You Yellin' At Me?

My first job out of college was working as an editorial assistant for a national home décor magazine. My boss, Deborah, was a humorless workaholic who treated me like a second-class citizen. I made a whopping $18,000 a year (which, back then, seemed like a good entry level salary), so I lived at home for a while until I could save up enough cash to rent my own place. My parents, however, lived 30 miles away from my office, so my commute was a nightmare. That didn’t stop old Deborah from asking me to leave my house at an ungodly hour, visit homes to take photos and “be in the office by nine.” Because, clearly I was a woman who could move space and time.

Deborah spoke to me so rudely some of the other editors closed their doors when she stood by my desk. I didn’t like her much, but I learned a lot from her. The problem was my schooling. I was taught when you had your first job you should do anything and everything asked of you, and you should do so with a smile. So imagine my surprise when the managing editor promoted me because the other editors complained on my behalf. As one editor later told me, “We said, ‘If you don’t get her away from Deborah, we’re going to take her away ourselves.’”

When I left the magazine I went to work for another tough, nose-to-the-grindstone woman. She yelled when she was angry (not so much at me, but in general) and nothing she said or did really bothered me. (She had a great sense of humor, though, which probably helped.) I remember one time she came into the room screaming about something and was so angry my assistant (who is still a good friend today) looked over at me in horror. I just shrugged and continued to work. My friend and I laugh a lot about this incident. “You weren’t fazed at all,” she said. “I, however, was shocked!”

I wasn’t affected by my boss’s tirades mainly because I grew up in a house filled with loud voices and yelling. I just thought people expressed themselves by screaming when they were upset. My parents yelled, gesticulated and made themselves heard. What’s so wrong about that, I thought. They’re just yelling.

I bring up this point because I wonder if I am having the same effect on my own kids. I don’t yell and scream the way my parents did, and I really try to keep calm as much as possible (but, hello, I am far from perfect). But I do use a stern voice and express myself when I'm angry. I’m not nearly as critical as my mom was to me, too, but I still hear myself saying things that sometimes make me cringe when the words escape my lips. When I think back to how I handled my former bosses, I also think that my crazy upbringing set the stage for success. People yell. People go off the handle. We may not mean to, and we may regret doing so, but we are human. Because I lived with people who yelled I didn’t cower and wasn’t bothered when it was done to me in the workplace. Isn’t it all right, then, to sometimes show we aren’t Stepford parents?

Well, not according to the experts. In one article I read, yelling at children teaches the opposite of what we intend. (Click here to read more). I disagree with some of what the article says but I do agree that kids need to be taught to express themselves without yelling and to do so, we need to lead by example. The article does say that yelling won’t leave indelible scars or cause irreparable psychological damage, but it is hurtful. (I think words are more hurtful than yelling. Saying in a calm voice, “You are so useless,” is much worse than screaming, “Clean up your room!”)

Yelling is especially harmful when two parents engage in a fight in front of the kids. In fact, in one study by the National Institute of Mental Health, they monitored for three years children’s behavior, attention span, ability to focus at home and at school, and how the kids perceived their parents’ relationship. They found kids who worried about their parents tended to have more problems in school and had increased risk for anxiety, depression, aggression and trouble interacting with peers. (Click here to read the article). The point? If you and your spouse have a problem, learn to discuss the issue without screaming at each other. (Click here for positive ways to argue and for what not to do when fighting in front of your children).

Despite my background I am still going to try and not yell at my kids because I admit, I didn't exactly love hearing my parents scream all the time. I can’t promise I won’t fly off the handle every so often, but I do try to keep my calm when I can. Yet I do believe that hearing a person get loud once in a while (especially when we apologize for our bad behavior) allows a child to see we’re all human and we all make mistakes. And if they happen to get a boss who is a screamer, at least they won’t be as affected as someone who grew up in a home akin to The Waltons.

(If your child is the one who screams, click here to read advice on how to teach your child to deal with his or her temper.)

Photo by Colin Adamson, courtesy of stock.xchng

Not-So-Super Nanny

When we lived in Manhattan I used to take Lily, then just a baby, to the park. As I pushed her on the swing I would see all the neighborhood nannies and their charges. The women would sit, either in groups or by themselves, while the kids would run around the park, often out of eyesight. Those who were alone would chat constantly on their cell phones and many times the children would be crying or unhappy, ignored by their sitter.

About a year ago I was at a nearby park in New Jersey with my two girls. I noticed two brothers playing. One was just barely 2 years old and the other was 3. The two of them were climbing up a dangerously steep and twisted slide, and I glanced around looking for the boys’ mother.

“Look what I can do!” the 3-year-old boy said to me.

He walked up the slide without holding onto the side. His brother, who was much more unsteady on his feet, tried to do the same.

“Whoa, wait!” I said, catching the boy.

He was seconds away from falling off and would have been badly hurt had he done so.

“Where is your mom?” I asked, now very concerned.

“She's not here," the older boy said. "We’re here with our babysitter.”

I looked around, thinking by now she would have seen the boy fall. “Where?” I asked.

He pointed to a clump of small trees at least 50 yards away. There, lying down on her back in the sun with her sunglasses on, was a young au pair. She was with a friend and they were sunbathing. (Sunbathing, I tell you!)

I brought the boys down from the slide and told them to wait. I marched right over to the young woman and said, “Excuse me, are you taking care of those young boys?”

She slowly sat up, annoyed that I had interrupted her. She looked at the brothers and said, “Yes.”

I told her what had happened. “If I were you, I’d stand a bit closer to where they were. He could have gotten very hurt.”

She shot her friend a look that said, “Can you believe this lady?” and got up. Slowly she inched her way toward the boys. “Come on,” she said to them. “Let’s go.”

I went back to that playground many times after that incident hoping to run into the boys’ mother so I could tell her how badly the boys were ignored. What if I wasn’t a mom but, rather, someone with bad intentions – do you realize how easily I could have taken one, or both, of those children? Unfortunately, I never saw those boys, or the mother, again.

The final example of nanny neglect happened yesterday. I had a half an hour to kill before I had to pick up Aimee, so I did what all good moms do – I went to TJ Maxx. While there, one woman had a Bluetooth attached to her ear, a 7-month-old baby in her arms and a 3-year-old girl following a few feet behind her. She spoke incessantly on the phone while she held the baby, cruised up and down the aisles and did her shopping. I don't think she glanced at the young girl once. The girl dutifully walked behind her but was clearly bored. “Can we please go now?” she asked the woman. “When I’m done,” the nanny answered, again not looking at the girl but checking out her merchandise in the cart.

I’m not writing this blog to say anything negative about the men and women who employ nannies. I know many women must work for a living (or want to work for a living, which I think is great). I am writing this because I think something is very wrong with the way these babysitters behave and I worry about the children they watch. There must be a better monitoring system. These women are paid good money – probably better than what I would make with my master’s degree. Why are we, as a society, allowing some of these people to get away with ignoring these kids?

Hold on. Before you jump in and tell me that stay-at-home moms do the same thing these nannies do, allow me to admit you are right. Partially. I have taken my girls shopping a million times, but when I do, I know exactly where they are. I state my rules before we go inside a mall or store and tell my girls they must always stay next to me. (I prefer to shop without them because keeping one eye on them is too hard.) I also talk on the cell phone as well, but, again, I also know my limitations and keep a very watchful eye. I'm nowhere near perfect, but I do the best I can, and trust me, it's a lot better than some of the babysitters I have seen.

The thing is, moms have a connection with their own children – a mother's instinct – that calls our name when something is wrong. We may not be in the same room but we know what they are doing.

So what are working moms and dads supposed to do? Are there monitoring groups or systems out there to help these people know their kids are safe when they are at work making a living?

I think there should be a neighborhood virtual nanny cam for moms and dads to use. A Web site, perhaps, where people in the town could post comments, such as, "Mom with two blond boys, age 4 and 5, named John and Ted. I saw your nanny at Woodland Park today and she had no idea where the boys were." Wouldn't you be grateful for such a valuable resource?

Photo by Sanja Gjenero, courtesy of stock.xchng

Allow Them To Learn

Man, do I get some good material for this blog while waiting for my kids to finish swimming lessons. Yesterday I was sitting in the waiting room when one mom and her kindergartener daughter sat at a nearby table. The girl was doing her reading, and I couldn’t help but listen to her as she struggled with almost every word on the page.

“The boy axed the man…” she began. I waited for the mother to say, “As-ked.” She never did. The girl repeated the word over and over and not once did the mom correct her. But whenever the girl got to a word she didn’t know, the mom would tell her.

I am not a teacher. I don’t have my certification (yet, but I'm working on it). But I am stuffed full of judgment and opinion and gee, do I have a few words to say about this lady.

Both my girls began reading at an early age. I’d love to take credit for this achievement but I can’t. Lily had an preternatural interest in letters and words and would write simple three-letter words as early as age 2. (Let's not forget her parents are both into writing, so that may have something to do with it.) By age 4 she was reading simple sentences and by the time she entered kindergarten she was able to read books by herself.

Aimee was not like Lily at all. She had no interest in words or letters when she was a toddler but she, too, began reading and writing before the age of 4. (I think the reason is two-fold; one, she had an older sister and noticed Mom spending a lot of time with her sister as she read, and two, she is in Montessori and they foster a love of reading and writing if the child shows an interest, which Aimee has.)

When both my girls wanted to read I went to the nearest parent-teacher store and bought BOB Books. For those of you unfamiliar with these books, they are sets for beginning readers. The first book begins with simple sentences that children can easily sound out themselves (kids must first know the sound each letter makes in order to do this). For instance, the first book is called Mat. Sentences include: Mat sat. Mac sat. Mat sat on Mac. Each book gets slightly more complex and each set is features new sounds and ideas. (Click here for the BOB Books Web site.)

I had to tailor how I read these books with my girls (or, rather, how they would read to me). Lily would look at the pictures and guess, so I had to cover the illustrations. She would then sound out the words and when she came to a word she didn’t know, I said, “Well, what do you think it is? Can you sound it out?” Eventually she would and she would feel really good about her achievement. Aimee, on the other hand, doesn’t look at the drawings until after she sounds out the words. She is not as quick at recognizing words as Lily was but her interest is less keen. Still, she has mastered two sets so far, and her drawings now come with words such as "I love Mom and Dad" all spelled correctly. (Hold on, I have to pat myself on the back for a second. Ouch. Okay. Thanks.)

I mention my girls not to brag (because who'll sit next to me if I do?) but, rather, to point out a difference. This mom was ruining a perfectly good chance at giving her child a lesson. Her daughter – who should reading at a better pace by now – was suffering at the simple words. (Mind you, I don’t know if she had a learning disability so I can’t judge fully, but I’m just using her as an example.) Rather than tell the child what each word was (and, come on, how exhausting is repeating every single word on the page?), why not say, “Let’s sound it out.”?

I know it is much easier sometimes to do things for your children, but doing so is much more harmful than helpful. How will a child learn? More importantly, how will a child develop the confidence to push further? If you are constantly correcting and helping the child, he or she will not learn.

So sit on your hands, bite your tongue and stop mothering, will you? Your kid will blossom as a result. I promise.

Image of Mat from BOB BOOKS

Technocritic

I think our parents had it easy. Growing up, they must have felt they were completely unprepared for free love, marijuana and the anti-establishment movement. But I would take a world filled with peace-loving hippies and pot-smoking anti-war protestors over what we parents have to face today. The stories in the news are horrifying to me. One teenager, Jesse Logan, hanged herself after nude photos she sent via text message to her boyfriend (called sexting) were distributed all over her school and neighboring schools as well. (The boys who sent around the photos are facing child pornography charges. Click here to read one story on this.)

A 13-year-old girl, Megan Meier, committed suicide when several family members (including a mother) posed as a boy on MySpace.com and verbally abused and attacked her. The family lived in the girl’s neighborhood and sent her messages telling her she was “fat.” (Click here to read more.)

Nowadays anything and everything kids do can be posted on YouTube for the world to see and scrutinize them. As if it isn’t hard enough being a pimply-faced kid going through puberty, now we have the world as our critic? I’m 42 and the idea scares me; I cannot imagine being a preteen with low self-esteem dealing with that.

No wonder we are losing our children long before their time.

I know we have to take technology in stride and educate our children as we go along. Megan Meier was only 13 when she was on MySpace, and users are supposed to be at least 14 years old (not that I think 14 is any older, mind you.) I know there are many moms and dads out there who do not monitor their children’s computer use and I think they are making a huge mistake. I once saw a Supernanny episode where the parents had no idea their kids – one as young as 11 years old – were “chatting” with older boys and men (as old as 22 years old) online on social networks. They are lucky the learned of the meeting before their daughters hooked up with these men in person.

I know we need to be able to trust our children, too, in order for them to grow. We need to let them make their own decisions and hope for the best sometimes. But we can’t just toss them into cyberspace and say, “Good luck! I’m sure you’ll do great!” We need to make sure we, too, are educated about what dangers are out there and also let them know the consequences. I’m sure the parents of those boys who are now facing pornography charges had no idea they could be prosecuted (I didn’t). My guess is those boys may have thought twice before sending those messages if they had known.

In order to protect our kids we need to be knowledgeable, aware and in control. I know none of us want to be the one to bury our teenage child.

Photo by Paweł Zawistowski, courtesy of stock.xchng

Unwritten Travels

Remember in a previous post how I said I felt I was very lucky? I’m beginning to feel a lot like Kevin Costner’s character in Field of Dreams. I built this blog and, much to my surprise, some really wonderful people came – and some were kind enough to bring me gifts! (I really like gifts.)

I started this blog at my husband’s insistence. We were sitting around talking one afternoon and I was in a funk. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom but felt isolated and directionless.

“People call you for advice all the time,” he said. “Why don’t you start a blog?”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “As if I even know what I’m talking about.”

“You do,” he said (why do you think I married him?). “And you have strong opinions about a lot of things. My guess is there are a lot of women out there who feel the same way as you, and who look at parenting the same way you do. So why not do it?”

“Fine,” I said, begrudgingly. “I’ll start the damn blog if it will make you happy.” (Right. Because I'm sure he is thrilled to have our intimate secrets posted on here.)

Three years later I am so thankful for my husband’s prodding. Through this blog I have “met” some incredibly kind, helpful and supportive women. And because of this site I have been rewarded with not only their friendship, but also some really great stuff. (Click here to see the rocking skirts Kimber sent my girls.)

I am just so lucky.

The latest present bestowed upon me came from a reader named Jenny. We were both bloggers and supported each other’s efforts online. She stopped writing one of her blogs, My Messy Sanctuary, because she and one of her best friends (also named Jenny) wrote a book, Unwritten Travels, and got it published. So imagine my surprise and delight when I opened the mail on Friday and found my very own autographed copy! I was absolutely shocked by yet another act of kindness and generosity. I flipped through the book and thought how fortunate I was to “meet” such wonderful women, and how timely it was that I got the book when I did.

And now I’m going to shamelessly peddle it here, because I strongly believe most women would benefit greatly from owning a copy.

Most women I know – especially if they are moms – put themselves last. Their husbands, children, housework, bills – almost everything else comes first. We get so used to ignoring ourselves that we also lose touch with who we are. This book serves as a literary mirror. Readers are asked pointed questions about people in their lives (such as “With whom do you spend most of your time?” and “How do your friends add to your life?”); asked how they treat themselves (“Are you a slave or philanthropist with your day?”); and are given blank pages to write about their lives, (“100 Things About Me,” and “List some things you love and how you can include them in a one-week schedule.”).

When my father died, I wish he had left a book like this for me to read. I would have loved to know how he felt about his life, what he loved and didn’t like, and what he thought was important. Unwritten Travels will now help me find out more about me and, later in life when my children need to know, allow my kids to also learn more about me (if I want them to, that is). A book like this is a gift to yourself and to your family.

Can you tell I love it? (Thank you again, Jenny, for sending me my very own copy. I can't wait to finish it.)

To order a copy of Unwritten Travels for yourself or a friend, click here. To learn more about the authors and the book, click here.

I hope you will take a look at this book and order a copy for yourself or for someone you know who might need it. You, too, could find out a lot about yourself and, in the process, decide what changes you need to make and what you need to treasure most.

Unwritten Travels cover doodles by Elizabeth McKnight, cover art design by Don and Chris Wise, courtesy of Jenny Black and Jenny Watson.

Unfriending Friends

Okay, so here’s the thing: I really enjoying being on Facebook because I get to reconnect with old friends, see photos of their families and catch up on what I’ve missed over the past decade or so. The problem is, I don’t want to be “friends” with everyone I know. Before I start sounding like an elitist snob, hear me out. There are people in my neighborhood and in town with whom I am sort of friends, but not really. I see them in aerobics class or at my daughter’s school, and we chat once in a while. That is the extent of our “friendship.” And those are the people who are always trying to “friend” me on Facebook. Let me get this straight: they don’t take the time to know me in person, yet they want to know all my intimate details and personal secrets? They don’t invite me over for tea, we don’t go out for drinks and yet they want to know all of my personal details?

I don’t think so.

If you’re not familiar with the intricacies of Facebook, being on it is akin to opening up a peephole into your private world. You can give out as much or as little information you like. I give out a lot of information because I keep my profile page private (only Facebook buddies can see it) and the people who view that information are folks I’ve known for years.

So let me ask you: how can you ditch a Facebook pal without looking like a real jerk? The other day one of the moms at Aimee’s school said to me, “Hey, so I was on Facebook and realized I hadn’t seen your name on there for a while. And guess what? You aren’t on my friends list. Did you take me off?”

That question alone tells you why I deleted her from my list in the first place.

It’s not that I don’t like this woman. I do. She’s a nice person and we’ve been acquaintances for several years now. She has come to my house once but never invited me in return (and, thanks to Facebook, I know she has had quite a few parties and not once has she invited me.) Do I want her knowing about my life that much? Not really. Do I want her knowing my every move, seeing all my old photos and, perhaps, knowing about this blog?

Nope.

I have managed to keep her at bay (I told her it must have been some Facebook glitch, because, hello, I couldn't exactly say, “Yeah, I did. Because I don’t want you knowing all my personal information.” Or could I?). She will probably give me a big ol’ hairy eyeball the next time I see her, but that is a risk I’m willing to take. Our kids will only be in school together for a couple more years and after that, we will probably never see each other. I don’t think I should be forced to show people my every move in cyberspace, and frankly I don’t think just because I choose to be on a social network I have to agree to be pals with everyone.

Right? (Please say I'm right.)

I know. I sound callous and unemotional. In reality, however, I’m the contrary. Is it worse to “friend” her and then set my privacy settings so she cannot view a single thing? I can’t be sure. And I want to post this blog on my profile page, but I don’t want her – and a few other folks – to know about it. Allowing some people to see this site would open up a Pandora’s box I’m not ready to deal with yet.

Photo by Sanja Gjenero, courtesy of stock.xchng

Even Love Needs Work

I’m courting my husband.

My companion and I have been married for almost 12 years. We met each other, developed an instant friendship and within two months decided we were madly in love with each other and had to be together. That was 14 years ago.

I used to perform a ritual when I met men who wanted to date me. I would envision my life with the guy, often times seeing the beginning, the middle and, inevitably, the end of the relationship. (Which would explain why I stopped dating shortly before I met my spouse. I started to wonder, “What’s the point?”)

Then I met my husband and could never see the end. I kept trying, but it would never come to mind. I knew he’d be my partner for life.

My parents, however, had a different impression of him. “He’s a nice friend,” my mom said when I introduced them (they had never before met any man I dated. They preferred to think I never went out on dates.)

“Um, you mean boyfriend,” I said, correcting her.

She patted my leg. “Uh-huh,” she said, ignoring me.

My father didn’t accept him as my significant other and gave me a belly full of grief about my choice when I stood my ground. But when my mom saw how in love I was, she asked me if I was really happy. When I said I was, she defended our union to my dad. “As long as you are happy and you know he is the one, I will support you,” she said. To this day I am grateful for my mom’s encouragement.

My father passed away 10 months before we got married and his death sent me spiraling into a deep, painful depression. When I look back at how devastated I was at the time I am often shocked I survived the ordeal. Thanks to a skillful and empathetic therapist, I made it through. The same therapist (who, oddly enough, happened to be going through a divorce) helped me decide whether my husband and I would also survive my father’s death. We met with her a few times (and, if you knew how much my husband hated therapy – mainly because he was forced to go as a child when his own parents divorced – you’d know how much he must have loved me to go), and I soon realized I was ready to be with him for life.

There should be a marriage manual for people to use periodically in their life. For after the first child is born, for after the children are in school and for when you have been married for a decade or more. Because after each of those incidents your marriage needs some tender loving care. One parenting expert, John Rosemond, insists couples should put their marriage before their children. If you don’t treat your spouse with love and respect, how can you expect children to do the same to their mates? Also, if you nurture your marriage, children will be raised in a healthy, loving environment. Isn’t that the best surrounding for any child?

My husband and I had been bickering lately. Not really fighting, but just getting on each other’s nerves. So I decided to court him. He goes to bed really early (around 9:30 p.m.) and wakes up at the ungodly hour of 4:45 a.m. Which means I don’t see him in the morning, ever. So I started writing little notes for him before I went to be. He sees these love notes every morning, and in turn, writes me something back. I wake up, see something funny or sweet he has written, and start my day with a warm thought or smile.

This simple little communication has done wonders for our relationship. I feel all warm and lovey dovey again and I think he does, too. I never mentioned our notes but I can tell a difference in his attitude as well.

This post is a little reminder to those of you whose marriages need a small kick-start. Let me know what you do and whether or not it works. Hopefully we can all learn from each other.

Photo by Lynne Lancaster, courtesy of stock.xchng

Are You Kidding Me?

My friend Angela called me last week as she drove home from a Gymboree class with her youngest child. She was incensed by some of the moms in the class with her and she wanted to vent. Apparently, these ladies ignored their children (preferring to chat amongst themselves) and allowed the kids to wreak havoc while Angela and the other moms ran interference. The children were between the ages of 18 months and 2 years. “What is wrong with people?” she asked me. “These are young kids! Why be a mom if you don’t want to watch them?”

I had a similar experience at swimming school the other day. I was in the locker room with my girls and Aimee had to use the bathroom. There are only two stalls and both were occupied. One young boy also had to use the bathroom, so rather than wait in line, he stood with his eyeball up to the door, and peeked in the stall. “Hey!” he yelled at the poor young boy in the bathroom. “Are you done yet? Come on! Hurry up! Are you done yet?”

His mom thought her son was the cutest thing in the world. She laughed and said to me, “Did you hear what he said?” She was smiling.

“Um, yeah. I did,” I said and walked away.

Her son kept yelling at the kid behind the door. He banged on the stall occasionally, and would not stop looking inside. Finally I said, “Hey, why don’t you give him some privacy? You wouldn’t like it if he was out here doing that to you.”

“I don’t care!” he said in a snotty tone. “Hurry up!” he yelled again, fist pounding again. His mom, meanwhile, said nothing.

I cannot believe how many moms out there are so enamored with their children they cannot see when he or she is acting inappropriately. What if a woman was in the stall? Would you like a child peering in on your telling you to hurry up?

People are always surprised when grown-ups behave in a way that is shocking or unacceptable. But ever since I have become a mom I realize they are only a product of their parents. They were not told when they were being inappropriate as kids, so why then, when they are adults, should they think their actions were egregious?

I wish parents would take off the love goggles sometimes. Maybe if they did they would see their kid is not the Golden Child they thought he or she was, but with a few lessons, could very well turn out to become just that.

Picky, picky

When my eldest daughter comes home from school I can feel my mother, deep inside me, trying to worm her way out. “Oh. My. God,” she is saying to me, her voice drowning in disapproval. “Are you serious?”

I fight her off in my head, saying, “Mom, shut up.”

But she quickly appears again, pointing fingers at my child saying, “Seriously. Look at her.” And reluctantly, I do. I try not eye her too closely, but there she is, sitting right in front of me. My otherwise beautiful child is a total disaster. Her hair, which was “neatly” tied back into a ponytail this morning, is now a tangled mess around her head. There are fuzzy pieces poking out in all directions. Her lovely face is marked with peanut butter and stained by a fruit or vegetable (strawberry? Red peppers?), and I’m pretty sure I can see chocolate in the corners of her mouth, still there from the cookie she ate at lunch (it’s now 3:45 p.m.). Her clothes are soiled (I swear they wer clean when she left) and when she does her homework I make a mental note to trim her unkept and somewhat dirty fingernails.

Am I a monster or what?

Of course I don’t tell her any of the awful thoughts as they appear in my head. I ask her, “What happened to your ponytail?”

“I took it out.”

“Oh.” I quickly glance away or down in case my face shows any signs of disapproval. But I am drawn to her and cannot fight off what comes next.

I point to the smudges of food adorning her normally smooth face. “You have some crumbs on your face,” I say. “Here’s a napkin. Wipe your face.”

She takes it and makes a half-assed attempt at cleaning her face while she looks over her homework. There is still so much leftover when she’s done I can’t help but say, “Oh, sweetie, there is still a little left. Why don’t you go wash it. You can see yourself in the mirror that way.”

She shrugs and says, “Okay.”

Inside, however, I want to scream. I want to say, “Are you kidding me? You are seven years old! How can you not feel that crap all over your face? How can you still eat and get food on your clothes? Even your four-year-old sister is neater than you are!”

I know, horrifying, right? Trust me, I am ashamed I even think those thoughts. I grew up with a mother who remarked on my every move, my every mistake and my every mannerism. Her constant criticism was crushed my spirit and I became extremely self-conscious as a result. I try very, very hard to ignore those hurtful, judgmental words (the ones I learned from dear old Mom) in my head. And I don’t compare her to her sister, either. (At least not out loud.)

But how much of this am I supposed to ignore without teachers and parents thinking I’m the worst mom on earth? The funny thing is, I don’t notice when other kids are a mess. And even if I do see a child with food on their face, I don’t think their mother is to blame. I just think, “Kids! They are so funny.”

So why can’t I always think that way about my own child?

I’m not a total loss, however. There are times when I do think that way. I tell myself to remember the Montessori method – “follow the child.” I allow my girls to blow their own noses and do things for themselves. But my mom is there, telling me I need to take over and do it for them. She tells me to “be a good mom” by making sure my kids look presentable at all times (as if that has anything to do with being a good mom). She is telling me things that deep inside I know are not true and do not matter, but when you hear it over and over again, you can’t help but wonder if there is a kernel of truth.

My inner battle will continue for a few years, I’m sure. But the fact that I am aware of it makes me think I will win – one day. I just hope my daughter gets through it unscathed.

Photo by Rob Rosenhamer, courtesy of stock.xchng

Foster The Love

“Mommy, is Aimee all better?” Lily asked me this morning. Aimee has been home sick with the flu since last Friday. Today was the first day she was fever-free.

“Yes,” I said. “She is.”

“Am I going to school?” Aimee asked.

“No, honey. I’m going to keep you home one more day so you can be one-hundred percent tomorrow,” I said.

“So, can I give her a kiss?” Lily asked me. “On the cheek, I mean.”

“Sure,” I said. “You can give her a kiss.”

“Yay!” they both said. They hugged each other and gave each other a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so glad you’re better,” Lily said to Aimee. They smiled at each other and hugged some more. “Ooh, my little sister!” Lily said. “Oh, my big sister!” Aimee said back.

This scene was both heartwarming and painful at the same time. As a mother, I felt so fortunate to have two girls who are also good friends. As a sibling, I felt the loss of never having such a bond with my own brother. In fact, my brother and I are estranged now. We don’t speak and only communicate occasionally through e-mail. The story is long and too involved to discuss today, but one day I will write about it. But here is what I have learned from the experience: the reason my brother and I are not friends is because my parents did not raise us to be.

I know women who always play judge and jury to their children. When their children fight they run interference and discipline those who were aggressive and hurtful. But I believe such parenting only causes greater rifts and also gives kids a reason to fight. How? If a child constantly thinks he will get positive attention if his brother or sister picks on him, he will always go to the parent and tell on that child (usually with crocodile tears). If a child gets negative attention (and, let’s face it, a child craves any attention, good or bad) he or she will be more likely to cause a problem.

Two books on this subject have helped me teach my girls to become the friends they are. One was in Easy to Love, Difficult To Discipline by Dr. Becky Bailey. She outlines several tattling examples and gives suggestions for how to deal with them. In most, she tells parents to empower the children. For instance, if your child comes to you and says, “Jimmy took that from my hand and won’t give it back!”

You should respond, “Did you like it when he did that?”

Child: “No!”

Parent: “Then tell him. Say, ‘Jimmy, I didn’t like it when you took that without asking. If you want this I will give it to you when I am done playing.’ Go and tell him now.”

Parents are asked to oversee the interaction. I have done this several times with my girls and each time, without fail, the aggressor says, “Sorry. Here you go.” I don’t choose sides, I don’t shame them or say, “You’re a terrible kid!” I just help my kids find the words to solve a problem.

My neighbor had a child home sick and had to go and pick the other one up from school because she, too, came down with a fever. “As soon as Kate walked in the door the two of them began to fight,” she said. “It was so much easier having just one home.”

I hear this a lot from my friends. It does not matter if they have only girls, only boys, or a mixture of the two. (I used to believe that kids would fight more if their sibling were a different sex. I now realize that is wrong.)

In Siblings Without Rivalry, parents are also told to help children solve problems without providing the solution. Let’s say Janie wanted to wear a costume but Jill took it first. They come to you with their dilemma and you say, “Janie, it sounds like you really want to wear that costume.” Jill will inevitably say, “But I want to wear it, too!”

Mom: “Hmm, how can we solve this problem?”

The parent puts the children in control. They come up with a solution and eventually the battle is over. (I know some of you may roll your eyes at this but trust me, it works. My examples are not thorough enough, however, and I strongly recommend buying the books I mentioned for a more complete guide.)

My brother and I fought like crazy growing up, and the arguments never stopped, even as we became adults. My brother was aggressive and violent, and I fought back without fear. We constantly went to our parents and soon figured out whose side the parent would take. My mom always took my brother’s side and my dad always took mine. There was never any discussion about how we should get along, we were just told, “You are siblings, and you need to love each other.”

Well, that was helpful advice.

I wish more parents would stop getting involved in their children’s arguments and instead, foster a loving relationship by giving the kids the tools to work things out. By doing so, you are also helping them learn to deal with other children at school, not just their brother or sister. You will inevitably develop a loving relationship that will last them a lifetime.

“I would be so sad if I didn’t have a sister,” Lily said to me last night in front of Aimee.

“Me, too!” Aimee said.

Could I ask for a better gift?

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

Dora The Nymphet

Moms across the country were up in arms recently when they heard Mattel and Nickelodeon were going to introduce an older version of Dora The Explorer. These women envisioned a tart-like version of the original, with sexy clothing, makeup and long, flowing hair. The reality, however, is not nearly as offensive. The new doll is a young Dora wearing a long tunic and leggings (seen on this post). Yes, she has long hair but she also and a sweet, young face. She is not sexy or inappropriate and I would definitely allow my 5-to8-year-old daughter to play with her (that is the targeted age group).

But I totally get why moms got the wrong impression. Why shouldn’t they? The market is overflowing with toys and products that are supposed to appeal to young children but are really more appropriate for teenagers or older kids. Have you seen what is on the shelves these days? Bratz dolls, for instance, wear sleazy makeup, have collagen-injected lips and don midriff bearing outfits (as if their name alone wasn't a warning sign). I will never buy my girls these products, no matter how “girl empowering” the makers say they are supposed to be.

I also found out thong underwear is being marketed to elementary school girls, as well as padded training bras. What’s next – Winnie The Pooh nipple rings?

I am constantly amazed at our society. We don’t understand why drugs and alcohol are being used by our fourth grade children but we are fine with letting our 5-year-olds watch High School Musical and Hannah Montana (if you don't have a problem letting your kids see teenagers making out, well, that's your choice. But I think exposing young children to sex and sexual acts is detrimental). Most parents agree children these days are having sex much too early but they refuse to see the corrulation - what you expose them to is what they will mimic.

We are a hypocritical society. And I feel like I am constantly fighting a losing battle against moms and dads who think I'm being prudish or uptight. I laugh because I consider myself to be liberal-minded. I believe in equality for all and get offended when I hear about injustice. I also think there are some things that are acceptable for my own kids that my friends disagree with (Lily got her ears pierced two days before her 7th birthday, for instance, which I thought was fine but others said was "too early.") But I want - more than anything - for our children to enjoy their childhoods and to take their time growing up. Kids should not be having oral sex in elementary school, they should not be drinking alcohol when they are 11 years old and they should definitely not be thinking about plastic surgery when they are 14.

Am I that far off the mark that I am the only one who thinks this?

I don't think I am. But as I have been told over and over by friends and my own husband, kids will do what they want to do and nothing I do or say is going to stop them. Thankfully I communicate and discuss these things often and in depth with my kids. But I can only hope arming them with knowledge is enough to guide them to make the right decisions.

(Click here to read original news story about Dora The Explorer.)

Photo courtesy of the Associated Press.

Hot For Teaching

I’ve decided to go for it. I have been a stay-at-home mom for more than seven years now, and I am finally ready to go back to work.

Of course, as I type this, I have butterflies in my stomach and a loud, horrible voice screaming, “Nooo!” in my head. I can see it now: I’m in the interview, I’m telling a potential boss how great I am and all the while I’m hearing a negative, insulting voice in my head telling me what a grave mistake I’m making.

Sigh.

I feel very much now the way I have felt my entire life: caught between two worlds. As an American-born Egyptian and Muslim, I was caught between fitting in with my friends from school and being true to my culture’s ethics and morals. Now, as a mom, I am caught between my former life before kids (where I really enjoyed having a career) and my life after kids where I cannot imagine leaving them in someone else’s care.

(Before I go on, I want to make one thing clear: I do not judge anyone for the choices they have made. Being a working mom must have its difficulties and I cannot imagine the hard choices they must make on a daily basis. Being a stay-at-home mom is no picnic either, because we can’t call in sick, have minimal down time and are working seven days a week. There is no clear winner. We all have problems.)

So I decided I needed to find a career that would allow me to still be a mom but also fulfill my desire for a challenging career. I have decided to try being a substitute teacher.

All right, stop laughing. I am fully aware I am not a kid person. I don’t have a ton of patience and, frankly, I prefer the company of adults. However, something happened to me when I volunteered at Lily’s school. Parents are asked to go in and read or give lessons to the classroom and I have done this on three or four occasions. Each time the children have been rapt; they sat wide-eyed and attentive and listened closely to what I was saying. I looked at each of their faces and saw them in the future. I could not get enough of how adorable they were.

So there! Maybe I like kids after all.

I realize it’s not kids with whom I have a hard time, it’s their age. I prefer older children – kids with whom I can hold a conversation and learn about their lives. I have teenage babysitters (age 13, 16 and 18) and really enjoy talking to them. Maybe I just need to find an age at which I am most comfortable teaching. Which is why I want to be a substitute teacher first, to find out to which group of students I can most relate.

I won’t lie: I am scared to death about my new endeavor. The idea of embarking on a career is worrisome and the thought of leaving my kids gives me heart palpitations. Of course, there are huge benefits to this career choice: the hours nearly match my children’s school hours; as a substitute I have the luxury of saying no if the day does not coincide with my schedule; and I will still have enough time to be with my kids, help them with their homework and have dinner with them.

There are other benefits, too. My friend Susanna says her friend is a substitute teacher as well. This woman has a 10-year-old son, and she only subs in the junior high so she can see what the school has to offer, what problems affect the students and what the social life is like. She is arming herself with knowledge and I want to do that as well. I don’t want to be blindsided if I hear four graders are smoking pot in the bathroom or drinking during recess. I want to know when to talk to my girls about such outside influences and when to take matters into my own hands.

And let's not forget the current economic situation. God forbid my husband comes home with a pink slip. If he does, at least we know one of us will be able to bring in some cash for a while. I know my husband will breathe a huge sigh of relief when he knows he is not the breadwinner anymore. I already saw the spring in his step when I told him I had an interview this week.

Wish me luck, folks. And if you have any anecdotes to add, please post a comment. I’m always grateful for any advice or ideas you have.

Photo by Christine Rondeau, courtesy of stock.xchng

Gussied Up

I went out last night with two friends to a local bar and restaurant. To my children’s delight, I put on a sexy black dress with knee-high, high-heeled boots (“Ooh, Mommy, you look so fancy!” they squealed when they saw me). I applied my makeup, fixed my hair and thought, “Hey, you look pretty good!”

My friend Angela (another stay-at-home mom) picked me up and she, too, was all dolled up. We met up with another woman, Shana (a working mom), and even though she looked cute, she was more casual dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck. We ordered a few drinks, found a seat at a table and started talking. Soon the conversation turned to Saturday mornings. Shana said she didn’t understand most of the people in her neighborhood. “They put on chinos to mow the lawn!” she said laughing. “Who wears chinos to mow the lawn? I put on a ripped pair of sweats and get to work.”

We started laughing and then she said, “I feel like men can get away with wearing a baseball cap, sweatshirt and jeans – and not showering,” she said. “But not women. There seems to be this double standard.”

We nodded and sipped our drinks.

“All I want to do on the weekends is put on my sweats when I take the kids to their games,” she said. “But have you seen the moms? They’re all dressed up, their hair is done and they look so nice.”

I laughed because I knew exactly why the moms looked that way. “They’re stay-at-home moms,” I said. “They don’t get to dress up every day, so they make more of an effort. And women in this town can be brutal. They really give you the once over when they check you out. Why do you think I let my husband do the carting around on the weekends?”

Shana thought about this for a second and said, “You’re probably right. I am dressed up all week, and the last thing I want to do on the weekends is be fancy.”

“I know,” I said. “And I’m the polar opposite. Just look at Angela and me tonight. We both got dressed up!”

“But you look nice,” she said.

“Thanks, and so do you. But do you see how we took it even further?” I asked. "I mean, we're just going to a local bar, and I'm in a dress and heels for Pete's sake."

She started laughing. She thought for a few seconds and said, “You know, I never thought of it that way before, but I think you’re right.”

I made a choice a long time ago to not be a stereotypical 'housewife' during the week. I may not be going to a "job," but I do “work” for a living. I can be business casual one day, in jeans and a T-shirt the next day, and fancy the next. I am always asked if I’m going somewhere when I wear a skirt and boots, and I always say, “Nope. Just to my couch.” I’m sometimes met with skepticism, but sometimes times I hear, “Good for you!”

That’s right! Good for me!

No, not really. Whenever I think about my life as a SAHM, I think about the movie Galaxy Quest (if you haven't seen this movie, rent it. It is hilarious.) In it, Sigourney Weaver plays a character whose only job is to repeat demands to a computer. At one point she says (and I'm paraphrasing), "Look, this is my job. It may be stupid and pointless, but it's the only job I have and I'm going to do it well!"

That's exactly how I feel about parenting. I don't think what I do is stupid or pointless, but I often feel I'm doing the best I can, no matter how mundane and repetitive my job can be. So if it means I get dressed up to stay on the sofa, so be it.

Hey, at least I'll look good doing it.

Photo by Matt Hall, courtesy of stock.xchng

Playing Doctor

When Lily was 2 and a half, a 4-year-old boy from the neighborhood came over to play with her. I was 8 months pregnant at the time and thankful to have a playmate for my toddler. I listened in on them playing and after a while, things got very quiet. I knew that was my cue to go downstairs and check in on them. I was completely unprepared for what I saw.

The boy, who I’ll call Bobby, was busily taking off Lily’s jeans and didn’t see me come down the steps. Lily was sitting on the floor looking slightly confused. She smiled at me when I came in the room. “Hi, Mommy!” she said. Bobby, startled, jumped up and walked around the room nervously.

“Hey,” I said casually, “what are you guys up to?”

“Oh, she just, I just, we just,” Bobby said, stuttering. He couldn't look me in the eye.

“He’s taking my pants off!” Lily said innocently. She was smiling.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, we don’t do that. We keep our clothes on when we play. Understand?”

They both nodded. I walked back upstairs and immediately called my sister-in-law. I told her what had just happened and she started to laugh. “Oh, kids do that,” she said. She told me she caught her son when he was 5 years old in the bathroom with his friend and they were totally naked. “You just have to tell them it’s not appropriate and to get dressed, but don’t shame them,” she said.

I breathed a sigh of relief until the next day, when Bobby came by again. He and Lily were in the driveway playing and I went inside to get something. I watched them through the window and saw Bobby walk up to Lily, who was on her tricycle. He took her face in his hands and pulled her toward him. He tried to kiss her but she pulled her face away. He then grabbed her head and forced it toward him. His lips were extended. I went outside and again, he jumped away and got nervous and upset.

“I think your mom wants you to go home,” I lied.

“Okay,” he said.

According to an article entitled Recognizing Healthy and Unhealthy Sexual Development in Children by Phil Rich, Bobby’s forceful behavior and nervous reaction were two big, red flags. In all the warning signs listed in the article, Bobby was guilty of several, including:

* Children aged 4 and older should understand the rights and boundaries of other children in sexual play.
* Children should not experience fear, shame, or guilt in their sexual play.
* Children should not engage in adult-type sexual activities with other children.
* Children should not use bribery, threats, or force to engage other children in sexual play.

I decided not to allow Bobby around my children ever again.

This was hard to do, considering I developed a friendship with his mother and they lived nearby. But when I tried to broach the subject with her, rather than say, “Wait, what? He did what?” She acted defensively and told me she thought I misconstrued what I saw. (Because I’m clearly insane and all.) I kept my distance from her, which was hard to do, and soon our friendship ended. I just couldn't put my children in jeopardy, and because she was so unwilling to listen, I knew I could not explain why I suddenly became "so busy."

I wanted to learn more about “playing doctor” after the Bobby incident. According to Dr. Spock, boys age 6 or 7 will compare penis size and girls that age will compare clitoral size. “It’s part of the general process of seeing how you measure up to your peers,” he writes. However Bobby was two years older than Lily, and because his reaction was one of guilt, not innocence, I became concerned. I decided to read more.

“Most children who have been abused sexually exhibit unusual behaviors not seen previously such as sexual behaviors inappropriate for the child’s developmental age. I remember one abused child who seemed to enjoy imitating adult sex acts in front of other children. This kind of behavior is not consistent with the normal sexual exploration among children such as ‘you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.’ Also a child who masturbates compulsively and often in public places is expressing an interest in sexual activity more frequent and intense than seen in normal masturbation in children.” (Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care)

I don’t know if Bobby has been abused or if he was allowed to watch inappropriate television, but either way, something was wrong with his behavior. I know his mother allowed him to watch adult shows (“Oh, I just cover his eyes when it’s not appropriate,” she once said to me. Because, right, kids are so stupid they can’t figure out what’s really going on.)

Bobby and his family moved away, thankfully, but the incident made me realize I needed to be more proactive when it comes to my children’s safety. I now talk to them before they go to people’s homes for play dates because I am not always there to watch them. I tell them about inappropriate touching and also explain that masturbation is normal but to be done in private. I tell them to use their words and to never be afraid to say, "No." I also say they can always tell me if they are afraid, and to ask to go home if they feel uncomfortable or upset.

When people think about sexual abuse, they often envision a disgusting predator hanging out at the playground. But many children are abused by people they know well. According to this article, two-thirds of children are abused by someone they know.

Parents need to protect their children before something awful happens. This site is an excellent resource and gives examples of what to say to your child, how to teach them in a way that isn't scary and how to say, "No!"

For more information on sexual development and how to talk to your kids about these issues, click here, click here, and click here. For tips on how to protect your children and talk to them about this issue, click here. Also, this site is also a great resource for talking to your kids about difficult issues.

Photo by Jyn Meyer, courtesy of stock.xchng

My Jihad

I was doing some research for a post and I stumbled onto this blog. The woman, Cassie, is not a mother, but had relevant things to say about parenting these days. She was discussing how kids as young as 6 were wearing inappropriate clothing (thong underwear for girls as young as 7 and padded training bras) and I enjoyed her perspective because, as she said on her blog, “How about parents try being parents?” (This is a topic for another post, which I will get to at a later date.)

I noticed her photo on the side and at first thought she was being ironic. The blog’s subtitle is “smoking hot commentary” and she is standing next to it, smiling, arms extended, and pointing a handgun. Then I read her blogroll and got extremely worried. I clicked on a few of the sites and what I discovered horrified me. There, in a very long list, were several anti-Arab and anti-Muslim blog sites. What I read simultaneously scared and angered me. In fact, it was history repeating itself (Hitler came to mind). This is what one of the sites claimed:

Because non-Muslims in the West, as well as in India, China, Russia, and the world over, are facing a concerted effort by Islamic jihadists, the motives and goals of whom are largely ignored by the Western media, to destroy their societies and bring them forcibly into the Islamic world -- and to commit violence to that end even while their overall goal remains out of reach. That effort goes under the general rubric of jihad… Jihad Watch is dedicated to bringing public attention to the role that jihad theology and ideology plays in the modern world, and to correcting popular misconceptions about the role of jihad and religion in modern-day conflicts. We hope to alert people of good will to the true nature of the present global conflict…

I am amazed people actually believe this stuff. What I realized is that most Americans who trust this hype (aka: bullshit) have never met and/or befriended an Arab-American or a Muslim in their lives. My mother-in-law, who lives in Oklahoma, said her own neighbor – who knows I am a Muslim – said, “Well, I know you have a 'diverse' family, but trust me. They’re [Muslims] going to come over here and kill us all one day.”

We are? Jeez. I guess I better hurry up get ready then.

People, I am a mother, a wife and an American. I don’t need to wave the stars and stripes to prove my patriotism. Just because some folks decided to commit a heinous act in the name of one religion (hello, does Timothy McVeigh or the Irish Republican Army mean anything?), doesn’t make a billion people guilty of the same crime. When people such as the men and women who pen these sites claim Muslims are preparing for a jihad, I can’t help but laugh. (To understand the true meaning of jihad, please click here, because those folks have an entirely false interpretation.) Because clearly they have never been to the Middle East or the Asian countries. If they had, they would realize that to invoke that kind of group effort would be next to impossible. A large portion of the people in those countries are so poor and uneducated and they probably don’t even know what an American is. Their mistrust of government leaders – or any leader, for that matter – is much stronger than their desire to join a group and hurt foreigners. These are people who are struggling to feed their families and make ends meet. Do you think they have the time or care to join an anti-American terrorist group?

I wrote Cassie and let her know how I felt. I told her I doubted she had ever met a Muslim or an Arab-American because if she did, she probably would not have formed such strong opinions. I hope to open a discussion with her, because maybe, just maybe, if I can convince her to take everything on a case by case basis rather than a “they are out to get us” perspective, she may open her mind and realize there are bad people in every walk of life.

I know my efforts will probably be in vain, but my jihad is not being done for myself. I'm doing this for my children. I don't want them to grow up thinking they are the bad guys, that just because they happen to be partly Arab-American and also Muslim they are any different from their Christian, Hindu, Jewish, Sikh or Buddhist pals. America is not the same country it was when my parents moved here more than 40 years ago. We are a true melting pot now, with every culture and religion represented.

And God, what a beautiful country we are because of it.

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

More Want, Less Get

You know the saying, “Do as I say, not as I do”? I used to find that logic absolutely infuriating when I was a child. Now that I’m a parent, I can understand how that demand came about. As a grown-up, it’s okay for me to slouch at my own breakfast table because I know when I am among a group of adults at a dinner party I will sit perfectly straight and remember my manners (usually). When I’m in my own home, I don’t have to “eat like a lady” at every meal, do I?

Sadly, if I want my kids to follow suit, I do.

Dammit! This parenting business is really starting to piss me off.

Here are a few things I want to do without getting caught by my kids:

1. I want to slouch, read at the table and use my fingers once in a while when I eat.

2. I want to walk down the steps without holding the railing.

3. I want to chew gum whenever I’d like.

4. I want to eat cookies, candy or ice cream any time I damn well please, including just before meals.

5. I want to watch television whenever I want (especially mindless t.v.).

6. I want to yell (preferably at my kids, but just in general).

7. I want to not always say please and thank you.

8. I want to not always answer when my name is called.

9. I want to tell my kids what I really think of that driver who cut me off instead of saying, “Oh, someone’s in a hurry!”

My parents were total hypocrites. They did not practice what they preached at all. So naturally I abhor when people ask others to do things they don’t do themselves. But as I get older, I realize they might have had a point. As adults, we are already schooled on how to behave in public (most of us, that is). We know how to eat properly, using a napkin instead of our sleeves (as Aimee continues to do) to wipe our mouths. We can navigate around the house without stumbling (unless you live in my home, which has narrow steep stairs which I, myself, have fallen down, twice). We know when to be polite, when to use our manners and how to speak to others.

We just know these things, okay?

And then we grow up, have kids and get saddled with these little creatures whom we have to teach – for years – and who watch our every move like lions studying gazelles. We are not their prey, but if we don’t watch ourselves we can fall victim to our own bad behavior.

The pressure is unbearable.

So tell me – do you constantly watch what you do around the kids? Or do you let things slide? Post a comment and let me know.

Image by Steve Woods, courtesy of stock.xchng

Denied!

I’ve got another chapter to add to the Life Is Totally Unfair To Mothers book.

My husband usually leaves the house early and is gone long before the kids wake up. One day last week he left late and was able to see my eldest daughter, Lily, before he went to work.

“She was so cute,” he told me later. “I heard her come down the steps and she was singing softly to herself. She went into the bathroom, washed her face and got ready, all the while continuing to sing.”

He told me he kept whistling to her from the other room so she knew he was there, but she was oblivious. Finally, after his third time whistling loudly, she said, “Hey, who is that?”

His story made me realize just how imbalanced life can be as a parent. When we see our kids, many times it is during a period where we are preoccupied, busy or tired. We rarely, if ever, get to be a fly on the wall in their lives. Wouldn’t you give anything to be invisible for just one day? You could follow your child on the school bus, to her classroom, around the cafeteria and on the playground. Wouldn’t you just love to hear what they really say to their friends, how what they tell you compares to what actually transpired and watch just how abso-fricking-lutely cute they were?

I don’t get to see the cute part much. I get to see the pain-in-the-ass part a lot, though.

When I’m with my girls I’m playing the role of educator, protector and advisor. I’m correcting manners, disciplining bad behavior and helping with homework. It’s hard for me to step out of those roles and simply be an observer without them noticing.

The few times I can watch instead of teach is when we all go places as a family. I get to elbow my husband when they do something funny or sweet and say, “Can you believe we made those kids?” There are times when I am totally in awe that we created these funny, smart and very challenging beings.

Sigh.

Image by Sundeip Arora, courtesy of stock.xchng

Hurry Up And Wait

I’m curious to know if people across the country suffer from rush-to-get-the-kids-into-something syndrome. When I was living in Manhattan I heard about women who – directly after their child’s birth – ran to put the kid’s name on a waiting list for preschool. (They did the same for prestigious private schools, too.) I also know, when it comes to spring and summer vacations, most families where I live find a home to rent in a place they like (such as Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard, the Jersey Shore or Florida) and they secure these homes up to a year in advance.

Boy, have I moved to the wrong part of the country. I am not a “keeping up with the Jones’” type of person. At all. I will never fight someone for a handbag at a Barney’s sample sale and I will never sleep on a cold sidewalk overnight just to get my kid into the best soccer camp.

Of course, I am the exception, not the rule. I happen to live where people sometimes have to do such things in order to get what’s best for their families. Want a cheap summer rental in a gorgeous part of the beach? Reserve your tickets and rental early. Want to get your kid into the coolest summer camp in town? Get in line, lady, and make sure you’re there by 5 a.m.

I cannot believe parenting has come to this. We should not have to endure such stress and pressure just to enjoy our lives. Today I went to a nearby nature center (where I live there is a large nature preserve and trailside center that offers summer day camps to kids of all ages). Every year they hold a lottery for two weeks in February and people from surrounding towns go there in droves hoping to get a lucky number. This year I missed the date (because I happened to look too late) and discovered the lottery had ended days before it was supposed to because they ran out of numbers. “But put your name on the waiting list,” one of the women working there advised. “We almost always have room in the end.” So, I did as instructed and today went to fill out the forms and put my children’s names on the list. I felt like I just stepped foot into Willy Wonka’s worldwide search for the golden ticket.

I felt a similar amount of pressure when deciding what to do for our spring and summer breaks. Last year our family decided to go to Cape Cod with our good friends. We began our search in February – we weren’t planning on going until August, which was six months away – and when J and I looked on the Internet we discovered many of the homes had already been rented.
“But it’s only February,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” said J, a native New Yorker. “We’re late.”

This year I had the bright idea to look into spring holidays in Florida. I began my search in February again. (Okay, stop laughing. I know I was really late this time.) I’m surprised my own computer didn’t snicker in my face because every single rental home was taken. “We have a family that comes every year for spring break,” one woman replied when I requested the dates. “If you are flexible, we can work something out.”

I was not flexible, and I am definitely not amused.

Is it because I live in a densely populated state that I have to fight tooth and nail to get what I want? Or do most moms and dads have to go through these stressful rituals?

Please post a comment and let me know if you, too, have to plan years or months in advance for your holidays and summer activities.

Photo by Nick Cowie, courtesy of stock.xchng

A College Degree I Earned Myself

At the risk of sounding like an absolute cliché, I'll tell you about something I saw on television the other day. Suze Orman was a guest on the Oprah Winfrey show, and she counseled couples who came on to discuss what they could and could not afford. One couple wanted to send their children to college. Well, let me clarify. The father wanted to send his daughters to the college of their choice, no matter how much the cost. The mother, however, was adamant about not paying for high tuition bills. It wasn’t that the mother didn’t love the girls or think they weren’t worth the money; she just looked at her financial situation and said, “We simply cannot afford to send them to a forty-thousand-dollar-a-year university.”

Suze Orman did the math for them, which included his plan of taking out a home equity line. When she calculated what they could afford, it was obvious the mother was right. “I’m not saying they cannot go to college,” Orman said to the family. “I’m saying there are other options and you cannot afford to send them to one that costs forty thousand dollars a year.”

Then she added, “My parents also could not afford to send me to college. I worked three jobs and went to the University of Illinois. And let me tell you something. I’m far more wealthy than any of my friends who went to Ivy League schools.”

I’m a fan of Suze Orman. She doesn’t mince words and I believe she empowers people (especially women) to make sound financial decisions. But this last piece of advice happens to be one of my favorites.

Being the child of immigrants has its downsides, one of which has to do with choosing the right colleges and universities. My mother has a bachelor’s degree from the University of Wisconsin and my father earned his master’s and Ph.D. from the University of Minnesota. But when the time came for me to get my education, they did not understand how earning a degree had changed. To them, I just had to attend college and get my bachelor's. It did not matter which college I attended. They did not sit down with me and go over my choices, they did not help guide me to the school that would best fit my needs. In fact, the only person who did “help” me was my brother, and his choice was the women’s college that was close to his university. (I attended Mills College and he went to the nearby University of California at Berkeley.) Luckily for me, Mills was exactly the right fit. I made lifelong friends, got a solid education and was able to get a job quickly after college.

A few years later, however, I decided to earn a master’s degree in print journalism and again, my parents were not helpful in my decision. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t begrudge them. They had no idea how to guide me. They were from a completely different time and mindset, so they had no idea what I should have considered when making my choice.

Now that I’m older and (ahem) so much wiser, I know exactly how I’m going to advise my children. To me, a school is only as good as the job it gets you out college. If a college or university does not have an active and helpful alumni, there is no point in attending. Some of you may disagree, but consider today’s economy: jobs are being cut by the hundred thousands. If the only person doing the hiring attended your school and is active in the community, you have a much better chance of being interviewed.

I went to Boston University graduate school, a well-respected and reputable university. But when I went to my advisors and professors upon graduation, I got a pat on the back and a, “Good luck!” I graduated magna cum laude, and yet no one helped me get a job when school was over. Right now, if you were to send your child to BU, it would cost $55,000 a year. That is $220,000 in tuition alone. And for what? For a piece of paper? Unless there are solid contacts and leads after that degree is earned, to me the education at that school is useless.

I write this for those of you whose children are older and thinking about colleges, or for those of you who plan for the future. When the time comes, and your child has an idea of what career they would like to pursue, make sure they do the interviewing as well. Ask about the alumni and interview those who are active. Interview former students about career paths and ask how helpful the school was in getting them a job. I believe doing the extra homework will make a huge difference in your child's post-college career.

Photo by Justas Cekas, courtesy of stock.xchng

Swap Meet Gone Green

I just heard a story on BBC Radio about a Swap Party. Women get together over beverages and munchies, and they bring with them handbags, accessories and clothing they have barely worn (or are in really good condition). They trade these pieces for items they covet. The impetus behind this party was the economy; women were worried about the job market but still wanted to look stylish, so they came up with a "shop for free" plan. The gathering allowed them to “shop” without making a dent in their wallet.

As someone who constantly worries we are ruining our planet, I loved this concept. Aside from the obvious reasons of helping people in this economy, it’s also a very green idea. Rather than contribute to the massive clothing market, exchanging clothes is a great way to recycle. And if women added kids’ clothing to the mix (our children all have outfits that have been worn either once or never), imagine how great that party would be. Why toss out perfectly good clothing when someone else could benefit from them? I have some items in my closet that are brand new and would look great on the right person. I have no idea why I bought these articles of clothing; either the mirror in the store was warped or my body image was. Nonetheless, they hang in my closet, tags still attached, and I know I will soon give them away. My girls have clothing that I think are lovely but they would not wear because it was the wrong color or style. (How annoying are young girls with their sense of style? Oh, wait. Women are, too.)

My thought is, why just stuff these outfits into a garbage bag in the hopes that it will go to the needy? Why not give them to a friend or someone who you know who is going through tough times?

If you arrange a Swap Party, let me know how it goes (or, if you already did, let me know how it went). I’m sure everyone (especially Mother Earth) could benefit from the gathering.

Photo by Steve Woods, courtesy of stock.xchng

Junie B, Is It For Me?

I’ll admit half of what I do when parenting is fly by the seat of my pants. I can read the books, talk to friends and even hear words of (ahem) wisdom from my mom and my in-laws, but in the end, I’m the one who has to make the choices. And, frankly, I’m kind of a moron at times.

The latest dilemma revolves around the Junie B. Jones series written by Barbara Park. A few years ago I read this article in the New York Times and ignorantly vowed never to let my child read those books. People interviewed for the story were incensed by the book’s popularity because the girl spoke incorrectly, did not use proper grammar and talked back to the teacher. As someone who considers herself a snob when it comes to speaking correctly (even though God knows I’m far from perfect when I write or speak), I just could not let my child read such trash.

Um, okay, Miss I-Love-People-Magazine-And-Other-Trashy-Periodicals. How ‘bout you step down off the Hypocrite Bench and face reality?

I discussed Junie B. with a few moms at the swimming school where my daughters take lessons. One mom said, “I’m just excited they love to read,” she said. “I don’t really care that she doesn’t use the right words or says, ‘stupid,’ because kids can hear that on the playground.”

Another woman said, “Didn’t we read book worse than this as a child?

I said, “I read Nancy Drew books. Whatever happened to those? They were exciting and I don’t recall anyone telling me they were bad for children.”

I decided not to give the book much thought after this discussion because Lily never brought them up.

Then came Tuesday, March 3.

Lily has a reading basket at school and in it, there are books to take home and read, and there are “fun” books to read in class. “I read Junie B. Jones,” she said to me at dinner that night.

Like an idiot, I said, “I hope not!” (Okay, way to be a supportive mom. I swear, you’d think I didn’t read myself. I mean, here I am, a former journalist, someone who strongly believes in freedom of speech and the written word. And I am making a judgment about a book I have never read myself? Why not just burn books now, too, huh? Better yet, should I start a movement to ban Catcher In The Rye – one of my all time favorite books – while I’m at it? Sheesh.)

She looked at me and I quickly changed positions. “I mean, uh, what was it about?” I smiled, hoping she would ignore my first comment.

She told me a little bit about it and said it was funny.

I said, “I was just kidding before, ha ha. I am glad you’re enjoying a book.” (At this point I believe a very visible ‘Dumb Ass’ tattoo appeared on my forehead.)

So yesterday was the beginning of Read Across America at Lily’s school in honor of Dr. Seuss’s birthday. Every Wednesday for the month of March parents are invited into the classroom for half an hour. We join our little first graders and sit on the rug while they read us story after story. I loved every moment; Lily was excited to read to me and I liked seeing what she did in class. I glanced in her book basket and there, staring me in the face, was a Junie B. Jones book. “Why don’t you read me this one?” I asked. She picked it up and said, “Okay.”

The first three pages were not only fine, but funny. I could see why a child would relate. I could also see why parents might object, however, because the language isn’t the Queen’s English. But then I remembered something I read in the article:

“If you read ‘Huckleberry Finn’ you can’t help but notice the terrible grammar, but that doesn’t make it an unenjoyable read,” [one man] said. “Sure, maybe Junie B. isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But when she does things wrong or says things incorrectly, it provides an opportunity to talk about how things should be.”

Good point. So I’ve decided to take this one slowly. If Lily has an interest in reading it, fine. If she doesn’t I won’t have to give it a second thought.