Archive for the ‘The little guy’ Category

Arguing about culture, people and SF.

July 22, 2008

My car broke down. Saying that is an understatement. Came to a grinding halt in the middle of a crappy part of SF in the noon hour is more like it. Had it towed over to ye old repair shop and started to walk to the bus stop with Rick and Stan a few blocks away.

Stan and I got into a disagreement. A BIG ONE. Stan is a guy. He is strong. He is smart. He can handle himself. I am a girl. I am strong, though not as strong, but small. I can handle myself most of the time. Rick was with us. He’s three for Christ’s sake. He can handle his stuffed rabbit.

We are walking through not such a great neighborhood and I am a little antsy. Stan says, and I quote, “there is nothing to worry about. There are three of us.”

Hm. Interesting. The way I look at it is there are 2.5 of us and it doesn’t really matter if you are a guy, I am a girl walking with her child.

In other words, I am an easy target. Doesn’t help that I am carrying my dell in my diaper bag. It doesn’t matter if there are three of us. There is my child and myself. Easy targets. I have been in this city all my life. I know when it’s not a great time to be in certain areas. And sometimes, it doesn’t matter if it’s noon on a Tuesday, there are just some areas that you don’t want to be.

Now, here is the kicker: I tried to explain to him that it doesn’t matter that it’s noon on Tuesday. I am a girl. I have a kid with me. There is an imminent amount of danger that he can’t even to begin to rationalize because of one simple fact: HE IS MALE.

Recently, there was a disagreement in the media about the N word. I hate this word. I have never used this word and never will. Even when reading Tom Sawyer in high school I would skip it. I just refuse. Anyway, the argument is that white people should never use that word while Africa Americans can use it. Hey, that’s fine and I can understand why this is. It makes sense in reclaiming the word and history. However, I can’t say that I will ever come close to understanding the hatred because there is nothing compairable for me to be called.

But Stan decided to argue the point with me that I shouldn’t feel afraid because I am in a bad area of town, I am a girl and I am walking with a baby. I used the N-word controversy as an example. And he didn’t get it. But then again, I don’t expect him to. Because he’s male. He will never have to worry about the things that, as a woman, come into my life everyday. I have experienced and seen some really fucked up shit in my life as a woman. Things that wouldn’t even begin to cross a man’s mind in the middle of the day will enter mine because, unfortunetly in this society, they have to. So no, I don’t expect him to GET IT but I expect him to respect that he won’t get it because of these reasons.

I mean, ladies, am I wrong to worry about my child and myself?

And since he’s reading this because, let’s face it, you met some really rad people this week, I would hop that maybe seeing it in writing may affect your judgement and open your eyes a bit. 🙂

The road not taken

May 23, 2008

Working comes with having to be a single mom. When you are the sole provider for a child, sometimes your work can spill into the weekends and from home. You don’t really want to work while your son is quietly drawing with a pen on your calendar for work… your bank statements… your bills… but you think to yourself, “the faster I finish this, the sooner I can play with you!”

I don’t like it when I have to work from home. Ricky doesn’t like it either. I don’t want to miss a thing with him so I find it really a dilemma when it comes to the thought that I actually DO have to put things aside and finish working.

Ricky, to say the least, was not pleased when, on such a beautiful weekend like we had this past weekend, I was busy sitting on the laptop on the bed while he ran around the house. I didn’t like it either, but it was a necessity as I tried to balance the budget so that MAYBE we can go to the baby bro’s wedding. (which is now in New York this September because the fiancee is now knocked up.) He kept brining me random sort of things from various parts of the house to see if I would play. There was the stuffed soccer ball from the living room, the bath duck from the bathroom, his diapers from his side of the bedroom… each time it was met with, “oh THANK YOU Ricky! I will be right there to play with you,” from a mommy who knew she wasn’t going to be ready to play for about an hour.

Ricky finally catches on that I am busy. Pouting, he walked away. A few minutes later he returned with a plastic bag full of stove popped popcorn I make for a light snack every Sunday night. Resigned to the fact I was working, Ricky started munching on it after he climbed on the bed to sit next to me and see what I was doing. Obviously, a three year old isn’t going to be that thrilled over my quicken spreadsheets.

Ricky was quiet for about five minutes. He munched his popcorn and was watching with deep interest… or so I though. When I took a second to rub my eyes, because staring at a computer screen is quite strenuous on the eyes after a bit, I felt it. Something hit the side of my head. I opened my eyes and looked down at the laptop. On the keyboard were about five popcorn kernels.

I looked at Ricky. He was acting as though nothing had happened. Still munching his popcorn and watching the screen as intently as an almost 3 year old can. I shook my head, and continued typing.


Kernels hit my head. I look at Ricky. He smiles like a little devil at me, hand in the popcorn bag. I shook my head. He slowly retracted a hand full of popcorn from the bag, aiming to throw it.

My face: “don’t you dare…”
His face: “go ahead, make my day…”

You can hear “the good, the bad and the ugly” playing as the standoff began.

Needless to say, the second I looked away, the popcorn flew. I looked at Ricky. He cracked up and went for more.

Here is the road in the wood that you can take: one of them leads to you explaining to your toddler that throwing food when mommy is working is not ok. In fact, it’s not ok to throw food at anytime. The other road has you slamming the computer shut, tumbling over the bed frame, scooping up popcorn as you go, and taking cover as an all out war between your toddler and yourself ensues, popcprn flying every which way, as you chuck it at him and he at you as a great chase goes on, through the bedroom, into the living room, down the halls, and eventually having a three year old corner you in the kitchen.

Needless to say, I am still finding popcorn in random places (really, how did it get in the planter that hangs from the windows?) and I am pretty sure the dog is completely traumatized. However, the memory of the laughter and screeching, of the pattering of feet and tickles… that is what matters most.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I-
I took the less traveled by.
And that has made all the difference.

hell? no, just SF

May 15, 2008

As things slowly progress back to normal in my life (but really is normal one should ask?) we are hit with a heat wave.  Not just any heat wave, but in this woman’s humble opinion, the mother of all heat waves.  This morning, while walking out the door to get Rick to pre-school, I noted it was warm.  when I got into my car, the thermamoter gauge read eighty one.

EIGHTY ONE!  at 8:30 in the morning!!!  This is not going to be a good day.

and it wasn’t.

it got up to almost 100.

the power went off at work, so no a/c

power went off at pre-school so we had o go get our children, so they didn’t get heat stroke.

our apartment is on the 4th floor.  the sun shines in it all day.  there is no A/C

it was 97 degrees in the house tonight at 6pm

Ricky and I spent an hour wandering the grocery store for the a/c

we ate ben and jerry’s for dinner

and now, my adorable three year old, is asleep in the bathtub, because it’s cool.

and I am curling up on the floor next to him.

yep.  it is hot.

I’ve moved.

April 19, 2008


I moved today.  to my new place.  in the castro. it’s closer to the kid’s preschool.  my little boy, who now insists on being called Rick because of this preschool having three Rickys, has his own bedroom!  and a “big boy” bed!  that’s right!  no more toddler bed for Rick, he’s a big boy now. and he loves jumping on his bed. of course that breaks my heart a little bit.  they grow so fast.

and today you are not an asshole…

March 10, 2008

When my little guy was due to come home today, I was obviously very excited.  VERY excited.  I couldn’t wait until this morning and to get into the car to drive to the airport to get my baby.

In my mind I played out that he would probably shake free from his dad, come running to me, arms open for a big hug and kiss, and nuzzle in my neck and say “I love you” in our secret code.

I was not ready for how it really went down.  Of course, I arrived at the airport early, drinking coffee, camera ready, with a little red balloon (because if I know my baby, he’s going to like the balloon!)  I waited.  I watched the plane’s arrival schedules.  I waited some more.  Finally, I saw a bunch of weary Irish people walking out to baggage.  I got ready with my camera.  However, I never used it because I heard Ricky before I saw him.

It’s kind of interesting when you hear your kid screaming.  You want to jump security, wrestle through the throngs of tired and cranky air travelers, and race around until you find your screaming baby.  I could hear him.  And I know it was him!!  A mommy knows her baby!!!

Eventually the crowds parted and there was Sean, with my baby, walking down the ramp and the kid screaming bloody hell.  His face was red and sweaty, his curly hair matted to his forehead, his bright blue eyes bloodshot, snot dripping everywhere.  He saw me, with my balloon, and shook free of his father and came tearing down into my arms.

I don’t think the word hysterical defines how he was.  He kept sobbing in gibberish.  Sean caught up and looked at me.  Clearly, I wanted to know what the hell was wrong?  Sean said he had no idea.  The baby started screaming after take off and when he wasn’t asleep, he was screaming. Instantly I wonder is he sick? Is he hurt?  I don’t see anything wrong.

When my little man finally calmed himself enough to hiccup and lay, exhausted, in my arms, he looked at me and sniffled, “ratab”


“Sean, where’s his rabbit?”

“What rabbit?”

“The rabbit he is always carrying around?  The scruffy, gross one?”

“In the suitcase at the luggage claim.”

Today’s moral: if you are flying on a Plane from a different country with a three year old, make god damn sure you have his security item that he got when he was born!!!!  DON’T PUT IT IN THE LUGGAGE!!!

Of course we run together to the baggage and grab Sean’s duffle bag.  While my sniffling baby sniffles in my arms, Sean (like a madman) goes burning through the clothes looking for the rabbit.  I must admit I was impressed.  Underwear flying here, jeans over there, shaving cream container etc rolling towards another person.  Eventually, the bunny was found, Ricky was happy, and Sean was happy to see the boy smile.  I even have a little faith that maybe Sean will be a good father.  This is a good step in the “I’m trying not to fuck up my child” direction for him.

Three days and counting…

March 7, 2008

My little guy will be home in three days.


I can’t believe the time has flown so quickly.

god I miss that boy.  Daisy is cute and all, but that boy is my boy!!

Viva Las Vegas!

February 13, 2008

The little man Rick and I are in Vegas baby!!!

Ok, we are technically here for a medical convention and to visit my oldest girlfriend in the book (whom I have known since birth… literally. moms shared a room at the hospital) and her cute ass children.

Did I mention I love Vegas? I have been here about 10 times but it never gets boring. this is Ricky’s second visit. we were going through town and he was all “wow! mommmmmyyyyy looooookkk!” to evertyhing.


Did I mention this trip is free now that my arm is completely casted up to the elbow and I am on disablity?

Be back on Monday.

Crap to the second power

February 8, 2008

not only does my wrist hurt because like an idiot i broke it (lol) but now my elbow and shoulder seems to have developed a bit of tendonitis. from lifting heavy things is my bet.

hmm. what do I carry that’s heavy?

PS by the way, a few nights ago, renee and I went to a concert.  we were so close to the stage.  we saw James blunt.  more on that later.

Genius I tell you!!!

January 26, 2008

My son is a genius.


I know every parent says that and really means it but so do I.


I grew up smart.  Being smart isn’t quite like being pretty.  If I had my druthers, I would take pretty over smart any day.  But I know that looks fade with time and brains just keep growing. 


Despite my broken sentences, improper grammar, and shitty spelling that fans of the Fog City Mommy blog have become accustom too, I do have a secret.  I actually am a member of Mensa.  I took the test in high school as a joke, but it turns out I passed it.  I took it for real, and passed again.


I don’t brag about the mesna member thing often because it’s not that important to me.  Sure, it looks really excellent on the old resume, but in reality, I don’t care if I am smart or not.  The only thing that really matters in this world is how you treat people.


Ricky, since this is really about him, is a genius.  No really.  He is 21/2 and already he speaks three languages.  Furthermore, in the bathtub he has these little sponges in the shapes of letters and numbers.  I always help him spell things out.  Mom… Bat… Cat… Ricky.  However, this evening, while taking our bath, Ricky spelled something all by himself.


“Mommy loooook!” said Ricky clapping.  I glanced up.  What had Ricky spelled?  It wasn’t cat. Or bat. Or mom.  Or even Ricky.


It was Emc2


Mensa, here we come.

Straight from the mouth of my baby

January 25, 2008

Ricky is in the bathtub.


He;s playing with his duck.


He looks down at his penis.


He starts peeing in the tub.


he grins. 




“ricky? Did you go pee pee?”




“are you sure?  I thought I saw pee pee!”




and cackles, splashing me.



God I love this kid.