MSG, You and Me

I ran into my friend Kelly at the supermarket yesterday. She was examining a box of crackers and explained she was trying to buy foods without MSG (monosodium glutamate) and high-fructose corn syrup in it.

“Wait,” I said, “crackers have MSG in them?”

“These do,” she said, pointing the reduced fat, white cheddar Cheez-Its. “And I think some of the others do, too.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. I picked up the box. There it was – monosodium glutamate sandwiched in between other ingredients. (Oddly enough, it was not present in the normal box of Cheez-Its.)

I knew some soups – such as Progresso and Campbell’s – had MSG in them and because of that I always bought organic soups, such as Wolfgang Puck's organic soups. But I didn't realize how many foods had MSG in them.

Many of you may be wondering: What’s so bad about MSG, anyway?

A lot, frankly. On a Web site devoted to the explanation of and potential harm caused by MSG, I discovered “MSG is not a true allergen but may directly affect immune response by stimulating or damaging the nervous system.” MSG can affect blood pressure, blood vessels, the digestive system, hearing, heart rate, the endocrine system, lungs, nervous system, thyroid and other aspects of normal body function. (Click here to read more, in detail, about the harmful effects of MSG).

What I didn’t know much about was high-fructose corn syrup. Kelly said it was a man-made sugar our bodies could not break down. Being a former journalist, I had to find out for myself just how bad this sweetener really is.

So what is high-fructose corn syrup? According to MayoClinic.com, it “is a common sweetener and preservative. High-fructose corn syrup is made by changing the sugar (glucose) in cornstarch to fructose — another form of sugar. The end product is a combination of fructose and glucose. Because it extends the shelf life of processed foods and is cheaper than sugar, high-fructose corn syrup has become a popular ingredient in many sodas, fruit-flavored drinks and other processed foods.”

Yet in all the sites I visited, I could not find anything about the body’s ability to breakdown that ingredient. What I did discover, however, is that many studies link this ingredient to obesity. Some researchers say as soon as it was introduced, obesity began to skyrocket in the United States. But the MayoClinic.com states: “But recent research — some of which is supported by the beverage industry — suggests that high-fructose corn syrup isn't intrinsically less healthy than other sweeteners, nor is it the root cause of obesity.”

As with everything, the site suggests using such foods in moderation and limiting the amount of processed foods you consume. (Click here, and click here, and click here to read more about high-fructose corn syrup.)

I was thankful for my chance meeting with Kelly because even though I buy mainly healthful foods for my family (and lots of organic foods, even cookies), I also am a sucker for the foods that I loved as a child. I will definitely be more thoughtful about what I buy and what I eat, and I will try to educate my kids when I make those choices.

Photo by Anne-Mette Pedersen, courtesy of stock.xchng

Do As I Say

One great aspect about meeting moms who parent the way I do is being able to share information. My friend J and I have similar parenting styles (although, naturally we also disagree at times). Yet whenever one of us has a problem, we call the other one up and ask for advice. Most times we help each other and suggest a plan that worked for us. If we have try something the other suggested and failed, however, we will listen and say, “Huh. Well, kids are different.” Because, frankly, kids are different. What works for one child does not necessarily work for another. To me, this is part of the process: discovering what methods are helpful and what aren't.

Not all moms think the way I do, however. There is a mother in town who refuses to believe her way is not gospel and whenever I run into her I think, “Oh, man. Here it comes.”

I was at the community pool with the kids when the woman spotted me and asked me to join her. We were talking about her son, who is entering sixth grade. He was wandering around the pool alone, not really talking to anyone or going swimming. She told me she was considering putting him in private school because he was being ostracized so badly by the other boys in his class. She said she watched him walk up to a group of boys at the pool and say hello. The boys looked to see who was talking to them, saw it was her son, and turned away without answering.

“It’s terrible,” she said.

I cannot imagine how hard it must have been to witness his feelings getting hurt. Middle school is brutal for kids who are not outgoing and popular. Her son also has behavioral problems and other issues, so he has become and easy target for bullying. I spoke to her about Lily being bullied at school and she immediately flipped the situation around. She began telling me what I should and should not do.

“No, wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “Lily handled it. She put the bully in her place. It’s not an issue right now.”

She ignored me and continued to tell me how I should enroll Lily in soccer to teach her how to work with a team.

I shook my head. “Lily doesn't like soccer,” I said. “She did it for two years and never wanted to go back.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Make her do it. It’s good for her.”

Huh? I looked at her in amazement and realized she wasn’t listening to me. I then realized she probably doesn’t listen to her own kids much, either.

I told her Lily was already involved in swimming and dance classes.

“No. They need a team sport,” she said.

Um, because swimming and dance are not team sports? Come on. This woman is experiencing problems with her son yet her concern was Lily. I just nodded my head and then glanced at my watch. “Wow, look at the time,” I said. I motioned for my girls to get out of the pool and said good-bye.

Know-it-all moms worry me because they refuse to believe that their way may be the wrong way. She has three daughters in addition to her son and my guess is she uses the same disciplinary and coping methods for all four children. I felt sorry for her son because he was probably a victim of his mom's arrogance and hubris. I hope things change for him next year because I would hate for her ego to get in the way of his success.

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

Ask Me No Questions

Is it possible for a mother to go slowly insane raising an extremely nosy child?

Aimee is exceptionally inquisitive. I laugh as I type that because the word does not even come close to accurately describing how curious she is. I cannot get through an hour without 25 or more questions hurled at me, many of which she knows the answer and just wants to see if I will give the same response. Here’s an example of her especially annoying interrogations:

“Here, Aimee, I cut up an apple for you in case you’re hungry,” I will say.

Now, normally, a child would just say, “Thanks, Mom,” or “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” Not Aimee. Here are a series of questions that I will face with the aforementioned simple statement.

“You made me a snack because you thought I was hungry?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Is it a green apple or a red apple?” (She’s not blind; the apple is right in front of her.)

I point and say, “See for yourself.” If it’s green, she will say, “You gave me green because you know I like them?” If it’s red, she’ll say, “Why? Because red apples are crunchy?”

Then she will ask: “Did you cut it up for me or is it whole?”

“Um, seriously?” I ask. Again, I point to the plate. If I cut it, she will say, “Did you cut it because it’s easier for me to eat that way?”

If it’s whole, I she will say, “Why? Because you didn’t feel like cutting it?”

You may think I am exaggerating, but these questions swoop at me like hawks attacking their prey. I cannot dodge them or she will only ask more. Yet lately, I have had it with the Spanish Inquisition and find myself saying, “Aimee, enough. It’s a snack, for Pete’s sake. There isn’t more to be said about it.”

I feel awful when I shoot her down because, as parents, shouldn’t we celebrate our child’s curiosity? But she talks so much I often find it hard to think. I will be rushing around trying to get ready for the day and she will come to me, a mental list ready for what she wants to know that day, and I cannot keep my own thoughts straight. “Aimee, I love you but I need five minutes of quiet so I can organize my thoughts,” I tell her.

“Okay, Mommy. But…”

“No ‘buts’,” I say. “Please.”

But by then my thoughts are long gone and I have to stop and think for a while. At that point she thinks she has waited long enough and starts to ask something else just as I have remembered what I need to do.

As a former journalist, I shouldn’t be surprised my husband (who is also a journalist) and I gave birth to the next Carl Bernstein. But until then, I’m going to practice what I need to do to get through the next decade or so: deep breathing.

photo by svilen mushkatov, courtesy of stock.xchng

Rotten Apples

On Wednesday Lily came home on her last day of school with a glowing report card (Omigosh - did that come out of me? I can’t stand when parents brag about their kids! Sheesh). So I offered to throw a little impromptu party to celebrate and commemorate the beginning of summer. I carefully selected four friends I knew were well-behaved girls from school and invited them over. What a delight these kids were. Everyone spoke nicely and politely to each other, no one ganged up on anyone else, and everyone had smiles for each other. If every child were like these kids I would have parties every day in the summer.

There was one exception, however. Aimee, who heard me calling around inviting Lily’s friends, said, “What about me, Mommy? I want my friends to come too.”

“Sure,” I said. “Who do you want to invite?”

She picked three girls and I called them all. Only one was able to come and her mom (who I love and who is a riot) dropped her off. The girl is 4 and the first child of three. I figured Aimee and this girl would either play together, or, as is usually the case when younger girls get around older girls, they would mirror the older kids.

What’s the saying about when someone assumes?

This child was the antithesis of every kid at the party. When everyone was eating a snack, she noticed the box of M&Ms that one mom brought over and said, “I want those.” No asking nicely, no kind words, just a demand.

“The girls are eating a snack right now. You can either eat a snack with them or wait until they are done,” I said. She glared at me. Then she put her hands on her hips and said, “I want the M&Ms. Now.”

Huh, I thought. How’s it feel to want?

“I hear you,” I said. “But I made myself clear. You can wait or not have them at all. It’s up to you.”

“But I want them now,” she said.

I shrugged and walked away.

When they all ran outside and played, she begged me to come inside. When everyone sipped a juice box, she refused. When they were finished, she wanted one. When I asked, “Who wants ice pops?” Everyone yelled, “Me!” She tugged at my shirt and said, “I want ice cream.”

I would throttle a child like this if she were mine.

When her mom came to pick her up she got tired and started to whine. Her mom scooped her up and said, “Can you say thank you?”

The girl whined more. I have heard the mom ask her child many times to say something in the past and each time the girl ignored the mom. So it was no surprise to me that she didn’t answer her mom when her mom said, “What do you say to Aimee’s mom for having you over?”

She behaved that way all afternoon, in fact. Whenever I handed her something she wanted she never said, “Thank you.” So I gently took back what I gave her, smiled and said, “In this house we use our manners. I know you can use yours, too, so let’s hear them.” Of course she immediately said, “Thanks!” and then snatched the object out of my hand.

What most parents (including my dear husband) don’t realize is this: if you ask a child, the answer is no. Meaning, if you say, “Can you…?” the child will react negatively. Instead, parents should say, “Say ‘thank you’ to Mrs. X for having you over.” You aren’t asking, you are telling. That’s how kids learn, especially toddlers. (So folks, if you’re one of the moms or dads who ask, remember it’s your own fault if they don’t comply.)

Photo by Brandon Heyer, courtesy of stock.xchng

Infidelity

What is it about politicians and their penises?

I wasn’t surprised in the least to discover South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford had been cheating on his wife of almost 20 years. In fact, I might have been surprised if I found out he hadn’t. Cheating in American politics – scratch that, in America – has become so common it’s practically part of a man's job description.

Have any of you seen the photos of the governor’s wife? She’s an elegant, attractive lady and – my favorite part – she launched his career. According to this article in the Associated Press: “During Mark Sanford’s first gubernatorial campaign in 2002, [his wife,] Jenny ran the show from the basement of their Sullivans Island beach house while he fretted as the wind blew his charts off of tripods during outdoor press conferences.”

Although she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth (she is a Skil Corp. power tool company heir), she was frugal (shopped at WalMart) and helped him pull a wagon Sanford and their four sons built on parade routes across the state.

I need to ask this question: why isn’t being a loyal wife and partner for 20 years enough to keep a person from cheating?

Two weeks ago I went out for a drink with a mom and a dad (they are not married or together) while our children were at ballet rehearsal. Oddly enough, the mom and the dad suffered the loss of their spouse. Her husband was killed on 9/11 in the attacks at the World Trade Center, and his wife was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer and died five years ago. They each have a young daughter in third grade.

The mom has been in a relationship for a few years now but admitted to me once that she will never marry. “I already met my soul mate once,” she said. “I can’t imagine finding him again.”

The father, who has remained single but dated a few women here and there, recently met a woman who has sparked his interest. “When I met my wife, I knew I was going to marry her,” he said to us. He told us when he first started dating he thought he would never find a woman like his wife. “I thought I was older, I was a dad, and things were different.” Then he met the woman he is now dating, and he said he felt the same emotions he had when he met his wife. “I am so glad I didn’t settle,” he said. “I am head over heels.”

We were thrilled by his news and I asked whether she was divorced or widowed. “Divorced,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

They both looked at me. “Well, there must be a reason,” I said.

He smiled and said, “Well, yes. Turns out her husband had a weakness for the ladies.”

His girlfriend’s husband began cheating on her almost immediately after they got together, and she found out about his affairs when they were married and she was five months pregnant.

“Why?” I asked. “Why do men do that? Why get married? Why bring children into the world? I mean, if they like to fool around, great. But why not just go and have wild affairs and never get married or have kids?”

We all shook our heads because I think people have been asking that question for years. One friend of mine said some men like the idea of settling down and getting married, but cannot grow up and accept the responsibility that comes with a long partnership.

Whatever the case, I’m sad for Jenny Sanford and all the other women who have had to stand in the spotlight and admit they have been cheated on. Their husbands shed tears of remorse, as if those salty drops will wash away all the embarrassment and shame he and his wandering penis have caused his family. As if it’s not humiliating enough to know their husband preferred the company of another woman, these women now have the public judging her as well. And what about his four boys? If they grow up with a father who cheated why should they remain loyal to their wives? As I say to my kids on a daily basis: there are always going to be consequences for your actions.

Photo by Julia Freeman-Woolpert, courtesy of stock.xchng

Living Not-So Free

When I was a kid, and it was summer, I left the house early in the morning and didn’t come back for good until way after 9 o’clock at night. I wasn’t the only one out of his or her house, either; my entire neighborhood of kids (of all ages) would gather at sundown and play Kick the Can in everyone’s yards. We would hide in the shadows and around bushes hoping we could be the last one to kick that silly tin cup.

Today, however, almost everything I do with my kids is either scheduled or organized. No child comes knocking on my door asking if Lily or Aimee can come out and play, and I don’t send my girls to other people's homes, either. Not that I don’t want them to – I do. It’s just no one seems to think uninvited calling is appropriate behavior anymore.

The kids I see in our area are either locked in their backyards or told to stay in the front (my kids included). On my street we have a few young children, but most are down the block and I don’t think Lily can be trusted yet to go and find a friend to play with and return home if she can't.

Yet when I was 7 years old (Lily's age now), I walked to school every day without my parents. I picked up my friend Peggy on my way (her mom was the crossing guard) and we scurried to school together. I cannot imagine sending Lily on her own to school next year. We live within walking distance to the elementary and middle schools, yet the only kids I see walking home alone are in fourth or fifth grade. Everyone else either drives or walks their kids.

I don’t believe this is the world in which we live. Most moms and dads don’t let their kids roam free because they are scared a crazed sex offender will scoop up their child and carry them off to their doom. Or, they worry (as my husband does) that their kids won’t notice cars and will cross the street without looking.

Yesterday I was speaking to J who (the lucky mom!) has the kind of neighborhood where the houses are close together and everyone can see the kids playing on the street. Children scoot in between homes and play in the front and backyards, and no one calls to make sure it’s okay for little Johnny to come over. They just do. Yet yesterday she met a 12-year-old boy down the street who has lived in his house for more than a year. “I’ve never seen him before,” she said.

This boy’s mom came by and spoke to J the day after he played in J’s yard and said she was sorry he just came by. “No, don’t be,” J said to her. “Everyone does it. All the kids know they can come and play in our yard.”

“Oh, no, I don’t do that,” she said. “I like to arrange play dates.”

Why? Why do moms make it so much more difficult? Everyone I know has the kind of childhood I had, yet very few people I know let their kids go around the neighborhood unattended.

Perhaps things will change once Lily gets a bit older, but I am sad for the way our kids have to live their lives. I would love to say to her, “Sure. Go ride your bike and see if the twins are home.” One day I hope I will be able to let her go, but until then, I’ll be living in the world of schedules and appointments. And I’m not going to like it.

Photo by Fran GC, courtesy of stock.xchng

Oh, My

The playground offers the best fodder for this blog; it allows me to don my Judge Mommy hat and wag a finger at those who shock me the most.

Yesterday was no exception. I took my kids to a large playground nearby. While there I saw a couple that had two children, ages 2 and 5, and a newborn baby. I didn’t see the couple at first because I was too focused on the 2-year-old (she may have been only 18 months old, but the point is she was young). She was maneuvering her way around a structure meant for 5-to-10-year-olds. This particular jungle gym is very high off the ground and has large openings where a child her age could easily fall off. I scanned the area looking for her parents and looked for someone who would watch a young child. I did not see them. I’m not the kind of mom who hovers over her kids at the park, but when a child is this age and on an object that is clearly dangerous, I can’t help myself and I jumped up because she was acting as if she was going to walk right off. I kept looking for her parents but they didn’t look up at her once. I finally realized they were her parents when I saw her climb down and go to them. They were so engrossed in each other and the newborn that they didn’t notice where their daughter (or the older son) was.

This is where things get really good.

The couple was deep in conversation, and I glanced at the baby snuggled against the mom’s chest. It was sucking its thumb, falling deeply into sleep. I didn’t look at the couple much because my mind wandered back to when Lily and Aimee were both babies (they both sucked their thumbs, too). I then smelled something and looked up at the father, who was standing over the mom and the baby. He took a long drag on a cigarette and blew the smoke out. Right. Near. The. Baby. After a few minutes the mother put the child in the baby carrier (with the top down, so the sun beat mercilessly down on the child’s face) and then gently took the cigarette out of her husband’s hand.

Oh, good, I thought. She’s going to put it out.

Nope. She took a drag herself and finished the cigarette, right there over the baby in the carriage.

There are so many wrongs with that scenario I don’t even know where to begin. First of all, who thinks it’s a good idea to smoke at a playground where other children are playing? Second, should the parents of a newborn baby (and let’s not forget the two other children, because clearly their parents did) smoke right next their child? (While we're on the subject, I cannot stand when people bring their dogs to playgrounds, either. Why should my child play where dogs have gone to the bathroom? I don't bring my children to the dog park, so I wish people wouldn't bring their dogs to kid parks, either.)

My jaw dropped in awe at these two, their smoke filling the air, but not for very long. There was another mom whose child was so incredibly snotty and rude my attention was brought elsewhere.

There are some mothers I just don’t understand. I’ve written about them before but they surprise me so much I feel compelled to talk about them now. I call them Bitchy Moms – they don’t return your smile (even if they've seen you a million times before), they are focused solely on their own children and behave as if they are the only women on earth to have given birth.

I cannot stand moms like these for obvious reasons, but the main reason I find them so distasteful is how they raise their children. This particular mom, who ignored my greeting, followed her 4-year-old daughter around like a puppy. This girl was the modern-day version of Veruca Salt. At one point the girl decided she wanted to play with a wheel that another child was steering. “I want it! I want it!” she screamed, pointing to the toy. Her mother stood next to her and glared at the child on the wheel who, thankfully, ignored both of them. When the mom realized her stare was ineffective, she took the girl to another wheel and said, “Let’s use this one, sweetie.”

“No! I want that one!” screamed the girl. She then got really angry. “That stupid boy! That dumb, stupid boy! Get off! Get off!”

I watched the mom, waiting for a word - any word - to teach this girl how to behave. Instead, the mom just stroked the child’s hair and cuddled her. She didn’t say, “Hey, I know you’re upset, but we don’t call people names.” She didn’t say, “I know it’s hard to take turns, but that’s what we do.” She said nothing and did nothing.

The mom continued on her stellar path when the girl, who finally got the wheel she wanted, stuck her tongue out at the 2-year-old who came over to say hello. The toddler didn’t understand the girl’s brash behavior and just said, “Hi!” The girl continued to stick her tongue out at the girl and make mean faces, while the mom sat next to her, watching her every move.

Wow. It dawned on me while watching this child how easily bullies are made. I could envision this girl in middle school, shoving children against a locker and spreading spurious rumors about other kids just for the fun of it. I could see her entitled little self walking the halls and acting as if she were the prettiest, smartest and most wonderful child on earth.

She scared me.

I realize I seem naïve, but I cannot believe how blind some parents are to their own behavior and their children’s behavior. It doesn’t take brilliance to be a good parent but you'd think it did when you see some of the moms and dads out there. I hear parents say, “I’m just too tired to discipline them,” or “I know, I really should be consistent but I'm just not,” and I understand how they feel. Parenting can be really tough. But when their children come home from school with a note from the teacher asking to discuss their behavioral problems, why is it the same moms and dads always say, "My kid? No way!"?

Photo by Ramzi Hashisho, courtesy of stock.xchng

Afternoon Delight

It’s funny how doing something seemingly harmless in the United States can be misconstrued for rude or obnoxious behavior in another country. We have several British friends and one couple once told us how no one speaks to a stranger while riding the tube (the British equivalent of the New York subway).

“Ever?” I asked.

“No,” my friend shook his head. “You just don’t do that there.”

“Not even to ask a question about a book they are reading or something?” I asked.

“No. It’s just not done,” he said. He said if someone does break that code of silence others on the train roll their eyes and become visibly uncomfortable.

I would find not being able to strike up a conversation constricting and difficult. I am that annoying woman who talks to just about anyone and everyone. If someone is doing something interesting, I want to know about it. If someone is holding a map of the city, I want to help out. I am a British Tube rider’s nightmare.

There is, however, one English tradition I’d love to see Americans adopt: afternoon tea.

According to this Web site, the English used to eat lunch at exactly noon and dinner at 8:00 p.m. or 9 p.m. The seventh Duchess of Bedford, Anna Maria Russell, complained in1841 of a “sinking feeling” in the afternoon. (That would be hunger, darling.) She asked for a cup of tea and a few slices of bread with butter, thus beginning the tradition of afternoon tea. Soon began a wealthy tradition of serving tea in the afternoon with slices of bread and butter, and soon one would offer thin cucumber sandwiches, or salmon sandwiches (with the crusts removed) as well as cakes, pastries, scones with cream, and a Victoria sponge cake.

Doesn’t that sound awesome? Of course, serving tea with all that food at 4 o’clock in the afternoon doesn’t quite work for mothers with young children, considering most eat dinner around 5 p.m. or 6 p.m. and go to bed between 7:30 p.m. and 8 o’clock. But if we moved the tea time to 2 p.m. and served healthier snacks, can’t you see this tradition taking off? I won’t don my finest clothing (as the women in the 1800s did) but I would happily get a fancy teapot and fine china for the occasion.

My girls would be thrilled to have a tea party every day, too. If I served herbal tea with fresh fruit and ginger snaps, they would love it even more. Since we have a lot more time to kill in the summer, I may just begin the tradition and let you know how it goes. It would fill the afternoon down time and give us all a little pick-me-up.

To read more about interesting facts about afternoon tea, high tea and other traditions, click here.

Photo by Mono Bustos, courtesy of stock.xchng

Father's Day 2009

Father’s Day is always a tough one for me. I had an especially loving and thoughtful relationship with my own father, but he died 12 years ago and left a void in my heart that has yet to be replaced. The hardest part about this holiday is knowing my own kids will never be able to enjoy the company a man who would have clearly been the outstanding grandparent. When I compare the ones my kids have (my mom, my mother-in-law and my father-in-law) to him, I am saddened by the lot life has given my girls. My mom established a tight-knit bond with my brother’s children, making them the preferred grandkids in her eyes. My mother-in-law has done the same with my sister-in-law’s kids, and even though she never calls our girls, when she is here she calls the other grandchildren and talks to every one of them (there are four). And my father-in-law, who is remarried, spends most of his time with his wife’s grandchildren because they live just two blocks away from them.

I grew up without any grandparents. My mother’s parents and my father’s parents both died even before my own parents met and married. And being the child of immigrants with no relatives in our country, my upbringing was rather lonely. No cousins, no aunts, no uncles – just us. No wonder we were so dysfunctional. Spend all your time with the same three people and odds are you will turn on each other eventually.

I always hoped when I met and married someone my own children would have a different childhood, filled with loving family members and fun memories. I wanted to establish a relationship with their cousins, aunts and uncles and allow them to feel they had family who loved and cared for them. Such plans only work if you have willing participants, and sadly, no one in our family other than my husband and I care much about what my girls are up to. They are all much too self-involved and worry about their own lives to hear about Lily or Aimee.

It breaks my heart.

My father-in-law, however, has tried to step up to the plate lately, and for that I am appreciative. We have a long, sordid history with him and his wife, and my husband and I are not particularly fond of either of them. But last week they flew out to surprise my girls for their ballet recital. They brought gifts, played with the girls and doted upon them the way a grandparent should. When he calls on the phone he always asks to speak to them. He calls at appropriate times, too – not after they have been tucked in bed or when they are in school. He knows their schedule and makes an effort to call when they are available.

I give him kudos because I appreciate the effort. My own dad would have spent quality time talking to my girls (the way he did with me) and I know he would have made them feel as special as he made me feel growing up. Girls especially need that kind of validation because it helps them appreciate who they are and what they can offer. So even though my father-in-law is not the man I wanted them to call grandpa, he has done a good job of earning the title lately.

And for that, I am grateful.

Happy Father’s Day.

Photo by Marko Malca, courtesy of stock.xchng

Guilt Trip

I think most people, after they become parents, reexamine their lives as children and vow never to make the same mistakes their parents did. “I’ll never say, ‘Because I said so,’” I remember saying to myself. “I will always explain why I do the things I do to my kids.”

Um…

Let me confess right now that phrase has escaped my lips on more than one occasion. In fact, I have done and said many things I promised never to do or say. However, I also understand why my parents did and said some of those things. You can only hear the question, “Why?” so often before you break down with, “Because I said so!” (And, frankly, I am tempted to insert a really juicy curse word between “I” and “said.”)

But one thing my parents did – and one I hope never to repeat – was to raise me with large doses of guilt. I used to think dishing out guilt was a cultural phenomenon, but as I grow older and talk with more friends whose parents also gave them the same trip, I realize it may be more of a generational thing. Either way, it sucks.

What I also noticed is that same shame my parents so freely blanketed upon us did not affect them in the slightest. If I, for example, forgot their birthday or didn’t get them a gift or card, I would hear about that mishap for years on end. Seriously. I could never live my mistakes down. However, if they forgot - or just didn’t feel the need to celebrate something of mine - (like, for instance, when I earned my master’s degree and didn’t get so much as a card for my efforts) I would get a sob story about life being busy and gee, they should have but, oh, well, and... C'mon! What are you upset about anyway?

Are you kidding me?

Guilt left a very bad taste in my mouth. That's why I decided I wouldn’t force such ridiculous emotions upon my own children. I don’t want them to get me cards or gifts because they worry I’ll yell at them. I want them to get me things because I mean something to them and they want to celebrate our relationship. Yes, I will be disappointed if they forget my birthday or ignore Mother’s Day, but will I stop speaking to them or feed them a heaping spoonful of blame? Absolutely not. I know what it’s like to feel you cannot do enough for a person and I don’t want my girls to have that burden.

I bring all this up because yesterday was my husband’s birthday. He’s not big into celebrating (hello? What’s wrong with him?) so when his mother and my mother both let the day pass without so much as a phone call, he shrugged and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”

Huh?

I was furious. These two women are constantly reading us the riot act about how they want to be remembered. If a card is so much as a day late you can hear the disappointment and resentment drip from their voices when we call to also mark the joyous holiday. So the fact that they both let his birthday go unnoticed – well, that got my attention. I could call my mom and give her the same blameworthy lecture she gave my brother and me as children, but I won’t. I’m far too mature for that. No, I’ll take the high road: I’ll just use it as a weapon the next time I make a mistake…

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

Who You Callin' Hot?

My husband has never been the jealous type. I could stand stark naked holding a roofie in my drink at a fraternity party, bells dangling from my nipples, and he would stand in a corner and say to his friend, “Isn’t my wife awesome?”

Lately, however, I am seeing a little protectiveness in my mate. If I talk about a male friend I know or say I spoke to a guy I’ve been friends with for years, he makes a witty but green-eyed comment.

“Are you jealous?” I asked incredulously.

“Maybe,” he admitted shyly.

“Seriously? Why now?” I asked. We have been married for almost 12 years, together for 14. He has never raised an eyebrow, even when I went on girls-only weekends away or went out on the town with friends.

“You’re hotter now,” he said.

Excuse me? I looked down at myself. My breasts are clearly now in their own zip code. My stomach, stretched by two pregnancies, will never see the light of day again (if I can help it). And my thighs? Well, let’s just say the dimple on my face now has serious competition.

“Hotter?” I asked. Maybe he said smarter. I needed to ask again.

“Yes,” said, kissing me. “H-o-t.”

“When did you last get your eyes checked?” I asked him. He shook his head and walked away.

When my husband and I first met I was in my prime. I wore bikinis and mini-skirts. I worked out several days a week. Now that I’m in my 40s (and the mother of two kids with barely enough time to get to the gym), what could possibly make me more attractive than I was 10 years ago?

Then it hit me: I am now at the age when I just don’t give a rat’s patootie what people think of me anymore. My skirt is a bit tight? Yeah, so what’s it to you? I have a zit on my face? Let me find some Clearasil and call it a day. That roll hanging over my jeans? Hold on while I pull my waistband a bit higher. Good. That’ll do it. Now, what were we talking about…

I suppose when women get older our insouciance exudes being sexy. We aren’t hiding behind anything, we let it all out there for others to judge and scrutinize. The difference is we do so with our middle finger extended. And man, does it feel good.

I still think my husband needs new glasses and can’t see the sexpot he does when he looks at me. But hey, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth, right? I’m bringing sexy back, and ladies, it’s middle-aged, a few pounds heavier and full of spunk.

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

You Gonna Eat That?

The other day when I picked Aimee up from her class at the recreation center, the teacher said to me, “What was that white stuff that was in Aimee’s lunchbox?”

“White stuff… white stuff,” I thought. “Oh,” I said. “You mean jicama?”

“What’s jicama?” she asked. There were two other teachers in the room and a few kids. Everyone stared at me waiting for my answer.

“It’s a Mexican turnip,” I said. “Only it’s sort of sweet, not tangy.”

“I knew it was a turnip!” she said. “I took a piece and tasted it.” She pointed to Aimee. “She didn’t like it, though.”

I glanced at Aimee and raised an eyebrow. “Um-hmm,” I said. She smiled sheepishly and looked away.

When we got home, I asked Aimee if she was still hungry. She nodded and I handed her the bowl of jicama. She ate every last piece.

I knew exactly why she didn’t eat the jicama in front of those women. The same thing happened to Lily at the beginning of the school year. I had packed yellow bell peppers in her lunch and another girl, whose mom probably gave her fluff and chocolate for lunch, scrunched up her nose and pointed to Lily’s container. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Peppers,” Lily said.

“Eww!” the girl said. “They smell funny.”

Lily came home that day and handed me the untouched container of peppers. She asked me never to give them to her again. Knowing how much Lily loved yellow peppers, I asked why. She told me about the girl at school. “Listen, I’m not going to do that,” I said. “You love peppers. Next time she says something, say, ‘They’re just vegetables. What, you’ve never eaten a vegetable before?’”

Lily raised her eyebrows and said, “Yeah! You’re right!”

This “what’s in my lunch” issue is one I understand very well. My own mother would pack egg salad sandwiches mixed with feta cheese in my lunch. I remember swapping many of my food items for peanut butter and jelly or "American" foods with my friends until my mom figured out what I was doing and just made me what I wanted. I just wanted to be like everyone else. And so do my girls.

But it’s one thing to turn up your nose at feta cheese and another to do it to the same vegetables and fruit you will eat at home. So I explained to my girls that some kids eat differently but we eat what is good for us. “You are eating healthfully,” I said. “If you were eating junk, then you should be worried.”

I have never made food an issue. If my kids aren’t hungry, they don’t eat. I don’t praise them for eating well (“We eat because we’re hungry,” I tell them, “not because we get a reward.”) I don’t make them clean their plates. I have sent both girls to bed with one bite of food in their bellies. Not out of anger or punishment, but because they refused to eat. Fine by me. Because the next morning they eat a healthy breakfast (a large one) and considering Lily is the tallest girl in her class, my guess is they are both growing the way they should.

I have written this before but will reiterate what I learned when I first started Lily on solid food as a baby. Babies have a clean palette and don’t know plain yogurt from the sugary kind. If you think a child will turn its nose up at something they just might surprise you (my kids still eat plain yogurt, sometimes with fresh fruit). And sometimes you have to offer them the same item at least 10 times before they will try them. Also, if you make food an issue, it will become a battle very quickly. I knew a couple that would hover over their child in angst, waiting for him to try certain foods (or just eat). He would barely eat enough to last him an hour and then complain he was hungry. But the fight would begin again and he would toss any items he didn't like onto the floor. At 8, he is still one of the pickiest eaters I know.

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

Summer Schedule

My friend Wendy called me a couple of weeks ago. “I’m so ready for summer,” she confessed. “I don’t want to have to deal with schedules, packing lunches or away games. I’m just done.”

I listened and thought, “Huh. I’m not quite there yet.”

Lily has a week more of school left, and Aimee’s school ended last week. I understand not wanting to get up and make lunches, or dealing with the morning rush, but the idea of having both kids home all day, every day, is a bit daunting. Thankfully my girls are of the age where they can play together for hours. I can write this blog, do some work around the house and not have to keep an eye on them every second of the day. But Aimee does best with a schedule – any schedule. As long as she knows what to expect, she is a much happier (and better behaved) child. Summer always seems to throw her for a loop because each day is a different plan. When her world is unpredictable, so is her mood.

Working from experience (meaning the last few summers where her mood had spiraled out of control from a lack of scheduling), I decided to make some plans. I picked a couple of days to go fruit picking and to the zoo, I penciled in a couple of long weekends where we will take road trips with my friend J and her family, and I booked a week in August when will be going to the Jersey Shore (if this rain keeps up, however, that is going to be one soggy holiday). I also called a nearby kids camp and asked about its programs.

This is where my planning went awry.

The place I called is a chain and it’s called Baby Power and Forever Kids. I took Aimee to Mommy and Me classes here when she was little (which she loved), and I even held Lily’s third birthday party here (again, it was a hit). It has day camps for kids ages 3 through 10, and I saw it was also hosting cooking classes for kids this summer. Lily has been dying to cook with me and I promised I would find a class for her to test her culinary skills (I figure she can mess up a kitchen all she wants as long as it’s not mine). So I e-mailed and called, and after several attempts I got a reply from the owner. The woman is a mother I see in town and she recently purchased the chain from the owner we loved. This new owner, however, has four kids and cannot seem to run the programs and her life at the same time. (And, frankly, if you can’t be a good manager, why make the leap into ownership?) Each time I tried to ask a question, whether it was via e-mail or voicemail, it took several days to get a reply. What’s even more frustrating is when she finally got back to me, she wouldn’t answer all my questions. Seriously – how hard is it to read an e-mail and respond? And if you are running a business largely dependant on word-of-mouth and reputation, wouldn’t you take five minutes to give proper customer service? Sheesh.

So, I’m still waiting. And I’m still planning. And I’m starting to feel a lot more like Wendy, wishing summer would just get here already. Of course, I’ll rue the day I said that soon enough.

What Would You Say?

I had a busy morning. I got Lily off to school, dropped Aimee at camp for the morning and ran a bunch of errands. Unfortunately, one place I needed to go to was closed for the day, so I miscalculated my timing and ended up sitting in the parking lot killing a half an hour until I had to pick up Aimee.

When I got to the place, I noticed a woman parked next to me. She was in her car, talking rather loudly on her Bluetooth. Her windows were down and the car was running. I went into the building, noticed the place was closed, checked out the café for a coffee and came back out. The woman was still there, chatting to whomever, car still running. I went to my car and decided to read some news. After 10 minutes of listening to her engine hum, I was overcome by a desire to say something. I’ve seen enough about global warming and car emissions to know that leaving your car running for half an hour in a parking lot just cannot be good for the planet. But rather than take a holier-than-thou tone, I thought to myself, “How can I get myself heard without sounding like a complete jerk?” So, I got out of my car, walked over to her with a huge smile on my face.

“Hi!” I said.

“Hi,” she answered.

“Look, I am saying this with a huge amount of respect for you, and out of love for our planet,” I said. “But I see you’re waiting and I was wondering if you could turn your car off while you do.”

She looked at me and said, “I’m just leaving it on for the air conditioning.”

I smiled and said, “Oh, I see. I thought since you had your windows opened…” I stopped, because I knew if I said any more I would come across the wrong way.

“If I weren’t on hold for an hour dealing with these customer service people…”she said, finally.

“Oh, I hear you. Anyway, it’s your choice,” I said, shrugging but still smiling. “I am just speaking out of love for the planet.”

I turned and went back to my car. I continued to read the news and after a few minutes, I heard it. She actually turned off her engine. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to patronize her. I just continued to read, and when I left, I smiled and waved. She did the same.

If you’ll hold on a second, I will steady myself on my soapbox. Ready. Okay, here goes:

I feel we Americans like to live with our heads in the sand when it comes to our planet's well being. In fact, America uses about 15 times more energy per person than does the typical developing country. (Click here to read more facts on energy consumption.) If we consume so much, shouldn't we also be more responsible than the rest of the world?

We have a recycling program in our town and every other week trucks come by to pick up bottles, plastic, newspapers and cardboard. My husband and I recycle so much stuff that we have four massive containers out on the curb every Tuesday night for the next morning's pick up. When I look around the neighborhood, most of our neighbors barely have a can out there. Either they aren’t consuming nearly as much as we are (doubtful) or they just don’t make the extra effort to recycle their goods (probable). Is it really so hard to toss an empty bottle into a separate bin?

I am often surprised by the overall apathy regarding our planet because many of us are parents and what we do now will affect future generations. Do we want our grandchildren growing up without an ozone layer? I doubt it.

So please, next time you recycle that bottle, turn off that motor, carpool, or reuse that bag, remember you are doing something that can only make our world a better place.

Photo by Flávio Takemoto, courtesy of stock.xchng

End of Year Shuffle

People, I have too much to do. My kids have their ballet rehearsal and recital today and tomorrow, which means I am running around getting them made up like JonBenet Ramsey, driving them three towns over to the auditorium, and dutifully watching as they and 20 other acts perform what they have been practicing all year long.

I am exhausted just thinking about these next 24 hours.

So bear with me. I will write when I can, but that may not be until Saturday or Sunday. The good news is I have in-laws visiting (my father-in-law and his wife) so I’m sure I’ll have something to rant about.

See you then!

Blah Blah Blah - Teaching The Art of Conversation

My husband, who rarely sees the kids during the week but spends a lot of time with them on Saturday and Sunday, is enamored by their conversation. He smiles, laughs and thinks they are hilarious.

“Of course you do,” I say. “Because you haven’t heard that same statement seventeen million times, and I have.”

Lily tells me the same thrilling facts about her friends and school almost every day. I will hear how Alexandra doesn’t like being called Alex or Lexi, but prefers the name Alexa. I will hear about someone’s preference for peanut butter, or how one girl must sit at the peanut-free table. I hear these things over and over, as if I’m living with a senile grandmother.

And I’m about to go insane myself.

“Oh, you’re so mean,” my husband tells me. “She’s just trying out conversation. Her skills aren’t sharp so she just says what she remembers. Cut her some slack.”

Then I’m hit with a massive wave of shame and feel terrible about my negative reaction. But come on. How many times do I have to hear that Mr. Sack is allergic to cats?

Because I have to do research about everything, I thought I should do some about this as well. I tried to search “why does my kid tell me the same thing over and over?” but came up empty handed. Then I stumbled onto this site and found a very interesting article.

Um, hello, guess who’s job it is to teach her how to talk? Mine.

Once again, the proverbial light bulb above my head turned on. I’m actually surprised I didn’t realize this sooner. It’s our job as parents to help teach children how to have a conversation. In the same way we must teach children how to behave (not just say, “Behave!”), we have to engage and explain the right way to talk to people. This article suggests the reason kids are becoming terrible conversationalists is the emergence of technology. If kids use e-mail, text messages and video games to communicate with one another, the spoken word is harder to use. My friend Natalie, a college professor, says this is evident in the college level with her students. “They have absolutely no idea how to properly address me,” she told me once. (Click here to read a post on that subject.)

I have always spoken to my children with adult-like words. When I see the confusion on their faces about a certain word I have used, I say, “Do you know what that means?” I then explain, using short, easy sentences. I believe by doing this my kids are able to communicate well with their peers and with me. They aren’t perfect (clearly, or this post would not be written) but they are getting there. (Those who read my blog know my disdain for babytalk, and according to this article, there is a good reason for not using it.)

This article is an excellent read for parents who are hoping to include their kids in conversation and I strongly suggest reading it. To paraphrase some of the topics it discusses:

1. How to include your child in the conversation by discussing issues that are interesting to them, not just you.
2. Not interrupting to correct what children have said.
3. Not just talking about school (most children don't like the “How was school?” question and, in the article, the author discusses what kids would rather be asked.)
4. Not telling kids what they should have done in a situation all the time.
5. Finding common ground for discussion.
6. Setting aside time to talk.
7. Treating kids appropriately, and not doling out insincere compliments.
8. Listening when they talk.

The list is much longer but you get the idea. Check out the article. You may get some good tips about how to talk to your kids, which can always be a good thing.
Photo courtesy of stock.xchng

Beating The Bully

This is a conversation that Lily had at school the other day with The Bully:

Lily and two boys were playing word games when The Bully came up and said to her: “Can I play with you?”

Lily: “No, I’m playing this game with Daniel and David.”

Bully, her tone snotty and rude: “You love boys and hate girls.”

Lily, shrugging her shoulders: “So?

Bully: “Oh, so you really hate girls then.”

Lily: “Who cares?”

Bully: “Fine. Then I won’t be your BFF.”

Lily, rolling her eyes: “Whatever.”

When Lily told me the story I could not contain my excitement. I was so proud of her for using her words to defeat this girl, who constantly picks on her and every other child in the room. I hugged her and said, “Lily, you should be so proud of yourself.”

She blushed, smiled and said, “I am.”

I am so thankful we went over the Power of So. We did a lot of role playing and I think by doing so, she felt more comfortable standing up for herself. Lily tells me The Bully doesn’t bother her much these days, and I think part of the reason is Lily doesn’t give her the power.

Click here to read a previous post on bullying (at the bottom of that post are more links to bullying for parents and kids).
Photo by Jyn Meyer, courtesy of stock.xchng

Greetings And Salutations

Yesterday afternoon we were invited at a friend’s house for a barbeque. After a really lovely dinner and lots of good conversation, we got up to say good-bye.

This is the part that always stumps me.

When my husband and I lived in Cairo, each greeting and farewell was marked by a simple kiss on either cheek. Much like they do in France, we said hello and good-bye with those two, quick pecks to every guest in our home. There were no awkward pauses, no should-I-hug-or-not-hug-this-person?

Last night, however, as I went to kiss the host on the cheek he leaned in for a hug. Realizing my mistake I tried to go for the hug at the same time he went for the cheek. I started laughing and said, “I did the complete opposite as you!”

He replied, “I’m really more of a handshake kind of guy.”

Oops.

Why don’t Americans have a standard greeting? "We have one," my husband said when I asked him this question. "It's shaking hands. But that has become too formal for the way society has become."

So today in America, some people shake hands, some kiss on the cheek, some hug, and some kiss and hug. Every time I am invited to someone’s home I have no idea how to behave. Living abroad, there was never a question. The only problem I had while in the Middle East was learning how many kisses to give. In Lebanon, for instance, they give three kisses. In Japan and other Asian countries, you simply bow. In Egypt, close friends and relatives will give two kisses, but members of the same sex will hug each other (men are not supposed to kiss or hug women and vice versa). But in the expatriate community, we all gave kisses upon a cheek, not a hug, fist bump or high five.

My friend J’s mom doesn't like to be hugged. My own mother appreciates a hug and kiss from good friends. I always forget J’s mom’s distaste for body contact and when I saw her last, I reached out my arms and immediately saw her stiffen up. Thankfully I could read her social cues and gave her a quick peck on the cheek instead. But I feel like a moron when I do that.

I remember growing up giving my friends hello and good-bye hugs. Coming from rather conservative immigrant parents, this custom of hugging everyone was met with disdain, but they quickly realized we weren’t groping each other, just saying hello. So they tolerated the gesture and even learned to do it themselves with close friends of theirs and mine. But even I think the hug can be too close and too much. I would much prefer a quick smooch. But I adapt to the person I am with and know this is their preference. (I draw the line at kissing – even a brief one – on the lips, as once I find this much too personal and feel like I’m cheating on my husband.)

I guess the only thing to do is not do anything next time and wait for the host or hostess to make the first move. I’ll avoid embarrassing moves and everyone will go away happy. I hope.

For a list of customary international greetings, click here.

Photo by Garrison Photography, courtesy of stock.xchng

Boys And Girls Club

My friend J has three boys. I have two girls. When we met, our eldest kids were 3 years old. They formed an immediate bond, as did J and I. But in the back of my mind, I always wondered how long we would be able to get together. The reason: I thought our children, being different genders, would quickly tire of each other’s games and refuse to play together.

Here we are, four years later. Yesterday afternoon J and her crew came over and the kids played non-stop for four hours. There was very little drama (until they thought it was a good idea to play tightrope on the footboard of a bed we have in the basement and Aimee fell off, bumping her head).

This morning, Lily said to me, “Don’t you just love when they come over?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

I thought about her comment for a moment. How is it that most every couple I know who has boys tell me their kids don’t want to play with the opposite sex? In fact, tonight we are invited to a couple’s home whose son is in Lily’s class. When Lily told him we were coming over, the boy quickly shushed her and said, “Don’t tell anyone!” He was mortified. He didn’t want the other kids to know he was playing with a girl.

Yet our children seem to be gender-blind with each other. They engage in creative, considerate play. They don’t stick to each other, either. I walked downstairs in the middle of the game playing and saw Lily showing J’s two youngest sons a game we had, while J's eldest son and Aimee played quietly with figurines in a different corner. They mix it up. It’s always like that.

I wanted to know why J and I didn’t have the usual problems that other kids have with each other. “What exactly do you like about them coming over?” I asked Lily. “I mean, what is it about playing with them that you like?”

“Because they’re so nice,” Lily said.

“Yes,” I said. “I agree. I know they’re nice. But what else? What specifically do you like about hanging out with them?”

“They’re thoughtful and creative,” she said. "We do a lot of things and it's fun."

And smart, I thought. Which I think is the reason they all get along so well. Not that my kids are geniuses by any stretch of the imagination, but I think they can tell a child who is imaginative and inspired is also someone who will engage in all types of play. They aren’t bound to stereotypical games, either – they will dress-up, build Legos, even play princess (Aimee and J’s middle son are constantly getting married as the prince and Cinderella).

When I was a girl growing up I related to boys so much more than girls. (It wasn't until college that I formed my close ties with women.) There was much less drama, I enjoyed playing sports and liked running around playing tag. Yet I still hung out with my Barbie dolls in the basement and played with them for hours. I think kids who can bounce between the two worlds find a very happy place because they always feel like they can fit in. I’m glad my girls have been able to do that, and I’m glad J’s can too. It makes our lives easier because we can now sit for a long time on the sofa, out of our children’s earshot, and chat.

And when that can happen, life feels very good.
Photo by Guillermo Ossa, courtesy of stock.xchng

Skin Conditions

Ever since Lily was a newborn she had milia on her nose. These tiny white bumps resemble whiteheads and often plague newborns and infants. In most babies the milia disappear, however, in Lily’s case, they stayed with her. Some of them even got inflamed. Now, at the age of 7, she’s even getting larger bumps and a couple of random blackheads.

My husband and I have no idea why this is happening to her. Neither of us had bad acne as teenagers, save for the regular embarrassing zits on the forehead and nose that almost every kid gets. When Lily was 5 I took her to a dermatologist. "She'll outgrow them," he said, after we waited for half an hour in his office and he looked at her for two minutes. But rather than beat the clock they are getting worse and more apparent. And recently, she is noticing them, as are her peers.

I have no idea what is causing these bumps to appear and when I did research on premature acne I came up empty handed. There is something called precocious puberty, but that includes breast and pubic hair development, neither of which she has. Then I thought to do a search on milia and discovered it affects infants, children and adults.

I'll admit something about myself: I am a just like a monkey checking for ticks and lice on my kids. When I see these tiny bumps on Lily’s face it is everything I can do not to pick at them or get rid of them. When she talks my eyes wander to their place, and I have to mentally swat myself back to reality so I don't let her see me obsessing. One of the reasons I don't go to town on my poor kid is the advice I read on this site: “although milia are found in the outer (superficial) layers of skin, they are difficult to remove without the proper tools. Do not try to remove them at home as you may leave a scar.”

Dammit. So what do I do?

“If your child has secondary milia, the doctor will likely treat the other skin condition at that area, if it is still present. Other treatments for milia include:

• Topical retinoid cream such as tretinoin, tazarotene, or adapalene.
• Removal with a sterile blade (lancet) or scalpel followed by use of a special tool called a comedone extractor.
• A series of fruit acid peels or microdermabrasion procedures at the dermatologist's office.”

The problem is I have had a dermatologist look at her and they told me not to do anything about it. Now that the milia are getting worse and more obvious, I think I’m going to take her to another specialist – perhaps a pediatric one – so they can help her get rid of them before they cause her embarrassment.

My husband keeps warning me not to make a big deal about them because he doesn’t want her to feel weird and self-conscious. I am careful. Whenever she points them out and asks why they are there, I just shrug, roll my eyes and say, “Our bodies are so silly! Look at me, I’m a mom and I still get pimples. It’s just a crazy part of growing up.” This seems to make her feel better. For now.

If you or anyone you know has dealt with milia, please post a comment or send an e-mail to areluctantmom@yahoo.com.

Progress: Two Weeks of Tickets

It’s been two weeks since I started using tickets as a discipline method, and people, if you have a strong-willed child, I cannot speak more highly about this process.

I am knocking wood about every five seconds as I type because all it takes for Aimee to act out is for me to say, “Hey, look! It works!” But at the risk of losing my good fortune, I’ll explain how it’s been going lately:

The first couple of days of tickets Aimee would lose every ticket except one. When she saw she had only one remaining, she was exceptionally well behaved for the rest of the evening. There have been three days in two weeks that she lost all 10 tickets (after the first 10 days I cut her daily allowance back to seven tickets and Lily’s down to three from four). However, in the past five days she has either lost only one ticket or none at all. At night, when I ask the girls to tell me what they did that they were proud of that day (so I could log those things into the brag book), Aimee says, “Um, Mom? Did you notice I didn’t lose any tickets today?” When she says this she is beaming with pride.

What a difference some good behavior can make. This child is an absolute pleasure to be around when she is well behaved. She’s witty, smart and inquisitive (a bit too much, but I can handle the queries when her mood is good). I said to her the other day just before I tucked her into bed, “Aimee, I need to tell you something. I have really enjoyed hanging out with you these last few days. You have been so much fun to be with and I hope you continue to be this way.”

Of course, any statement I make immediately ignites a firestorm of questions from her, some of which are designed just to push my buttons. But, I remain steadfast. She will say, “You don’t like me when I don’t behave?”

“Well,” I say, “I always love you no matter what. But no, I don’t like being around you when you are badly behaved.”

“So you only like me when I’m behaving?” she asks, intentionally misunderstanding what I just said to her.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I love you always. I don’t like your behavior,” I say.

She smiles when I tell her this. She asks several times to see if I mean what I say. I know it’s her way; she must test to the point of exhaustion before she is satisfied.

What amazes me is how well this ticket method works with both my girls. I have mentioned that as Lily has grown, disciplining her has become tricky because she is so much better behaved than her sister. (There is a light at the end of the Toddler Tunnel.) She’s also become sly at pushing the limits, saying things kids her age often do, such as, “I forgot,” or, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” But, as I have read in parenting books, when children (especially strong-willed ones) use these excuses, it’s important to draw a firm line. Parents are urged to say, “I appreciate your apology. But you still [insert consequence here, such as lose a ticket].” If parents don’t discipline, children quickly learn the loopholes and figure out how to get around such results. The child will often protest the consequence and say, “But I said I’m sorry!” Parents will question themselves and think, “Was what she did really that bad?” Usually it’s a small infraction but the problem is even those violations need to be addressed. (Of course it’s entirely up to you as a parent to figure out what you are trying to teach and what is acceptable behavior.) That’s why it’s important to say, “I know you did, and I accept it. And that’s why I’m also sure you won’t do that again. But for now, you lose a ticket.”

I will continue with this ticket method and keep you posted.

All You Do To Me Is Talk Talk

I was talking to my mother-in-law about friends of mine who I call “Lecture Parents.” These are people who, when they catch their child talking back or misbehaving, either yell at or talk to their kids, offering long explanations of why they should behave. (The kids, meanwhile, are so used to this game they stare at their parents with smirks on their faces, knowing full well once the chat is over they can go about their business.) These moms and dads chastise the children by saying, “You’re being rude!” but nothing is ever done to show the child such behavior is unacceptable. Time outs are not given, and apologies are not demanded. Lecture Parents believe their diatribes are enough to correct their child's manners, but I can see from experience their words are only a band-aid; they stop the action for a second but after a few minutes the words disappear and the child continues doing what he or she was up to in the first place.

“In life, people don’t follow the rules because they want to,” my MIL said to me. “They follow them because there are consequences.”

I thought about what she said and nodded, slightly. She could see my apprehension – I wondered if the reason we, as grown ups, really behaved was due to consequences. Do I behave because it’s the right thing to do or because of the end result?

“Listen,” she said. “People don’t drive the speed limit because it’s the speed limit. They drive the speed limit because they don't want to get a ticket. Right?”

“Right,” I said.

And voila! Parenting 101 became crystal clear.

I am a firm believer in consequences. But many parents misconstrue the word consequences for punishment. These are two very different things. Yes, it may seem punitive to take a child’s phone away when he or she uses it inappropriately. But in reality, punishing would be to not only take the phone away but also to ground the child for a week, stop all events and confine them to their room. There are logical consequences and illogical punishment.

See the difference?

Either way, Lecture Parents do not seem to realize that words are not enough to teach a child how to behave. In fact, most kids stop listening to parents after the first sentence or two (even earlier when they are toddlers). Have you ever said several things to a child and then said, "Tell me what I just said," only to have them shrug and say, "Um, I can't remember"? Young children are simply not capable of listening to a lot of words. Their minds wander too easily. The old adage rings true here: actions really do speak louder than words with children.

When I mentioned a few examples of what I had seen with the Lecture Parents in the past few months to my MIL, she sighed and said, “Oh, dear. They are in for a big awakening when those kids are teenagers. Perhaps even sooner.” She gave me her own examples of moms who were her clients and how their parenting caught up with them. (I've mentioned before she's a retired psychologist and therapist.)

I think she’s right. Parenting is not easy, but the idea behind parenting – a simple concept I call the three c’s – is: consistency, consequences and constant love.

Photo by Ivan Prole, courtesy of stock.xchng

You Gotta Love Smart Women

Yesterday while in the toy store (buying what seemed like the hundredth birthday gift this season) I ran into a friend of mine named Kelly. She has twin girls, age 7, and whenever I see her I always smile because she is funny and makes me laugh. Our kids were excited to see her daughter (only one was with her) and went about the store checking out the items for sale while Kelly and I spoke. One of the old biddies who worked at the store spotted Lily, who had just taken down a bike to try out. “We don’t allow children to ride the bikes,” she said from two aisles away. She then came up and looked directly at me. “It says so right there. There is a sign.”

I glanced over and saw the small, handwritten note of which she spoke. It was taped well above Lily’s head, where parents could see it but not kids.

Lily immediately got off and the woman continued. “No one will buy those bikes if they think kids ride them, because they say they are used,” she said, frowning.

Here’s the part you don’t know: earlier in the day I came to this very store and bought more than $50 worth of presents. Mind you, I practically pay the rent in this store I'm there so often. This particular store sends its patrons coupons, and I asked about them when I was checking out.

“I haven’t received a coupon in a while,” I said. “Are they going to be mailed out soon? Because if so, I’ll just put these on hold and come back.” (The coupons give you $10 off when you spend $50 or more.)

The three women behind the counter, including Mrs. Snarly Face, all said they hadn’t heard anything about a new coupon mailing.

“Because I don’t need these until this weekend, and I don’t want to get home and find a new batch of coupons in the mail,” I said. I realize I’m sounding cheap here, but in this economy, every penny counts, especially since I’ve been spending a fortune on gifts for kids lately.

“Nope, I don’t think there are any going out,” the same woman who chastised Lily said to me.

So - can you take a guess as to why I was in the store for the second time that day? Yep. I bought the gifts, sans discount, and went home only to find the stupid coupons lumped in with my daily mail. I called the kids, piled them into the car and drove back.

“Hi, remember me?” I said, smiling. I held up the coupons. “Guess what came today?”

“Oh! Wow! They did?” said one of the women. No apology, nothing. They honored the price, however, so at least I got that out of it. So when I saw Kelly, and the whole snarky comment came out of this woman’s mouth, I got complete pleasure out of Kelly’s response.

“She didn’t mean it,” Kelly said when the woman chastised Lily again for riding the bike. “They’ve only been on this planet seven years. We’re still working on them, tweaking them here and there. We hope to perfect them soon.”

The woman, who was speechless, smirked and walked off. Kelly gave a snarl behind the woman’s back and laughed. “I mean, come on,” she said. "It's an innocent mistake." She looked at Lily, who was embarrassed and upset. “You didn’t know, honey,” Kelly said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t see the sign. It’s okay.”

Lily smiled and instantly perked up.

I admired how Kelly handled the situation. She let the woman know that 7-year-olds aren’t perfect, and neither are their mothers. And she did it with a smile and a quick response. My immediate response in situations like this one is to get angry with my children. “Keep your hands to yourself,” I would have said. “And touch only if you ask first.” I would have probably been embarrassed had Kelly not been with me. Instead, I was able to see Lily’s innocent mistake (it was a toy store, what do the owner’s expect kids to do?) and also able to maintain composure.

I don’t always agree with moms who constantly take their kids’ side, but I do agree that we should give them the benefit of the doubt more often. As Kelly said, their years on this earth are few, and it will take several more to learn life’s lessons.

Photo by sanja gjenero, courtesy of stock.xchng

Unplugged

I spoke to my friend Natalie the other day who told me her bag was stolen, along with her new camera and video recorder. She was upset not for the financial loss, but by the sentimental loss. In the recorder was a tape full of memories. She also had a tape in the bag already filled with her child’s last day at kindergarten, a son’s sporting event, a getaway trip to Bali she took with her husband and a few other special occasions. She was devastated by the loss.

As I listened to Natalie I thought about my own video recorder and how it often just gathers dust in the drawer. I then thought about all the lost memories I had, not from getting my device stolen but from insisting I not use it in the first place.

When my husband and I got married we had been living in Cairo, Egypt, at the time. We had attended a ton of weddings there, and one thing we hated most about those nuptial celebrations was the guy in charge of the video camera. He always walked around with a much-too bright light that he shined in people’s faces. He shoved a microphone in their faces and, with an inappropriate smile, asked them to say something profound to the bride and groom. “We are not having one of those at our wedding,” my husband announced. I nodded my head emphatically and agreed. (Stupidly.)

At our first child’s birth we brought a camera and nothing else. (Because, frankly, who needs to see my nether regions forever imprinted on celluloid?) We did the same when our second was born. I was satisfied with just the photos – they were enough for me to remember the day.

Or so I thought.

When I heard about what Natalie had lost, I realized I had lost a lot, too. I would love to be able to show my girls our wedding day. I would love to show them the day they were born. Not just photos, which only give part of the story, but a video, which narrate the entire tale. I would love to look back and see how I looked, what I felt like and what others were feeling, too.

I try to remember to bring the video camera for special events, such as the girls’ last day of preschool, dance recitals and concerts. But otherwise it sits in my drawer, waiting to be charged for the next occasion. Now that I think about all that I have missed, I’m going to try and be better about taking it with me more. I just wish I had thought about what I would have missed earlier.
Photo by Paweł Zawistowski, courtesy of stock.xchng