Rude Person: ”Do you think that Maya will have eating issues when she grows up? Especially because she sees the weird things that you eat?”

Me: “What weird things do I eat?”

Rude Person: “Rice cakes with butter for one.”

After suppressing the desire to smack this person I really wanted to say:

Here’s the thing – I fully recognize that I have odd eating habits. I eat jam straight off a spoon almost daily and I love a bowl of brown rice with salt for breakfast. But so what? Doesn’t everybody enjoy their own weird food combinations?

A different day, a far more notable meal: Seared Scallops at Gulfstream. The best part of this lunch? I didn't have to lift a finger to make it.

I mean, I can’t imagine one of Ali’s friends being concerned for Maya’s well-being after watching Ali inhale a bowl of Kraft Mac n Cheese covered in an inch of ketchup. (And really, if that doesn’t deserve an intervention I don’t know what does.) So what is it about a mother’s eating habits that just seems open for discussion?

Anyway, as I write this I’m eating a spicy shrimp roll on white rice as Maya looks on. I really hope that she can move past the trauma of it all.

This means that except for the occasional tennis game or ESPN ping-pong tournament (yes really) I am not often subject to the obnoxious noise of screaming fans and fumbling commentators. Until this past Sunday, that is.

Yes friends, this past Super Bowl Sunday, my husband decided to become a sports fan. He turned on his beloved subwoofer, grabbed every remote he could find, and settled himself in the middle of the couch from approximately 1pm to 7:30 pm. PST.

I was beside myself with confusion.

A number of possibilities flooded my mind: Was Ali trying to figure out how to market cloud computing to the NFL? Was he trying to learn more about football to impress a girl? Or was it possible that after 35 years my husband had suddenly become a football fan overnight?

I decided to test the waters during half-time.

Me: “Madonna must be freezing. Is this game at an indoor or outdoor arena?”

Ali: “Um. I think it’s indoor?”

My living room is a complete mess in the photo. Forgive me.

Ali’s uncertainty only reinforced my hypothesis that while he was physically in front of the TV, he wasn’t watching the game. So why on earth was he wasting hours of his life on the sofa, staring blankly at the TV, with Maya’s feet on his head?

It’s been 36 hours and I’ve still got nothing.

Absolutely nothing. That’s what.

So in keeping with the theory that anyone can be a parenting expert, I’ve decided I want to share my own theories. Here’s the great thing though – I won’t make you buy a book. Or read a book. I’ll just summarize my advice – absolutely free!

1. Don’t over-indulge children. Just because Dr. Brown has a fabulous marketing department promoting his bottle warmer doesn’t mean you actually have to run out and buy one. If you only give your child cold milk then cold milk is all they’ll ever know. Does this sound crazy? Maybe. But you’ll thank me when you’re on a flight to London and a bitchy flight attendant refuses to heat up your baby’s bottle. (Have you heard a baby scream for 11 hours? It’s not pretty. Save yourself.)
2. Chicken nuggets are the exception, not the rule. I learned early on that in order to get your kid to love things like seaweed, green beans and swordfish you actually have to feed them seaweed, green beans and swordfish. They’ll give in eventually. Parenting is a battle of the wills and in my opinion, mini-people should not have a will.
3. Teach kids how to behave. Bratty/messy/rude kids are not cute. Teach kids how to use a fork and a knife, how to sit still in a restaurant, how to write thank you notes, how to use a napkin, how not to interrupt, how to wait their turn, and most importantly, how to think about others before themselves (although I obviously need to practice what I preach here).

She's not perfect but she can behave in a restaurant. And appreciate a sunset.

So I’m a bit harsh – I get that. But the thing is that I have so little patience. So. Little. Patience.

Anyway, I could go on giving advice for hours – but I’ll spare you. Instead I’ll just conclude by saying that these so-called experts don’t have all the answers. They’re just regular mothers like me and you. Except they have book deals.

Which I don’t.

You would think this is a good quality, right? But the truth is that my ambivalence bothers my husband. He totally wants me wondering if the female voice on the other end of the phone is really just his virtual assistant.

Yes, I said virtual assistant.

Anyway, I guess I should be concerned that in this past week alone:

• I overheard Ali on the phone with American Express trying to find out why the flowers he ordered were not delivered. To a female I’ve never heard of. To an address I’ve never been to. On a date that means nothing to me.
• I found several photos of designer shoes and handbags on Ali’s iPhone. Dating back to November of last year. None of which I have received or anticipate receiving because my husband knows that I would never, ever let him drop $4,000 on a gift. For me or anyone else.

• My husband made unusual efforts with his wardrobe, even going so far as to break out the new purple sweater I bought him and match it nicely with a complementary purple striped shirt. All by himself. Remarkable indeed.

A part of me is curious. The other part of me is just wondering if “the other woman” is capable of cooking, is willing to field my husband’s texts, and is open to dropping off his dry cleaning.

Because if she is, I may just be prepared to look the other way…

First he wanted me to sign up for Facebook. “You are the only one in the world not on Facebook. Literally.”

I signed up.

Next came LinkedIn. “You MUST do it. For your career.”

I signed up.

Then he insisted I sign up for Twitter. “Did you know that there are 100 million tweets sent each day? How can you have a blog and not be a part of that?”

I signed up.

And then a few months ago he insisted I sign up for Google +. “It’s the next big thing. You have to jump on it or you’ll be left behind.”

So I succumbed again because if there’s one thing my husband knows, it’s everything technology related, right?

Well guess what I’ve concluded? Google + is officially the most useless waste of Internet space out there. And in protest of such a ridiculous social media platform I’m going to make it a point to never +1 anything.

Now that I know my husband "likes" HP I can move forward with my life.

PS: I ran this post by my husband to see if he was okay with me offending Google and he gave me the so-called thumbs up. He also suggested I “Address the monopoly of Apple’s Evil Empire next.”

I think someone’s a bit jealous.

I realize the above statement should be filed under, “Did Ameena really write that?” And yes, I concur that there should be limits to my honesty.

But for the love of God! I want Maya to earn her free grease-laden, fake cheese-topped personal pan Book It! pizza as much as the next dedicated mother, but I’ve been going crazy with Maya’s ongoing 200-minutes-a-month reading assignments.

Okay, now before you judge know this:

1. When a word has more than 5 letters Maya often just makes something up because she is too lazy to sound out words.
2. She chooses books that are super long, just to piss me off.
3. She purposely holds the book at an odd angle, so that I can’t see the pages properly – thereby ensuring that I can’t correct her made up words.
4. She starts whispering halfway through the book, presumably (again) just to shorten my life by a few years.

It goes without saying that I LOVE silent reading time.

I know that Maya doesn’t do any of these things when she’s reading at school. Or to my mom. Or to my sister-in-law.

Although, I won’t even begin to address what she puts Ali through.

So is this just her little form of rebellion? Is she “testing her boundaries” to “see how far she can push us?” Because if so, I sort of wish she’d try to sneak out of the house to party with her friends instead.

Now that I can handle.

More specifically, a pair of khaki pants that someone threw outside their closet last week and onto the floor of our bedroom. This was passive-aggressive code for: “It’s high time my wife visited the dry cleaner.”

Now normally I am on it. But I just haven’t had a whole lot of time lately, especially since I’m working more than ever. So the pants remained on the floor.

Then things were added to it. Lots of things. Sweaters, ties, shirts, and more pants (but not the orange sweater, in case you were wondering).

And the pile grew.

Eventually the pile was so large that I had to steer a couple of feet out of my way just to go from my closet to the bedroom hallway. But the pile remained.

Until finally, a whole 7 days later I picked up the huge pile and hauled it to the dry cleaners.

This was the pile...in better times.

So what’s so remarkable about a pile of dirty clothes you’re wondering? Well two things actually:

1. I didn’t scream, yell, nag, or even address the pile with my husband. For 7 days. How’s that for impressive?
2. I got a text that the dry cleaning was picked up. By Ali. And I didn’t even have to ask!

Maybe good things do happen to those who wait. Which means that maybe, after we’ve been married another 11 years, my husband will actually stop throwing his s@#$ on the floor and expect me to take care of it.

Maybe?

When Maya asked me this question a few days ago, my first instinct was to embark on a long lecture about how spoiled she is, how she has no regard for money, and how she is totally out of line for asking something so ridiculous.

But then I realized that I have nobody to blame but myself for this outrageous question. After all, it’s not like she’s taken herself to New York and Paris.

Me: “Maya, did you know that some big people don’t ever have the chance to fly on a plane?”

Maya: “No, I didn’t know that.”

Me: “Well it’s true. And that’s just one of the many reasons why a 6-year-old should not be asking for a trip to Hawaii.”

Maya: “Okay. Sorry Mama.”

At this point I was congratulating myself for not flying off the handle and screaming at Maya. For not lecturing her about how lucky she is. For not taking away her toys or sending her to her room in an effort to teach her a lesson. And then…

Maya: “What about for my 16th birthday? Can I have a trip to Hawaii then?”

I didn’t even answer her. Instead, I made her get the broom and sweep the kitchen floor. Just because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Yesterday, after getting up at 4:30 am and hitting the gym, making breakfasts and lunches, cleaning the kitchen, going to work all day, and then battling traffic, I got home only to find out that our new nanny of two days decided to quit. Apparently she didn’t think that “she and Maya were a good fit.”

This confuses me because aside from me, who doesn’t get along with Maya fabulously? Nobody. That’s who.

I promise these are the last of our trip photos...Me and Maya on the Champs-Elysees

Anyway, after seeing our “new” nanny out, Ali informed me we had no food in the house. “Not even eggs. Or hummus!” 

I barely held back a “Heaven forbid you actually step foot into a grocery store” comment, put on my sweats, and walked down to Trader Joe’s.

Ali and I at Cafe Divinio in Barcelona. Not sure why I can't smile like a normal person.

Ali was still on his computer when I returned home. And he was still ignoring Maya. So I put the groceries away, gave Maya a bath, and got her organized. As I dragged my tired self back to the kitchen, guess what I saw?

Ali sitting in front of the TV.

Breakfast in Madrid: My kid eats broccoli and smoked salmon. What else could Nanny want?

I tried really hard. I swear I did! But my big mouth just wouldn’t stay shut.

Me: “So I guess dinner is going to make itself?”

Ali (not even looking up): “I’m open to eating whatever you want to make.”

Really, my husband’s generosity knows no bounds.

Here’s what I won’t miss:

• Having to order bottled water at meal times. After 9 days and approximately $150, I am very much over the European bottled water monopoly. L.A.’s polluted tap water? Yes please.

We headed to an Indian restaurant in Madrid. Rice and dal are the perfect foods when you need a vacation detox. Which I did.

• Wearing all black ensembles. Did I ever mention my packing strategy? 99% of the stuff I pack is black – this means I don’t have a problem getting dressed in the morning and it maximizes coverage against Maya’s vomit. But after 9 days I’m very excited to have access to my entire closet again.

Shrimp, caviar, and mango salad at La Rotonda in Madrid. I will never acquire a taste for caviar.

• Having to ask Maya, “Are you going to throw up?” every five seconds. As you may be able to tell, my world revolves around Maya and her barf. Sad but true.

I had one bite of this lava cake and realized I might as well hook myself up to an IV of sugar - it was that sweet. Ali polished it off with no problem though.

• Eating at ridiculous times. Who eats dinner at 9:30 pm? I don’t get that about Spain. I need to eat by 7:30 pm otherwise I feel disgusting going to bed on a full stomach. Is it just me?

This was the calm before the storm because Maya threw up very shortly after I took this photo. And I had a feeling she would.

• The scarcity of butter. I love butter. I actually sometimes just eat it straight up – I know how gross that is but I can’t stop. So you can imagine my frustration in Europe where they grudgingly hand you a dainty sliver and get annoyed when you ask for more. My butter dish and I are reunited – and it feels so good.