“Here’s Looking at You, Kid” : Being the Parent to Your Inner Children

“Here’s Looking at You, Kid” : Parenting Your Inner Children

It’s 8pm and I’m driving home from a long day at the studio. Crossing the majestic Golden Gate, uplit against the eggplant sky, I begin to exhale, symbolically leaving that part of my world behind me. Winding through the Waldo Tunnel, I  drop down into the green-hilled bosom of Marin County. Suddenly there is a small finger lightly tapping my shoulder whispering “What treat can we have when we get home?” I ignore it at first, but that finger becomes more persistent as I speed past two golden arches calling to passersby like twin carnival barkers.  innerchild

“OOOoooo..french fries!!”

“Absolutely not!” I say being the good mother.

“Ohhh…come ON!!” the tiny voice pleads.

“No way! Besides they’re not even made of real potatoes.” I rationalize.

I’ve learned rationalization doesn’t work with a five year-old, nor a seven year-old, or even a nine year-old when they reaaally want something. But I’ve resolved to be strong over the years..especially when it comes to food.

Now you may be asking why I had a car load of kids on my way home from work? I didn’t stop at a soccer practice or ballet class, or even daycare. These were all my children…my sweet, lovely, innocent, partially neurotic, and sometimes exceedingly annoying children. They are in fact my inner children. There are many and gratefully easy to keep track of, since they all bear the same name. Now before you roll your eyes and close this browser window, hang with me and read on because this is not your typical ’embrace your inner child’ namby-pamby post. It’s about to get real!

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Sunshine State : Shifting Your State of Mind

sunshinestate

As most of you know I’m not much for opacity. Which is why I’m sharing with you this week our household has been a bit hellish…not fire and brimstone, on a scale 1-10..mmm, about a 7, a manageable, yet prickly hell. You see, our household is currently under the influence of my lovely beau going through a detox cleanse, my PMS symptoms, the buzzing lunacy of the full moon and mercury retrograde. The latter, in case you’re unaware, stunts all forms of communication. So you see, our household has devolved into what my father used to call ‘grouch land’. The universe must have heard my war cry, because as I was washing the dishes yesterday the old James Taylor song came to mind, “In my mind I’m going to Carolina..” essentially calling, “Jennifer, gooooo to your happy place!”

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