LA Moms Blog

Memo From A Mom Blogger To The FTC: WTF?

I am a Mom Blogger, not a Journalist. Apparently, I need to disclose that right up front. Like you couldn’t tell. Like you thought I was suddenly the NYT. Which I’m not.

But the Federal Trade Commission thinks you can’t tell and that I’m trying to defraud you. The FTC thinks I want to sell you some magic acai berry beans made of broccoli powder that will cure your cancer and that unless I tell you upfront that the magic acai berry beans company paid for an ad on my site and are using me as a mouthpiece you wouldn’t be able to tell and would be defrauded when you buy these worthless beans and I get the cash.

But here’s the problem: I don’t sell cures for cancer, I do dvd and video game reviews. Not in the same league, if you ask me.

When The School Bully Is A Teacher

My son’s school has so much going for it – a great Dual Language Spanish Immersion Program, it’s a 2 block walk from my house, and did I mention it’s free? There’s only one problem: one of the teachers is a bully.

(Well, there are maybe a few more problems than that, it is LAUSD, after all, but for now I’m focusing on the bully.)

He could be my son’s teacher one of these years – it’s all such a random lottery, it seems -- but I can’t let that happen. So I’m doing all I can to make sure it doesn’t.

He yells at the kids in his class, actually screams. And he says the most horrible, humiliating things to them. I've seen him snap his fingers and call kids over to him the way you might treat a dog. If you were mad at the dog and didn't like it very much.

Am I a Good Enough Mom?

I often wonder, like my friend Jessica, whether I am a good enough mom, and often I find myself lacking. I wish I could start over a couple times a day – giving my kids more love from the start, maybe never having introduced television into their world, never raising my voice, serving super healthy food from the get-go (no high fructose corn syrup, ever!!!!!), instead of trying to dial back now when it seems too late.

But then there are times when I know I’m a good mom. Times when I trust that what I’ve given my kids is a great start in life. I’m not necessarily proud of how I get to this feeling, but it’s the reality.

There are opportunities all around me, every day – from little girls dancing in inappropriate costumes, to parents screaming at their kids in the grocery store, to toddlers running into the street because their moms don’t know how to stop them, to kids at the park with suspicious bruises on their faces. These are times when I know that any complaints my kids may make about my parenting do not even compare.

Just Say NO To Volunteering

What I am about to say is not very PC; so get ready: Moms, stop volunteering so much.

Yes, you read that right. I am not encouraging mothers to volunteer in their schools, churches or communities. Quite the opposite: I am asking them to stop doing it.

What’s wrong with me? I know you’re asking. Well, I am a Recovering Volunteer. And I am here to spread the gospel of saying No.

I was PTA President of my kids’ school for 3 years, I worked on and ran the Silent Auction for my kids’ preschool for 2 years, I’ve set up blogs for local community organizations, worked on the 5th grade culmination committee, done snack bar shifts for my kids’ sports teams, and sat through probably 1000 meetings in the past 10 years, all as a volunteer.

And while it benefited my community and my children’s schools, I’m sure, it left me a run-down, crabby, resentful wreck. You’ve read about all the women who do for others and neglect themselves? Well, I'm one. And I can name at least 50 people in my Facebook circle who do the same. 

Ahhh, School Projects!

I am up at 10pm on a school night dyeing a shirt orange. Why? School project!

And not just any school project, a last-minute school project, my favorite kind. NOT!

What is it about a school project that brings out the forgetfulness in teachers and students alike? What cruel twist of fate keeps my son or any of his teachers from giving me any notice to stock up on supplies or make a normal run to the grocery store? I mean, I'm very happy to know that my local drug store carries Rit dye -- and that it's open past 9pm 6 days a week. I just wish I didn't know it. I wish I hadn't had to find out because I needed to buy Rit dye at 9pm on a school night in order to dye a shirt for my son's class project that he in fact did know about on Friday and I could have spent a leisurely moment shopping for the dye over the weekend. But, no!

Earthquake! LA, Are You Ready?

There was just a 7.2 earthquake in Northwestern Mexico and my family and I felt it here in LA. Luckily it was small here and we have had no ill effects.

It was Sunday afternoon and I had literally just sat down for a cocktail. (Yes, a cocktail. It was the last day of Spring Break and I was celebrating its final moments.)

I had taken a sip and felt lightheaded. Good grief! I thought something was seriously wrong that one sip had sent me over the edge, and then it continued. "I'm feeling lightheaded," I said, and my husband gave me a look. I was still feeling the floor moving without me when suddenly I realized what it was. "It's an earthquake!" My family stared at me. They hadn't felt it! It was like a small wave set, not a big jerk and jolt, and they literally couldn't feel it. My husband didn't believe me until he saw the light fixture swaying. Then we all got out of the house. (See? I was right!)

Out on the sidewalk in front of our house, my neighbor said we were supposed to stay indoors, but that just didn't seem as safe to me. No glass to break out here, no walls to fall on me or my family. But it made we wonder what really is the safest thing to do? I need to find out!

The recent string of natural disasters in Haiti and Chile and now in Mexico have reminded me that we live on the Ring of Fire as well, and that we need to be really well prepared in case of emergency.

I Am An LA Traffic Wimp, And I Admit It

I have recently been forced to admit that live in a little bubble on the Westside of LA. I don't like to think of myself that way, but if I am really honest, and I feel that I can be with you: it's true: I rarely go East of LaBrea. Heck, I barely even go East of the 405.

Now, I've been able to live comfortably over here in my bubble. I love my neighborhood, Mar Vista. (So much that I write a whole blog about it.) There are grocery stores, parks, restaurants and clubs (I hear), plus of course we're right by the ocean, which is a huge draw and an endless source of fun. So I don't feel that I've really missed out on too much. But whenever I'm invited or otherwise enticed to venture Eastward, I begin to get anxious. 

It starts slowly and begins to build. The invitation arrives for a kids' birthday party at a well-known play area in the Valley set to begin at 5pm -- and suddenly I'm calculating drive time and traffic patterns and vector analysis for god's sake and pretty soon my blood pressure is through the roof and I realize we have to leave at noon to get there. Forget it. Or take the invitation I just received to be in Glendale at 3pm on a Thursday. I may have to head out Wednesday morning.

Sex Talk At The Dinner Table

"Mom, what's better to have: a penis or a vagina?" asked my 7-year-old son. "A vagina," I declared, adding quickly, "If you're a girl or a woman, that is! If you're a boy or a man, a penis is perfect to have," much to my male household's relief, I'm sure.

Thus began a frank discussion of the mechanics of sexual activity and body parts over dinner. 

I have tried to start the conversation with my sons before and did it all wrong. I took them aside, I made the topic seem serious and important, and no surprise, they got a little uncomfortable after a while and we would stop. I felt like I was making it too weird and an off-limits topic and they felt like I was just a crazy, embarrassing old lady (which still may or may not be true; depends who you ask).

The Drug Wars -- Home Edition

I have just had occasion to question my parenting style and ability: I forced an antibiotic into my son’s mouth and made him chew it up. (Trick is to hold the nose so they can’t breathe and have to open their mouths, fyi.) And I hate that I know that.

There were lots of tears and I am not proud. But he’s taken the medicine, which he needs, and that’s a victory, right? So why do I feel so crummy?

Are You Sitter-Worthy?

I'm sorry, friends, but the question must be asked. Just like Elaine on Seinfeld and her quest for the sponge-worthy suitor, I must question every weeknight invitation I receive and determine whether it merits shelling out the dough to pay a sitter. 

I just can't afford it, first of all. Did you know that for 2 kids the going rate is about $15/hour? So a night out with the gals could cost me $60- $75 bucks just to leave the house.

But more than that, it's a pain in the ass to get out on a school night. There's homework to be supervised and checked, dinner to be prepared -- with a picky eater to satisfy, asthma and allergy meds to administer on a daily basis, plus now my eldest has braces (well, expanders) that require some serious attention and more supervision. It's hard enough for me to do it all, much less to get a sitter to do it.