1. Ava came home the other day with a sheet to sell cookie dough as a fundraiser for her school. She told me about it. Here’s what she said: “Mama, the school wants me to sell cookie dough. When my teacher handed me the sheet I raised my hand and asked ‘how much of the proceeds actually go to our school? You know, cause I don’t want to sell my family something that’s just going to make money for some company with sweatshop-like working conditions.’” Then she says “I’m probably the only 5^th grader asking these questions, but I don’t care, because I think they’re important questions.”
2. I’m sure her teachers adore her. No really, I’m sure they do.
3. Is it weird to have that sort of skepticism at 10 years old?
4. I don’t understand those “baby on board” signs people put in cars. Every time I see them I’m like “So glad you let me know, because I was just about to ram into your vehicle. Now that I know there’s a baby on board, however, I’ll pick somebody else.”
5. I think there’s something wrong with my brain.
6. Speaking of something wrong, does anybody else have a son who pretty much cannot accomplish a ten-second task without getting distracted, possibly by something existing only in his brain? You know, like getting in the car. I swear to you my son gets distracted from the time he opens the car door until he sits down. He’s just standing there with the door open and I’m like “Rocket! What are you doing?! GET IN!” And he’s like flicking something off the handle, or staring at the ground, and when I yell at him he looks at me like I rudely snapped him out of a deep important revelry. More on that later.
7. My insomnia is back. I wake up every morning around 3:45. I could get up and  do something useful, but I seem to prefer to lie there miserable wondering why I can’t sleep and wishing I could either sleep or die. Sometimes my preference for the former is miniscule. Such good times.
8. Oh, yeah. Rocket turned seven yesterday. I only cried about 5 times. For some reason I always have a tough time on his birthday, I guess because I got really sick with alcoholism almost immediately after her was born, so I was basically absent until he was nearly 4 years old. I try to forgive myself, move on, live in today, but the remorse sits like an old friend in my soul, all the time, and it rages when his birthday comes around, reminding me with perfect clarity of the birth of my beautiful son, and my joy at his arrival, and my prompt inability to be there for him. Last year I wrote this post on his birthday. At least I’m doing a little better than that.
9. Anyway we had a party for him on Saturday. Despite my attempts to urge him away from said party (“Rocket, let’s go to the beach!! Wanna go to the BEACH!? The BEACH would be amazing! I love the BEACH.”), he insisted on the party, so I made it happen. About 9 kids showed up from his class. Seven of them I had never met. It was a good party, I think. The painted pots went well. Also, as I mentioned on FB, I had a revelation: My kids are not that bad. No really, I mean it. There are some fucking terrible children in the world. More on that later, as well.
10. And so, here we go, my son is seven. Another year gone by, little man. Another moment I must accept, of a boy getting bigger, growing up, telling me things like “I liked being six. Six was a good age.”

He wanted a cake with monsters and flowers. [I die, people, from this cuteness.] Since Ava, my mom and I have been taking a cake-decorating class (WHAT? You didn’t know I’m Martha Freaking Stewart? Well, now you do. HA.), I was able to make a cake, frost it, and add monsters and flowers. (He stuck them on.)

I was, in short, relatively impressed with my skills. Okay fine. OUR skills.

But still. I made the damn monsters.

I love you, Rocketship Rock On.

THE CAKE

And, the boy…on his second birthday. I know it’s old, but I’ve always loved this photo…

Alright fine. Here’s more what he’s like now…

But to be honest, it’s all the same to me. Happy birthday, son.

Have you ever noticed that some of the most terrifying mothers out there are the super-pumped eco-friendly ones? They’re like MEAN. But not with their mouths. Only their EYES…

But they still say it:

What? You don’t dress your kid in all organic hemp?!?!? What is wrong with you? They should call CPS.

Are you driving a freaking EXPEDITION? What are you, Satan? Where are your horns? Where’s your hybrid? Your Prius? Your bicycle, Goddamnit.

Do I detect a PLASTIC BAG in our presence? I’m sorry. We can’t be friends.

Um, your baby is holding a non-wooden rattle. Aren’t you going to DO SOMETHING? DO SOMETHING NOW BEFORE SHE DIES!

Not all of them. Obviously. But some. You know what I’m talking about.

Sometimes I feel this grip of fear when I pack plastic Pampers in my bag, headed to a mother’s group, for fear of the eyeballs that may bore down into my soul — oh my god. The landfills. THE LANDFILLS PEOPLE.

And I know they’re right. But still. No need to be a dick.

Some of us are horrible people who can’t be eco-friendly ALL THE TIME.

And some of us are perfect.

You know who you are.

Recently I Googled “eco-friendly party favors” because Rocket’s 7th birthday is coming up and I would like to not buy a plastic goody bag full of plastic crap made in China that costs too much and nobody wants or plays with anyway. I’m trying to do my part, people. I am.

Anyway, I found a blog post on the topic and read through the comments. One of the comments was this one:

“NO, my son does NOT come home with green favors, not even from parties given by hybrid-driving, organic eating folks. And, I’m somewhat well known for my “Just Say No to Cheap Plastic Crap” post about environmentally unfriendly party favors. So I just stand there at the parties, trying not to look too exasperated or to be impolite…judge not….but yikes, it makes me crazy what my son brings home.”

And I was thinking “holy hell, lady. That’s so uncool. But I know you. I’ve met you. And you suck.” and then I thought ” Mother Earth called. She wants you to stop being such a douchebag.” But I changed it to “asshole” because I thought maybe that’s more appropriate.

Ha.

Because here’s the thing. Even if your cause is hip and noble and right, if you walk around belittling and dehumanizing people for not backing your cause completely – or not doing it well enough – you’re still a dick.

And in my opinion, there is nobody more annoying than an enlightened dick.

Because it’s the jerk shrouded in education, depth, profundity. It’s Asshole with an Edge. It’s mean people with data and goodness and “progressiveness” backing their game.

I just vomited a little in my mouth.

Standing there at somebody’s birthday party clothed in an impenetrable air of superiority, looking down on the miserable specimens handing out crap plastic party favors, makes this woman part of the very problem she claims to be working against. To me, there is no difference between the snobbery displayed in the materialistic label-whoring types who figure earth can go fuck itself because we’re all here to grab what we can and die… and that of the super-powered eco-friendly attachment parenting Nazis. It’s self-centeredness and judgment and superiority. Period.

Allow me to illustrate:

Woman 1: “Oh my God. Your purse isn’t Prada. Your car is cheap and old. Your kid is dirty and dressed in Old Navy. I’m so much better than you.”

Woman 2: “Oh my God. Your purse isn’t recycled materials. Your car is not a Prius. Your kid is eating non-organic food and wearing Old Navy. I’m so much better than you.”

You see? Same damn thing.

New label. Same douchebaggery. New angle. Same ego.

And I happen to have evidence that the good Mother Earth thinks these people are douchebags. How do I know? Because she told me.

She told me by pouring her rains on the eco-friendly and the polluters alike. Her flowers don’t shun the faces of those who choose “plastic” at the check-out line. Her oceans cool people who eat fast food and Whole Foods, without regard. And her mountains call to the SUV drivers just as clearly as to the Prius drivers in North Face and Tevas, eating homemade granola from locally sourced oats. Or whatever.

Oh yeah, I said it. I geeked out on you, completely. Damn hippie. But I love this planet. I believe the earth is the source of my soul and my spirit and someday I’ll return to her arms. To me there is no division between the words “god” and “earth” and “love.”

What? You didn’t know I was a total and complete freaking hippie? That’s probably because there’s Dawn on my kitchen sink and not the biodegradable stuff. Whatever. Dawn gets the stains out of my wool carpet. DON’T HATE.

Is it hypocritical for me to say I love the earth while driving an SUV? Maybe. But check this out. I’m also just a flawed human. I am hypocritical and contradictory and confused and lost and just trying to make small changes one minute at a time, slowly do a little more a little better. And in the process, I’m trying not to be an asshole.

I have a friend, Penny, who is very passionate about her family not being exposed to chemicals. Rather than use plastic bags, she like made these wrapper things out of muslin and beeswax…she’s created all these super inventive ways to not use chemicals. But you know what? When she tells me about the shit she’s doing I feel inspired, enlightened, empowered. Like I’m being taught something, shown something new and exciting and compelling. She doesn’t judge me for using Ziplock. She doesn’t stare at me in disdain when I whip out the Cheetos. She has chosen to live her life in a certain way and if I want to hear about it, she tells me about it, without hatred or pretense.

And that, I think, is what makes change. We do our best in our small circles, create ripples in the waters around us, lead by example, teach with patience. And when we’re standing there at a party and some kid hands our kid a goody bag full of junk, and he’s smiling and proud to be giving that gift, we take it, with genuine joy in our hearts, because we get to be there with humanity and live and receive…and we redouble our efforts. We love a little harder. We devote ourselves more to the cause we know to be true and right. And we trust that our efforts are making some difference, somewhere. Or they will, someday.

Cause I’ll tell you what. I want to be more like my friend. I hear about her super interesting solutions for bathing and cleaning and eating and I’m like “Dude. Janelle. You should try that. She’s telling you how to do it. Try it. See what happens.”

Mother Earth called about her, too. She said “Rock on, sista’. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Really, it all gets back to my trusty comment policy and life philosophy: Try not to be a dick.

And by the way, I found a great idea for cheap, “green” party favors. We’re painting little clay pots during the party and putting plants in them for the kids to take home.

BOOM.

Take that, evil party-favor lady.

This week, I’m going to tell you a little story. It’s a story about friends, and it’s a good one.

A few years ago, through the generally insipid Facebook, I became “friends” with a few women I went to high school with. As I read their posts, comments, and/or blogs, it became pretty clear to me that these were women I wanted to know again, in real life, even though I hadn’t seen them since we graduated in 1997, and I promptly fell off the planet.

You see, the truth is, I really didn’t want any high school to remain in my adult life. I was a douchebag in high school. I hated it. I was insecure, angry, fake, terrified and full of the bluster of the wholly petrified. The few “best” friends I had either decided they hated me or married my ex-boyfriend, so they were out, and truthfully, it was okay with me that I had no relics of that period of my life. To put it mildly, high school was not the pinnacle of my existence.

THANK GOD.

But our 15-year reunion was coming up and I really wanted to meet the aforementioned women again, so I asked one of them if she was going to the shindig. She said “no, I’m getting married. Wanna come?” And I said “yes” and we went and it was, in her words, “Amazeballs.”

The girls I knew in high school had grown into some seriously badass women. Wicked smart, totally independent, fucking hilarious. One of them looked at her husband after he said something ridiculous and, with a completely straight face, told him “you’re ruining my life.” The bride did insane booty-shaking dances in her gown, had her dog function as the ring-bearer, and at the after-party, donned a unitard. Are you getting this? I thought so.

Here’s a picture of Mac and me at the wedding. Are you enjoying his face? I KNOW I AM.

Not only did I experience the most authentic, fun wedding I’ve ever attended, and reconnect with incredible people, we also (through the bride) met another couple with whom we hit it off (you see, sometimes it’s just RIDICULOUS to avoid ending a sentence in a preposition, Cara Lyn (that’s the bride. She’s a bit of a grammarian)).  And that couple invited us to go camping with them this weekend (over Labor Day). We exchanged numbers but of course I assumed they’d never actually call. I wanted them to, but you know how those things go. Nobody ever actually calls.

But she did call, and we actually went. And my soul was restored on the South Yuba River. Partly because we were in hanging out in places so beautiful and fresh and dramatic it makes your heart skip, partly because I could not quite believe how much I loved these people – the women but ALSO their husbands (how weird is that?). Our three families got along like we’d known each other forever. It was remarkable.

At one point yesterday, the men had journeyed up the river with Ava to jump off rocks and we stayed behind. It was the three of us women and two toddler girls (one of them also has a baby girl). We sat in the river on big granite boulders, partially submerged, warmed by the late afternoon sun, cooled from the waters of the mountains, cradling our deliriously happy, naked toddlers, and we talked. About nothing. About it all. We watched the babies splash, the dog try to swim. We may or may not have been fully clothed. And as I sat there with these women, in perfect comfort, I thought to myself “I want to be here, with these people, every year for pretty much the rest of my life.”

There was just something there. Something that doesn’t happen every day.

Friendship, I guess.

That came out of the blue.

And knocked my fucking socks off.

Here are a few photos from the trip. I hope you all enjoyed your holiday weekend, too.

So thank you, Facebook, for not sucking completely. And thank you, new old friends, for the same.

Ha.Ha.Ha.

xoxo

this picture makes her look like she’s about to fall into an abyss of water…it was actually about 3 inches deep…

he’s in love too

Ava climbed a very, very big rock. And was proud.

naked happy river baby!