find the perfect gift usually makes me feel like punching the first person I encounter in the mall.  I think you’re starting to get the picture.

Some people really put a lot of effort into finding that one special item for each recipient, and I envy you.  While you spend hours trolling the aisles of funky boutiques and one-of-a-kind stores looking for that beautiful piece of antique jewelry for your aunt, I’m heading to Costco to buy twelve of those jumbo cheese selections to give to half of the people on my gift list. Of course I always include a card that says, “I saw this and immediately thought of you” and it usually works, although I did get a strange look one time from my 80-year-old lactose-intolerant uncle. 

Can't We All Just Have a Sandwich?

I’m declaring war on the Passive-Aggressive Foodie.

We’ve all got at least one of them in our lives.  The friend or acquaintance, who, while showing off their knowledge of all things culinary manages to make the rest of us feel totally inferior.   The Passive-Aggressive Foodie (or PAF for short) will toss out words like confit and ragoût in everyday conversation, pretty much ensuring that the rest of us feel really stupid talking about that taco we had for lunch.  Why have just a tuna melt when you can explore the rich textures and subtle layers in a panini?  Inevitably the PAF will make you wish you had a nice bottle of fruity, complex shiraz to bash them over the head with.

This Just Doesn't Add Up

As I child, I puzzled my teachers.  My inability to add six columns of numbers in my head or multiply fractions in nanoseconds confounded them.  Why couldn’t I figure out the circumference of all the circles in the diagram and calculate how many of them it would take to fill up the Pentagon? What could be so hard about averaging the number of miles Janie and Mike traveled in a day in their Chrysler that got 50 miles per gallon?

After all, they assumed, I’m Asian.  I should be good at math.

I hated this stereotype.  Why couldn’t it be something more glamorous, like assuming that I could wield a killer Samurai sword, or even something with some ick-factor, like thinking that I ate sushi made from live fish every night for dinner. That would at least have given me some mystique on the playground.  I could see it now, packing away a goldfish in my lunchbox when my parents weren’t looking and then later sitting down in the cafeteria, a small crowd gathered around me as I carefully laid out small sheets of seaweed on my cardboard tray. They’d cover their eyes as I pretended to slurp the little critter down with my carton of milk. 

Hey, look what I found

I’m sure you’re aware of the one thing that every woman (and quite a few men) are desperately searching for.  That mythical gem that promises to keep us looking toned and young, the key to a long and healthy life.  The magical prize that always seems to lay just beyond our reach.

No, I’m not talking about the Fountain of Youth.

I’m talking about the Wii Fit.

In case you didn’t know, the Wii Fit is very hard to find.  I had no idea  – I honestly thought I could waltz right into Target and pick one up right after I’d finished shopping for my detergent and cat food. I’d simply ask the nice man to open up the locked display case, plunk down my $90, put that puppy right on top of my frozen pizzas and I’d be on my way to a pair of toned thighs and some killer abs.

That's The Ticket!

A few weeks ago my daughter let out a scream while sitting in front of her computer.  It wasn’t exactly a scream, more of that thing twelve-year olds do to convey excitement:  a yelp followed by a couple of ‘omigods’ and punctuated by frenetic hand clapping. I figured she had just seen a cute boy on YouTube so I ignored the commotion until she came running into my office, breathless, to announce that The Ting Tings were going to be in concert! She had a crazy look in her eyes, kind of how my husband says I look whenever chicken breasts go on sale for half-price at Costco.

The Ting Tings are the latest band she discovered through the amazing marketing machine known as the iPod Commercial.  I know this makes me sound old, but I remember the days when we used to discover new music by listening to the radio, or watching Soul Train or stealing our brother’s 45’s.  I’d kick back, relax and listen to my new tunes after I had finished washing my clothes down by the river and churning my own butter.

How I Survived A Mall-ing.

This is my first post for the L.A. Mom's Blog.  I was thrilled to be asked to participate, but a little apprehensive as well. Writing for a new audience is always nerve-wracking, sort of like being asked to dance on command, or sing "Little Bunny FuFu" for a room full of relatives.  Not that I ever did that to my kids and if I did it was only because I needed to buy some time while I finished basting that turkey.

I started to panic when I realized I didn't have anything to write about.  Life has been pretty uneventful for me lately - no smackdowns with other PTA moms, no catastrophic household events.  I've even left the house with two matched shoes for four days in a row now.

And then I went to the mall.