Organized parenting. Well, regular parenting. Alright, organized chaos. Fine, it's regular chaos.

I used to know everything there was to know about raising a child.  Then I became a mom.

On July 7th, 2010, my daughter Isla was born.  I was as prepared as anyone in the history of the world.  My vast experience in child rearing (babysitting, friends with kids, and countless observations conducted on checkout lines at Stop and Shop) helped me to create a plan.  Our days would be methodical, organized, and Zen.  I was going to be a cross between June Cleaver and Gandhi.

That was the plan.  Now I know I might as well have spent my time planning the weather.

My five step plan stressed positivity, sleep, and health.

Step 1: Isla's nursery is her retreat.  This will introduce independence and she will spend her nights in there.  We will all be well rested to start our days bright, early, and fresh.

The result?  She sleeps in "Daddy's bed" as she calls it, although it is equally my bed.  "Equally" meaning I get the left quarter, he gets the right quarter, and she takes the remaining half.  This allows her to fit perpendicularly between us.  I spend most nights with her right foot implanted in my left cheek.  Her father is learning to sleep through the beatings.  It's  a slow adjustment, but it seems to be allowing us both a solid 3 hours of sleep per night.

Step 2: Be back at pre-baby weight in 6 months.  I will attend yoga, pilates, and kickboxing at the gym.  Isla will enjoy the daycare they provide.

The result?  She's three, and I am currently wearing maternity pants from her pregnancy.  As for my trips to the gym, I could usually complete a solid 5 to 8 minutes per class. At that point, I would be summoned by one of the daycare workers because a tiny tyrant stole a toy she was playing with, that we also have at our house (but that she doesn't care about when we are home.)

Step 3: Respect other families' peace in public

The result?  Today's trip to Whole Foods took place during what should have been naptime.  By the time we got to the earth friendly cleaning products, her freak-out could be heard in the bulk grains aisle.  A twenty minute conversation with the man behind us at the register ended with her telling him "Wow, you must have a lot of babies in your belly."

Step 4: Our home will be our respite.  A place for everything, and everything in its place.  All of our friends and family are encouraged to pop in with no notice so they can marvel at my ability to keep a home.

The result?  We haven't seen the living room floor in 8 months but we are confident it still exists.  When someone knocks on the door, we hide in the kitchen.

Step 5: Gourmet meals will be prepared nightly by me.  This will most likely require an apron as I will be in a cute outfit for when my husband gets home from work.

The result?  You'll have to excuse me.  I just spilled juice on my yoga pants and the pizza will be here any minute.

So, as you can see my plan was solid, but the execution may need a little work.  I like to call it a plan in progress. We are happy, though, and I wouldn't plan it any other way.

Our Thing

Don't let my shoe collection fool you.  I'm a hippie mom.  I'm a vegetarian, baby wearing, tree hugging hippie mom.

Hardcore carnivores think my meatless meatballs are the real deal.  I try to make my family's skincare products, but when I buy them I'm very conscious of ingredients.  I can do it all, and sing Edie Brickell's greatest hits while I do.

We gently shoo bugs out of our home, and are even developing a respect for bees (which I have a borderline irrational fear of since one flew into my shirt 28 years ago.)  Yup, I'm a hippie mom.

A few months ago, during dinner, Isla (my three year old) handed me a bean.  She said "look Mommy, this makes a beanstalk. We could climb it and go see the giant."

It made me think.  Why don't we have a garden?  I've always wanted one.  I find digging in the dirt cathartic.  Alright, maybe it grosses me out a teeny bit. There was that girl who went blind because of a parasite she caught from touching her eyes while gardening.  I'll just have to make sure I wash my hands.  And I'll get the special soil, sans parasites.  

Hippie moms automatically have green thumbs, right? Well, not exactly. But I approached my personal Garden of Eden the way I approach everything else. Full throttle.

From the comfort of our dining room in March we started our seedlings.  My little garden partner and I planted tomatoes, peppers, squash, cucumbers and herbs.  We're Old and Young MacDonald.

In a week we had "babies" as Isla called them.  Little green sprouts soaking up the sun at every south facing window in our home.  Once I caught Isla trying to motivate them.  "GROW!!!" She yelled at the top of her lungs.  "Don't yell, honey.  Be Supportive."  "You can do it, little guys!" from that moment she made it her job to be their own personal sunshine.  One night I walked into the kitchen and she was holding a plant in her hand.  It obviously needed to be watered and it was starting to wilt.  "Don't worry.  My mommy is going to take care of you."  As I ran for the watering can she started to sing "Three Little Birds". 

It was then that I realized two things.  Number one- the answer to the age old question "What do you get when you cross a hippie mom with a surfer dad?"  Rasta child.

Number two-this is "our thing".  I've always wondered what "our thing" would be. (I mean, of course, besides cuddling which we pretty much have down to a science.) Isla's dad is so athletic- he's cornered the market on mud runs and soccer games.  And biking and surfing and anything that requires a ball.

This is OUR thing!  Together we are filling our home with life, our kitchen with organic veggies that we grew ourselves, and our yard with beanstalks.

I'm hoping that in the fall we can carve our own pumpkins.  Maybe we will even take one with us when we go see the giant.