10 Things I Would Do (if I weren't busy parenting)

For this week's writing prompt, I chose to tackle the Since my current "job" is that of a full-time mother, it's hard to think about what I would do if I weren't "working." While I certainly have been vocal about the hardships of doing this kind of job (and still question whether I'm the right candidate for it), there isn't any doubt that this is the most passionate I've felt about or vested so much of myself into any other job I've held thus far. In short, no, I would not trade my current job for anything else right now.

With that in mind, of course I occasionally think about what else I could be doing. Here is my list of Top 10 jobs I sometimes fantasize about:

1. Professional photographer: I have loved cameras and photography since middle school. I am lucky enough to have some decent equipment and interesting subjects to photograph (my kid and friends' kids), and I get enough compliments that some days I dream about doing it professionally.
2. Chef: My other passion is to cook. I'm not fancy, and I mostly cook out of necessity (rather than to create fantabulous-looking masterpieces that taste great), but I still dream about getting paid to cook for other people.
3. Café Owner: Not only do I want people to pay me for the food I cook, but I want to serve it to them in my own little cafe. I would have small bites to offer, sandwiches, and desserts galore! Oh, and some damn good coffee.
4. Writer: Writing is another passion that's been with me for a long, long time. I have dry spells, but I've always tried to write something in one capacity or another. I was a journalism student in college, and some days I think about what it would be like to chase after a story in this day and age.
5. Editor: What do I love as much (or even more than) writing? Editing. I consider myself pretty anal about checking other people's work, and I've have ended up being the unofficial fact-checker at most of the jobs I held after college.
6. Musician in a band: I'll be honest, I don't have a lick of musical playing ability. I tried to learn to play the piano and flute while growing up, but they never stuck. I'm a big music fan though, and going to concerts was a big part of my life up until I gave birth to my son. Yes, I've dreamt about being a rock star.
7. Forensic investigator: Why yes, I do enjoy crime dramas on TV! I think what forensic investigators do is utterly fascinating! Remember what I just wrote about being anal? These guys and gals need to be detail-oriented, and I like to search for clues to solve mysteries. It would be a perfect fit! Well if only I chose a more science-related route in college than one that focused on the arts.
8. Paper store owner: You know shops like Paper Source? Yeah, I would totally love to own and run a place like that. I have had such a strange fascination with paper since I was young that being surrounded by all sorts of paper would be heavenly.
9. Stationery designer: As I mentioned, I love paper. This is actually a job I already had when I started my own small business as a greeting card and custom invitation designer a few years before I had my son. I loved it and sometimes wish I put more time and effort into growing my business.
10. Travel journalist: Last, but definitely not least. This dream job mixes my two biggest passions of writing and photography, with the added bonus of traveling all over the world. I used to watch shows like Globe Trekker and wished I could travel alongside Ian Wright, writing and taking pictures in Sri Lanka, Tahiti, and Japan.

Fifth Grade Awkwardness

Fifth grade was, on the whole, an awkward mess for me. I had spent half the year in fourth grade, then because of my age, was moved to fifth grade for the second half of the school year. Not only did I have to adjust to the curriculum, but I had to make new friends in the middle of the year. Thankfully, I did make friends, and some really good ones.

So at some point in the fifth grade, there was an incident where I felt like I was wronged by my teacher. We had just come in from the playground. It was close to the end of the year, so it was warm outside, and yeah, I was probably a little sweaty. Upon sitting back down in the classroom, our teacher suggested I take off the short-sleeved button down shirt I was wearing on top of a fitted tanktop.

Excuse me?

Mind you, even though this was fifth grade, I was one of those girls who had tits blossomed developed early. As if puberty wasn't bad enough, I was going through it alone; it was a small private school, and none of the other girls in our class were even considering training bras at that point. When the teacher told me to take my top shirt off, I knew I didn't want to. "No, it's OK," I muttered meekly. I wanted it to go away. I did not want to bring attention to it.

Then she began to INSIST that I take off my shirt.  Loud and often enough that by that time, everyone in the class was basically following the argument. I wanted to crawl and hide somewhere; I had no desire to put my curves on display for the entire class, especially to the boys who I thought were cute. Eventually, I gave in and took off the shirt, and spent the rest of the day in silence and avoiding all eye contact. I was so embarrassed; I already felt awkward about my body, and bringing attention to it like that made me feel 100 times worse.

I didn't know and still do not understand today why that teacher did what she did. Maybe she was concerned that I was too hot and needed to cool off. Maybe she was a sick pedophile that got a kick out of pubescent girls. Maybe she hated me for some reason and wanted to embarrass me in front the boys I was crushing on. Who the f*ck knows. Once in a while the topic comes up while talking with a very dear friend of mine who was in that class. "Remember when Mrs. X told you to take your shirt off in class?" she'll ask, with a hint of bewilderment still in her eyes. And to this day, more than 25 years later, I still cringe at the thought.

I Wish Someone Told Me That ...

In the last three years and eight months, I have learned a lot about parenting, but I am FAR from being an expert in anything. In fact, I still consider myself a newbie, and believe that part of the "adventure" is that you're always learning something new or different.

This kid's got quite a set of lungs!

In the excitement of pregnancy, 99% of what I heard from others were all the happy, feel-good stories about child-rearing. Maybe some people brought up the not-so-glorious moments, and maybe I just chose not to hear them. Now, almost four years later, I wish I had listened better, because damn, I could have probably saved myself (and my child) some headaches. I wish someone had told me that being a new parent isn't going to be 100% about sweet, I WILL CHERISH EVERY DAMN SECOND kind of thing. There will be days when you have to go outside out of frustration and string a bunch of obscenities that would make a sailor blush. And you know what? That's OK. 

Of course there are wonderful moments, like snuggling up with your new baby, or the first time your baby smiles (for real, not because he just let out a satisfying fart). Everyone talks about how awesome that new baby smell is, but people don't go around telling new mothers that potty training could possibly be the worst battle she will face as a parent in the first five years. I suppose it's because people don't want to be Debbie Downers in front of pregnant women or new mothers, but in hindsight, I do wish more people gave me realistic advice and less of the lovey-dovey stuff. For one thing, I ended up with postpartum depression, so hearing people tell me how in love I was supposed to be with my newborn — when I was already having personal bonding issues — probably made me feel worse that I already was feeling.

I'm not saying that hearing "horror stories" would have made me change my mind about becoming a parent. New parents already have so much going on that feelings of inadequacy or loneliness could make overwhelming situations feel even more unmanageable. New parents should know that it's fine to feel a little nutty, and that if things get too crazy, there's always help available. Most hospitals have programs to help new moms deal with PPD, and there are places online like Meetup.com that allow you to connect with others who share similar interests and situations. A little craziness is part of the adventure that is parenting; worrying that you're the only one who feels that way is something we can all do without.

Give the Moon to You

Occasionally, my son says some pretty random things to which my immediate response can only be to stare and blink at him. Things like, "I wanna wissen to Wady Gaga!" or "My butt 'tinky. Peas fix it!"

Lately, kiddo's been talking about going up to the moon in a rocket ship — undoubtedly inspired by a children's story app I recently downloaded on my iPad called Moon Secrets (iTunes link). In the story, there's an astronaut that sits on the moon to eat a sandwich. Maybe it's just coincidence, but ever since I got this app, my son's been saying, "I gonna fwy up to duh moon and bwing duh moon to you!"

It makes absolutely no sense and I can't even really say how he came up with it, but it's one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me.

Sephora is Coming to Westfield Culver City!

You know what gets me excited these days? This.

Sephora!

Fighting Boys

First, let me say (admit?) that parents can be some of the most judgmental people out there. Especially when it comes to opinions about other parents. Knowing this, I always try to remember the rule of "Judge not, lest ye be judged."

Of course, I'm not perfect, so there are times that I just can't help but judge. Like over the weekend, when I witnessed a couple of young brothers fighting at Knott's Berry Farm.

The two boys, who looked like they were ages six and nine, were waiting in line for a ride right in front of me and my son. I don't know what started the fight, since I wasn't paying attention then, but once they were throwing punches at one another, I couldn't help but look. (They were standing just a foot or two away from us, so part of it was that I didn't want my son to get caught in their scuffle.) Both kids were pushing and trying to smack the other with their hands and arms, the younger one was even trying to kick his older brother. With them was their dad who did try to break the fight by standing between the boys, but of course they were still trying to get at each other around him.

What caught my attention the most was the dad. (Here's where the judgment thing comes in.) I stood there and couldn't help but think, "Why in the world aren't you getting out of the line and taking these boys and putting them in time out or some other way to calm them the f*ck down?!" I wondered why, other than just stand between them, all he did was mildly tell them to stop fighting? I thought, "Dude, if that was my kid, we'd be heading back to the car. Party's over." Eventually, the dad picked up the older boy and said a few things in his ear; for the rest of our time in the line, the dad carried the older boy, who got all somber and looked very much like he was holding back tears, while the little brother kept "shooting" at his older brother with the toy popgun they sell at the park. On the ride, the dad made them ride together — younger bro was had a ball, but from what I noticed, older bro didn't crack a smile the entire time.

This reminds me of another incident a week or two ago at our local gym. I was waiting for my son to come out of class, when two little boys came running past. I guess they were trying to fight for space to peek through the window into the class, but I sat there almost horrified when they started hitting each other. Now, these kids were even younger than the ones at Knott's — I'd guess two and four years old. And I'm not talking any sort of play fighting — these kids were throwing punches with the intent to hurt. But like what I witnessed at Knott's, the shock came more from the parent's seemingly blase´ attitude. In this case, the mom was busy talking to another parent to notice that her kids were hitting each other. By the time she came over to them, all she did was tell them sweetly, "Guys, stop that." When the three of them trotted off, I noticed that the brothers were still trying to shove each other.

OK, the part about me not judging others ... obviously, I know it's none of my business, and just as I don't want others to judge the way I parent, I really shouldn't judge others how they parent. If you let your kids hit and shove and kick — whatever, that's your business. But here's what I can't let go of: these boys were doing these things within close range of my own kid. I have no desire for my son (or me) to get smacked by accident. (Granted, the boys at the gym were in a different room, but my son could be in a class with them at some point.) Not to mention, my son is young and impressionable, and he's at the stage where he imitates just about everything he sees and hears. The last thing most parents want is for their kids to learn behavior we consider inappropriate, whatever that behavior may be. It's just like having overly rowdy kids at the playground — they're in a public place where other kids around, some sort of respect for others and their personal space have to be recognized. When the parents seem like they don't or do little to discourage this kind of behavior between siblings, how are they teaching them not to treat others the same way?

Now, I'm not a complete pacifist. I know boys tend to be rowdier and that one day, my kid's going to get into an actual scuffle. I also know there are situations where people might have to fight to defend themselves. Of course I want my son to know that when necessary, he needs to stand up to bullies or anyone threatening to harm him. But the key word is necessary. I don't want him to throw punches just because he's annoyed at someone. If he does start doing that, he'd be in time out so fast, he wouldn't know what hit him.