Crazy.com

My friend Angela sent me an e-mail asking me an odd question. “How old would you say is too old for a child to wear a bib (when does it look freakish)?”

I was taken aback when I read the question because it has been several years since I have even seen a bib in my house. I thought back to when both my children were babies. Lily was such a neat eater I rarely used them at all. Aimee, whose meals you can still spot on her clothes, tore them off at very early age and I never bothered to use them since.

I told her I thought only babies should wear them, and young babies at that. She wrote back and said, “Okay, good. Now I can tell you my story.”

She went to visit her brother in Manhattan. He’s a successful doctor and lives with his wife and children on the pricey Park Avenue on the Upper East Side. His wife is a stay-at-home mom (but she employs a nanny full time) and she buys most of her children’s clothing at high-end boutiques. Angela told me she was feeding the kids dinner (macaroni and cheese) and insisted her 5-year-old daughter wear a bib so as not to soil her clothes.

I’m going to let that sink in a second.

“What do you think of that?” she asked.

My answer: “That is the craziest thing I have ever heard.”

I know as moms we can be very judgmental of others. I am totally guilty of wagging my finger at women who parent differently from me (as if I am the oracle of truth when it comes to raising kids). But come on, who puts a bib on a 5-year-old girl? As my friend said, it looks freakish.

While we’re on the subject, allow me to jump up on my holier-than-thou soapbox and tell you just what I think of some parenting techniques. But before I do, I need to state something very clearly: friends of mine who may or may not do one or more of these things, please do not call me up and say, “Are you talking about me?” I’m talking generally here. I am just airing my pet peeves, and just because I say these little habits grate on my last nerve, it doesn’t mean I am telling you how to parent. So please, call me only if you want to chat, not to chastise me. (But if you want to differ, that's fine. Call and tell me how you feel or post a comment. I welcome your thoughts.)

Thank you. Now, here goes:


1. Keeping the pacifier for way too long. I see 3-, 4- and 5-year-old children with their mouths plugged up all the time. I see them in the mall, at the doctor’s office, and even at the grocery store. Each time, I am appalled. This is a case where I’m not perfect, either. My kids suck their thumbs, but only at naptime and bedtime (Lily gave it up cold turkey at age 5, which most pediatricians agree is the age when most kids should stop). I’m not a fan of thumb sucking, either, but you can’t throw a thumb in the garbage. According to experts, parents just have to wait until the child gives it up. (Click here and here to read more about pacifiers and when children should give them up.)

2. Keeping kids in diapers past the age of 3. I know I’m going to get a million comments about this, but I strongly believe the only reason kids are not potty trained by age 3 is because the parents won’t do it. I know this because I had a stubborn child, and boy, was she manipulative. (Click here to read my Potty Power post and click here to read what not to do when potty training.)

3. Talking to children like they are morons. Want me to go slowly insane? Then speak baby talk to your child. I don’t care how old your kid is, trust me when I tell you he understands normal language. There is absolutely no reason to say, “You want ba-ba?” when you really mean, “Would you like your bottle?” (Click here to read more about developing a child’s language skills, and click here to read about speech delay and language development.)

4. Not letting kids grow up. I have several friends who do everything for their child. They pick out their clothes, make their beds, clean their rooms and basically allow their kids to treat them like maids. I can sort of understand why – they are either control freaks and cannot stand the idea of someone else doing a job they know they can do better, or they want to be in the kids’ life for as long as the child will let them. But if you ask me, not allowing a child to do things for themselves is a huge mistake. You’re inhibiting their growth, and stunting their self-esteem development. (Click here, and here, to read more on fostering a child’s positive self-esteem.)

5. Knowing the answer but having a million excuses. Parenting is hard. I wish it were easier, but it is without a doubt the most difficult job I have held. We have to do things that are uncomfortable and hard on both child and parent. But often in the long run, if you take the rough road, your trip becomes much smoother down the line. It drives me crazy when people complain about things and then ask for my opinion. When I give it to them, they are ready with a long list of excuses as to why they can’t do those things. Some are valid points; most, however, are not. I believe most parents know the answers but don’t want to take the time and effort to do so.

6. This isn't really about parenting, but I'm still annoyed. The culprit? Flaky moms. Last night I was supposed to go out with a mom from Aimee’s school. She asked me more than a month ago to mark my calendar and I did, excitedly. I really need more nights out and I was looking forward to getting to know her. She also said she was going to ask some of the other moms from the school and again, I was happy to spend an evening with the ladies. I e-mailed her on Monday because I hadn’t heard from her and said, “Are we still on for Thursday? I really need a night out.” She wrote back, “Me too! I’ll send an e-mail to the gang today.” I never heard back from her. I didn’t call or e-mail again because I didn’t think I needed to hound her. So, last night came and went and I was a bit deflated. Sigh.

All right, let's hear those comments, good or bad. And remember, I'm just stating my opinion here. Feel free to debate anything I said.

Photo by Jim Manning, courtesy of stock.xchng

Get On Up

I’m declaring this month Fit February. Considering there are only two more days left before March begins, you could say I’ve missed the mark a bit. But in reality, my timing is ideal because I feel most women miss the mark when it comes to taking care of themselves.

Before I had kids I made exercise a priority. I did so because I watched my own father die slowly at the age of 66. Considering I’m almost two decades away from where he was when he passed away, his young age is rather shocking to me now. My dad rarely (if ever) exercised, he ate poorly and was about 40 pounds overweight. He enjoyed an occasional cigar and a few fingers of fine liquor, but neither to excess. As he grew older he could chalk up another disease to his already dangerous repertoire, each one more dire than the next.

I get angry when I think about my dad because he robbed my kids and me of several enjoyable years. If he had only listened to my brother – a physician, who urged dad to exercise, eat healthfully and take care of himself – he could have (perhaps), lived a much longer life.

Moms and dads, I know you care enough about your kids not to be where my father ended up. And research shows we only need a few minutes of brisk exercise a day to keep us healthy. That means just taking two 10-minutes walks around the block with the kids, going to the mall and strolling inside during the winter or doing something I have recently discovered: getting addicted to FitTV.

For those of you unfamiliar with this channel, it is an offshoot of the Discovery Channel and features show after show of exercise classes. Remember those worn-out VHS tapes you used in the 80s and 90s? No need to be bored with those now. FitTV has a myriad of "classes" to choose from, including body sculpting and even Namaste Yoga.

I hurt my foot a few weeks ago (I also find I’m adding another malady to my already tired body as I get older) and the exercise class I normally do on Wednesdays is now out of the question. Yesterday morning, however, I decided to work out at home. I turned on the television and found a couple of shows that really got my blood pumping and heart beating.

There is a downside, however, to these programs. They have commercial breaks in between and I was forced to do the same move for several minutes until the show returned. But if you have a digital video recorder, as I do, you can tape these shows and view them on your own time. I decided to tape several of the shows and when I needed to do some at-home exercise, I could fast-forward through the commercials and do a couple of the shows. The result would be a great workout without the travel time, which would give me more “me” time as well. (By the way, our satellite dish company, DIRECTV, gave us DVRs for free just for signing up for a two-year contract. I had friends of mine call their cable and satellite companies to ask for similar giveaways and guess what? They got them for free as well just for being a loyal customer. Try it!)

If my foot didn’t hurt so badly, I’d jump up and down at my new discovery.

So come on, ladies and gents - you have less than four months before swimsuit season begins. Get into shape and feel good about yourselves. And make sure to send in comments and let me know how you're doing because I need some encouragement myself.

Photo by Craig Jewell, courtesy of stock.xchng

Setting Priorities

I took my girls to swimming lessons last Wednesday and found a seat in the waiting room until they finished (the swimming school they attend is ridiculously strict and doesn’t allow parents to watch until the last day of classes). While waiting I struck up a conversation with another mom, who was busily fiddling with her Blackberry. “Are you playing a game, too?” I asked, because I am addicted to Mahjong and play it on my iPhone all the time.

“No, I’m checking the weather in San Diego,” she said.

“Why, are you going there on vacation?” I asked.

“No, I’d like to move there,” she said.

We started talking about California (I'm originally from there) and this woman could recite almost every school system by rank across the country. Being a mom myself I could understand her obsession with good schools; we moved to our tiny hamlet simply to avoid having to pay for private school education. I surreptitiously checked her out while she spoke and she appeared normal: nothing fancy but not frumpy, either; her hair could have used a root touch-up; and she was probably 10 pounds overweight. (Trust me, I’m not judging – you should see what I look like these days.)

The shock, however, came when we walked back to the pool area together and met up with our kids. I usually meet my girls in the locker room because the second they get our of the pool they are freezing and want to warm up in the shower. So I didn’t notice her kids until after my kids were clean and ready to get dressed. I saw them because my own kids could not take their eyes off them.

Her children, a boy, about age 5 or 6, and a girl, about age 4 or 5, were morbidly obese. I’m not talking five pounds overweight, I’m talking 20. The girl resembled one of those headless statues in museums and had cellulite all over her body. She also had – I kid you not – very large breasts that hung down. The boy did, too, but to a lesser degree. Thankfully my girls said nothing, but their eyes said it all.

When my girls were finished getting dressed I said good-bye and we went out to dinner. I breathed a sigh of relief that my kids did not point fingers and ask questions.

At the table, Lily asked me, “Is this food healthy, Mom?” We were at a Japanese restaurant.

“Yes,” I said. “Reasonably healthy. The broccoli, carrots and edamame are healthy. If the rice were brown rice, it would also be healthy.”

“What about the chicken?” she asked.

“Well, it’s not bad, but the teriyaki sauce makes it less so,” I said. “The healthiest food is food we make at home because we know what we put into it and I make sure to use healthful ingredients.”

Lily brought up the kids we had just seen. I told her I felt very sorry for them. “Why?” she asked.

“Because it’s not their fault they are that big,” I said. “It’s their parent’s.”

I went on to explain how it’s the parent’s job to teach children how to eat healthfully, and that junk food is okay in moderation. “Why do you think I only let you have one or two treats a day?” I asked. “Because your body would not like it if all you ate was junk. Your heart would not beat properly, your blood would not flow well and you would feel bad. You also wouldn't grow properly. The reason you have to eat plenty of fruits and vegetables is because those types of foods help your body grow and work properly. ”

I was grateful for the opportunity to give an example of why I serve the foods I do, but felt sad about those kids. I think many parents give in to children's demands for food without doing the research. They give them sugar-filled cereal, sugary drinks or juice and preservative-filled cold cuts and think such items are fine as long as the kids are eating enough fruits and vegetables. But why offer those types of food when they could be happy with something like Grape Nuts and plain yogurt with honey, as my kids just ate this morning?

Pediatricians will tell you kids need to be introduced to foods 10 or 12 times before they will accept it. And a child's palate's changes as well. Lily, for instance, would not eat meatballs or sauce on her pasta for years. Then one day she announced, "Spaghetti and meatballs is my favorite." She also insisted I put the meatballs on the pasta, which was a no-no before. Aimee will try almost everything you put in front of her and has a more sophisticated palate, but she still hates anything to do with ground meat (hamburgers, meatballs, meatloaf, for instance, yet tacos make it under the radar for some reason).

I also explained to the girls that it was possible the kids they saw could have had a disease that prevented their bodies from being normal. “That’s why it’s important to respect others and never, ever make fun of them for looking different,” I said. “Because you never know why people look the way they do.”

They nodded and were silent for a bit.

“I’m glad you give us healthy food,” Lily said.

“Me too!” said Aimee.

Me three, I thought.

To read more about obesity and overweight children, and to learn how to prevent child obesity, click here. Portion control is also a key issue in establishing healthful eating habits, so click here to read more about that.

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

No Honor In Killing

Recently a 37-year-old Muslim woman, Aasiya Hassan, was beheaded by her husband in Buffalo, New York. Immediately after the killing people in the community began to spread spurious rumors about the tragedy being an “honor killing” simply because the killer was Muslim. (Fox News featured this report, compared to the real story, posted on every other news source, such as the one here from the New York Times, and this one in About.com).

Thankfully my friend and fellow journalist Mona Eltahawy wrote about this subject. She said, much more eloquently, what I wanted to say but couldn't (I'm too angry to do so). In an article, entitled, “The Sister We Missed,” Eltahawy says the following:

The right wing, determined to see a woman beater in every Muslim man, seemed to celebrate the gruesome crime as the latest example of “honor killing,” something “they” do to “their” women.

They forget that the singer Rihanna canceled her concert in Malaysia … after she reportedly complained to police that fellow singer and boyfriend, Chris Brown, had beaten her up. They forget that Scott Peterson murdered his pregnant wife.

Exactly.

Domestic abuse is deplorable in any community, yet sadly, it takes place in every country, every city, every town. And guess what? Even women do it to men! There is no culture free from violence yet we as Americans love to pigeonhole cultures and religions and look down our noses whenever people from those groups make headlines. Consider the following statistics completed by the American Bar Association:

Approximately 1.3 million women and 835,000 men are physically assaulted by an intimate partner annually in the United States.

Intimate partner violence made up 20 percent of all nonfatal violent crime experienced by women in 2001.

Access to firearms yields a more than five-fold increase in risk of intimate partner homicide when considering other factors of abuse, according to a recent study, suggesting that abusers who possess guns tend to inflict the most severe abuse on their partners.

Of females killed with a firearm, almost two-thirds were killed by their intimate partners. The number of females shot and killed by their husband or intimate partner was more than three times higher than the total number murdered by male strangers using all weapons combined in single victim/single offender incidents in 2002.

I figured since I was trying to break stereotypes I should research statistics in New Jersey, which was, until 2007, the wealthiest state in the United States (now Maryland is wealthiest and New Jersey comes in second). Contrary to what many Americans think, the highest incidents of domestic abuse were not in the poorest neighborhoods but, rather, in some of the wealthiest. And, contrary again, the ethnic makeup was surprising as well. In Gloucester county located in western New Jersey, domestic abuse calls soared above the rest of the state (it had a registered 13,000 calls regarding domestic abuse as opposed to the lowest county, which had 2,000). Here are the percentages of townspeople, by race:

The population is 87.07 percent White, 9.06 percent Black or African American, 0.19 percent Native American, 1.49 percent Asian, 0.03 percent Pacific Islander, 0.85 from other races, and 1.30 percenet from two or more races. 2.58 percent of the population is Hispanic or Latino of any race. 23.8 percent are of Italian, 19.3 percent Irish, 15.8 percent German and 7.6 percent English ancestry according to Census 2000.

My point isn’t to point fingers at white men, black men, rich men or poor men. My point is to say we need to stop the name calling and, instead, stand by the women who endure such awful torture. If her husband is African-American or Pakistani, does her abuse change? If she is white, are her bruises less painful? We cannot put these crimes neatly into boxes and label them cultural problems. We need to call the crime what it is: violence.

Big Deal

When I was pregnant with my first child I decided to take a class on natural birth. To give you an idea of how random my choice was, when everyone in the class was asked who planned on giving birth naturally – without drugs – the only person who didn’t raise their hand was me. “Are you kidding me?” I thought to myself as I looked around the room at the women who were going to writhe in pain while birthing their babies (one of whom was about to have twins). “If I could get the epidural now, I would.”

I took the class simply because I wanted to be prepared. What if I couldn’t get the epidural? What if the baby came too fast and I dilated so quickly I had to deliver without drugs? (Considering I was in labor for three days with Lily and she still didn’t want to come out after an inducement, the idea now is very laughable.)

My longwinded point centers around the controversy regarding Salma Hayek and how she breastfed an African baby. (I’ll get to that in a minute.) The women who taught my birthing class were also incredibly in favor of breastfeeding. I always figured I would breastfeed my baby, too, but when we started to discuss how to nurse the baby, I cringed. “I don’t think I can do that,” I whispered to my husband, who met my admission with a shocked stare.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “You’re going to do it, right? I mean, it’s what’s best for the baby.”

I became incensed. I wanted him to say, “I know it’s a little weird, but think of all the benefits. For one, you develop a bond with the baby. Second, breast milk is the ideal food for a newborn. Third, you are giving the baby antibodies to help it fight any infection.” But he didn’t say that. So I got mad.

“What if I hate it? What if the baby hurts me?” I asked, my voice rising.

He patted my shoulder (by now he was used to my pregnancy fits) and said, “It’s going to be fine. Just try it first, and if it doesn’t work out, you can stop.”

I sighed and felt a huge wave of relief. Of course! I could always say no later, but I should try it. I nodded my head and listened to the instructor intently.

Considering I have nursed both my children exclusively until they weaned themselves at 9 months, you can pretty much say I am also a proponent of breastfeeding. However, I am not judgmental about women who don’t (okay, maybe a little, but if they had a hard time with it, didn’t make enough milk to feed the baby or kept getting infections, I completely understand why they gave up). I know nursing is not for everyone, especially working moms who are forced to sit in a dark room and pump several times a day (you couldn’t pay me to do that; I hated pumping). I think feeding a baby with breast milk is the most natural thing a woman can do, and I am appalled that women are not given the freedom to do so in public. I am not offended when I see a woman nursing her baby in public (unless her breast is hanging out – there is something to be said for etiquette) and I get angry if I hear someone say something negative about it. All moms know this – when a baby is hungry, he or she is hungry. There is almost no time to find a private place to feed him or her. Babies go from hungry to starving in about four seconds, so if it means you have to get that breast out in a restaurant, so be it. (Just cover yourself, ladies.)

So why all the commotion over Selma Hayek feeding that baby in Africa? Here is a relatively healthy woman giving food to a one-week old malnourished baby. If my baby was hungry and I could not produce milk for it (as was the case with the baby’s mother), would I be grateful for someone who could? You bet I would. (Click on the link above to see the baby's happy face after he was fed. I almost cried it was so sweet.)

Americans really need to lighten up when it comes to breastfeeding. What a woman does with her body, especially for the greater good of a child, is her own business. If she chooses to nurse, fine. If not, fine as well. If it's not your child and no one is getting hurt, what's the big deal?

Photo by Carin Araujo, courtesy of stock.xchng

Letting The Days Go By

Sometimes when I’m parenting I feel like I’m having an outer body experience. I see myself, a 42-year-old woman, making grown-up decisions and handling difficult situations, and I want to yell, “You go, girl! How’d you do that?”

In the past two weeks, my husband and I refinanced our home, purchased a new car (finally!), made some improvements to our home and celebrated the seventh year of our oldest child's life. When I think about what we have done, there is nothing extraordinary in our actions. Most married couples with kids (and some without) do those types of things on a daily basis. But people, do you realize who we’re talking about here? Me! And my husband! When I think about the two of us, I picture two young, carefree and relatively immature kids who were thrown 20 years into the future to make hard choices and raise two strong-willed kids. What the hell? More to the point – and allow me to quote the Talking Heads – how did I get here?

There are times when I am forced into a situation with my children and I find myself completely stumped. And we’re talking about young kids. What am I going to do if they come home from school in junior high with a note from the teacher that says they were caught kissing under the bleachers? What if they get nabbed by the cops when they are 16 for drinking under age and are put in detention (as what happened to my brother)? I know age isn’t something that will help me. Sure, with age comes some wisdom, but come on. We really have no idea what we’re doing most of the time, do we?

These thoughts of inadequacy often make me think back to my own parents. When I do, I find myself much more sympathetic about their mistakes. They, too, must have felt like kids when they raised us, and they, too, often must have parented by instinct, as well as by trial and error.

There are a zillion parenting books out there, but let’s be honest – kids sometimes do not mirror examples in a book, and they constantly throw us curve balls. I don’t want my kids to know how I feel because such knowledge would be powerful to them. Maybe when they are older and have their own kids I can finally admit, “Yes! I know exactly how you feel!”

Until then, I’ll read as much as I can, talk to people who’ve already been through what I am now going through, and hope for the best. That’s pretty much all a parent can do, don’t you think?

Photo by Atif Gulzar, courtesy of stock.xchng

The Kindness of Strangers

Cyberspace can be an oddly comforting place. I have visited several other blogs and, in doing so, “met” some really wonderful people with whom I formed a cyber friendship (Jenny B and Korisa, to name a few). I use quotation marks because I haven’t actually been introduced to these people, nor have I seen them (unless they posted photos) and the only correspondence I’ve had has been through e-mail or by posting comments and having them respond (or vice versa).

So imagine my pleasant surprise when one reader of this blog, Kimber, sent me an e-mail asking if she could make something special for my children. Being a street-wise gal, my initial thought was, “Wait, should I be doing this? I don’t really know this person and yet I’m sending her my personal information.” However, I have always had a strong sixth sense, and I immediately knew Kimber (with whom I’ve been in touch via e-mail for almost a year, maybe more) was purely altruistic in her intentions. She told me her hobby was making children’s clothing and wanted to design something nice for my girls. She asked me to send her their favorite colors and their measurements. A little more than a week later, a package arrived at my door. Inside were two beautifully crafted skirts and two small packages, one marked “Aimee” and one marked “Lily.” My girls, who had already marveled at the stunning handiwork of their own skirts, tore open the packages to find matching skirts made especially for their dolls. They began to jump up and down and run around, saying, “Yay!” Aimee tore up the steps to fetch her doll and quickly put the skirt on. She said, “I’m going to wear mine tomorrow, Mommy!”

Lily, who wanted to wear the skirt for something special, said, “I’m going to wear it on Friday because it’s my birthday.” She also put the matching skirt on her favorite doll.

To express in words how I feel about these gifts would not come close to the reality. I am incredibly touched by Kimber’s kindness, and more to the point, I am incredulous that someone would do something so generous and so thoughtful for someone she didn’t know.

Thank you so much, Kimber. I personally think you should sell those skirts (because everyone who saw them commented on how gorgeous they are) and if you ever decide to do so, let me know. I'll be happy to advertise on this site.

Happy Birthday, Lily!

Today is Lily’s 7th birthday, which means I’m busy getting ready for her party, stuffing goody bags (don’t get me started), running errands and growing increasingly nervous that I forgot to do something important. I have a lot to talk about but those posts will have to wait. Hell, I don’t even have time to lament how quickly she’s grown. I’m just too busy, people!

By the way, I want to shout out to those of you who post comments. I may not always respond, but I do always read and appreciate them. Thanks for reading, folks.

Hope you have a great day. More tomorrow.

Inhumane

It’s funny how much a person can change over the years. When I look back to my 20-year-old self, I wonder who that person is. She is unsure, defensive and struggles with depression. She tries to find her place in the world. She gets easily frustrated and doesn’t know how to handle many situations because she has led a somewhat sheltered life. She also has intense opinions about some subjects, and sadly, she is ill informed on many of the subjects she discusses with such ferocity.

If I could slap that woman, I would.

I mention my former self because of an incident that has been all over the news lately. The story is about a 70-year-old woman who was mauled severely by her friend's pet chimpanzee, age 14. He tore off most of her face, and doctors said her recovery chances were slim at best.

The aforementioned 20-year-old woman would have read that article and been sad, but probably wouldn’t have given it much thought. Here I am, more than two decades later, and that same article horrifies and upsets me greatly. The young woman never gave much thought to the treatment of animals. She frequented zoos and didn’t notice how some of the animals were clearly sad or insane. However, after a heated debate with her friend Lisa over her desire to visit a zoo about 15 years ago, she started to notice how animals were treated. Now it’s two decades later and what I have seen has depressed me. (My friend Lisa, who is a member of anti-cruelty and an expert dog trainer, in addition to being a successful public relations director, will be laughing at me for writing this today. She is going to laugh, because she has much more class than to wag her finger at me and say, “Told you so, stupid.”)

The chimp’s owner kept him as a pet. His “social skills” included “drinking wine from a stemmed glass, dressing and bathing himself and using a computer,” according to an article in the New York Times. (Seriously - should anyone be feeding alcohol to animals?) On the day of the attack, she gave him tea laced with Xanax. She claimed he was “like a son to her.” (Moms, are you feeding your children wine and drugs? If so, please stop.)

I could not help but think there is a reason we are called human beings and they are called animals. Our brains and DNA may be similar, but hell, even scientists admit there is a missing link.

I also cannot imagine why more isn’t done to make sure animals are treated with respect and dignity. The Central Park Zoo has a clearly deranged polar bear. He paces back and forth in a teeny, tiny enclosure and, because he looks so upset, I cannot bear to pay money to take my children there again. In Cairo, Egypt, the animals (even domesticated ones) are treated so inhumanely I actually wept and yelled at some of the owners. (They laughed at me; I have since discovered in most Third World countries animals are treated as if they have no feelings or needs.)

I know there are animal activists doing everything they can to make sure animals are treated with kindness, but I feel stories like the chimp mauling one happen too frequently. People own wild animals such as tigers, crocodiles and elephants when really those animals should be roaming free in their natural habitat. Sure, there are exceptions, and I understand that. But overall, how many of us would enjoy being placed in a small cage or a glass enclosure?

Even zoos with a good reputation really need to get their act together. Several years ago, before I had children, my husband and I visited the Bronx Zoo (the zoo's Web site states it is "saving wildlife and wild places"). The place was packed with people, and spotting a zookeeper to was close to impossible. At one point while looking at the snow leopards who were sleeping, a man (who wanted a reaction from the sleeping creature) jumped up on the bar and began banging on the glass separation. I kept looking around for someone who worked there to stop him, but no one did. Finally, I said, “They have a gate and a glass window for a reason. They don’t want you to bother them.” He laughed at me and then told his kids to ignore me. My husband and I shook our heads and left. We both vowed to never visit that place again. (There were other incidents, by the way, but the snow leopard one was the most egregious.)

The most humane zoo I ever visited was, oddly enough, the Singapore Zoo. Rather than being kept behind bars, the animals are given large plots of land and are separated by huge moats. (Click here to read the zoo's open concept.) Animals appeared healthy and happy and even visitors were watched carefully to be sure they did not disturb or upset the animals.

I understand human beings are our first priority, because many people (especially these days) are suffering. But shouldn’t we care for all living creatures? I realize I sound like a hippie whose been hitting the pipe a few too many times, but ever since I became a mom my feelings for animals have intensified. Maybe it’s a maternal instinct kicking in, or maybe it’s that I just want to set a good example for my offspring. Either way, I thought I would mention it today, because I have a feeling there are other moms out there who feel the same way I do.

Stepping Stones

Every so often I get an e-mail from the Web site Babycenter.com giving me updates on milestones, development and other news regarding my children. I love these newsletters because sometimes they warn me of products that have recently been recalled (such as the one for hooded sweatshirts, which posed a strangling risk because one child died when the ties of his hood got caught on playground equipment). Also, the editors and experts give parents an idea about what you child should be doing by a certain age. (You can get a bulletin tailored for each child.)

The latest e-mail regarding children age 6 to 8 had me smiling. In fact, angels began to sing, the sky turned clear and I swear God’s voice said, “You are coming to the finish line, my child.” In the self-care milestone section, this is what is stated:
What to expect your child to achieve by the end of the eighth year: • Makes lunch • Cleans room • Packs school bag

Hallelujah! Thankfully, because my kids are Montessori-trained, they have been making their beds and cleaning their rooms for several years now. Yet every morning I get up, take a shower and rush downstairs to pack Lily’s lunch (and two days a week I pack Aimee’s). As most moms I know will agree, I am so sick of making meals. For the first couple of years after you have a child, it feels like you are constantly in the kitchen, either preparing food or washing dishes. Now that my girls are getting older, they can get their own snacks, and most mornings they make their own breakfast. Lily is in first grade and this year I had to pack a lunch for her. After the first two months, I started wondering when she would be able to do this all for herself.

Thank you, Babycenter, for your response, albeit later than I wanted.

As I read further, another lovely tidbit brightened my day:
Helping out around the house: Children this age can pick up their toys, make their beds, and clean their rooms — they can even take the vacuum cleaner out for a spin. They can also lend a hand with tasks in the kitchen and garden.

They can vacuum? Well, if pushing a heavy machine around is something they are able to do, a dust cloth is going to be a child’s play. Pretty soon I’ll be able to do what most stay-at-home moms are accused of doing (even though it’s far from the truth): sit on the couch, watch Oprah and eat bonbons.

Happy Camper Club, here I come!

(To read more on your child's development by age, click here)
Photo by G & A Scholiers, courtesy of stock.xchng

Read

Like most moms and dads, I read to my children every night (with a few exceptions). Last year I attended a Parent Teacher Organization meeting and reading specialists were the guest speakers. “Read, read and read some more,” they advised. “Even if your children can read on his or her own, read to them. They benefit greatly from hearing you read to them.”

“Damn,” I thought to myself. “I was under the impression my job was almost done.”

Don’t get me wrong; I love to read. In fact, I read voraciously. But I like reading my books and my magazines. And when it’s bedtime, I have to read the kids' favorite books, which at times, can be just torture. (If I never read another princess book in my lifetime it will be too soon. Honestly, Disney, what kind of misogynists do you hire over there?)

Luckily, we have a wonderful public library in town, and through trial and error I have found some great books that both my kids and I enjoy readings.

The latest series of hardcovers include Olivia and Charlie and Lola. When Lily was 2 she was given Olivia Saves The Circus as a present, and to be honest, I never really liked it. But a week ago Aimee picked out the latest release, Olivia Forms A Band, and it was so funny and smart even I enjoyed reading it. Later we read the first book, entitled simply Olivia, and laughed just as hard. The author, Ian Falconer, is clever and illustrates beautifully, incorporating real life images with his own.

Charlie and Lola books (there is also a television series) are written by British author Lauren Child. These books are really witty and charming. Some favorites are I Am Not Sleepy and I Will Not Go To Bed, and I Completely Know About Guinea Pigs. They are based on the adventures of a big brother and his little sister, and the two characters are almost identical in spirit and nature to my two girls. We all crack up when reading these books, and because my girls have seen most of the t.v. show (it’s one of the few they are allowed to watch), they tell me how the books differ slightly from the shows and the funny things Lola says.

So just in case you're looking for a few good books for kids age 2 to 8 (or perhaps older), try the Charlie and Lola or Olivia series.

Photo by Sanja Gjenero, courtesy of stock.xchng

Sunday

Hi All. I had minor surgery on Friday (nothing big, just "lady problems") and I'm really not feeling up to writing today. Will try to write tomorrow. Hope you're enjoying a fabulous President's Day weekend.

Peace.

Happy Valentine's Day

I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day. Before I got married, I can count the number of times I had a boyfriend at this time on one hand and still have four fingers leftover. Needless to say, this day has never been one I considered to be special. For one, I have always felt it alienates people (namely, me). Those who do not have a lover or significant other are forced to spend this day wondering where they went wrong in their relationships or pining for a life with someone special. For a holiday meant to celebrate love, could it be any more cruel?

Of course, my ill-fated Valentine’s experience makes me think of my own children and their possible future heartbreaks. My girls are still young enough where everyone in their class gives each other special cards and presents, so Valentine’s Day to them is a day filled with fun and excitement. I add to the fun as well, because I give them little trinkets on this day (I got them a little heart-shaped box of chocolates with a tiny teddy bear attached to it, and a little box of stamps made just for the holiday). But what will happen when they get to school and they only get one (or – gasp – none?!) Valentine? I cannot bear to think of their little hearts breaking over a silly made-up celebration.

As usual, I’m getting carried away here. For all I know my girls may get a million Valentine cards and always think fondly of this day. Or, they may just think the whole thing is silly and not care at all. When I was younger my dad always sent me a card and sometimes a bouquet of flowers. I always appreciated his thinking of me and knew I would never go without some indication of affection. My husband has filled my dad’s shoes very nicely, too. Each year I wake up on February 14th to a huge bouquet of red roses (cliché, I know, but believe it or not, he gets them because I love them) and a card. In the last few years, he has also added a fun piece of jewelry (yay, he got the hint!) and this year I got beautiful and unique bracelet made by a local artist.

No matter how my girls view this day, my husband and I will always be there to give them a little trinket to make them feel they are loved by at least their mom and dad. Who says February 14th is just for lovers?

I hope you remember your loved ones this holiday and that it is as special as everyone deserves.

Photo by Penny Mathews, courtesy of stock.xchng

Report Cards

Here’s a question for you: when you child comes home with a great report card, and you try to talk to her about it, does she cry, throw a fit and yell at you?

I didn’t think so.

But that’s exactly what Lily did. Yesterday was report card day (I’ll get to Lily’s reaction in a moment). When I was a kid, report card day was the worst day of the school year. Every note by the teacher read: “Talks too much in class. Does not pay attention. Is disruptive.” The long list of bad behavior was embarrassing and shameful. And every time, I would get spanked and punished. I continued on that path until I was in junior high school, when I was older and more mature, and when grades began to matter to me.

My bad behavior as a child is exactly the reason I became so diligent about enforcing good behavior with my own kids. It’s not that my parents accepted the way I acted as a child. It’s that their parenting was largely the reason for my bad behavior. There were no clear boundaries and I was spanked for everything from bad grades to expressing my opinion. My parents parented me the best they knew how; at the time, I believe, most parents did not understand how debilitating crushing a child’s spirit can be, or how important consistency in parenting is when raising a child.

So here I am with my own kids, who are relatively well behaved for almost everyone except their mother. I don’t get the same butterflies in my stomach when Lily hands me her report card because I know the teacher’s comments will be positive and laudatory. However, I also know my kids are far from perfect and they have a lot to learn.

Ah, here comes the rub.

I have read that parents should focus on the positives with their children. In How To Talk So Your Kids Will Listen, And Listen So Your Kids Will Talk, the authors discuss a situation where a boy brings home his report card. The boy, visibly nervous about his bad grade in math, keeps saying to his father, “You’re not gonna like it.” And, “Wait until you see the grade for math.”

The father, however, points out all the positives and ignores the math grade until the end. The boy says, “See, I knew you’d be mad,” when in fact, the father has not shown any anger at all. Instead, the father says, “So this is the subject you’re having some problems with.”

The boy says, “Yeah. I’m going to do much better in math.”

“How are you going to do that?” asks the father.

“Well, I’ll try harder.”

“How?”

The boy thinks and says, “I’ll study harder and I’ll do all my homework.”

“Sounds as if you’re setting goals for yourself," the father says. "Let’s get a piece of paper and write some of them down.”

Well, that was a lovely example, but it was nowhere near close to what happened at my house. I have to preface this story by telling you about Lily’s swimming lessons. She also got a report card, and when I sat down with her to show her what the teacher wrote, I thought I did the right thing. “Look at all these things you have completed!” I said, pointed to the “achieved” marks on the paper. Then I said, “Do you want to know what these marks mean?” I pointed to the “needs improvement” part. She nodded. “These are just marks that tell us what you need to practice more. Does that make sense?” She nodded and we went over what each mark meant. When we were done, I hugged and kissed her and said, “Great job, Lily.” Then I changed the subject.

Because our little swimming chat went so well, I assumed (stupidly) that I could handle her school report card similarly. I began by saying, “Lily! Wow, look at all those great grades!” I showed her the marks and what they meant (S for succeeded, D for developing and E for just beginning to understand). Look how many S’s you have.” I then said, “There are only a couple of D marks, so let’s talk about them.” As soon as I began to speak, she got upset, began to cry and started yelling. I tried to figure out what was going on with her. Was she hungry? After all, she just got home from school. Was she tired? I couldn’t tell.

So I said, “Listen, why don’t you get yourself a snack and we can talk when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now.”

“It doesn’t look like you’re ready. You seem very upset to me.”

“I said I’m ready.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

I told her to get a snack and we could talk while she ate. She got herself some crackers and an apple and sat down.

“Okay, let me start over. I want you to know I’m really proud of you, honey. This is the kind of report card every mom is thrilled to get. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I just wanted to go over the things your teacher says you need to practice.” She began to cry again. “Why are you crying?”

“What do you mean? At school?” she asked.

“Well, no. At home. And I don’t mean you have to sit down and do these things separately, these are just things to keep in mind when you do your homework,” I said.

She seemed to calm down, but only a little. The problem with Lily, which I am sure is a problem with many 6-year-olds, is her attention span lasts about one sentence. I know when I speak to her I have to use short sentences and be very clear. Often times I can practically see her mind wandering as I speak. I knew this was the case here. She thought I was telling her she needed to do extra work at home. She wasn’t hearing how well she was doing, she only heard what she was doing wrong. I decided to talk about all the things she did well instead. I went over all the S marks and finally said, “Wow. Are you proud of yourself for doing all that?” She nodded. “Me, too, honey. I’m so proud of you.” I put the report card away and changed the subject.

Like most parents I know, I really do care about grades. I want her to succeed and do well in school. And she is. But this is only first grade. What about elementary school, junior high and high school? I found an interesting Web site called Essortment which offers free articles on health, science and education. In one article, entitled How To Encourage Your Child To Get Good Grades, the author, Rose Halas, suggests offers the following suggestions:

1. Talk about it. Don't expect your child to know what is expected or how you feel about the good or bad grades that come home at report time. Be clear in setting a reasonable standard. While you want to emphasize that careless neglect of studies will lead to loss of privileges (such as telephone, computer, or television), you should highlight the positives of earning good grades and what rewards may be expected.

2. Write it down. Post a chart on the refrigerator for young children, or make a contract with high school kids that rewards high marks with driving or social privileges. Whatever your system is, make a written copy so students can check it anytime, especially if the guidelines are detailed or complex, such as awarding $5 per A, $4 per B, and nothing per C or lower. Ignoring children’s school grades means they will likely not care either.

3. Offer a reward. As indicated above, rewards may be tangible, such as dollar amounts, or they may be intangible, like privileges. Be reasonable in assessing the value of your student's academic performance, keeping in mind that some kids are natural scholars while others are clearly the opposite.

4. Gear studies to your child's aptitude. If your son loves sports, order a software program that uses professional game clips or players' names to endorse a learning method. For kids who love the outdoors, suggest they ask for extra credit assignments connected to nature study. Look for ways to link personal interests to school progress.

5. Get involved. Volunteer at school. Studies show that parents who help out at their child's school tend to see improved grades in their children's report cards. You also may want to suggest that the teacher adopt a rewards program (using books, ice cream, fast food, etc.) as an incentive to prompt high achievement levels.

6. Give hugs. Recent research indicates that kids still like Mom and Dad to hug or embrace them, but not in front of their friends. Parents remain the most influential people in their kids' lives, so be a good role model in valuing education, reading for leisure, and praising academic success.

Kids are naturally curious and love to learn about things that interest them. Tap this quality to motivate your children to strive for excellence. Both you and they will benefit.

Photo by Kriss Szkurlatowski, courtesy of stock.xchng

Little Valentine

The Valentine to the left is what Lily brought home from school. To clarify, it reads: “You are the lucky kid ‘cause I love you.”

“Look, Mom, look what I found in my backpack,” Lily said to me. She flipped the homemade card over and showed me the front. It had a multi-colored drawing on it and two words: “To Lily.”

“Who’d you get that from?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I was looking in my folder and found it in there.”

“Oh,” I said. I read the note. “Ooh, someone loves you!”

She smiled shyly. “Of course they do,” I said, hugging her tightly. “Who wouldn’t love such a great kid?”

Lily is in first grade. I can’t remember being in first grade at all. I mean, I can remember snippets, but I don’t remember how I felt about boys back then, and I certainly don’t remember falling in love that early.

When I was growing up, I was forbidden from talking to boys on the phone, and when I was a teenager, I was not allowed to date. My parents allowed me to go out in groups with boys when I was in junior high, but otherwise they were very strict about my interaction with them. (My parents considered sex before marriage as a no-no.) Not being able to go out freely with boys was hard for me because, when I was younger, most of my friends were of the opposite sex. I was a tomboy who was a member of the cross country team and I loved listening to rock and roll music. I just had much more in common with boys than with many of the girls.

I don’t feel the same way as my parents do about sex, although I do want my children to make wise choices when taking that first step toward a relationship. Do I think teenagers should be having sex? No. Do I think they should save themselves for marriage? Again, no. But as my husband once said to me, “Kids will do what they want to do, and there is nothing you can do to stop them.”

Well, that’s a scary thought.

Because I am navigating with my own map, I often find I don’t know how to handle these kinds of situations. Take this Valentine for instance. To me, it’s a relatively harmless note, but it’s meaning is intense. This person (a boy, I assume) is telling my child she is lucky because he picked her to be the recipient of his love. If that same Valentine were given to a girl much older, it was seem kind of stalker-ish, don't you think? When should I worry about her admirers? When do I explain that some men are not able to handle love and she needs to give her affection to the man who is deserving?

I’ve mentioned before that talking to children about sex is a parent’s best defense against risky behavior. According to TalkingWithKids.org, “studies show that kids who feel they can talk with their parents about sex – because their moms and dads speak openly and listen carefully to them – are less likely to engage in high-risk behavior as teens than kids who do not feel they can talk with their parents about the subject.”

Additionally, our conversations need to be more involved, rather than just a quick overview. “By discussing the emotional aspect of a sexual relationship with your child, she will be better informed to make decisions later on and to resist peer pressure. If your child is a preteen, you need to include some message about the responsibilities and consequences of sexual activity. Conversations with 11- and 12-year-olds, for example, should include talks about unwanted pregnancy and how they can protect themselves.” (Click here to read more on talking to your children about sex.)

The Talking With Kids Web site offers these 10 Tips for Talking With Your Kids About Tough Issues

1. Start early.
2. Initiate conversations with your child...
3. ...Even about sex and sexuality.
4. Create an open environment.
5. Communicate your own values.
6. Listen to your child.
7. Try to be honest.
8. Be patient.
9. Use everyday opportunities to Talk.
10. Talk about it again. And, again.

I realize I'm jumping the gun here, and I know a simple Valentine does not mean my child is playing doctor under the bleachers (yet!). But I also know that I need to be realistic about how fast children grow up these days, and I need to be ready for when my girls start to notice the boys in their class.

Valentine by Lily's secret admirer.

Double Hubris

My husband took our girls to a birthday party a few weeks ago. He was planning on dropping them off but got caught up in a conversation with some of the dads whose kids were also at the party. One of the fathers, a Wall Street Banker, said, “Yeah, I just don’t know how they’re going to do it. I mean, who can live on four-hundred thousand dollars a year in the tri-state area?”

Oddly enough, the New York Times had a similar story on the front page of its Sunday Styles section this weekend entitled, “You Try To Live on 500K in This Town.”

I currently live in the New Jersey suburbs, and five years ago I lived in Manhattan. When we lived in New York City it felt like no matter how hard we tried to save, we could only hemorrhage money. Living there was so expensive we could not wait to get across the Hudson River and find a place of our own. Just leaving the city made us several thousand dollars richer in taxes, because Manhattanites are taxed on everything from the air they breathe to the water they drink. So yes, if you want to live comfortably, which means affording a two-bedroom apartment, maintenance fees, private school (because most public schools in the city are abysmal), transportation and common household goods (food, etc), you need to make at least $500,000 a year (note: according to the article, “If a person is married with two children, the weekly deductions on a $500,000 salary are: federal taxes, $2,645; Social Security, $596; Medicare, $139; state taxes, $682; and city, $372, bringing the weekly take-home to $5,180, or about $269,000 a year, said Martin Cohen, a Manhattan accountant.” I know to most Americans that still sounds like a lot of money. But consider this: an average two-bedroom apartment is about $4,000 a month in rent. If you want to purchase a two-bedroom apartment, you need at least $800,000 to $1 million. The housing market bubble has not burst in New York City, although it is shrinking.)

However, living in Manhattan and living in the suburbs are two completely different situations. Our town (and the nearby town in which this man lives) has exceptional public schools, so sending your children to private schools is not at all necessary. The cost of living is above average for the nation but manageable. And taxes are far less, well, taxing. One can easily live on a fraction of $500,000, and many people here do (including our four-member family). Do I wish we had a little more pocket money? Yes. But do I also have the hubris to say, “Well, any salary less than half a million dollars is not worth making”?

You gotta be kidding me.

Naturally, when my husband told me what the man at the party said, I began to seethe (oh, and by the way, he is the husband of the woman I mentioned pruning in a previous post). For one, to say such a thing in public, to people who clearly do not make $500,000 a year, was shocking and insensitive. Are we supposed to feel sorry for the poor Wall Street bankers who were paid lofty bonuses despite the fact that we, the average taxpayers, bailed them out? Are we supposed to be sad that they can’t rent their beach houses this summer? Better yet, are we supposed to believe that they won’t be able to live well on half a million dollars a year?

I just signed a petition from MoveOn.org asking Congress to put enforceable, common sense limits on salaries at all the banks taking taxpayer dollars.

If you, too, want to voice your opinion, please click here and sign the petition as well.
Photo by Billy Alexander, courtesy of stock.xchng

Diary of Love

Every Monday I look forward to reading a section in the New York Times called Metropolitan Diary. Each week people recount funny anecdotes regarding a recent trip to (or an average day in) New York City. Here is the first one in today’s paper:

On a recent walk with friends along the Promenade in Brooklyn Heights, we were approached by a young man and woman. They were bundled up against the harbor’s winds, and each held a large armful of red roses.

“Do you have a few minutes?” they asked.

Like good New Yorkers, we eyed them suspiciously. “A few minutes for what?”

They explained that their friend was going to propose to his girlfriend, that he would soon be walking with her along the Promenade and wanted strangers to approach them as they passed and each hand her a rose. The three of us — young, single women — certainly had a few minutes to spare for love. They handed us the roses and moved on. Soon enough, the couple appeared. As they approached us, the woman’s arms grew weighed down with the red blooms, each handed to her by a complete stranger. When it came my turn to present her with a rose, I could see that both she and her companion were beaming with joy. We watched as they continued their walk. When they reached the middle of the Promenade, he dropped to one knee and proposed. They kissed, roses pressed between them.

As we walked away, teary-eyed, we ran into their friends happily watching from the bushes.

“Thanks!” they said to us.

“Our pleasure,” we replied.

I point out this particular story because I often think back to the day I got engaged. My happiness was tempered by grief, because one month after I got engaged my father died. I spent my engagement weeping and sad, while simultaneously planning my wedding from 10,000 miles away (I was living in Cairo and was to be wed in Los Angeles, where my mother lived at the time).

Suffice it to say, our marriage didn’t start out they way most happy marriages begin. I was miles away from my close friends and family, and my small network of expatriate pals was dwindling each month when their contracts ended and they, too, moved away. I would often wonder if the joy of marriage would ever come to light; at the time, I could only see the dark stages of grief.

Thankfully, I married a man with a very, very good sense of humor. His sharp wit and ability to see the levity in most situations is what kept our relationship afloat. (Well, his humor and a really good therapist, frankly.) Even today, when our kids are throwing fits, the laundry is piling up and the to do list is growing, I can look at my mate and he will inevitably say something to make me laugh.

What is the point of this post, you may ask? To remind you to laugh. Studies show that by just smiling, you can trick your body into changing your mood. (Click here to read another article on this subject.) I often get caught up in what is right and what should be, but I need to be reminded that life can be very funny. I mean laugh-out-loud, hilariously funny. I’m also reminding you to think back to when you first fell in love and to remember to take steps to get there again.

Once we become parents we forget to be lovers and friends with our spouses. Your marriage should take priority over your children. As most (if not all) experts advise, a child thrives best in an environment where his or her parents (or parent) is happiest. As one relationship coach wrote:

A strong marriage is one in which the married couple spends time together. With the hectic schedule of the modern world, couples have to make time to just be alone together. This can be anything from the weekly scheduled date night to an hour or so spent together in the evening after the kids are in bed. On a regular basis, the couple in a strong marriage will do something together that they enjoy... If your marriage is not strong, your children will be able to feel it. If husband and wife are constantly arguing and bickering, and seldom or never affectionate, children will learn to behave this way when they grow up. (Click here to read the entire article.)

Take your kids to their grandparents, hire a sitter and take a day or two to really get to know your spouse again.

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

A Father Really Figures

I have mentioned before how lucky I am that I had a loving father in my life. My dad and I were very close, and no matter what my dilemma or situation, I never had a problem talking to him. He wasn't judgmental or preachy, and he would offer his opinion only when I asked.

I believe – strongly – that the bond with my dad allowed me to make wise choices about the men in my life. I never wasted time with guys who were not worthy. I would watch my friends (and now, looking back, I realize those women did not have a close male in their lives) as they endured bad relationships and settled for men who treated them like second-class citizens.

What most fathers do not realize is just how much of an impact they have on their daughters’ lives. Growing up with a man who gives strong signals that you matter, that what you do is significant, who validates you as a person, and who supports your decisions is the greatest gift a girl could receive.

I recently read an article in the New York Times about President Barack Obama. To quote of his advisors, David Alexrod, “The chance to be under the same roof with his kids, essentially to live over the store, to be able to see them whenever he wants, to wake up with them, have breakfast and dinner with them — that has made him a very happy man.”

My guess is his kids are even more euphoric. Here is the busiest and most important man in America, and he takes the time to enjoy his children. As an American and as a mother, I am thrilled to know he spends a few hours a day with his kids. I know we have some incredibly pressing issues in this country, but he proves that in order for our country to succeed even more, we need to pay attention to the next generation. Our kids are a priority because if we don’t sacrifice a little of our time for them, they will never feel like they are worthy.

Our country, however, is not set up for family time. Most Americans work much more than 40 hours a week (especially if you include commuting time), leaving little room for family time. My husband, for example, often will not see our kids during the week because he leaves for work an hour before they awake and many weeks comes home a half an hour after they have gone to bed. My girls definitely notice.

He spends most Saturdays with them, shuttling them to their activities and taking them out for donuts and muffins, but I know he wishes he could be with them more often (and they do, too).

I don’t blame my husband – he has to work, he has to commute and, unless we move, there is nothing he can do to make the hours shorter. I do blame the government, however. If our legislators really cared about keeping the family unit together, they would provide day care services that were associated with each company. If mothers and fathers were able to drop their children at a center near (or in the same building as) their work, they could visit their children at lunchtime and pick their children up earlier. Workers would be happier knowing their kids were nearby, production would probably be better and overall the family would thrive.

We finally have the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, a bill that will force companies to pay women equal salaries as men. But until we figure out a way to keep our families closer, I feel we fail as a nation. I hope Congress and the president put this issue on the table as well. Forget the world for the moment, our country's children are the ones who need immediate attention.

Photo by Maj-Britt Høiaas Lassen, courtesy of stock.xchng

Three Days

Three days. Just in case you were wondering, that’s how long it takes for my patience to wear out. Three whole days.

At the risk of sounding redundant, let me say this: raising Aimee is my biggest challenge as a mother. She is a textbook example of a strong-willed child. By “strong-willed” I mean she tests the boundaries constantly, has to find out things for herself (she doesn’t listen to reason) and she needs immediate consequences to make sure the limits are solid.

I thought I had figured out how to handle a strong-willed child when I had Lily. She, too, is challenging in her own way. But Aimee? She never lets up. There are no ‘phases’ with her – each day has its own confrontation.

I often feel defeated by this 42-inch toddler. I am surprised our bottom step still has carpet on it because she sits in a time out on it so often. She hits me, spits at me, yells and behaves so badly at times I have often just said to her, “I will not be around you if you can’t behave nicely.” (Mind you, she reserves all this behavior for me and does not hit, spit or yell at other people.) She has spent afternoons playing by herself in her room because she refused to speak nicely to the rest of the family.

One day, after a particularly bad week, I called my friend J on the phone. “I feel I have tried everything,” I said. “And nothing seems to really work. In fact, I think it's getting worse. I am consistent, I explain the rules and I don’t let her get away with bad behavior. But she constantly screams at me, misbehaves, hits, and she tells me she wishes I were dead.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes. Today she said, ‘I hate you and I wish you were dead.’” I said. “I just told her I loved her because I had no idea how to respond. I never said those things to my mom.”

J has three sons, and her middle child is the male version of Aimee. J’s situation is different, however, because her son takes his aggression out on his younger brother, and there is the whole middle child issue she has to deal with. But she gave me some advice that I have to admit has worked for me. (Well, for at least three days, when my patience expired.)

“I used to put Jonathan in time outs all the time,” she said. “He was constantly getting into trouble, getting yelled at and being put in time out.”

I nodded and said, “Yes, yes, that’s what’s going on here.”

“Well, so then I decided I needed to change my approach. Instead of jumping to conclusions, I started listening to him. I discovered by being empathetic and by giving him the benefit of the doubt, he became a much nicer child.”

I asked her to elaborate. She said one time he fell down and began to cry. Normally, she said, she would have said, “Oh, you’re fine. Come on, let’s go.” Instead, she said, “Hey, buddy, you fell. Do you need a kiss?” He would nod, get his hug and kiss and be fine. “The two seconds it took to give him some attention made all the difference,” she said.

She also told me of a time he and his younger brother were playing karate. Mark, his brother, began to wail, claiming Jonathan had hit him. Rather than yell and give Jonathan a time out, she bent down and said, “Tell me what happened.” He explained that he they were playing and he didn’t mean to be too rough. “I didn’t know I was hitting him that hard,” he said. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I’m really sorry.”

J explained to Jonathan that Mark was smaller and told Jonathan he had to be gentle, but then said, “So tell him what you said to me.” Jonathon apologized. “And for the rest of the afternoon, he played so nicely with Mark,” she said.

Her words slammed down on me like a cartoon hammer. “Yes,” I said. “This all makes so much sense.”

So I tried her method. I started being empathetic. When Aimee started to misbehave I lowered my voice instead of raising it and just the tone calmed her down. When she got hurt I asked if she needed a kiss. She bounced back immediately. When she began to misbehave, I reminded her that we were a team, which meant if she needed me to do things, I needed her to listen to me. I told her I believed in her, and I knew wanted to be a good listener.

Overall, the plan worked. But being patient all the time is hard for me. So after three days, I began to get annoyed again. The good news is, however, is I quickly remind myself to be understanding. Even if I took two steps back, I also took another leap forward. Her behavior is better and she is quicker to listen.

I also celebrate her successes much, much more. When she cleans up her mess and puts it away (without my asking, which she has done lately), I gasp in mock excitement and say, “Aimee! Did you clean up without anyone asking you?” She nods and smiles. “My goodness!” I say. “Now that’s what I call being responsible!” I give her a huge hug and kiss and ask her, “Are you proud of yourself?” Inevitably she nods and smiles again. I say, “Good for you, honey.”

I still give time outs for really bad behavior, but now I ask her to go to her room and come down when she is ready to treat the rest of the family with respect. I sometimes say, “Looks like you got up on the grumpy side of the bed. Go back upstairs, get into bed, and come down when you’re ready to get up on the nice side of bed. When you do, we’ll be happy to see you.”

Sometimes she goes upstairs and does just that. Other times she says, “I’ll change my behavior.”

It’s now day eight, and I already see a change. She's not profoundly different, but she is so much better than before. I only hope it gets better and better.

(Two books that helped me on this subject were Setting Limits With Your Strong-Willed Child by Robert J. MacKenzie Ed.D. and How To Talk So Your Kids Will Listen, And Listen So Your Kids Will Talk by Elaine Mazlish and Adele Faber.)

Photo by Jorge Vicente, courtesy of stock.xchng

New Mom Syndrome

Last week I took Aimee to an open play day at the gym near our house. Lily had a class at the recreation center, and since we had an hour to ourselves, I thought I would take Aimee to the place she used to love when she was a child.

When I walked in the door the room was filled with new moms and their offspring. Their children ranged in age from 18 months to 2 years. I listened to the women chat about growth charts, nap schedules, eating habits and milestones. I couldn’t help but laugh when I heard the conversation because I had once been one of those moms, too.

All I can say is, thank God I had another child and gained a lot more perspective.

What happens to women when we give birth? Do we somehow become inhabited by competitive creatures who take pride in the arbitrary fact that our children took their first steps at a certain age? “She was walking at 10 months,” a mom down the street once said to me. Um, okay, but she’s 7 and still can’t write a sentence. (Okay, okay, I’m being terribly bitchy, but come on! Is there any correlation between your child speaking at 12 months and becoming the next Einstein ?)

Mind you, I am sure I was just as freakish as this group of new moms appeared to me. I wore an imaginary badge of honor because I had “older children” and had been through so much more than they had. Surely they would want to hear my perspective on what the future will hold. I was, after all, experienced.

Oh, please. As if I even know what I’m talking about. Besides, new moms are know-it-alls. We read the parenting books, talk to the doctors and cruise the Web until our fingers ache. We know parenting.

I remember attending my first playgroup in the city when Lily was a few months old. I would sit on the floor with the other new moms and engage in conversation. Some mothers would discuss how their baby could do X, Y and Z. Other moms in the group would smile politely, some would glare at the braggart and the rest would just shrug and change the subject. I was thankful I knew something these moms didn’t: no one cares how great your kid is. They only care how great their own kid is.

The all-consuming adoration for your child is exactly why everyone should have more than one child (if possible, of course). Having a second (or third, etc.) child tempers your awe for the firstborn. You realize each child possesses a quality that is special to just them.

Just before we sat down to dinner last night, Aimee came up with a goofy song that made Lily and me laugh. Lily saw me laughing and tried to be as silly. I have noticed lately she thinks she needs to be outlandish like her sister in order to make me laugh, but that's not the case. I laugh because Aimee has a uniquely sharp sense of humor and just being goofy isn't funny to me. So when Lily started to do what her sister did, I said, "Lily, just because I laugh at Aimee doesn't mean I don't think you're funny, too. You can be funny in your own way." She cocked her head and looked at me.

I said, "Do you want to know what I love about you two?"

"What?" she asked.

"I love that you are completely different from one another."

"Why?" asked Lily.

"Because I love that you each have something about you that makes you special. Aimee makes me laugh in one way, and you make me laugh in another way. You have one perspective, and Aimee has another. I am so glad you are so different. I'm so lucky!"

They both smiled. I knew they were thinking, "I'm really cool, and Mom thinks so, too." And they are right.

So today, celebrate the best qualities your kid has to offer. They may be challenging and can drive you nuts, but something tells me there is one thing about them you would not change for the world. Enjoy.