After about an hour and a half of playing at Target, watching the shopping carts go up and down the escalator, and buying 3 necessary trip items, and about 10 unnecessary, yet justifiable, trip items, I got kids back into the car to continue on our adventure.

The kids were getting tired, but I figured one last stop and a few more exciting moments, they would be sure to pass out in the car on the drive home. Walking into Elephant Pharmacy was like a wonderland for my kids. Cool stuff, cool candy, cool water bottles, and cool little hands just dying to pick everything up. I was nearing the end of my morning caffeine high and really just wanted to get some stuff and jet out.

My mom had called me from India earlier that morning asking me to pick up a pair of cheap sunglasses, something basic that she can wear, since her nice ones were broken. Naturally while looking for my unnecessary, yet justifiable trip items at Target, I forgot the one thing my mom really needed.

Luckily for me, there were some UV shades sitting at the counter, so I had my three year old help me grab a pair. I managed to get the kids out of the store, avoiding one meltdown, and strapped them into the car and finally was set to go home. They both looked a little dazed and confused, but content and all they wanted to do was pass out.

I picked up my phone to call my husband to tell him how great Elephant Pharmacy was and how cheap everything ended up being (which is unheard of at any type of holistic/natural place in Berkeley). I’m starting to back out of my tiny little space, a line of cars behind me has already started to form, and I stopped. I pulled back in and do the one thing I NEVER do, check the receipt. And there was my answer – the nice lady forgot to charge me for the sunglasses.

Now, I immediately knew what the right thing to do was. And, if my kids weren’t snuggled in their car seats, dozing off, happy as clams, I wouldn’t have been thinking:

1. Are you kidding me? I have to take the kids out?

2. The dude behind me, waiting for my space is sending me “hurry the @#$ up vibes”

3. The kids are both quiet

4. I’ll come back and pay for them later

5. The kids are both quiet

6. I’ll never come back later

7. Karma. I got to teach my kids about good karma and doing the right thing…even if they don’t get it

8. Shit! The kids are both quiet

And I did it. I unstrapped the kids, walked back in, told the nice lady she undercharged me and it was karma that brought me back. Plus, I didn’t want to be “that mom”. It made me realize something very important. This is why I chose to stay at home with my kids, because these are things I can show them…and they can also see, that mommy’s have moments of weakness as well.

That night was the start of Rosh Shana (my husband is Jewish, and I’m Indian…and that’s a whole other blog entry), and I felt good…we started the new year with some good karma.

You can’t always protect your kids from the world. The f-word is thrown around constantly by people around us. Bay area drivers during a heat wave, a stubbed toe, a surf through HBO, it’s always there. My husband I have made a conscious effort to stop swearing around our kids, especially because our 3 year old is a sponge, and although flattering at times, he loves to emulate us. When people compliment him on his manners, I secretly pat myself on the back. When he says “excuse me” to our friends, I beam with pride. But, the day came, when I was driving with my incredibly proper Indian mother, he decided to ask me the definition of “f***ing* and “F***”. At first I was shocked, solely because I couldn’t imagine a more inopportune time for this conversation to take place. Then I stifled a giggle. My mom looked at me and I played the whole “Oh my god! Wherever did you hear that?” card. Truth be told, I’m sure it was from us. I’m sure it slipped out of our mouths and I had to take responsibility for my actions as a mother.

I told him that “f***” was a bad word. His response was “Why?” I then proceeded to tell him that it was a word that could make other people feel bad. It was a word, though frequently used by many, didn’t necessarily mean something good. I figured he would soon learn that the word “F***” could mean numerous things, good and bad, but it’s all about time and place. I also told him to call me out. If I accidentally said it, I was in the wrong and he had every right to tell me that it was not ok to say that word.

A few weeks later, I found myself fighting for a coveted parking spot and lost the battle. Under my breath I said “that sucks”. Before I could even blink and find a new spot, my conscience, aka 3 year old, said to me in the most adult voice, ” Mommy, f*** is a bad word. Don’t say it, it makes me feel bad”. I looked at him and said, “I swear I didn’t say that word, I said “sucks”! His response, “Mommy, no, you said it. It’s a mean word.”

Talk about trading places…I said sorry, and I thanked him for calling me out. I told him that Mommies also need reminders and need to be called out. I’m not a superhero, I’m simply a mom and I try.

When I caught my son fishing for something up in his nose, examine it, and then decide to taste it, I had to figure out a catchy way to nip that habit in the bud. Now, I’m sure, as a kid, we all were intrigued by the crunchy, salty taste that comes out of our noses, but there are a few people in this world that still, as adults, search for the perfect bite. At that moment, when I saw him go for the mouth I shouted “Shyel, dude, just pick and flick it!”. I figured the rhyme was catchy enough for him to rethink his booger eating attempts in the near future.

A few weeks later, during circle time at his preschool, his teacher was reading a book called “That’s Disgusting” by Francesco Pittau and Bernadette Gervais. As soon as she got to the part about how eating boogers was disgusting, my son raised his hand passionately in the air and said to the whole class that, “My mommy said you shouldn’t eat your boogers, just pick it and flick it!”. Although I am a huge supporter of the 1st amendment, I made a note to myself to figure out another rhyme that would remind my son of “time and place”.

The lack of inhibition is a glorious thing and as I look at my kids, I envy the newness and the innocence behind it. A few days ago, at the beach, my son and his friend managed to get everything wet. As we were changing them, they took off running in the sand, free as birds, butt naked. I watched them both, screaming with delight, sand in every crevice, pure, unadulterated joy shining off their beautiful 3 year old faces. I noticed that other people on the beach were watching our boys. I wasn’t sure if they were thinking “ok, that’s cute enough, now, get their clothes back on” or, thinking what I was thinking…I wish I could be that free. The total, innocent, beautiful, lack of any type of inhibition. I thought to myself, enjoy it now kid, because with each passing moment, the world finds ways to inhibit us. Be free little man.

Don’t get me wrong, she was never colicky, or a difficult infant, but her major form of communication, even when she was 1 day old, was through her passionate screams. Now, exactly 16 months later, the screams are still there, but mixed in with a fiery little personality. She screams when she’s pissed off, hungry, scared, fired up, happy, excited, and even when she’s just loving life. She screams with delight when she hears Alicia Keys, and screams with anger as soon as I turn it off.

Her screams are so dramatic. My husband says she gets it from me. Probably. Sometimes when she gets really pissed off, she takes a deep breath, and no sound comes out…and her face freezes, and we wait. We hold her at an arms length from each eardrum, turn our heads, and just wait for the storm to hit.

When I’m on a plane, or in public, I forewarn all about her innate talent of screaming. A few months ago when I flew with her from Oakland to D.C., I told everybody around me that my daughter was a screamer. They took one look at her smiling face and decided it couldn’t be that bad. I even took measures prior to the flight to try and prevent this screaming. I ran her, fed her, kept her up from her morning nap, in hopes of her just passing our on the plane…which she had done in the past. I brought toys, books and all her favorite snacks. And sure enough, as soon as the flight took off, she passed out. I was so proud of myself, I settled back, waited to order a glass of wine, pulled out my book “Killing Pablo” and figured I had about 3 hours of chill time.

I was so wrong. Stuck in the middle between her car seat and a rather large woman’s breast, I could barely move. My daughter, whose world had expanded exponentially due the newly acquired trait of walking, wanted to move. I felt bad trying to get her out every 30 minutes, because the lady next to me was having a hard time moving, and I didn’t want to burden her as well. So, to make a long story short, she pretty much screamed the entire way. And, I admit it, I was praying a bottle of Benedryl would magically drop into my lap so my kid could pass out…because the looks I got from people were straight from hell.

I was SO “that mom”. The one that is dealing with her screaming child, as you are looking at yours thinking “Thank god that’s not me!” as you hug your calm, sleeping child overwhelmed with gracious love. Well, here’s the thing, I was always the mom who was grateful her kids were pretty chill on the plane. The mom who would drink up compliments from other passengers who commented on how well her kids behaved. Let’s just say, if there were anybody on that flight who was thinking about having kids…my daughter just made them rethink the whole idea.

Now, I’m about to travel 23.6 hours across the globe, with both of my kids, alone, and I feel like after that flight, it really couldn’t get much worse…and if I have to, I’ll deal with being “that mom” for the plane ride, because, after my kids get a chance to experience two months in India, I’ll be that other mom…the one who gave them a chance to see the world. When I look at it like that, her screams don’t seem all that bad…because the other screams she will grace us with, as soon as she touches foot in India, will be unforgettable.

After my first baby, I was one of the lucky ones that lost the weight pretty quickly. Don’t get me wrong, I still find that my tummy never got back to the good old days, but overall, I was happy with myself. Baby number two wasn’t so sweet. My daughter kicked the crap out of me while I was pregnant. My ribs…well, I’m still waiting for them to come back to home base…and my tummy, let’s just say, my kids love it. Although the weight came off, everything was re-distributed and it took some time to just get used to it.

A few months ago when I was visiting my in-laws in Chicago, I was telling my mother-in-law, a breast cancer survivor, how hard it was to find the perfect bra. After nursing two kids, and enduring two pregnancies, I couldn’t figure out how some of those mamas in the magazines made themselves looks so sexy, and gravity defying. I had finally figured out ways to dress myself in clothing that looked flattering to my body (i.e. blouse out, empire waist), but I just couldn’t figure out how to find the perfect underwear.

My mother-in-law introduced me the the real world of bra shopping. She took me to Intimacy , a boutique on Michigan Ave. The fittings are by appointment only, so call ahead, because every minute is well worth it. First of all, my fitter, Anita, was a mother, not an 18 year old size 32 A, push-up wearing girl with a measuring tape around her neck. Here’s the best part, there are no measuring tapes involved. At Intimacy, they do what is called a holistic bra fitting. Your fitter, in my case, Anita, took one look at me from front and back, and said “I’ll be right back”.

Ten minutes later she was back, and in her arms were nearly 25 different bras. T-shirt bras, Plunging bras, Balcony bras, to name a few. Each type was meant for a different style of clothing and each one was beautiful. I knew that lingerie could be beautiful, but now, these pieces also embraced my post-baby body. She said that the perfect bra wardrobe consists of 7 bras, and one should never wear a bra twice in a row, and never, ever stick it in the dryer. The styles they carry are all top of the line, like Chantelle, Prima Donna, Aubade, and Marie Jo, to name a few. Each piece does cost a small fortune, however, if you find a perfect fit, consider it a great investment.

Anita also talked to me about the most common mistakes that women make when wearing a bra (http://www.myintimacy.com/bramistake.html) and when you find the perfect fit, not only do your clothes look better, but it’s better for you. The slouching reduces, the circulation is better, and most of all, mentally when you look good, you feel good.

As of now, there are six boutiques around the country (New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Houston, Boston and Miami), and talks of one opening up in L.A. So, for many of you it’s obviously hard to get there, however, I’m sure you can find somebody in your area that does these holistic fittings. I know that in my city, Oakland, there are a few bra fitting specialists that are really amazing. After the birth of my daughter, I went to Cotton and Company on College Ave. Claudette, the owner, who has been doing this for years, was so helpful when I was looking for nursing bras

Oh, one last fun fact, the owner of Intimacy, Susan Nethero, fit Oprah.

Greeted by the owners, Mae and Mary, and a refreshing Mimosa, I finally had the time to check out the goods hidden in this store. I’d been there before with the kids, and they have a great area for your kids to play as you shop. They focus on showcasing lines of local designers and entrepreneur moms.

Abe Jones, is an amazing line of clothing I found here. Designed and made in Oakland, CA, the styles are hip and fresh, and something new. I grabbed the last, long sleeved T-Shirt with a Deejay spinning on the front for Avi. I met the designer of Abe Jones yesterday at the Lakeshore Street Fair, a very cool woman with a great eye. I feel that she really embraces the East Bay culture with her designs. Check it out: www.abejones.com

Deejay Shirt by Abe Jones

Before becoming a mom, I just loved having fun in the city…now with kids, much has changed, but I find that there are so many different ways to still have a good time and enjoy the city you live in…for me, it’s Oakland, CA. Motherhood does not equal the end…although, as most of you Moms know, it certainly brings forth a HUGE change in the definition of “fun”.

I have two little ones. A little boy who just turned 3 a few days ago, and a little girl who is almost 16 months. I have to say, the first year of having kids this close in age was extremely difficult, but now it’s, as we say it Oakland, “hella” fun. Don’t get me wrong, there are days when I’m seriously contemplating scotch taping signs on their shirts saying “FREE” and putting them outside on the curb, but those moments of craziness usually curb pretty quickly.

I thought I’d throw down some really fun things we have been doing since my kid’s preschool went on summer break. A few days ago I took them to Children’s Fairyland just to get them out of the house. You know that lull time between 3-5 where you are just running out of energy and the witching hour is quickly approaching?? My daughter had received a 12 pass gift card for her first birthday and I have to say, it was the best present that she received. I threw them both in the car, armed with a Diego Sippy Cup filled with some orange juice, string cheese and raisins stuffed in my purse, and an extra diaper and shorts (3 year old is potty trained, but tends to have a few accidents when he’s fired up). It was the perfect way to end an extremely long day. The kids hung out, said hi to the donkeys, rode a few rides, played in sand, and ended the day watching a great puppet show.

Then, after all the fun was done, the Fairy Land people decided to open one exit…through the gift shop. A brilliant marketing scheme, but for me, a nightmare. We were approaching a 4:30 meltdown, and right there, in the middle of the gift shop, my usually calm and sensible 3 year old “Linda Blair-ed” me. I’m talking about full on floor rolling, tears spurting out mixing with crying drool, speaking in tongues…I mean the full package. I actually found myself laughing as I was walking/dragging myself out of the store, trying to figure out who the genius was behind this exit strategy. I mean, for a long 7 minutes there, I was “that mom”. And I know you all know what I’m talking about.

In the car I told him how you really can’t always get what you want…and I just happened to have my rolling Stones Greatest Hits CD sitting in my car. And, I had Mick tell my son the truth about life…and it worked. He stopped crying.

Later.