balancing act

Thriving Parents = Thriving Community

2012-01-12T18:35:00.004-05:00

Guest Sermon at Norway UU Church, January 8, 2012

It’s great to be back at this church. My parents have been members of this congregation for a number of years. I have always found it to feel very comfortable here. I guess that’s why they call it a sanctuary

A home is supposed to be a sanctuary too—a sanctuary for families and our youngest and most vulnerable community members—children. I’m a social worker by trade and my primary job is in foster care. I can tell you that for many, home is no sanctuary. For some, home is an adrenaline-inducing nightmare, a horror show, a war zone. It’s shocking how bad things must be for a child to be removed from their parents. Abuse or neglect usually must be reported more than once. The problem needs to be substantiated. A judge has to make the call. I understand that a balance must be struck. Misunderstandings happen, and taking a child from her home should not be taken lightly. However, our system is imperfect to say the least—and things fall through the cracks. Sometimes the cracks are so large that actual people fall through.

When I was in my early 20s, one of my best friend’s mother died. One of her young sisters was home at the time. We were not surprised. Her mother, and active alcoholic and drug user, had been spiraling downward for months. We had made multiple calls to the state for help. Reported her when we found her passed out at home, or heard she had been driving while under the influence. My friend had volunteered to take custody of her two young sisters. We’d diligently dropped by their apartment unannounced. We searched for bottles of vodka and dumped them down the sink. We had wanted to help. We wanted to protect the girls. Instead, the youngest was the one to find her mother: dead in a chair. It had not been the worst fate we could imagine, but it was traumatic enough. Something a ten-year-old will likely never forget.

I’m sure this experience was among many that informed my career choices. Understanding children, supporting parents, helping families—this has always seemed like the most important work to me. Doesn’t it make sense to invest our time, attention and money in preventing problems at home?

Sometimes I say that foster care is like putting a Band-Aid on an amputation. It’s a pretty frightening metaphor, but often it feels like if only the initial infection had been fought hard and well from the start, things wouldn’t have snowballed. It is so easy to judge, or to say, “that could never happen to me.” But often parents are left with nowhere to turn. Recently, in the state of Texas, a mother committed a horrible act against her own kids and then herself at a state welfare office. Even with these most abhorrent of cases, I have to wonder:

What if this mother had had better support? If she had started her journey as a mother with paid parental leave, instead of nothing, or the paltry twelve weeks of unpaid time she was entitled to if she had a full-time benefitted job? In some states she might have been eligible for some paid weeks under an insurance claim. New mothers must declare themselves “disabled” in order to have any compensated time with their precious new babies. If only we put our scientific knowledge about human brains into practice and policy! Babies’ brains develop well as a result of their interactions with the grown-ups in their lives. Doesn’t it make sense to reduce the stress and worry of those grown-ups as much as possible?

In the U.S. we treat parenting like a hobby. I can hear our society saying: “Oh, you decided to have kids? That’s great, good luck with that. Once you get through the toughest and most demanding first five years of your child’s life—the portion where they are most emotionally volatile, least rational, and constantly needy—you know, that part where your kid’s brain gets initially wired based on the quality of their connection with you? Yeah, after that we’ll provide you with a federally-funded education. But only for part of the day. And only for nine months out of the year. For all the rest of it, you’re on your own. After all, it was your choice to have kids.”

It is easy to argue that when parents truly fail this impacts the community. Since as a culture we don’t invest much up-front in the lives of children (aside from that great schooling I just mentioned), our tax dollars are needed after the fact, after the amputation: as a Band-aid for in-home support or out-of-home placement; for treatment and education. But even for parents for whom things are not-so-bad, things are not great. People are struggling. Jobs are sparse. Moms are worried. Dads are tired.

I know that previous generations raised kids, and raised them well, within our current capitalist system and with little support. But our system is ever-shifting, economies ever-changing—the middle-class is ever-shrinking. It is now less common for a parent to be home full-time for any length of time, let alone until Kindergarten. Living is often too expensive for someone to not be working. Parents are doing too much, I should know, I’m one of them. I’m parenting in a paradigm shift. We are (hopefully) moving from an individualistic viewpoint that holds financial success and material wealth in the highest regard, to a community-minded view that reveres cooperation and emotionally honest problem-solving.

And because it is always true that the personal is political, and vice-versa, change can begin at home. Genevieve Simperingham who has a website beautifully entitled: The Way of the Peaceful Parent writes about a paradigm shift in parenting. She notes: “Children respond to conflicts in the only ways that they are familiar with, in the same ways that conflicts are responded to at home. Your children will respond to conflicts with themselves, with you, with siblings, and with their friends in the same ways that they've seen modeled in their primary relationships.”

When we think that a child has done something wrong and must be punished, given a consequence, or taught a lesson, we see them through the lens of being naughty and untrustworthy. Genevieve states, “The child is given the message that a consequence is being set because this is what ‘needs’ to happen in loving relationships, this is all part of the responsibility of a loving parent (or friend), this is what ‘love’ looks like and this is how we learn to be a better person.” We believe that we must TEACH them, through unpleasant experiences, or losing something they desire, how to behave well. But this is faulty thinking because children ALWAYS learn from example. They learn by watching us: what we do and what we say. We don’t need to always instruct them how to behave, because we are always showing them with our own behavior.

The Way of the Peaceful Parent also suggests: “we approach a problem from the perspective that we have a conflict because one or more people are upset. From this place we trust a child’s inherent goodness and also trust that through honest, authentic, but sensitive sharing of how each person feels, difficulties can be resolved. We all need to talk to better understand each other, we need to take turns listening to each other, misunderstandings need to be uncovered. We need to sort it out together.”

So for me—a working-mama-who-does-too-much—parenting in a paradigm shift can be confusing and disorienting. I want to be connected, mindful, and oriented toward cooperative problem-solving. I want to avoid punishment and being punitive. I want to teach through calm, loving, peaceful example. And this does happen…some of the time. But because I still, by nature of my place in this shift, have one foot in the old paradigm, I am ever- mindful of the old story too.

It plays out like this: My darling son is having a melt-down. We are out of the snack he wanted. I have twelve other snacks available. But he is bereft, miserable, and screaming about the one that is not. He is adamant in his lack of logic: “I am hungry and really want a snack but I don’t want any of those snacks, I only want that OTHER snack and we don’t have it so I’m not hungry but I’m hungry.” My “new-paradigm thinking” says: “He is tired. His emotional upheaval is not about the snack. He is saying nonsensical things. Stay with him. Be close. Be empathetic. Stay warm. Allow him to offload his strong feelings. He needs to know you love him when he is acting his most obnoxious.”

And even as I may succeed at doing all of that, I still hear the “old paradigm thinking” loud and clear: “Are you kidding me? Eat the darn snack! Some children don’t even have snacks. I shouldn’t have to listen to this ridiculous wailing. He’s not even making any sense. Crazy kid. I should just leave him by himself until he can pull it together.” You see, even when I truly, with my whole heart believe in what I am doing, believe that it is right, and know that it will work and pave the way for a better future. I still hear the old junk. It chips away at my confidence. It casts doubt.

Then, if you place this scenario in public, the small doubt grows to huge judgment and I worry that others will be thinking to themselves, or even worse as it happens, voicing it aloud: “What a brat. In my day, children didn’t behave that way. You shouldn’t let him get away with that.” And on and on with the things that I don’t believe, but still hear.

And so I imagine that someday children will be honored and parents will be supported. No one will be labeling behavior “bad,” or insisting that children be “taught a lesson.” Parental leave will be standard, parenting education plentiful. Lack of resources for families will not be tolerated. I envision two people talking: “Remember when people didn’t really respect children or realize they need to be listened to? Remember spanking and time-outs? Remember when people lost their jobs unless they went back to work when their children were babies?—Wasn’t that insane?”

I remain ever hopeful because educated people once believed the earth was flat.

I Hate That Stupid Book!

2011-12-29T12:08:00.003-05:00

Yes, I said, “I hate that stupid book.” Don’t get me wrong, I am a book lover at heart. I’m always reading. I have read at stop lights, while walking down the street, and (embarrassingly) while half-heartedly playing a board game. I still have a 5th grade report card that declares, “Sarah might gain more from the lesson at hand if she didn’t always have her nose in a book.” Sorry Mr. Marino.

Because I aspire to help nurture the next generation of bookworms, I am also always reading to my child, aiming to build his pre-literacy skills and vocabulary. Boy is it working! My three-and-a-half-year-old is astoundingly articulate. New words and phrases appear on a daily basis. Beside the aforementioned “hate” and “stupid,” other gems I can attribute to kid’s books (think of well-loved authors: Kevin Henkes, Judith Viorst, Robert Munsch, and Lauren Child) are: “You’re mean!” “You’re not my friend,” “Go away!” and, “This is boring.”

As much as we don’t want our children using foul or rude language, bad words abound in children’s literature. I recently perused the anti-technology story, It’s a Book, and found it hilarious. One page reads: “Can it text? Blog? Scroll? Wi-fi? Tweet?” “No…it’s a book.” But I wouldn’t read it to my little one since at the end one character calls the other a jackass. I don’t want to go there, even though he justifiably was…a donkey. In many tales, the subject matter isn’t so great either. How about the threats of corporal punishment in Bedtime for Frances or actual hitting with a stick in The Story of Ping?

Underlying messages in the stories themselves can also be questionable. Online, I found an interview by Madeleine Brand of NPR fame with children’s author, Laurel Snyder in which they discuss their most hated children’s books. Three titles are vilified for their twisted slants on the mother-child relationship: The Runaway Bunny (mother who can’t let go), Love You Forever (stalker-mother who REALLY can’t let go), and the biggest stinker of them all, The Giving Tree (mother co-dependently sacrifices everything she has, is left a shadow of her former self, and steadfastly maintains that she’s happy about it). They do have a point.

Just tonight I read the classic The Cat in the Hat with new eyes. They saw: Creepy cat in weird hat walks in on two legs, brings unwanted friends, trashes the place, cleans-up to cover his tracks, then leaves and doesn’t seem to want the mom to know about any of it. “What would you do if your mother asked you?” Indeed—that fish in the pot is the only voice of reason!

I am not suggesting that you stop reading to your child, or even that you stop reading these very books. On the contrary, I maintain that reading aloud is one of the most important things you can do. However, you might want to preview books before reading them to your child. Knowing the topic and text is a good preventative measure. Sometimes we wreak havoc by reading books to children before they are developmentally due. As well-loved as Where the Wild Things Are is, I confess I have yet to read it to my own boy. Knowing your child, and how they may react to depictions (however benign) of larger-than-life monsters, is another good ounce of prevention. As fellow parenting educator Pam Leo said recently, “Why invite home problems you don’t even have? If your child isn’t afraid of the dentist, leave that book at the library!” Sound advice.

If you are like me, you won’t have time to pre-read every book that lands on your family bookshelf, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t read it. You can always alter the words on the fly, use even the worst storyline to start a rich conversation, or insert a bit of parent wisdom. I have asked questions such as, “What do you think that girl is feeling?” or, “That poor tree doesn’t seem happy—what could the boy have done differently?” I’ve made comments like, “’Hate’ is a very strong word,” and “That wasn’t a very kind thing to say.” Earlier this evening, I heard myself implore, “You could always tell this mother about anything—even that crazy cat!”

RESOURCES:
The Read-Aloud Handbook, by Jim Trelease
Reading Magic: Why Reading Aloud to Our Children Will Change Their Lives Forever, by Mem Fox

First Published in Parent & Family Jan/Feb 2012 issue

Safety First?

2011-08-20T12:43:00.003-04:00

I don’t know about you, but when two things happen to me in a week that both strike the same chord, I pay attention. My recent “wake up call,” if you will, was about safety. The first piece that came to my attention was the fact that generally speaking, I’m not a big risk-taker. For the most part I like to play by the rules, go along and get along, and stay out of trouble. But recently, my husband and I had been taking a leadership course designed to help us think and step outside the box, and I ran smack into the issue of safety. I realized that more often than I knew, I was taking action and making choices from a default place of just wanting to feel safe.

Well, what’s the problem with that? You may ask. While not a problem, per se, living with safety as one’s highest value can be a bit limiting. Safety, at this modern juncture, is not about staying out of the mouths of predators. The trick of biology, and perhaps conditioning as well, is that we often feel as if we are in grave, grave danger—as if a saber-toothed tiger is stalking us—when we are actually perfectly safe. I experience this phenomenon often when I get up to speak in front of a crowd. I feel like I’m about to die, but in reality I am just standing in front of a group of people, riddled with anxiety, safe as can be.

The second thing about safety that I noticed was how ridiculously often I was imploring my young child to, “Be safe!” I also found myself overusing the cousin statement, “That’s not safe,” to rein in my kid’s behavior. But is it really unsafe? Often it is not so unsafe as to warrant the complete and total suspension of the activity, whatever it may be. Around the same time, a friend modeled some nuanced language around some daredevil climbing her son was engaging in: instead of using my well-worn refrain to get down and, “Be safe,” she asked her son, “Would you like some help practicing how to climb safely?” Hmmm, more food for thought.

The topics of safety and risk reminded me of one my favorite quotes from the wise and renowned professor, Leo Buscaglia: "To laugh is to risk appearing the fool. To weep is to risk being called sentimental. To reach out to another is to risk involvement. To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self. To place your ideas, your dreams before the crowd, is to risk being called naive. To love is to risk not being loved in return. To live is to risk dying. To hope is to risk despair, and to try is to risk failure. But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.”

I know in my heart that there is no true safety. Perusing my parenting bookshelves turned up the titles listed below—with good advice in all three. At first glance they may seem to contradict. But in the end conflicting advice may be the wisest of all—with balance as the ultimate goal: Stay connected with your children and let them be. Treat them with tenderness, and have rowdy pillow-fights. Hold on tight….and also let go.

RESOURCES:
The Art of Roughhousing: Good Old-Fashioned Horseplay and Why Every Kid Needs It, by Anthony T.DeBenedet, M.D. and Lawrence J. Cohen, Ph.D.
The Idle Parent: Why Laid-back Parents Raise Happier and Healthier Kids, by Tom Hodgkinson
Hold On to Your Kids: Why Parents Need to Matter More Than Peers by Gordon Neufeld, Ph.D. and Gabor Mate, M.D.

First printed in the Sept./Oct. issue of Parent & Family

Bullies Beware

2011-06-23T15:57:00.003-04:00

The parenting a child receives greatly influences their tendency to be a bully, be bullied, or to be an ineffective bystander. Here are some ideas for fostering an empathetic child who will not be any of the above, but who will instead know how to respond to a bullying situation in an empowered way.

Aim for a balanced parenting style: I was not surprised to learn that the authoritative, or as Barbara Coloruso, author of The Bully, The Bullied and the Bystander, calls it; the “backbone parent” is the preferred mode of operation. Compared to the “dictator” or “jellyfish” parents, these folks are neither too strict nor too lenient. (Read more about parenting style in: Who’s the Boss from the Jan/Feb issue of Parent & Family). These even-handed, consultant-type parents are likely to set boundaries and follow through from a place that is both firm and loving. Parents who discipline by “working with” and not “doing to,” as Alfie Kohn so aptly put it, will have children less likely to bully.

Promote emotional literacy: Don’t squelch troublesome feelings at home. The expression of the messy and loud, and less socially acceptable emotions such as grief, rage, and fear is vitally important for the growing brains of children. Shutting down these feelings does not banish them, it creates a deeply rooted well of unexpressed hurts. I like fellow parenting educator Pam Leo’s quote: “Crying is the healing, not the hurting.”

Teach empathy: The ground-breaking Canadian program, The Roots of Empathy, provides opportunities for youngsters to interact with newborn babies as a way to promote empathy. Part of the curriculum is to ask the children what they believe the babies might be feeling—this gets them thinking outside their typical “me, me, me” zone and to a place where they can truly consider what a smaller, helpless being might be experiencing. Powerful stuff.

Play with power: Role reversal is an excellent tool for allowing children to feel powerful when they usually do not. Play games where you allow them to be feisty and rebellious—angry even. My three-year-old loves to play these types of games. A recent favorite is to set a pillow on my lap and say in an exaggerated, inviting tone: “Oh my, I’ve got this pillow just where I want it. I certainly hope no one comes along and messes it up!” Joshua runs over with delight, grabs the pillow and throws it vehemently on the ground. “Oh no,” I exclaim, “My poor pillow— I have to put it right back here where it belongs!” This type of play where he gets to “win” is more satisfying to him than I could have ever imagined. My theory is that when I allow for him to have power-over a pillow, he will not feel such a need to have power-over another child.

Model assertive behavior: A coworker of mine recently described children as “little anthropologists.” Even though they aren’t carrying around steno pads and taking notes, they are serious students of adult behavior. Use this to your advantage and stay mindful or the example you are setting. Always stick up for yourself (and your child) when the situation calls for it. It is possible to give someone compassionate feedback in an assertive manner. For instance, “Sir, I recognize the fact that you have a long line of people here, but I’d appreciate it if you used a different tone of voice with me.”

Bullying is a problem—a HUGE problem—a life or death problem. Use these suggestions to do something about it. Change begins at home.

First printed in the July/August 2011 issue of Parent & Family

“I’m Mad! Very Angry, Very, Very, Angry—I’m Mad!”

2011-04-14T16:07:00.004-04:00

This title is the chorus line from a catchy 1970 Sesame Street song. It is sung to the tune of the hit, Get a Job, and performed by a troupe of hiply dressed Muppets. Boy, did they hit the nail on the head with this skit! Children, in their virtually powerless position, get mad for more reasons than are mentioned in these song lyrics (friends won’t share, scraped knee, etc.). For the parent of an almost three-year-old, anger is a frequently erupting emotion—and I’m not only talking about from the child in this scenario.

Yes, I’m taking parental anger out of the closet and dusting it off. I am holding this still-somewhat-shameful and definitely-utterly-frustrating topic up in the light of day. Sometimes it is a seemingly small thing, like whining, that wears on my nerves. Other moments, it feels as if someone has pulled the plug on my patience and I watch, helpless, as it all flows down the drain. Now, I’ll say it: sometimes I get really mad at my child—super mad—maybe even more-mad-than-I-have-ever-been-before mad. I’m wagering I am not alone in this dilemma, so a couple of questions remain: “Why?” and “What can we do about it?”

As for one big reason why: Our kids push the buttons of our own unresolved emotions—anger included. When we were young, we got mad. It is likely that our anger was either ignored: “She’s just doing that to get attention,” or met with some sort of anger in return: “Don’t you dare talk to me that way!” This being the case, it can only be fruitful to explore the question, “How was anger handled in my upbringing?” I have found many a gem of understanding after mining the depths of that question. It has been an unexpected path to clarity, helping me think better and respond more sensibly to my child.

Generally speaking, strong feelings in our culture are met with the urge to separate (Time-out!) or suppress (Calm down!) I think it’s time we add another option to this menu. Feelings, even the less comfortable anger, are important messages for us to pay attention to. But how do we stop the unhealthy cycle of repressed anger??

First, let’s take a big step a-w-a-y from the desire for compliance and inch toward cooperation instead. Then take separation, suppression, and ignoring off the menu of responses and recognize that a child having feelings, (even big, messy, tantrum-y feelings) is good and necessary for their well-being. Knowing this helps me not take the fury personally and remain warm and connected throughout the meltdown. This assists kids who are experiencing intense feelings—and by assist, I mean facilitate, not shut-down. When we are cooperative and respectful and don’t judge or stop a child’s feelings, then a child, once finished with the feelings, will become cooperative and respectful themselves.

However, this works best when we refrain from using the temporary fixes of diversion and distraction. I find it easier to set aside these oh-so-tempting tools once I realize that often the need driving the outburst is to actually just have the feeling. When I can muster the attention to provide space for this, it feels like my child magically resets his inner clock—equilibrium and optimum function are restored.

Just this morning, my son and I both had some explosive feelings. It was a classic case of preschool resistance. Once he finally got into his car seat, I went back inside to get an item he was insisting on having. Out of his sight and hearing range, I kicked the bathroom door and swore loudly. (Note to self: When I am exasperated and resenting whatever I’m doing for my son, it’s a pretty clear sign that I should have simply said “no” and listened to his feelings about it.) I then took a deep breath and headed out to the car. Reminding myself that he must need to express himself, I calmly acknowledged his distress the entire way to school.

After parking and climbing in the back seat with him, he continued to wail, fight my proximity, and be, well, very angry. He told me, “Go away!” “Don’t be near me,” and “I want to hit you!” I told him I wouldn’t let him hit me, that I was going to stay right there with him, and that it was okay to be upset. After about fifteen minutes (yes, I was late to work) he calmed down and was ready to go into school. Even with a nod to my earlier perspective shift and steadfast commitment to his emotional offload, this felt like a small miracle.

First printed in the May/June 2011 issue of Parent & Family

bio-hazard

2011-03-01T19:17:00.005-05:00

I have fallen hard from the high of toilet success and the beginning brightness of some decent nights of sleep have been utterly destroyed. We have managed to maintain a good nighttime routine, but the sniffling and coughing are landing him in our bed somewhere between three and five AM. This morning I woke up and Josh's head was on my stomach (as in he was using me as a pillow) and he had pretty much kicked Rich to the edge of the bed. Parenting is nothing if not extreme highs and devastating lows—but we signed up for this roller coaster ride, right?

Bio-hazard. This should be a bright yellow sign on my front door. Josh has an unconfirmed case of the flu. He started running a temp after going to bed last Thursday night and today (Tuesday) was the first day he has been fever-free. I will also say, quite confidently, that there is a gross under-representation of Joshua's illnesses in this blog. Gross. He is sick....All. The. Fricking. Time.

So in an effort to look on the bright side and share the wealth of information I've gathered from complaining on Facebook and asking everyone I know, "What else can I do to keep my kid healthy??" I thought I'd share my helpful hints. I can't say they've all worked for us, and I will say that I am not at all trained in the medical field (yes, that is a disclaimer), but here are some immune-increasing, cold-soothing, flu-busting (mostly natural) suggestions:

coconut water for hydration (and really any increased fluid intake helps)
coconut oil increases immunity (among other helpful benefits)
herbal remedies (know what you are doing here)
homeopathic remedies (I suggest consulting a professional!)
garlic/onion/lemon/honey concoctions for colds (and straight honey, especially buckwheat honey—though it smells totally gross—has been proven to help cough more than pharmaceuticals)
regular chiropractic or osteopathic treatment for proper alignment, drainage, breathing, etc.
vitamin C helps immunity and overall health
vitamin D (most who live in the Northern hemisphere are deficient, especially in winter)
place an onion cut in half near the sick person (yes, there is currently a shrivelled onion in my son's bedroom)
decrease sugar intake (sugar can keep us from fighting off the bad germs)
mullein/garlic/oregano oil drops for ears can prevent and soothe ear troubles
cod liver or fish oil (use a certified toxin-free), if you can stomach it, is good for everything
echinacea (though whether or not this is actually helpful is apparently up for debate)
elderberry syrup is also an all around health booster
pre- and pro-biotics (I hear that immune function begins in the gut so.....)
steam, humidifiers, and saline sprays and gels can ease congestion
don't treat the fever unless it is really high or the child is uncomfortable—it is there to do a job
WASH EVERYONE'S HANDS FREQUENTLY!

That's all I got. I guess if I'm doing most of this preventative stuff most of the time and my kids is still always sick, I can't beat myself up about it.

Stay healthy out there.

Who's the Boss?

2011-02-23T07:49:00.002-05:00

You hear a lot about parenting style these days. Just scan the shelves of your local bookstore to see how many different modes are out there. You can practice Attachment, Unconditional, Positive, and Conscious parenting, or you could aim to be an Idle, Playful, or Mindful parent. After reading a recent article in the Wall Street Journal about Asian “Tiger” mothers whose habit is to shame and berate performance out of their children, I got to thinking about the importance of a balanced parenting style.

Developmental psychologist Diana Baumrind conducted research in the 1960s and identified four styles based on whether or not parents were demanding and/or responsive. These are the academic words she chose, but the concepts might be more accessible if you think of demanding as holding accountable or having expectations. Responsive could be translated as connected or attached. A breakdown of the four different styles looks like this:

Permissive parents are far more responsive than they are demanding. Also known as indulgent, laid-back, or “the friend” parent, many assess this style as too flexible and lenient.

Neglectful or uninvolved parents are neither interested, nor demanding. These are parents who may meet their children’s basic needs, but do not form adequate bonds with them so they can flourish.

Authoritarian parents are what Love and Logic author Jim Fay calls the “drill sergeants.” These parents don’t discuss or negotiate, and they don’t take “no” for an answer. Most regard this style as too demanding and rigid.

Authoritative parents use their authority in a benign way while maintaining love and positive regard. They have reasonable expectations and are communicative and responsive to children’s needs. This desirable kind of parent is sometimes described as balanced, consulting, or as a benevolent CEO.

I agree with the experts that the authoritative, middle-of-the-road style is where children thrive. Kids need both sides of the coin: structure and nurturing, and this approach supplies both. Incidentally, the memoir of the tiger mother has been met with quite a bit of disapproval from the public. Authority is necessary—yes—but it need not be harsh. Research shows that a controlling parenting style generally produce children who are compliant and capable, but who are less happy, socially aware, and confident.

I was recently interviewed for a parenting education series on local Community Television Network 5. One of the scenarios discussed portrayed a young girl whining and ramping up towards a tantrum at the grocery store. You could see the father’s frustration and panic as he contemplated the fit he might have to live through if he holds the limit with his daughter. We all know that panic well—having gotten such clear messages to keep a tight rein on our kids. We feel that their behavior, loudness, and lack of emotional regulation, while probably developmentally appropriate, reflects poorly on our parenting skills. It is not helpful to feel that we should control our children. The only person we can control is ourselves; the only behavior we can truly change is our own. Our children are their own people; they deserve sovereignty, to be treated with dignity and respect. It is fair and necessary to set limits with kids, but it is unreasonable to expect them to like it.

Our kids do need someone to be in charge. “Yes” to in charge, but “no” to in control. The safety and security of someone else calling the shots and holding boundaries is comforting. It is good for us parents to feel at ease in this powerful role, yet be flexible enough to temper it, or even set it aside every once in a while. Children want us to be the boss, this is true, but let’s aim to be the boss they wouldn’t mind going out to lunch with every once in a while.

Originally published as an article in the March/April 2011 issue of Parent and Family

toilet learning

2011-01-02T10:30:00.008-05:00

Yes, I am intentionally avoiding use of the word "train," just as I did when I documented trying to get my child to sleep.

I am acutely aware that the well-researched behavioral approaches to getting your kid (or partner) to do what you want, are based on animal training. (See What Shamu Taught Me about Life, Love and Marriage.) Apparently, these methods do work, but I still prefer to mostly do things the hard way. You know, without rewards or bribes. I don't mean to sound sarcastic, but I am generally uncomfortable with treating members of my family like circus animals. Okay, I'm climbing down from my soapbox now...

So, a few non-coercive suggestions to help your child learn how to use the potty:

Go get yourself a copy of Stress-Free Potty Training: A Commonsense Guide to Finding the Right Approach for Your Child. Seriously. This book delivers on its promise. It provides you with a temperament assessment so you can tailor your efforts to your particular child. Brilliant.

Read Toilet Tales to your child. Yes, there are many other good books out there. But, this books is funny, engaging, and doesn't put any pressure on little ones. Plus toddlers LOVE to respond to the questions on each page with a loud, "NO!"

Relax. I PROMISE that your child will not go off to college (or even Kindergarten, actually) in diapers. This too, like all other challenges and difficult phases, shall pass.

I truly felt no stress whatsoever during the mere three weeks it took my son to become accident-free at two-and-a-half! He's dry at night too, but I'm not sure that has much to do with these suggestions. He's just fully committed to never sleeping through the night—waking up and asking for help going to the bathroom is winning him way more points that just waking up and crying was. But I digress.

Is it a fair trade to never get a good night's sleep, even if I am saving a ton of money on diapers?

self-care confession

2010-12-29T18:38:00.007-05:00

I told a friend yesterday that I wasn't sure how many people I was going to inform about my most recent foray into radical self-care. I've gone so Rambo I don't even want to tell people what I did! In my heart, I know it's good to be a role model in this area, even if my actions do prove somewhat controversial.

Many of you know we had a snowstorm on Monday, technically: a blizzard. I found out Joshua's daycare was going to be opening late due to the snow so I bagged my plan: half day at the office and half mental health day.

I wasn't sad to consider not going to the office, but I was BUMMED to contemplate missing my long-in-the-works movie date! But, being a good grown-up, I emailed the daycare and said we'd be staying home.

After approximately an hour-and-a-half of being at home trying to work a bit with Josh whining and moaning in the background. I emailed the daycare director again and asked, "Did I lose my chance to bring him in for the afternoon? I have a few things I need to get done." Need is the operative word here.

Yes, I felt guilty when I merged onto the turnpike amid speeding tractor trailer trucks, my heart leaping in my throat.

Yes, I did go to the office for a couple of hours to get work done that was going to be really hard to do while working from home.

I felt another major twinge when I glanced at the newspaper headlines and saw that the governor had declared a state of emergency!

And yes, I nervously peeked at my cell phone to check the time while I was at the theater.

I saw The Fighter and picked him up at 4:30pm on the dot.

We made it home safe and sound: mental health restored.

P.S. Do I need to mention that I have four-wheel drive?

deadbeat mom

2010-12-21T13:36:00.002-05:00

Sadly, this blog has become my neglected step-child. And I’m talking wicked-stepmother-sleeping-beauty-style neglect.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit dramatic, I didn’t send my woodsman to cut its heart out or anything (and Disney movies are supposed to be viewed by kids? Huh?). But, let’s just say my attention has been elsewhere. I’ve aimed for balancing, or juggling as the case may be, and I guess I dropped a few balls.

It’s definitely not the first time.

Now the holidays are upon us and Christmas is right around the corner, er, I mean this week.

So, one additional New Year’s resolution will be to keep this baby updated. I know you’re all dying to know how toilet learning, preschool, and book promotion has been going….

Radical Self-Care Resolutions

2010-12-21T13:31:00.004-05:00

I often tell parents that they have to put on their own oxygen masks before they can help others. I emphasize how they must make time for self-care. Meanwhile, I’m over here gasping for breath, struggling to assist the other members of my family: wheeze, cough, sputter—did we lose cabin pressure? Clearly I am in serious need of my own advice!

Resolutions can be a slippery slope: putting it all on the line, making a concrete promise, vowing to make changes. If we commit, then there is the potential for self-abandonment and failure. But if we don’t try, we never know what we can achieve. This will be my ultimate taped-to-the-fridge-list, (isn’t that where everyone puts their New Year’s resolutions?) and the pressure will be on to stay true to myself.

Like many of you, I do too much.

I am a mom, I have a husband, I work, I’m promoting a book, I have family nearby that I enjoy spending time with, I volunteer my time, I donate blood, (I even donated my hair for Pete’s sake!) I give, and I give, and I give. But what about me? Don’t I deserve a piece of the pie? I know I do. I don’t want to end up in Martyrville—I hear it’s no fun there, even for the most accomplished.
Thinking in this vein reminds me of a sticky-note I once saw taped to a friend’s bulletin board. It was handwritten in bold, black letters: “If it’s not a huge YES—say NO!” Keeping that in mind, this year I vow to:

*Slow down. Literally. I will stop moving so fast. Sometimes, when I try to do three things at once, I move so fast I bang into unclosed drawers and drop things all over the kitchen floor. This can’t possibly help me get out the door any faster in the morning. I will do one thing at a time, I will be intentional, I will stop to smell roses. (Well, maybe not until a little later in the year.)

*Take more breaks. I will go out on dates with my partner even though we can’t afford a babysitter. I will say “yes” to all of my family’s offers to help, and I will continue to swap child-care with friends. I will, as a wise friend recently put it, “take the exit ramp,” as often as possible. I will wander, putter, and relax.

*Stop beating myself up. My child will not shrivel if he watches fifteen minutes of video while I make breakfast. My family can survive take-out Pad Thai or Hannaford rotisserie chicken with rice and peas. Yes, again. The house does not need to be any cleaner than it already is. And, unless someone is out of clean socks or underwear, the laundry can wait.

*Say “no.” I am sorry to say that if I am not already working hard for your organization, group, or cause, well, I just won’t be. I must draw the line somewhere. Perhaps at a later time we can revisit the opportunity. Like maybe sometime in late 2013 when my child is in Kindergarten.

Now, I will put this on my refrigerator where I can see it, and straighten out this darn mask. At least I can breathe again. That feels better.

I invite you to make your own list of radical resolutions. Then share it with a friend (or your whole community!). When we see each other at the next committee meeting, I’ll ask you if you’ve been making it to the gym. You’ll say, “Yes, I have been, thanks for asking.” Then you’ll pause and say, “Hey, I thought you weren’t going to do anymore volunteering. What are you doing here?”

Originally published in the January/February 2011 issue of Parent & Family.

navigating a rough road

2010-10-25T21:54:00.013-04:00

“You have a heart on your shirt Mommy?” My two-and-a-half-year-old son, Joshua, asked me the other day. I looked down at my “I hate cancer” t-shirt.

“Actually, it’s a heart turned upside-down. My shirt says, ‘I don’t like cancer.’” And because I couldn’t bear to hear him ask, “What’s cancer mommy?” I quickly added,

“Cancer is a sickness that people get sometimes.” This seemed to satisfy him, so I successfully bought another day to think about how on earth I would talk to my child about this incredibly difficult topic.

It is a hard subject in general, further fraught by my own personal history. I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer when I was twenty-five. It being “the best kind of cancer to have,” I consider myself pretty lucky. I even dodged any intense or invasive treatment—the surgery was minor and radioactive iodine sounds much worse than it actually is. But I’m still working through feelings from this time in my life, even though it was thirteen years ago now. Feeling like my cancer, “wasn’t that bad,” or “doesn’t really count,” are among the nuances. It’s oh-so-much more than survivor’s guilt.

When I was given a clean bill of health, I still felt scared and unwell; nervous about the future. I’m no prophet. I can’t foresee what is to come any better than you can. Death is something that is true and hard about life, it just wasn’t something I had previously thought much about. Someone recommended I read the book Dancing in Limbo, which I did. It helped me make friends with the unknown and define an outlook that was more hopeful. Even though my prognosis was fantastic, (it is the best kind of cancer, after all) I was still rocked by the truth that my body had housed and grown these rogue cells—it was terrifying.

Also, there are additional stories Joshua will eventually need to hear. Both of his paternal grandparents died of cancer. And they were young. My husband’s father passed away at fifty-eight, about three years before Joshua was born. Grandma Sue died just as Josh was starting to toddle around. She was sixty-two. My grandfather, for whom my son is named, died of cancer in his early seventies. I know that I am not alone in having so much experience with this previously unmentionable disease. We’ve come a long way since cancer was whispered about behind closed doors. The stigma has definitely lessened, but I still struggle. I’m sure others do too.

Figuring out how to talk about cancer, with its inextricable connection to death, is a hard nut to crack. I have trouble processing and understanding the realities of it all—death still being a pretty taboo topic in our culture. Clearly, I don’t have all the answers about how to navigate these tough conversations. But I do have some suggestions and resources to offer:

• Talk to another grown-up. Talking things through with someone before talking to your child can only be beneficial. My partner and I will need to revisit the pain of the loss of his parents so we can be as clear as possible with our son. At one and five years out, it is still pretty fresh in our hearts and minds.

• Don’t hide it. Kids will think even worse things are going on if they are not informed. It’s okay to be honest about how you feel about it, for example, “I feel very sad about Grandpa’s death, even though it happened a long time ago, so it’s hard for me to talk about.” I think acknowledging your own hesitation can go a long way toward normalizing this complex issue.

• Be straightforward and age appropriate. Share the facts and your feelings—for a four-year-old you might say, “Aunt Trudy has a sickness that can’t be caught like a cold or cough, she might be really tired for several months and her hair is going to fall out too. I’m worried about her, but I think she’s going to be okay.”

• Honor the tension between, “I don’t know,” and, “It’ll be okay.” The American Cancer Society’s website, which is an excellent resource, suggests saying the following, “Sometimes people do die from cancer. I'm not expecting that to happen because the doctors have very good treatments these days, and this type of cancer usually does go away with treatment.”

• Talk about death when it comes up in smaller, less personal ways. Use these teachable moments and discuss the news story, or the dead animal you found. DO NOT use the term sleep to refer to death. This is confusing and scary for children.

• Share your family’s views about death and what might happen after. The children's book, The Next Place, offers lovely illustrations and reassuring sentiments. This is a good time to talk about your family’s religion or any spiritual beliefs. Tear Soup is an excellent workbook for dealing with the grief associated with any loss.

• Read books specifically about cancer. Last Year, This Year, is a chronicle of one mama’s treatment and journey, with artwork by the author’s daughter. Billed as a hopeful, helpful book for kids with a loved one who has cancer, Butterfly Kisses and Wishes on Wings is supportive and educational.

I’m sure I’ll access many of these resources myself once Joshua starts asking more questions, which I know is right around the corner.

This all reminds me of an exchange I had with my three-year-old charge when I was a nanny some years back. He and I had been frequenting a pond behind a huge cemetery. We’d bring old bags of bread and feed the ducks and hissing geese. We had been plenty of times before, but he finally hit the right age and began to wonder. On the drive out one day he suddenly looked around and asked me,

“What is this place?”

“It’s a cemetery.”

“What’s a cemetery?”

“It’s a place where people are buried after they die.”

“What’s die?”

“People die when their bodies get worn out from being old or very sick,” I responded as calmly as I could, keeping in mind that I was conversing with someone else’s child. He was spot-on with his three-year-old persistence.

“They die and go under the ground?”

“Some people do, yes.”

“What happens after that?”

The ultimate question.

“People have lots of different ideas about that. But no one really knows.” He thought about this for a moment while I held my breath and waited.

“I guess it’s just a mystery,” he said brightly.

Indeed, it is the biggest mystery of them all.

How to Help a Parent Undergoing Cancer Treatment

2010-10-25T08:08:00.002-04:00

I am teaming up with Dionna of Code Name: Mama and Jen of The Dinoia Family for a four part series in honor of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Today, Dionna is writing about "how to help a parent who is undergoing cancer treatment." Please stop by to both get ideas on how to help someone you love who is struggling with a serious illness, and leave your own suggestions of how people can help. And come back all week for more: on Tuesday, I am writing about how to talk to young children about cancer; on Wednesday, Jen is writing about what to say (and what not to say) to those who are newly diagnosed with cancer; and on Thursday, revisit Code Name: Mama for an interview with the Executive Direction of Cleaning for a Reason.

At My Limit

2010-10-22T21:34:00.003-04:00

Even the most laid back or permissive parent has to set limits sometime. If nothing else, there are health and safety concerns. My two-year-old would eat muffins at every meal and wear shorts in winter if I never set limits. I have found this holding of boundaries to be much harder with my own child than it ever was with someone else’s. I’m sure this is true for many reasons, (button-pushing familiarity and lack of sleep come to mind) and in addition to a general difficulty, limit setting seems to have its own share of pitfalls and quirks.

Limit setting holds the great parenting paradox: we need to be consistent and we need to flexible. Why are both important? If I can’t reconsider letting my child have a second muffin or whether or not a certain kind of play is okay for indoors, (think loud) I have probably become too rigid. “No means no,” is useful for sure. Kids need to know we mean what we say…most of the time. They should also know that we are human, and may make hasty decisions that warrant our continued thought.

I recently changed my mind about an activity that involved rearranging items from different shelves in my pantry. I said, “No” at first for the classic parent reason: It didn’t seem like a good idea. But when I tried to redirect him with, “You’re all set in here, let’s go play with your toys,” he replied forcefully, “I am NOT all set. I want to move the stuff around.” So I stopped and evaluated what exactly it was I objected to. I asked myself, “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” When the answer was, The bottom two shelves could get messy, and, He might drop a can on his toe, I decided to let him have at it. I told him, “Sounds like you really want to play in the pantry, let’s see how it goes.” Result? He played for twenty minutes while inventing stories about why things had to be moved. When he walked out, asked for his tools, and went back in to, “do repairs,” I knew I had made the right call.

Sometimes when you set limits, it can get REALLY messy. I’m guessing it has happened at least once or twice that you told your child, “No,” and they had an emotional storm that rivaled a category five hurricane. In situations like this, I have to evoke high-level anger management skills and use herculean effort to remain calm. This is impossible to master, but excellent role-modeling when you succeed. Once a decision has been made that you’re not going to change your mind about, (like cookies for breakfast, for example) I don’t have to tell you that caving because of a strong emotional reaction is just about the worst thing you can do. What I said to my son in the pantry example is a whole lot different than, “Fine, if you’re going to cry about it then just have the cookies for breakfast!” This is the important difference between reconsidering and giving in.

The counter-intuitive reality is that when kids are most unreasonable, they most need us to be loving and firm. This allows them to off-load emotions, otherwise known as a good cry. I know this is something we avoid a lot of the time, but studies reveal that emotional tears are detoxifying and actually reduce stress! When a child is truly listened to, and allowed the opportunity to feel pain, sadness, fear, and/or anger at a deep level, their disequilibrium and “out-of-sorts-ness” is diminished; connection and balance restored. In fact, this drive to release feelings is probably what steered them to push the limits so powerfully in the first place.

Last week my son had a major meltdown over the wrong bowl, (and trust me, no bowl was the right bowl) so I knew he must really need to let it out. After he had my support to reach the bottom of the well of his feelings (which I’m sure had nothing to do with the bowl) he recovered nicely on his own.

“I was sad,” he told me right afterward.
“I know you were sad,”
“I was sad about a bowl. People get sad about bowls?”
“Sure,” I told him, “People get sad for all different kinds of reasons.”

And isn’t that just the truth?

Originally published in the November/December 2010 issue of Parent & Family (http://www.myparentandfamily.com/)

zen mommy

2010-09-06T17:35:00.008-04:00

I'm reading a book right now called Buddhism for Mothers. It is excellent. For someone who was raised in a non-religious home, I could seriously get used to Buddhism; so accepting, so balanced, so sane. This is something I definitely do not always feel (sane that is).

An awesome, simple, but certainly not easy suggestion from this chock-full of good advice book is to aim to be present. The author even says to tell yourself what you are doing as a way to keep yourself on track and in the present moment. For example: "I am washing the dishes," or, "I am folding laundry." Even something as simple as, "I am walking across the room."

How does, "I am playing trains with Josh while composing an email in my mind and drinking a cup of coffee," sound? Or what about, "I am sitting in a meeting, jotting down a grocery list and wondering how Josh is doing at daycare." Or my favorite: "I am writing a blog post while intermittently checking Facebook and listening to the baby monitor for signs of awakeness."

So obviously for me the first order of business is to slow things down so I'm not doing so many things at once. If I'm always multi-tasking, then I'm inherently not present for any of the one things on my plate. You should know I noted recently that I can no longer even see my plate because it is completely buried.

Gone. No plate.

It is time for me to learn to say, "no."

how many potatoes?

2010-08-31T23:22:00.003-04:00

To sibling, or not to sibling? That is the question.

Okay, I’m talking about kids, not actual potatoes. What got me going was a recent cover for Time magazine depicting a smiling young boy, above him it read, “The Only Child Myth.” The story inside, One and Done, was a look at the rising single child demographic. The article included all sorts of interesting facts like: 46% of Americans think that two is the ideal number of children to have, and that Franklin Roosevelt and Frank Sinatra were both singletons. It also completely debunked the myth of the “lonely, selfish, maladjusted” only child. Well, thank goodness, because I think I will be joining this crew of folks who opt for just one.

For the record, I am not an only child. In fact, I hail from a large and multi-layered blended family and my sibling count tips the scales at eight. Since I am one of many, but have only one, I feel comfortable offering suggestions no matter what your family size. Studies show that for kids, the outcomes are all pretty good. Children from small and large families do well across similar socioeconomic levels. As for parents, it really is a rollercoaster ride no matter how many you have, so here’s a look at how the inevitable peaks and valleys can vary:

One: HIGHS: If you have a partner, you can get a break without hiring a babysitter or having to do double duty. A single parent is at least not yet outnumbered. LOWS: Extensive play-date planning may be needed for adequate social interactions; otherwise, you are your child’s only playmate. TIPS: Network with other parents of “singles” to ensure your child gets a chance to engage in healthy conflict resolution. Resist the urge to indulge—I find myself not saying “no” enough with my one. The fact is we do not need any more trucks, cars, or construction vehicles in our home.

Two: HIGHS: Once you make it through the grueling initial phase, you get frequent breaks because two children will often entertain each other. LOWS: A twosome can quickly become ultracompetitive; you may have to put on your referee gear. TIPS: Spend time with each child individually and notice aloud what is unique and wonderful about them (à la I Love You the Purplest by Barbara M. Joosse). Stay mindful of gaps in age and ability. Jump in and moderate only when necessary, sometimes they can work it out alone. (My brother and I proved this was true on rare occasions.)

Three: HIGHS: Three can definitely entertain themselves long enough for you to get something done. And you can officially refer to your kids as a “brood.” LOWS: With three in the mix, two can sometimes exclude the other. Keep watch for “middle child syndrome.” (My husband is afflicted.) TIPS: One-on-one time is still a great idea. Pay attention to gender. Because I was often the lone female among five boys growing up, my parents would let me invite a friend so I wasn’t the only girl in the mix. For this I will remain forever grateful—I could only take so much lizard hunting on a weekend-long camping trip.

Four and beyond: HIGHS: You can practically field your own baseball team! A mom of five recently posted on Facebook that she was picking up her oldest daughter from camp and that it was “good to have the band back together again.” There is camaraderie and a definite “were all in this together” feel with this many kids. LOWS: This is controlled chaos—you are seriously outnumbered here. Case in point: My parents were unimpressed when my brothers and I raided the Christmas tree at 2:00 AM one year. TIPS: Individual attention is more needed but harder to execute—try short weekly dates with each of your children. Make sure older kids aren’t burdened with too much responsibility.

I suppose the answer to the opening question is, “I don’t know.” It depends on so many things: what community resources and support you have, you and your partner’s personalities, (not to mention the personality and temperament of any child(ren) you already have), and expense is certainly an issue. The Time article claimed that it costs $286,050 to raise a child in the U.S. today, not including college costs. In this economy, that is a major factor.

The truth is that we are all part of a very recent history where one can aim to plan how many offspring we have. I feel lucky to even be able to ponder the subject.

First published as: "One Potato, Two Potatoes, Three Potatoes, MORE!" in the September/October 2010 issue of Parent & Family.

he runs circles around us

2010-08-31T21:19:00.011-04:00

To say that Josh is articulate would be a gross understatement. Not that I take any credit for this phenomenon, (well, maybe a little) but he has a good vocablulary and is relatively easy to understand for a 2.25 year old.

Last weekend we went (drove!) to New Jersey to visit my grandmother. Before we left Joshua and I had a conversation about our upcoming journey:

Me: We're going to see Grandpa Dan this weekend.

Josh: In New Jersey?

Me: Yep, in New Jersey. Who else will we see? (We had been discussing...)

Josh: Grandma Ronnie? (My step-mom. Good guess.)

Me: No, Grandma Ronnie is staying in Arizona, she has to work. But we will see Grandma Ceil. (His great-grandmother, but we haven't talked about this difference yet.)

Josh: She broke her cheek? (Okay, it is crazy that he remembers this story about his other grandmother who passed away last year when he was not yet one.)

Me: No, that was Grandma Sue. But Sue and Ceil sound alike don't they? Grandma Ceil is actually Grandpa Dan's mommy.

Josh: Where is the child? (It takes me a bit figure out what he means...)

Me: Grandpa Dan is Grandma Ceil's child. But now he's all grown-up. He used to be a child, but now he is a man. Someday you'll grow into a man, but it will take a long time.

Josh: (laughing maniacally as if there is a hysterical joke) But I'm two!!!

I have to wonder; oh are you?

we all need a wife

2010-07-30T15:41:00.007-04:00

Right? Don't we though?

I mean no one is home at my house during the day to make dinner. Or do laundry. Or vaccuum. Or pick up toys, or wipe down surfaces, or scrub the toilet, or mow the lawn, or write thank you notes, or load the dishwasher, or, or, or......

Or any of that. We just muddle along. Toss in two plus jobs and things start to look a little scary.

Remember that part of my "job" job is to teach parenting to other parents, right? Within the Parenting and Family Education and Resources department (I use the term "department" loosely here) we have identified these handy-dandy five areas of parenting:

child development and temperament (I'm pretty good here.)
health and safety (I've got this covered.)
nurture: loving attachment, etc. (I do just fine.)
structure: routines, limits, etc. (I hold my own.)
parent self-care (Okay, this is where I totally blow it!)

Totally. I just do not have the time (make the time? find the time? WHERE IS THAT TIME?) to take good care of myself. As I already mentioned, I don't even have time to get the fricking dishes done, let alone do something kind and nurturing for myself (like do those physical therapy exercises for my shoulder, or get my haircut, or go bra shopping)!

So once again, I have to practice what I preach: I will put my own oxygen mask on BEFORE I attempt to assist others who need my help. Even if there is whining.

On that note, it is 10:15pm and I'm going to bed.

The Trifecta of Parenting

2010-07-30T15:16:00.004-04:00

I have to admit that I only had a vague idea of what trifecta meant before googling it. I knew that my sister-in-law had once placed a trifecta bet at Saratoga and won a fairly large sum of money. Online I found the useful definition: A bet in which the bettor must select the winners of the first three places (first, second, and third) of a race in the correct order. That being said, I’d like to propose that the trifecta of parenting is respect, relationship, and repair. In that order—and I’ll explain why.

First and foremost: respect. This makes sense—we want and need our children to respect us, right? Right. I think the tricky piece here is staying mindful that respect must be a two-way street. This also makes sense; intellectually anyway. Practically speaking, it isn’t always easy to respect a small child who needs your near constant supervision and care. It’s even harder to hold in high esteem a small person who may not be behaving rationally, managing their emotions, or have all their teeth yet.

Let’s face it, our culture is not one in which the weak, emotionally volatile, and unreasonable command respect. Along these same lines, we mainly parent within a paradigm where kids are the sponges and we are our child’s first teacher. But this is only one side of a much more complex story. As adults we may have more information, knowledge, and common sense than a child. But we forget our duality, and easily dismiss children’s inherent gifts of connectedness, creativity, humor, and emotional honesty. It is commonly reported that children laugh on average 300-400 times a day and that this number drops to 15-20 laughs a day in adulthood. Knowing the many positive benefits of laughter, I have to ask: Who should be learning from whom in this case? This is one small reminder that we grown-ups don’t always know best, or have the all the answers.

Next: relationship. This is what parenting is all about! Ah, but we are so easily side-tracked into control and behavior management. Rebecca Thompson, executive director of The Consciously Parenting Project notes that behavioral approaches (consequences, etc.) all stem from the research of B.F. Skinner—you may recall that he worked with laboratory animals? Animals are not people, and although many have proposed that “training” techniques do work to change conduct in children, often this is not the case, and the result ends up being even more escalated behavior. Ms. Thompson suggests addressing the underlying emotion first, before discussing behavior, or what might be done differently next time. Keep in mind that it’s hard to receive feedback on your actions while you are having strong feelings (and brain research confirms this), no matter what your age!

Children need to feel connected. They need us to listen and validate their feelings. This truly is a need and not a want for a young dependant child. I recently learned about the great resource, Hand in Hand: Nurturing the Parent-Child Connection. This organization suggests that listening is so important it warrants multiple ways of learning to listen to our children. We must remember that our children do need this listening, and our focused attention. This takes effort and is not always easy. I remind myself daily to hang up the phone, turn off the computer, and truly engage with my child. I know it’s cliché, but it is a fact that he will not always be interested in my company.

And finally: repair. I’ll be honest; sometimes I just don’t get it right. We are all human and prone to messing up. Part of repair is being accountable for our actions. Apologize if you’ve made a mistake. This is a skill all people need; modeling it for your child is incredibly valuable. When we approach a problem, error, or offense—ours or theirs—with true curiosity about what can be done to amend, fix, repair, or make restitution, we are on track for learning, making things right, and better behavior in the future. Punishment, criticism, and negative consequences all use fear as a motivator. Ultimately, I’d rather maintain love, not fear, in my connection with my child—repair helps with this.

Upon further investigation, I discovered that the word trifecta originates from the related betting term, perfecta. But let me be clear, I’m not saying that implementing these ideas about respect, relationship, and repair will yield perfect parenting. No, not perfect— but it just might be your best bet.

First published in the Parent & Family July/August 2010 issue.

toxic wasteland

2010-07-30T15:15:00.006-04:00

I am furious.

I won't mention the oil spill, other than to say that it is obviously devastating to our world, one we had all hoped our children would inherit in better shape than it is currently.

I won't discuss global climate change, although I could completely crush this box of soap here in doing so.

And I will only briefly rant about the "play sand" marketed by Quickrete for SPECIFIC use in CHILDREN'S sandboxes. Here is a short excerpt from the 9 PAGE document I found online published BY Quickrete:

OSHA REGULATORY STATUS
This material is considered hazardous under the OSHA Hazard Communications Standard
(29 CFR 1910.1200).

POTENTIAL HEALTH EFFECTS:
Inhalation:
a. Silicosis Respirable crystalline silica (quartz) can cause silicosis, a fibrosis (scarring) of the lungs. Silicosis may be progressive; it may lead to disability and death.
b. Lung Cancer Crystalline silica (quartz) inhaled from occupational sources is classified as carcinogenic to humans.
c. Tuberculosis Silicosis increases the risk of tuberculosis.
d. Autoimmune and Chronic Kidney Diseases Some studies show excess numbers of cases of scleroderma, connective tissue disorders, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, chronic kidney diseases
and end-stage kidney disease in workers exposed to respirable crystalline silica.
e. Non-Malignant Respiratory Diseases (other than silicosis) Some studies show an increased incidence in chronic bronchitis and emphysema in workers exposed to respirable crystalline silica.

Excuse me, but is this for real??? What kind of INSANE reality am I living in that permits a hazardous material to be marketed for use in a child's sandbox?? WTF? Quickrete then has the gall to suggest dampening the product to diminish the "hazards of its dust." Okay, I'm really almost done here, but this was the kicker: "A single exposure will not result in serious adverse health effects." Well, I don't know about your two year-old, but mine is certainly not going to play in his sandbox ONE TIME!!!

So clearly I have fallen into a bizarro, alternate universe where people value money over human life (oh, wait, that's always been the case) and poison is distributed to our young and vulnerable. Apparently, you can get non-silica sand online at http://www.safesand.com/, but, big surprise, it's incredibly expensive.

But this horror show pales in comparison to the awfulness of our food supply. Yes, it's true, a little silica dust is no big deal in context with the crap our children put into their mouths. GMO's aside, (as they are a whole 'nother topic) it is a complete nightmare.

I was admittedly a complete freak about everything that Joshua consumed in the first six to twelve months of his life. I worked and made him organic baby food. But, given that I can only be an overachiever most of the time, once he got a little older, sometimes I cheated: a frozen organic pea here, a canned organic green bean there. It is really hard to find fresh organic veggies during a Maine winter. The reality was that he ate quite a lot of these veggie time savers. Then I found out that all canned green beans (even the organic ones) are grossly contaminated with BPA, the very thing I had bought special baby bottles to avoid. I was beside myself. Literally. I have not bought them since. And it was recently called to my attention that canned tomatoes are not fit for purchase either. Yes, even the organic ones (except for Eden Foods brand, which I have yet to find on my supermarket shelves).

And the latest pathetic installment in the devastating saga of the foods we feed to our children on a daily basis: dangerous levels of lead in kids' juice boxes. The best part is that they don't even know how it got there! So how will they fix this problem? In case you forgot, lead causes developmental delays and according to the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, lead exposure in small amounts can make children "appear inattentive, hyperactive, and irritable." Hmmm, maybe we should reassess some of those kids who were recently prescribed Ritalin for ADHD? Perhaps they merely HAVE LEAD POISONING!

I'll end with my favorite Cree Indian Prophesy: "Only after the last tree has been cut down, Only after the last river has been poisoned, Only after the last fish has been caught, Only then will you find that money cannot be eaten."

Well aren't we just a bunch of idiots?

musical beds

2010-07-27T21:11:00.006-04:00

Or, why I should just change the name of my blog to: "my child has been a crappy sleeper since the day he was born and he's now over two and I am so exhausted I've gone completely nuts."

The latest chapter in the sleep saga occurred when the following things happened:

Josh got another cough.

We got a new bed, a coveted Sleep Number (me: 25, Rich: 40).

We got new carpeting in our bedroom.

Rich caught the cough from Josh.

A wicked and endless heat wave settled over the entire state of Maine.

What ensued was straight out of an I Love Lucy episode, minus the chocolate or hiccuping.

Josh refused to sleep in his crib. We let him come in our bed (he was sick after all!). The combination of the off-gassing bed and carpet gave me asthma and had me anxious about Josh's compromised respiratory system. Rich's vile cough confirmed our worries so we slept in the guest room (on our recently rejected 12 year-old mattress). Josh joined us.

Rich disassembled the new bed and hung some of the foam parts out on the porch and we left all the windows upstairs open for a couple of weeks. It helped a little, but it was still really stinky. Then we bought a fire truck toddler bed, which Josh adored, but was way to exciting to actually sleep in.

We'd all go to sleep in one bed. But Rich would end up on the futon because his coughing was keeping us awake. If I woke up, I might gently lie Josh in the fire truck, hoping he wouldn't wake up and ask where the steering wheel is (there isn't one, but he could not for the life of him figure why someone would make a fire truck without a steering wheel). And I'd creep into the guest room where there was blessed air conditioning and somehow we'd all wake up spread out all over the house.

Then we had house guests. This meant the guest bed was out. So we all slept in our marginally less smelly bed for a week and now, weeks later, Josh is healthy and mostly sleeping in his new double bed with a bed rail. Rich is still coughing and often migrates elsewhere in the night. Sometimes one of ends up sleeping in Josh's bed with him. All I can say is that at least we're not trying to squish two into a toddler bed.

"Are you kidding me?"

2010-06-11T14:26:00.007-04:00

Josh's nap window seems to be closing. It used to be wide open and we could get in a nap anywhere between 12:15pm and 2pm. Then I tried driving home from a morning activity (hoping for a snooze in the car) and he was still awake when we arrived. At 1:30pm. What!?! Upon initiating the nap routine at such a late breaking time, I was met with resistance on par with someone who had been trained by the military to not share state secrets. I even heard clear verbal protest, "No nap, no sleeping, no way!"

Um, okay. That's not cool.

A week later (on my 38th birthday, thank you very much) we did such battle at naptime, I cannot even speak of what became of us. There was yelling and crying, (from him and me) and I scared us both with how angry I became. It begs the question: Am I getting enough down time? Probably not.

One needs to be calm, centered, and well-rested to meet the opposition to sleep that my young son puts forth. Why, why, WHY must he fight sleep so much! I find myself saying aloud to myself, "Oh my God, are you kidding me?" To which Josh responds, in pitch-perfect copycat style, "Oh my God, are you kidding me?"

things are looking up

2010-05-23T14:25:00.005-04:00

5.23.10:
It's amazing what a little consistent sleep will do for you. That, and better limit setting. I may have mentioned that Josh turned two last week. Yep, the big "el dos-o" as we say in my family. Thankfully it is my firm belief that two is usually more terrific than terrible and this belief has recently begun to pay off.

7.2.10:
I never finished the above post. My response now: What a joke. Reason: He got sick again.

Sleep has been a joke. Limit-setting has been a joke; a joke that turned into a nightmare.

He is still not 100%, and boy, neither are we. How do people with chronically ill children cope?

two whole years

2010-05-14T06:39:00.010-04:00

Sorry to beat a dead horse, but about this sleep thing: I cannot handle myself AT ALL (let alone another small, dependant person) when I have not slept well. This will probably end up being the main reason that we have one child.

I am truly and deeply afraid that I will become some sad news story that people cluck their tongues at if we subject our family to the additional sleep deprivation that a second baby would bring. I used to shake my head and marvel, “What was that woman thinking?” Now I know the answer: She wasn’t. She was just completely out of her head with exhaustion. There have been times when we have only made it through the night unscathed because I am not a single parent. I have no idea what would occur at 2:30am if I didn’t have another person to lean on, complain to, and sometimes even blame, for my utter misery. (Sorry Rich, really.)

Maybe the news tragedy was a true accident? Perhaps this tired mom mindlessly forgot to secure the baby gate, or push all the sharp knives beyond reach? In my overtired state I’ve done both, and have merely been fortunate enough to catch my mistakes in time, keeping disaster averted. You and I both know this stuff happens in a heartbeat.

I’m mostly recovered from last week's three day fever and several nights of co-sleeping—though it surely addled my brain. I tried to see the humor when Josh literally used my head as his pillow in the middle of the night. But I was terrified that he was burning up through his dose of (generic) Motrin and I definitely couldn’t laugh when I saw that my Tylenol had been recalled. Later it seemed so absurd, like a comedy of errors, but I still griped bitterly to Rich the next day about how it had been The Worst Night Ever.

“You think so? Nah, you’re just forgetting all the other bad nights. What about puke night?” he inquired.

And I wondered how I could have possibly forgotten puke night! Every time we’d gotten Josh and ourselves cleaned up, he’d thrown up all over everything again. At one point we all sat, reeking, in the middle of the living room in nothing but our underwear— and I was sure there was no point at all in getting dressed ever again.

But there was, and we did. And he'll surely have another stomach bug someday.

When Josh first arrived, during those first tenuous months, Rich announced our success often: “We’ve managed to keep you alive for two whole weeks,” he’d declare. Now we’ve managed to survive an entire two years as a family. But I’m not planning to tempt fate. I don’t think it has a lot to do with our stellar parenting skills, we’ve just been lucky.

suitcase game

2010-04-16T16:05:00.011-04:00

I took a trip. I took a trip to California. I took a trip to California with my toddler. I took a trip to California with my sick toddler. I took a trip to California with my sick toddler BY MYSELF.....and in my (carry-on) bags I packed:

• three small containers of Play-Doh
• Crayola twistable crayons
• two Curious George paperback books
• two Richard Scarry paperback books
• one board book (Sheep in a Jeep)
• several packages of Annie's Gummi Bunnies
• four Matchbox cars still in their packaging
• a plastic baggie of small Tonka trucks
• an entire box of Healthy Time wheat, soy, and dairy free cookies
• tubs of cut up chicken, peas, squash, rice, and mandarin oranges
• sippy cups of water, goat's milk, and juice
• a wedding-sized container of bubbles
• a travel-sized Hello Kitty magnet toy I got at a yard sale
• infant gas relief drops
• dye-free infant Motrin
• a small tube of hand lotion
• toothbrush and toothpaste
• two cuddly swaddle blankets
• one stuffed monkey named Jerome
• six or so Huggies Overnight diapers, wipes, and changing pad
• a full change of clothes for Josh (you never know)
• a paperback book for me (in case I’m blessed with a nap, didn’t happen)
• make-up, Visine, hand sanitizer, etc. inside the requisite quart-sized baggie

Have you ever played that game on a road trip? Where the next person recites the whole list and adds something else to the suitcase and you have to say it all back in the right order? Those were fun times.

Traveling alone to California on a non-direct flight through Phoenix with your not-quite two year-old child is not so fun. Fret not; you will see that there was no fruit leather packed, so I did not encounter any monstrous poop incident akin to the one we endured on our Washington trip. But did you catch those two pronouns? That would be the "we" and "our." Yeah, that is a MAJOR distinction folks. Trying to get from one coast to another as a single adult in charge of a snotty, food-sensitive toddler is no joke.

Picture me in line for the security check: Josh is strapped to my chest, pushing the weight limit of the Baby Bjorn. The hand-me-down umbrella stroller is straining under the weight of the car seat that is topped off with a backpack filled to the brink with all of the aforementioned items. Except for the food, of course, that is all stuffed in a cooler bag that hangs from the back of the stroller. And without fail, I forget it's there every single time I unload the seat of the stroller and the darn thing tips right over.

It went something like this: backpack into a gray tub. Nice person behind me in line notices I’m already sweating profusely and asks if they can help. They kindly heft the car seat onto the conveyor belt for me. Stroller falls over under the weight of the cooler bag. Remove bag, right stroller, and put green cooler bag in a tub. Clumsily collapse stroller and place it into the tunnel. Strip off jacket and put in tub. Remove freaked-out child from Bjorn. Place Bjorn into gray tub. Reply, "Of course," when a harried business person asks if they can cut in front of me. Remove my shoes, Josh’s shoes and jacket, and place in a tub (how many tubs is that now?). Walk through scanner while holding Josh’s hand. Comfort him as he screams when the alarm goes off because I forgot to remove my belt (another gray tub). Assure security personnel that it is fine for them to open all the sippy cups and tubs of food to make sure they are not contaminated with explosives. Replace twenty-six pound child onto body and reassemble towering stroller.

I will (for now) spare you the details of the next twelve or so exhausting hours before we reached our final destination. People were very kind, there was only one on-board meltdown, and the bubbles were a BIG hit (thanks Beth and Bobby; do not leave home without them!)

But think on the fact that he had to come to the bathroom with me on the plane. That teeny-tiny, stinky, disgusting bathroom. Yep, fun times.

crayon lessons

2010-03-26T21:32:00.011-04:00

I think I have pretty good mommy instincts. I don't say this to toot my own horn, on the contrary, I say it because I'm about to tell you about how ignoring my first impulse paid off for me tonight.

Like other parents who want their kids to know social norms, follow direction, and generally be pleasant, I dislike the making of deliberate messes. Inadvertent messes created in the name of good fun I have no problem with. It's the look-you-right-in-the-eye-and-dump-the-entire-tub-of-crayons-on-the-floor kind of mess that triggers me. You get what I'm saying here. Even though I tell myself this is a developmental norm, or "experimenting," it's the twinkle in the eye when this goes down that just bugs me.

Up until today, my typical response (also somewhat against the grain) had been to completely ignore this kind of behavior, and even this very behavior in particular. I figured if I didn't react, he wouldn't keep doing it. Wrong. Not that he spent all day getting my attention, staring me down, and tossing crayons on the floor, it wasn't like that. But every once in a while, maybe when he was tired? Needed attention? He would do this, and it kind of drove me nuts.

So today when he did it, I borrowed an approach from Naomi Aldort's wonderful book, Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves, and I decided to acknowledge my child's mess and his power. "Oh-nooooo!!!" I said loudly. "Now I'm going to pick them all up!" And I did. I put them all into their tub and handed the tub back to him. He did exactly what I expected him too: dumped them right back on the floor. "Ohhhhh-noooooo!" I repeated, picking them all up again. On the third round, he started helping me. The fourth and fifth time, he clearly started to see that it could be just as fun to pick up crayons as it was to toss them on the floor. By the sixth or seventh time (did I already note that two-year-olds love repetition?) he was really into picking them up. In fact, he was so into it, that I could walk into the next room to do something without him noticing! But then a few minutes later he came looking for me, grabbed my hand, and said, "Help, help," while leading me back to the crayon dump zone.

So maybe the tenth time we were picking up crayons, (and I had certainly grown quite tired with the activity by then) I noticed something interesting. Joshua was pausing with each crayon he placed in the tub, to carefully ensure that the crayons tips were all facing the same direction. My little budding OCD baby! I was enthralled. This was definitely something I would not have been privvy to if I'd merely said, "We don't throw crayons," or something of that sort.

Instead, I got to watch him slow down, (a rarity) care, and use precision. I don't know about you, but I think that is pretty cool.

If you'd like to order a copy of Ms. Aldort's book, I highly recommend it.

sleep, revisited.

2010-03-12T13:14:00.006-05:00

I continue to be awed at how much I can get done on so little sleep. Not that I'm pleasant to be around or efficient with my time or anything, but I still get things done. Laundry may sit in a large pile on the couch before someone gets around to folding it. Then it might patiently wait, folded in the basket for another day or two until it finally makes it into drawers. By then there is a giant load of dirty stuff ready to fill the basket with, and it will sit there until it is overflowing again and someone brings it to the basement and starts the whole process over again. For you readers who also have young children at home, you know that this is not just a way of life, but a metaphor for life: as soon as one menial task is completed and checked off the list, it's just time to do it all over again. Not that I'm complaining. Too loudly anyway. I suppose everyone's lives are filled with mundane tasks. Why exactly does it feel extra mundane once kid stuff gets involved? We had laundry to do before. Maybe not as much laundry? Is it more tiring to fold smaller shirts and pants? I have no idea.

I seriously should buy stock in Kleenex.

2010-02-10T20:18:00.007-05:00

Hello. Remember me? Sorry you haven't heard from me in a while. We've been sick.

Far be it for my child to get a typical virus. One he could not pass around a-la Typhoid Mary. One that lasted like, one week. No, that would be too simple and easy.

Instead he gets the river of snot, endless coughing, solid month of no sleep kind of virus. The one he sweetly passed to his mother and father in quick succesion. And we, his loving parents, have had to withstand: one midnight trip to the ER, several days of missed work, and a relapse into some very bad sleeping habits.

We are now the proud owners of one nebulizer. And we have completely lowered ourselves by bribing him to suck on it with the use of a Thomas the Tank Engine video which he has instantly become addicted to—I’m talking crack addict kind of addicted. He points at the DVD player and demands, "Thomas!" Thom-as!" It is so wrong. I'm going to hide the T.V. right now while he's asleep.

Please join me in my mantra: "Sleep through the night, sleep through the night, sleep through the night." I am so tired.

grateful

2010-01-14T19:39:00.004-05:00

I think there is a fine line between not taking things for granted and being an anxious, paranoid freak. I try to live my life in a state of gratitude, but too often I find my way to this thankful feeling by way of "things could be worse."

Sometimes, I imagine really terrible things happening (yes, out of nowhere, or I simply look to the headlines for easy inspiration) and suddenly I feel so incredibly lucky that that's not me.

I saw one photo from Haiti. One. It is on the front of a Facebook page that someone created. It is of a crying man holding a baby. I have convinced myself that this baby is merely hurt or hungry, and that the man is traumatized and exhausted. I crumple at the thought of the alternative.

I did not go further onto the page or seek any other photos. I did not watch any footage. I can't bring myself to do it. I am already sufficiently horrified.

I try to hold in equal proportion the thought that I am safe (sitting in my cozy, heated home while my husband rocks our beautiful son to sleep and I peacefully type my priviliged musings into cyberspace) and the thought that a sudden, devastating calamity of magnificent proportion could land on my pretty doorstep, well, anytime.

An-y-time.

Consequently, I am extememly grateful for every moment when this is not the case. I can't decide if this is humble and healthy, or obsessive and crazy.

All I know is that I ache when I hear about bad things happening to innocent people, especially children. And when I can remember how to, I open my heart and mind wide enough to accept a world where awful, heartbreaking, and incredibly unfair things happen to people every single day.

And then I feel such sadness; I can sense it running right alongside my deep gratitude.

fallen truth

2010-01-13T14:13:00.009-05:00

The word "truth," which I had cut from an issue of Oprah Magazine, fell off one of my vision boards. Yes, I have made vision boards. Before this practice was glamorized by Ms. Winfrey, a good friend of mine held classes in her apartment leading groups in imagining our desires and representing them on poster board. This stuff works, and I'm talking about way before the release of The Secret.

I'm not sure which one it fell off of either. The one from my friend's class in 2003 was all about my upcoming move accross the country and my desire to be a mother. ("Did you have to put 'morning sickness' on there?" My mom aptly inquired...) Did truth fall from here, amoungst my plea for "pregnancy," "love," "romance" and "real life?" Had it gone missing somewhere between "So long, Farewell, Goodbye, San Francisco," and "Naked Maine Summer?" Maybe it got lost from its place between, "Empowering," and "WOMAN CONFIDENCE."

You can see where I was headed with this particular pictorial of my dreams. Though it is mostly words strung together—a patchwork of meaning for me only, perhaps—there are some soothing pictures included: flowers, trees, beaches, babies, myself as a toddler, and even one of my mother in labor with the word, "intense," under it. I sure got that part right. Luckily I also included, "brave," "I can do anything," and the always wise, "Never say never."

It could just as easily have fallen from my more recent vision board. This episode was spurned on by the episode of Oprah featuring the vision board phenomenon. When I saw that Jenny McCarthy had put, "Get on Oprah," on her vision board, (about her book) and it had happpened, I thought, "Damn straight, get out the glue sticks!" This time I was with my mom and a dear friend. We were surrounded with magazine scraps for the afternoon, on a day that fell between the birth of my son (see, that other board had worked!) and the election of President Obama. It was August or September maybe? I was still sleep deprived, but not a total zombie. The campaign was going well—it was a time of great hope.

My focus is different here, more succinct. I have spotlighted areas of my life: work, travel, food, social change, parenthood. I insanely represent a second child (getting ready to remove that, sorry universe). I implore Obama to win (check!). I outline fantastic success and wealth (working on it). I specifically request a new Toyota SUV (check!). I ask myself and the world once again, "Can't we all just get along?" Truth obviously belongs here too.

So maybe I'll just stick it on a new board when I am ready to plan out the rest of my future.

beyond words

2010-01-03T17:33:00.014-05:00

Tough to know where to start with this since words are the only medium I have for expressing myself here.

Sometimes, when I can't fall asleep at night, I can sense or feel or hear in my head a piece of writing. I think about all the different things I'd want to say in the next five to eight hundred words. I can kind of see where it's all going to work out and tie together. I'll only know a few sentences or thoughts, but I get this overview or sorts. Since I'm not the type of person to turn on the light to write something down, (I'm sure better writers would say I should) I just let it all swirl around up there and trust that when I finally get the time to deposit my thoughts, they'll still mostly be there. For some reason I wanted to say all that first. Now....

A couple months ago, Joshua starting to use a lot of words, and was doing so more and more regularly. Mostly nouns for labeling things: cow, truck, hat, hammer, you get the idea. I knew that he was on the verge of everything really falling into place language-wise. My view is that language is learned in bits and pieces, but also in larger chunks where things just "click." (Yes, "click" is the scientific term.) I knew he was on the precipice of understanding that everything has a word/name attached to it and that these words/names come out of our mouths and have meaning and by God, I get it: "Car, more, yes, banana, dog, green, slide, egg, help, hurt, door, avocado." I could sense all of this right around the corner.

This occurred to me as I was driving home with him and I peered in the rear view mirror at him (distracted, I know) and he just looked so happy! He was holding his car/truck/train in his hand and joyfully being a little passenger. I felt an overwhelming wave of melancholy accompanied by a peaceful connection with him, and a deep knowledge that he is merely a traveling soul, just like me. Tears welled in my eyes as I looked back at him and we just were. I suddenly realized that there had, only moments before, been no thoughts in my head. No clutter, no worry, no movement, no WORDS. OH MY GOD! Soon Joshua's mind would be overrun with words. Names, labels, limits—what clunky, inescapable, necessary little evils they are!

I reached for the empty, sacred-feeling place where I had just been. But that sensation; bliss, waking dream, inner peace, whatever you want to call it, had slipped away. Clinging never works in these situations. Sigh. But I wondered if it had vanished for Josh as well? His mind, I assumed, was only swirling with, what, a couple dozen words? Maybe he was blissed-out and feeling interconnected with God/The Universe all the time because of his lack of vocabulary. I pondered this for the next few days until I was visited by some fairy godmothers in the form of books.

Do you know what I mean by this? Sometimes books appear at exactly the right time to guide me to where I'm going. They echo a lesson I'm in the middle of learning, or speak directly to a problem I'm working through. In this case, I read two books in a row that shed light on the thoughts I'd had about Josh and his semi-word-filled brain.

The first book I read was A New Earth, by Eckhart Tolle. Now what I find interesting, and maybe even more interesting than the content of the book, is the timing of my reading of the book. This happens to me a lot. I had seen the Oprah show where she discussed this book, I had been interested, but had not run out and gotten the book to read. Only about a year later when someone had it on their Top Books list on Facebook did I order a copy from Amazon. And then, it sat around my house for a while until I finally picked it up shortly after this "peak" experience I had while driving with Josh. One of the main points that I took from the book is that we all think too much. I was like, "Yes! That's what I was just thinking!" Oh, the irony! There were other excellent ideas in the book and if I hadn't lent my copy to my mom I'd try to name another, but this thing about not thinking and this bringing peace, well, that one stuck with me.

Since my fairy-bookmothers weren't through with me yet, I happened upon another book I had lying around the house (it too had been suggested by a friend and then purchased months later...). I would have had NO WAY to think that this book: My Stroke of Insight, by Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, would be in any way related to the Tolle book. But it was like the other side of its coin. This book about a neuroanatomist (one who studies the brain's structures and functions) who experienced a stroke at age 37 and recovered to write about it is: A) an amazing read with brilliant insight into our humanity, and B) offers the scientific explanation for why we feel peaceful when we don't think.

Weird, huh? It's a reality like this that really helps me to trust life.

To sum up: I highly recommend both books and I've decided to still encourage Josh to talk. Not that I could stop him, but I'm trying to remember to insert some "just being" time with him as well. It's easy to overload a toddler with information once they understand it all, since it's just so exciting. But ultimately, I know I benefit from trying to have a more "balanced brain," as Dr. Taylor would call it, and I know that he certainly will too.

The Difficulty of Letting Go

2009-12-30T19:48:00.006-05:00

As parents, we are called upon to let go from the very beginning. But this is a tall order—I know I wanted to snuggle my little bundle close and breathe in his newborn-fresh scent forever. But that infant turned into a baby, right before my very eyes. And my baby quickly became mobile and walked his way to being a toddler. Change is so fast and furious in growing children that we are hard pressed to keep up.

But keep up and let go we must. We have all boarded the train of growth and development, and now there is just no stopping it. Toddlers become young children. Children morph into tweens and then teens who require razors and privacy. They continually challenge us to keep changing ourselves. We are most up to the task when we stay as present as possible and enjoy the ride. The truth is that we don’t get to choose whether or not we let go, only how and when.

Knowing how to let go also helps me when I want to choose my battles. I try to say “yes” as much as possible and save “no” for when I really need it. But this too, can be trickier than it sounds. Just this morning my son, while drinking juice in his car seat, asked for his milk. As I reluctantly handed it to him, I heard the voice in my head chastise, Why do you need both cups? Jeesh, one thing at a time, kid. But I kept my mouth shut as I peered into the rearview mirror and watched him clink his two sippy cups together. When I saw him slurp from one and then the other and smile wide with delight, I had to ask myself why I didn’t want him doing this. Was it too much of a good thing? Would this make him greedy? Was I imagining the cups filled with vodka?

There are plenty of reasons why it’s hard to let go, and one of them is fear. Overcoming these fears is something we have to do again and again in order to let go. Some fears are certainly justified: we rightly worry about our children’s safety and well-being. Others are somewhat irrational, such as my being afraid to bestow an abundance of beverages on my son, lest he not be able to withstand the “real world.” But the real world is merely what we, and next generations, make of it. So here’s to the present, and also to the future. May you find pleasure in each step of your parenting journey—and have a slug of diluted apple juice on me.

This post was originally published as an article in the January/February 2010 issue of Parent & Family.

getting our money's worth

2009-12-15T22:54:00.014-05:00

I never, not in a million years, thought I'd have a child who went to daycare. Let me be clear: I have nothing against daycare. I worked at a daycare, for five years. I love daycare. After I worked at a daycare, I worked at a preschool, and then I was a full time nanny, for six years.

For six years I spent my days changing diapers, feeding babies, and going to Gymboree and swimming lessons and Music Together. I cooked meals and tidied playrooms and potty trained small children. I grocery shopped, emptied dishwashers and washed and folded stacks of tiny onesies. I thought I knew how to stay home all day, manage a household and be with young children. But, (ah-ha) I had always taken care of someone else's small children. I hugely underestimated how different it would be to take care of my very own child. I certainly knew it would be different, I just didn't know how different.

First MAJOR difference: inability to leave the child(ren) at the end of the day. You know: go home, relax, maybe catch a sitcom on T.V. and GET SOME FRICKING SLEEP! I know I started to cover this topic, but that first post about sleep was truly the tip of the iceberg; more on that later! So, 35 to 45 hour/five day a week job (manageable) turned into 24/7 job (not so much). Increased hours+lack of sleep=barely functioning human being.

Secondly, the physical and emotional requirements for parenting are essentially unrelated to my previous positions:

Nanny: Please be caring, attentive, energetic and have a positive outlook on life.
Mother: Please carry an extra 25 pounds around with you for nine months before spending an entire day and night in hard labor with almost four hours of pushing before ripping the hell out of your vagina to bring new child into the world. Note that it will take approximately thirty days for the injuries to your nether region to heal. Additionally, endure painful bleeding and cracked nipples for several days before learning to use weird piece of silicone to help child nurse. Take child to specialist and freak out when tongue tie is sliced. Hold child constantly and comfort him endlessly, be aware of the fact that he will only fall asleep while being bounced vigorously on a giant yoga ball. Please cover him in a river of postpartum tears. Don't forget to contemplate his fragility on an hourly basis; cry more every time you do this. Wish that you could just die after developing a severe case of mastitis that requires antibiotics and makes the skin on the side of your left breast peel off as if sunburned. Cry additional torrents of tears. And that was just the first week.

Also, when I was a nanny, I was spending someone else's money on classes and toys and trips to the children's museum. And I worked in a clean house that I didn't have to clean. The lovely folks that I worked for had nannies and housekeepers, vastly reducing my load. The chores I did do in other people's homes were just easier to do there. You know how it's always easier to clean up another person's mess? You can be detached from it in a way that's just impossible at home. For me, picking up and cleaning my own home just feels hopeless. I abhor it.

And the last teeny, tiny difference is that taking care of your own child is just plainly and simply NOT THE SAME AT ALL as taking care of someone else's child. Enough said.

I like my job. And wanted to keep it. So Joshua started attending daycare two days a week when he was ten months old. I was very hesitant about doing this. I asked for recommendations and feedback from other parents and decided on a large corporate center run by the same organization I used to work for. I felt anxious to leave him and worried about how he would adjust to the new routine. And.....he was completely fine. He really was, and the older he gets, the more he loves his little friends.

He's been going three days a week since he was fourteen months old and he's usually there for little over eight hours a day, even though we pay a flat rate for nine. I just found out that his daycare is super expensive. Well, I knew it was expensive, but apparently it's more expensive than other options. Which I kind of knew, but didn't really think about and I don't ever want to do the math on what we pay per hour. Especially if I factor in that we pay a flat monthly rate whether or not there's a holiday, or he's sick....

Instead of facing the reality that we probably spend $30 an hour for child care, Rich has started analysing the little daily report that gets sent home each day. "What!?! No poop at school? What a rip off!" or "Two-and-a-half hour nap? What are we paying them to watch him sleep for?" Conversely, he cheers Josh on if he feels he's getting his money's worth, "Three poops....way to go son." I suppose having a sense of humor helps take the edge off.

But really, I don't think I could just be home....all day....everyday....with Josh. I could feel bad about this. But for so many reasons, this is what seems to be best for our family. We still get to go to Music Together and playgroups, we do art projects and read stories. And I get a break. I know it seems absurd, but I get a break when I'm at work. I get to think and do and reach and try and accomplish in a COMPLETELY different way than when I'm parenting. I get to (usually) not have snot on my shoulder, or trip over small toys, or constantly sweep up muffin crumbs and Cherrios. I know deep in my soul that this is good for me. And this means that it's good for Josh too. Having an emotionally wiped out and physically drained mother is not good for anyone.

And sometimes, like yesterday, I take Joshua to daycare and then go have lunch and see a movie with a friend.

I don't even feel a little bit bad about that.

the saga of sleep: part one

2009-11-29T18:55:00.014-05:00

I’m going to start at the beginning for this one.

I knew that sleep would be a major challenge for me once we started a family. In fact, sleep (or potential lack thereof) was at the top of my list of concerns about becoming a parent. Dirty diapers? Not a problem. Temper tantrums? Bring it. Feeding concerns? I can handle it (Okay, I didn’t know breastfeeding would be so difficult, but we got over that). But oh boy, sleep. I already knew enough about myself to know that I do not do well when I don’t get enough sleep. Not well at all. But really, I had no idea.

Things went south in the last month of my pregnancy when I awoke on the hour to pee. I kid you not, every single hour. I’d look incredulously at the clock in the bathroom each time I went in. Luckily, most nights I’d just go right back to sleep. It was annoying, but I survived.

Then, (after 23 short hours of labor) he was born. We’d planned to co-sleep, and did so peacefully for the first few months. I was using a nipple shield to nurse, (don’t ask, just click) so he latched on easily one or two times each night and went right back to sleep contentedly. And so did I.

I missed the writing on the wall when a friend of mine asked about how the sleeping was going. “Great!” I said a little too enthusiastically, “He only wakes up twice to nurse and then goes right back to sleep.” “Really?” she asked, “You mean you don’t dread the nighttime? That is so awesome.” Ha. Hahahaha. No, I did not dread the nighttime with horrified and crippling anxiety. I was not fraught with sobs and driven to a near-suicidal psychosis. No, all that came much, much later.

It was all fabulous until he weaned off the shield at twelve weeks. By then his latch was good but tricky to execute, kind of like a gymnastics dismount in reverse: things had to be just so. Unfortunately, “just so,” did not equal “while lying in bed.” So every night at around midnight and four AM, I’d be woken by my baby who was sleeping next to me and get up to cross the room to the rocking chair where I proceeded to nurse him for 30-45 minutes. Then we’d carefully (as to not wake him) get back into bed together. God forbid the mattress squeal when I climbed in or it was back to the rocking chair for another endless 20 minutes.

When he was about ten months old I decided that he did not need to nurse at night anymore. He was down to one feeding, but was getting fussier about going back to sleep afterward, and was requiring prolonged bouncing on a large yoga ball to fall asleep at all. Needless to say he was pretty heavy at this point. I armed myself with facts from all the books that said normal babies don’t “need” calories at night at this point. So, I cut him off the boob at night cold turkey. I simultaneously made him stay in his crib to cry it out when he woke up at night.

Sounds harsh, I know, but I was tired of catching myself putting the canned goods in the refrigerator, forgetting important commitments at work and feeling bitter whenever I heard someone talk about their baby sleeping through the night. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I called it sleep coaching and I consoled/tortured myself by staying next to his crib while he cried. He screamed his head off and stood against the crib rails reaching for me. I avoided eye-contact, patted his back and murmured softly to him. I caved one time and tried to pop him on for a quick nurse, but by then he didn’t even want to. I guess this strengthened my resolve that I was doing the right thing and as a fun bonus I got to eventually witness him learning to self-soothe. Finally (after about three hours) he sat down, whimpered and fell asleep sitting up. Yes, my child is that stubborn. The next night was only one and a half hours of pure hell. And the night after that was only about an hour. The third night we moved his crib into his own room.

I showed it to him, pointing, I said, “That’s where your crib is going to be now. This is your room and you’re going to sleep in here all night long.” He just looked at me stoically. And then...he did it! He slept in there all night long.

I was sort of disgusted with myself that we hadn’t moved him into his own room sooner.

labor and delivery

2009-11-21T20:49:00.012-05:00

I am in labor.

Right now, as we speak. I might even be coming up on transition.

It's been an unusually long gestation period, even longer than an elephant requires to grow its offspring.

At first it was just a twinkle in my eye, a vision of what might be. My creation grew and grew and grew until it was ready to be born.

It was a typical pregnancy. Sometimes I felt like crap, sometimes I was anxious. I spent several weeks wondering what the hell I'd been thinking getting myself into this situation. Some days I was elated and felt fantastic. It was quite a roller coaster, really. But now the time has come for the delivery. And this time it's real. There was some false labor a while back, but this ain't no Braxton Hicks—this is it for sure.

I'm finally giving birth to my book.

You may have noticed in my profile that I am the author of the soon to be published, What Not To Say: Tools for Talking with Young Children. This has been a true labor of love and delivery time is fast approaching. Over the past few months there have been signs of its impending arrival, making it seem like more of a reality as opposed to this potential "thing" out there.

So now I'm totally freaking out. I love this little baby of mine, but now it is happening FOR REAL!!!

I think it's actually turning out to be more frightening that having a real baby. Having a real baby is something that everyone does. Okay, not everyone, but lots of people. It's very normal to have a baby, to create a life and nurture it as it grows. It is decidedly not normal to write a book. And while this is certainly a source of pride and feelings of accomplishment, it is also scaring the living crap out of me.

You should know that I've come a long way on the shyness spectrum. I was the kind of kid who was horrified at my birthday parties because all the attention was on me. I loathed the singing, the cake, and the present opening. I literally vibrated with nervousness. That's how it felt on the inside anyway.

Now I give trainings, teach classes and facilitate groups. I can even belt out a mean White Rabbit or croon Carnival down at the karaoke bar. Admittedly, it's been a while since I've pulled that off, but I can do it. My point being that I have forged a relationship with my anxiety that allows me to achieve and perform—and to be a competent professional. I always feel a little edgy when I first get in front of a group, but I overcome it.

This book thing, well, it just feels bigger. Much bigger. WAY bigger.

I really hope the pushing part is almost over.

maybe baby

2009-11-06T13:44:00.015-05:00

So I finished reading Maybe One. It was good. And I am relieved to know that only children grow up to be just as smart, happy and well-adjusted as their sibling-having counterparts. Apparently there have been some pretty weird theories about onlies, but this is mostly a thing of the past and these days more and more people are having just one. I also whole-heartedly agree with McKibben’s view on environmental impact. As in us arrogant Westerners consume like nobody’s business—he notes that one American family creates more toxic carbon in the atmosphere than entire villages elsewhere. But I digress.

I digress and debate. I debate and discuss. Rich and I talk about the pros and cons. No one can ever claim that we’ve made this decision (in whichever direction) lightly. Right now we're holding at no. But as soon as I get used to the idea of Josh as an only child, Rich sends me an email suggesting a name for the next baby and then that seems like a pretty good idea. Don't even try to say it's ridiculous to be tossing around names already. The only way our last child got named at all is because we started talking about it 10 years before he was born. I am so not kidding.

Then here comes the day where Josh is up at five AM, I wake up with a headache and stumble downstairs to discover we're out of half-and-half. I rally since it's playgroup day and we get to the playground with a minimum of crying. It's a little too cold, but we have a good time even though it's a bit crowded and hard to talk to the other moms with kids all running in different directions. We picnic in the chilly breeze and are finally getting ready to head out when I notice the smell.

Now sometimes my little guy is saintly about diaper changes. Really, he announces, "Poop," walks over to the changing pad, lies down, amuses himself, and not a peep though the whole thing. Other times he is completely possessed. I am compelled to use an extremely overused metaphor: he becomes the Exorcist baby. And this out-the-back-of-the-car-with-the-wind-blowing-on-his-bare-bum diaper change is of the pea soup puke persuasion. And this particular poop is not, well, firm. So I am pinning him down while he screams and spews forth the vileness of one possessed while I pop open my travel wipes container and find: two wipes.

That's it. Two.

And I have to tell you, this poop that I am faced with is in no way a two-wipe poop. Not a chance. But I am far too deep in the process to bail out in search of another mom to ask for wipes back-up. So I do my absolute best with the materials at hand and somehow mange to not get poo all over myself. I'm anxious to leave him semi-poopy as I still have a touch of PTSD from the last diaper rash he had that required a prescription, but I figure I'll just change him again as soon as I get home. Then, he falls asleep in the car.

Now my anxiety kicks into high gear as I'm forced to choose between the sanctity of nap and the reality of bad diaper rash. When I think of his little crevices filled with poop, I see his sensitive skin reddening and blistering. I can actually see it, and it looks really bad. I flashback to the screams and the looks of, "Mommy, you're torturing me," as I tried to wipe him. I told you I have PTSD. It was so awful.

This means that as much as I hate to sacrifice oh-holy-naptime, I have to. I convince myself that I might be able to change his diaper while he's sleeping (this was possible on many occasions before he was eight-or-so months old) and do manage to get him out of the car, upstairs and onto the changing table before he wakes up screaming. Sca-reaming.

Now I will spare you the gory details of the rest of the day, but suffice to say that he was even less excited about that diaper change than he'd been about the previous one, and that twenty minute nap he had in the car was the only one he took.

At the end of that kind of day, when I think about having another baby, it seems like the CRAZIEST THING EVER.

Even though I really do like the name Rich suggested.

"I know a song about a beautiful whale!"

2009-10-26T10:26:00.006-04:00

You haven’t really lived until you’ve listened to Baby Beluga over and over from the Maine/New Hampshire border to my house. And when I say Baby Beluga, I don’t mean Baby Beluga the CD, I mean Baby Beluga the song. Just for the record, that’s 63 miles or approximately one hour of Baby Beluga. I’m not sure how many times that means we actually listened to the song; it’s probably a three minute song, so you do the math. But I assure you: it was a very long time. It felt like this last hour (of our eight hour trip from New Jersey) was an eternity.

When we crossed into New Hampshire we were probably able to hear two or three songs in between each request for “Baby! Baby!” But alas, by the time we were crossing the Piscataqua River, it was clear that hitting the repeat button was where we were at. Don’t get me wrong, I like Raffi as much as the next sleep-deprived mother, but by the time we got to Kennebunk, we were kind of losing it. It wouldn’t have been as bad if just the song had repeated, but this particular CD was taped at a concert and included introductory commentary and what not. After the fourteenth time my mom (aka MK) and I started talking back to dear Raffi. Once we started, we couldn’t stop:

“I know a song about a beautiful whale!” he chimed.
“Me too!” MK said brightly from the back seat where she was further entertaining Joshua with two fire proof cell phones (another bad mommy moment).
“Shall we sing Baby Beluga together?” he asked in his saccharine voice.
“Oh yes, LET’S!” I replied.

Three minutes passed and we couldn’t stop ourselves from singing along.

“I know a song about a beautiful whale!”
“Really? Do you?”
“Shall we sing Baby Beluga together?”
“We shan’t sing Baby Beluga, we shan’t!”

But we do. We listen and sing. Again. And again. And again.

“I know a song about a beautiful whale!”
Groan, whine, gag.
“Shall we sing Baby Beluga together?”
“NO! No, a thousand times, NO!”

Blessedly, Joshua became very involved in the raucous game of peek-a-boo they had going with his blankie, and I slowly reduced the volume to a barely audible level. By the time we were a mile from the house, MK demanded, “Turn that thing off for God’s sake.” So I did. And he didn’t even notice.

Between the song, the phones, and my mom’s steadfast commitment to fascinating blanket play, he did not fuss even one time in that entire last hour of travel. I’m not 100% sure, but I think it was worth it.

P.S. THANK YOU MOM!!!!!

I am a total hypocrite.

2009-10-17T13:23:00.011-04:00

Time to fess up. Another mom asked me, upon hearing that I am a parent and family educator, “So are you a hypocrite?” to which I responded, “Totally.” Sort of. I’m not a total hypocrite because I also always say to parents stuff like, “You can only do your best,” and “Everyone makes mistakes.” Of course I sometimes label my child inadvertently or praise him too much. It's not like I never lose my cool. And I often bribe him into his car seat with inappropriate items from my purse. Nobody’s perfect.

The other thing that came out at my mommy gathering: my child says “shit.” Appropriately. In context. Like when he drops something. Or falls off his ride-on Little Tikes car. I try not to laugh. And…he learned it from me. Yes, I do remind parents constantly that they are mostly teaching their child by example, and that, “Do as I say, not as I do,” is a joke. “You must model the behavior, language and tone you want to see repeated.” Uh….oops. It’s okay though. Because everyone does make mistakes. Myself included. Obviously. There is no such thing as a perfect parent. Anyone who says they are, is either lying or won’t let you meet their kids.

So my tactic was to ignore this special word that he’s been using. It hasn’t really worked though. Now sometimes he pipes up from the backseat: “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” It seems he’s confused as to why I refuse to acknowledge this particular word. My latest approach thanks to a hot tip from a Facebook friend: repeat back a similar sounding word. So now when he says “Shit,” I say, “Spit, spit, spitttooooey!” Whatever. I’m sure he’s too little to offend anyone with his vulgar language. I have plenty of time before I have to worry about parents walking away from us muttering under their breath, “She teaches other parents and her child says that!”

driven to distraction

2009-09-25T20:34:00.007-04:00

I’m driving down the road singing Old MacDonald at the top of my lungs, trying to keep an eye on the road while reaching behind me to retrieve a sippy cup for my crying toddler. This is an everyday occurrence. God forbid my cell phone chime off at this point. Even if I don’t answer it, I was already breaking the law. Because apparently Maine just passed a law against driving while distracted.

Law enforcement in my area should know I will always be breaking this law. Seriously. Always.

This recently enacted law has been written quite vaguely and doesn’t specifically ban cell phones, GPS systems, or screaming children. Another consolation: distracted driving has not been named a primary offense, meaning I can’t be pulled over for drinking coffee while changing the Raffi CD and handing Josh a cookie. Not that I shouldn’t be. In this situation I am clearly neglecting my primary goal of getting from point A to point B unscathed. However, if I am distracted with any of said activities and I break another law (swerve into another lane, run a stop sign, or hit another vehicle, all of which I never do by the way) I can be cited for that and breaking the driving while distracted law.

Fantastic.

Actually, this is a good thing. I will be forced to plan ahead! I will tuck snacks into Joshua’s car seat before heading down the road. I will give him toys and books and fun things to keep him from getting bored. I will learn even more catchy tunes to sing. I’ll memorize where all the construction sites are so I can point out dump trucks and diggers. All of this will keep him happy. For about fifteen minutes. This means I can make a scream-free trip to the grocery store. And the local library. Sadly, that’s about it. Day care/my office: half hour. Babies R Us diaper run: half hour. Doctor’s appointments: too far.

My kid is distracting! Driving anywhere with him is distracting. If he's screaming, I'm distracted. If I'm busy keeping him from not sceaming, I'm distracted. Never mind the fact that I start off each drive completely worn down from the ninja martial arts moves I had to use to get him strapped in the car in the first place. I’ve usually broken a sweat by the time I collapse in the driver’s seat. This fatigue: distracting. The very nature of being a mother is to be distracted. Should the cops ever need to meet a quota for this new law, all they have to do is be on the lookout for car seats and minivans.

And just imagine how much more distracted I’d be if I had two kids in the car. Oh. My. God.

Maybe One?

2009-09-15T13:11:00.008-04:00

I just ordered a book with the above title. Minus the question mark. But the question mark is there for me. Let’s just say I’m still debating the merits of expanding my family.

I understand the upshot of the book is "an argument for smaller families." It's apparently written from the perspective of population control and environmental impact. These are good things to take into consideration. But my concerns are much more personal.

Once your child gets to be about one and is (hopefully) sleeping though the night, people start asking when you'll have a second baby. This might seem rude, but it's actually quite accepted to broach this topic in the workplace, at playgroups and even to a stranger in line at Babies R Us. You might hear, "So, when are you going to have another?" Or, "Thinking about giving him a sibling?" As if Josh would consider it a "gift" we were "giving" him if we had another baby. Everyone knows that the decision to go for round two of sleepless nights, endless laundry and 40,567 more poopy diapers is a gift that we moms and dads rather insanely GIVE TO OURSELVES. Duh.

So since I'm a social person who tends to process things while speaking, I've actually taken up this conversation about the (potential) second baby with everyone from that stranger at the mall to my office mate. Well, I have to tell you: The jury is still out. And this is definitely NOT an unbiased panel of folks. Now my research is strictly anecdotal and to be honest, I haven’t even formed a single conclusion, but I have gathered some rather interesting comments on the subject:

“Two is so much better. The first year or two is really hard, but then they entertain each other and it’s way easier than having just one.” ~Mom of two boys.

Easier? Somehow I doubt that.

“I didn’t have siblings and I was so lonely.” ~Mother of three.

I was lonely after major meltdowns with my brother that earned us both 20 to life in our separate bedrooms.

“One’s perfect, one’s enough.” ~Mom of two

WHAT?!? A mom of two admitting that she maybe got more than she bargained for?

Don’t you want your child to have someone to lean on when you and your husband die??

Jesus. Talk about morbid. Believe it or not, I have heard this rationale from multiple sources. But there are no guarantees my children will feel supported by each other when my demise arrives.

While I’m not dwelling on what will happen to my child(ren) when Rich and I get hit by a truck, I have additional worries:

I worry that the next baby won't be healthy. (Clock ticking. Eggs aging.)

I worry that the next one will be "easier" and I'll love him/her more.

I worry that s/he will be fussier and then I'll really wonder what the hell I was thinking.

I worry that it will push us to the financial brink. Sure I already have a crib and a changing table and a diaper pail and clothes and toys. But I got all that stuff as gifts or hand-me-downs anyway. Most of our actual expenses will be repeated: diapers, food, college. Did I mention that my husband wants to save enough to someday retire AND put our kid(s) though college? ANY college? EVEN OUT OF STATE COLLEGE? And I'm afraid to mention it, and who knows if our kid(s) will be smart enough, but probably even IVY LEAGUE COLLEGE!! How insane is that?

I worry I won't be able to stop myself from comparing them. Endless, unhealthy comparing. (Like maybe one will be smart enough for Harvard, but the other won’t. How do I handle that? Do I ever admit that I think that? Even to myself?)

I worry they JUST WON’T GET ALONG. Not when they’re young. Not ever. (It could happen.)

I worry one more child will topple the (extremely) delicate house of cards my husband and I have built around (somewhat) maintaining our child/marriage/home/jobs/chores/personal time.

I worry that having siblings in my home will push my buttons even more than they’re already going to get pushed. Rich’s buttons too. Right now we have one (1) dynamic each that is being repeated in our home: For me: mother and son, (my brother’s relationship with my mother) for Rich: father and son (his relationship with his dad). Doesn’t that seem like enough baggage? You know this grows exponentially right? Add one tiny baby girl and you get:

ME: me vs. mom, my sister vs. my mom and me vs. my brother
RICH: his younger sister vs. his mom, his older sister vs. his mom, him vs. his older sister, him vs. his younger sister

At least some of these are in reverse age order, but still, that’s seven (7!) more dynamics for the price of one child. And it’s not any less complicated if we have a boy. Same exact issues. Plus if we had a boy and a girl that would be all different and messy and then someday I’D HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE HORROR OF A TEENAGE GIRL. That would probably put me completely over the edge.

Bottom line: I’m not sure I’m ready to cross the threshold into the unknown yet again. When Rich and I held hands, looked at each other, smiled, and jumped into that abyss before, I knew it would be hard. But I knew we could do it. Two just seems WAY more complicated. My friend who has more children than I can count says, “No one can have just one.”

Actually, some people can, and maybe I’ll be one of them.

Maybe.

velociraptor baby

2009-08-20T20:25:00.008-04:00

We recently returned from our first cross country trip. Windham to Manchester: 2 hour drive. Manchester to Chicago: 3 hour flight, plus 1 for layover. Chicago to Seattle: 4 hours. Seattle to Bellingham: 2 hours. Don't forget the 3 hour time difference! Did I mention that we were travelling with a toddler?

I was more than a little anxious so I planned the trip carefully. I invested $400 in a seat for Josh. I scheduled the flights around his nap schedule. I asked other moms about how they dealt with jet lag in little ones. I fretted and fussed and packed an obscene amount of food and tons of appealing toys and books in my carry-on. I even brought the obnoxious electronic thing that lights up and plays music (I hate that toy).

And it wasn't that bad.

It wasn't that bad if you don't mind being "on" for 12 straight hours (Okay, Rich and I split this duty, but it was still exhausting). It wasn't that bad if you are someone who can stay calm when your husband elbows you awake to say, "He pooped. And it leaked. Badly." Did I mention that the seatbelt sign was on? And that he was screaming at the top of his lungs? Screaming shrilly. I swear it sounded exactly like the velociraptor in Jurrasic Park. I'm sure everyone in neighboring seats would agree.

It could have been worse. Like if Rich hadn't had a extra shirt to put on and had to wear the poopy one the rest of the way there. It could have been worse if people had given us dirty looks. Or if the flight attendants hadn't brought us club soda to try to clean up his car seat (not that it helped that much).

It would have been really bad if his super-stinky, loose, blowout, humongous, foul, wretched poop had come at the beginning of our trip instead of at the end. So yes, that was a blessing. I guess it wasn't that bad if "not that bad" equals "perfectly awful." Okay, fine. It was perfectly awful.

Moral of the story: never give a 15 month-old grape fruit leather on an airplane. Ever.

So we didn't do that on the way back. And that leg wasn't that bad. Really.