Eating Disorders

“Look how much I ate, Mommy!” Lily said to me the other night. I cringed when she showed me her empty plate.

“Wow, you must have been hungry,” I said.

“I was!” she said, smiling.

I have never praised my children for eating well. In fact, no parent should ever praise a child when he or she eats. To do so is the same as saying, “Wow, great job breathing!” or “Hey, good for you! You slept last night!” Eating is a necessary life function and there is nothing praiseworthy about it.

Yet I see a lot of moms and dads doing exactly that - they applaud their children for “eating everything on the plate.” Every time I hear them do it – especially in front of my own girls – the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

My therapist, who sees many children with eating disorders, says kids should learn to eat when they are hungry and stop when they are full. Luckily I read this advice long before I had kids and I have never been a member of the Clean Plate Club. I also discovered if you make food a battle, your child will be the worst eater on the planet. So, for as long as I can remember, I have just let my kids leave the table, even if it meant they have a full plate of food. I also keep the plate sometimes, because I realize I could have missed their hunger moment. (If we are at a park and my children choose to play rather than eat - especially if I know they are hungry -however, that is a different story. If their sandwiches are still good, I offer them to my girls. If not, I say, "It was your choice to play. Lunchtime is over. I will happily get you something when it's snack time." I tell them this because I think kids should respect mealtime and, again, learn to eat when they are hungry.)

At Aimee’s school the teachers tell them something I adopted myself. When it’s time for lunch they say, “Eat your growing foods first.” Meaning, eat your sandwich and then your fruit (or chips or whatever). They aren’t telling the kids to eat everything, they simply explain certain foods help you grow and become stronger.

I love that.

I once read an article on Daughters.com by a woman who suffered from an eating disorder. She said, “I wish people had commented more about my heart, my kindness, and my ability to make friends rather than about what I was eating or not eating.”

As the mother of two young girls, I worry they will fall victim to society's perception of what a woman should look like. How can parents protect their children from going to anorexia or bulimia route?

Thankfully, parents can actually do a lot, according to this article on kidshealth.org.

Eating disorders in the United States have an alarming rate. “They're so common in the U.S. that 1 or 2 out of every 100 kids will struggle with one, most commonly anorexia or bulimia," the article state. "Unfortunately, many kids and teens successfully hide eating disorders from their families for months or even years.”

Younger and younger children are also beginning to care about their weight as well. “Research shows that 42 percent of first- to third-grade girls want to be thinner, and 81 percent of 10-year-olds are afraid of being fat. In fact, most kids with eating disorders began their disordered eating between the ages of 11 and 13.”

Of course parents play a powerful role in determining if the child will have an eating disorder. Helping a child establish a strong sense of self and fostering good self-esteem is crucial in helping a child avoid such a problem. Additionally, if a parent constantly discusses his or her weight, goes on yo-yo diets, discusses exercise (or, more likely, bemoans it), and is critical of his or herself, a child will mirror that behavior. Parents should involve kids in preparing healthy meals and allow children to stop eating when they are full. Kids need to learn to pay attention to their bodies and eat when they feel the need, not just when the clock tells them to.

To read the entire story and to learn more about eating disorders and to know the warning signs of disorders, including binge eating, anorexia and bulimia, click here.

Photo by Alice Carrier, courtesy of stock.xchng

Keep It In Your Pants

Last week Poland announced it would allow forcible castration of its pedophiles upon release from jail.

Poland, I think I love you.

According to an article in Reuters, "Under the law, sponsored by Poland's center-right government, pedophiles convicted of raping children under the age of 15 years or a close relative would have to undergo chemical therapy on their release from prison."

As much as I would like to believe in Poland's answer to the problem there is something its government is not taking into consideration. Many sexual offenders commit crimes against people they know. That's right - unlike what most people today believe, children are often attacked by someone they know (a parent, grandparent or relative, or babysitter). According toAllAboutCounseling.com, "the most commonly reported perpetrators are fathers and stepfathers. Brothers, sisters, mothers, babysitters, and uncles are also among the most common abusers."

But let's examine Poland's solution. In a study on chemical castration, where pedophiles were given Depo-Provera, a common birth control for women, the researchers discovered: "Depo-Provera has been proven to inhibit the abilities of pedophilias to assault children. The progesterone in Depo-Provera counteracts the biological tendencies that lead men to rape children. By lowering testosterone, Depo-Provera reduces sex drive. Males can have sexual intercourse but do not want to. Depo-Provera also decreases aggressive tendencies by reducing testosterone. '[T]he castrated criminal would be more docile and have a better opportunity to be rehabilitated, educated, and to become a worthwhile citizen.' Castration removes the biological and chemical tendencies that are intrinsically linked to the desire to rape in males."

That isn’t even the most convincing part of the study. “When used as a mandatory condition of parole, chemical castration decreases the occurrence of repeat offenses from 75 percent to 2 percent.” (Who's laughing now, huh, Poland?)

I completely understand we walk a very fine line here and border on fascism if we start performing such radical procedures on people. For example, what if a person is innocent but wrongly accused? We cannot go around castrating everyone who we think committed a crime. However, what about the men who are repeat offenders? Wouldn’t you feel safer knowing they were in a program that lowered the rate of recidivism?

Talk to me, people. Tell me what you think about this issue.

Talking To Kids About Drugs

I have formed a good friendship with my children's former babysitter, E, who is in her junior year of college. This girl is the complete package: smart, gorgeous and sweet to the core. (Yes, you can hate her a bit – she is that amazing.) Soon after we first met I found out she was raised solely by her father (her mother passed away when she was 7 years old and her brother was 5). I marvel at how good of a job her dad has done raising both of them. They are studious, kind-hearted and driven. E is studying abroad in Italy and hopes to earn her Ph.D. after she graduates from college. Her brother headed to his first year of college last month.

“How did you guys turn out so well?” I asked her just before she left for Europe. “Tell me the secret. I need to know because I would be thrilled if my girls turned out like you.”

She laughed and said, “My dad was a total pain,” she said. She was joking, but only slightly. (She and her father are very close.)

“What do you mean?” I asked. Her dad is also one of the nicest men I know.

“He was always in our business,” she said. He constantly wanted to know who she was with and where she was, she said.

Even E’s brother made good choices. When he noticed some friends from school getting into trouble he backed away from them and started hanging out with a different crowd. (One of the boys in the former group of friends eventually died from a drug overdose.)

I think about E a lot because losing a mother at such a young age must have been incredibly difficult. My girls are exactly the age she and her brother were when they lost her. Yet she and her brother excelled and became great young adults. How is it they didn’t end up like the boy who died?

I asked a therapist friend who works with families whose kids are addicted to drugs. “How can parents make sure their kids never do drugs in the first place?” I asked her. (I think an easier question would have been how to drop five dress sizes in one day because everything I read and hear on the subject is varied.)

“The first piece of advice I'd say to parents is to hide [all their] prescriptions,” she said. “Even if they are sure their kids aren't using. Kids [today] are snorting Vicodin, Adderall, whatever they can get their hands on.”

Some kids will also try much more scary drugs, she said, such as blood thinners, cholesterol medicine and cold medicines (which, when taken in large doses gives an effect similar to LSD), just to get high. Those medicines cause heart attacks, strokes, depression, psychosis and suicidal thoughts if taken inappropriately.

“What should parents do if the kids have already tried drugs?” I asked her.

Parents should keep an eye on their kids, she advised. If their grades are dropping, or they are getting into trouble with teachers or the law, parents need to immediately step in and figure out what’s going on.

“Parents can buy urine tests on the Web now, and can know for sure [if the child is using drugs]. Teenagers, by definition, are in flux. They are hormonal, moody and rebellious,” she said. When they reach this age they often want to push the boundaries as far as they can. “Parents cannot let this happen,” she strongly advises. “Parents must always be in control.”

She suggests giving consequences in a way that won’t make the child more rebellious, such as making a child do extra chores to pay for his or her cell phone rather than taking the cell phone away (“Teenagers hate to be without their cell phones,” she said.).

“Make them realize that there are consequences, and be vigilant about it,” she said.

My friend recommended a book by Gregory Bodenhamer called Back In Control. The following is an excerpt about the book. He says exactly what I try and say on this blog about parenting and raising kids. Namely, consistency is key and rules must be enforced. Read on:

Bodenhamer makes it clear that whenever adults do not, or will not, consistently set and enforce rules, children will see the rules as optional and progressively take control. Many of these kids eventually wind up in residential treatment centers or wilderness programs. Unfortunately, most of them return to the same conditions that created their problems in the first place. Parents and other adults in these situations desperately need a supplemental source of power and control for their children. This book sets out the means and methods to do that.

The Village Counseling Center Web site has an interesting article on this subject (click here to read it). It mentions Bodemhamer as well as one of my favorite parenting books, “How To Talk So Your Kids Will Listen, And Listen So Your Kids Will Talk,” by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish.

Another Web site that parents might also find useful is TalkingWithKids.org, which allows parents to download free pamphlets on everything from talking about sex to discussing drugs with kids.

So what if you're like some friends I know who still do recreational drugs and have a cocktail now and then? How do you tell your kids not to do drugs if they see you having a drink with a friend?

Thankfully there are also resources on this subject, such as the book, Getting Your Kids To Say No In The 90s When You Said Yes In The 60s. There are also Web sites devoted to this topic, such as theantidrug.com. I also found this article useful, as well as this one, this one and this one. If you're a grandparent trying to help keep your grandkids away from drugs, this article is just for you.

As always, ideas and comments are welcome.

Photo by Richard Dunstan, courtesy of stock.xchng

Water, Water Everywhere

When Lily began first grade I purchased a water bottle (an eco-friendly, stainless steel one called Klean Kanteen) so she could bring fresh drinking water to school. I found out her teacher asked the children not to bring their own bottles, and to instead drink from the fountain at school. “Tell your teacher your mom doesn’t want you drinking from the fountain,” I told her. “If she has a problem with that, have her call me.”

I was annoyed with her teacher’s direction on all levels. Firstly, I think drinking fountains are just a pool of germs waiting to pounce on and infect the first child that licks its spout. (Have you ever seen a child drink from one of those? You’d think they were doing something immoral they way they slurp and tongue that thing.) Secondly, I never trusted the water that came from those decrepit contraptions. One time I was so thirsty I had a sip from one and immediately regretted my decision. The water tasted like metal and I could have sworn there was something solid in it. I feel nauseated just thinking about it.

Ever since I lived in Los Angeles, where tap water came out from the faucet in every hue close to brown imaginable, I have been using bottled drinking water. When Lily was born I called the local water delivery company and ordered a dispenser and five-gallon jugs by the load. I lived in New York City at the time. When I first had the water delivered neighbors and friends marveled at my "wasting" money on something that came to the house for free. “This is the cleanest drinking water in the country!” they said.

Really? I thought. Because if it was so clean, why could I smell it?

I later heard a story on National Public Radio about how the tap water in New York contained traces of antibiotics, birth control pills and other substances (not surprising – the recycled water had to come from somewhere, and from the toilets and sewers it arrived). I smiled smugly knowing I had dodged a possible health-affecting bullet.

Considering how holier-than-thou I was when I heard that news, just imagine how annoying I am today when I discovered that most of the nation’s school’s drinking water is laced with lead, carcinogens and deadly pesticides, among other dangerous substances. According to this article, “roughly one of every five schools [in the nation] with its own water supply violated the Safe Drinking Water Act in the past decade, according to data from the Environmental Protection Agency analyzed by the Associated Press.” (Please read the article - it contains information you cannot miss.)

Additionally, it said, “many of the same toxins could also be found in water at homes, offices and businesses. But the contaminants are especially dangerous to children, who drink more water per pound than adults and are more vulnerable to the effects of many hazardous substances.”

I cannot believe the government has been allowing our children to be exposed to such incredibly dangerous and harmful materials. Wait, even worse, that they have allowed them to digest that matter! Stories have been in the news for decades about this (Erin Brockovich ring a bell, anyone?) yet here we are in 2009 with the same old story in the headlines. Disgusting.

One school provided a cooler for its students where most kids gather to get a cupful after gym class. But what about the thousands of other educational facilities?

I believe it’s a complete outrage that our children are put in harm’s way so easily. So I’ll fight my own private battle. I will continue to send my kids with water bottles to school (by the way, if you only own plastic water bottles click here to see, by number, if yours is harmful or safe).

Photo by Hilde Vanstraelen, courtesy of stock.xchng

Pardon Me?

Is the Rapture about to happen?

I ask because in the past three days something very strange has happened. On Tuesday I went to buy my friend Donna’s son a birthday present. I went to a local toy store, Learning Express, which is part of a larger chain. I frequent this particular store so often they constantly send me coupons in the mail and have me on their customer list.

That particular morning the music was playing rather loudly. After a few minutes I realized what was blaring from the speakers was not your average adult contemporary music, but rather religious music. Every song was about Jesus and being saved.

Christian. Music. From. The. Speakers. (LOUD.)

Cut to this morning. I had a follow-up exam at the doctor’s and had a few minutes to spare before my appointment. The hospital to which I go is not religiously affiliated. Yet when I went to the cafeteria I could not believe what I was hearing. Again, playing at a volume much too loud for anyone’s enjoyment, was Christian music.

Am I missing something? I mean, last Saturday was Rosh Hashanah, and last Sunday was Eid al-Fitr, so perhaps a few Christians are feeling a little left out. But to play that music in places where every faith walks to me was just disrespectful. (And to play it so loudly? That reminded me of people who speak to non-English speakers. They figure if they speak louder, the person will eventually understand.)

Here’s the thing: I am all for religious diversity and am happy we live in a country where people are allowed to practice their beliefs freely. However, I strongly believe people should not be forced to listen to anything that preaches a particular creed when they are shopping in a toy store or going to the doctor’s office. Just in case you’re a faithful Christian and are getting upset at what I am saying, let me put it to you this way: how would you feel if you walked into those same two places and heard an imam preaching loudly over the speakers about Islam? Or a rabbi telling people about Judaism?

I am all for people living their lives in private. If you only listen to religious music at home, fine by me. But there is absolutely no excuse why, in America, those songs should be playing in public places. To have it be so is divisive and insulting.

Discounts For Shopaholics

It’s no secret I like to shop online (and that I do so far too often). I enjoy the speed, the ease and, more importantly, the lack of surly salespeople. But whenever I get to the check out portion of the site I always spot a little box that eats away at my last nerve. There, taunting me because I have come to the site unprepared, are three small words that threaten my womanhood: enter promotion code. I understand if I had the numerical secret I would hold the key to a hefty discount. I also know if I had the goddamn code in the first place I would have entered it immediately.

Finally, it dawned on me (okay, so it took me a while. I’m a mom, okay? I have brain shrinkage.) Maybe I could find the code! I quickly did a search for promotion codes (if you are doing this just type in ‘promotion code’ and add the name of the store at which you want to shop). Immediately a link for 15 percent off coupon popped up (as did several other links). It had a promotion code for the taking. With the click of a mouse I saved several week’s worth of my kids’ allowance.

It turns out there are a ton of coupon-heavy sites on the Internet ready to supply coupons, codes and other discount symbols – for free! One such site, CouponHeaven.com, features a list of stores by name. The site doesn’t include everyone (my guess is in this economy they’ll be adding more each week) but there are a lot of good name brands from which to choose. If CouponHeaven.com doesn’t have your store, do an online search.

Happy shopping. (Please post a comment with your finds to share the love with other readers.)

Uh-oh. I'm That Stranger

Yesterday was one of those gorgeous fall days where the sun shines almost too brightly and the sky is so blue you pray the day will last just a little longer than usual.

“Can we go and pick up Lily from school?” Aimee asked me. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s walk there!”

Aimee has been missing Lily like crazy. On the first day of second grade we walked to get her when school let out. Aimee spotted Lily and ran up to her. She threw her arms around her and hugged her tightly, refusing to let go. I could see the look on her face said, “I am so glad to see you. I missed you so much.”

We walked leisurely to the school, met Lily halfway there and all walked back together. After a few minutes I noticed a young boy about 9 years old standing on the sidewalk making a call on his cell phone (I’d make a judgment about kids that young having cell phones but I haven’t decided how I feel about the subject – yet). He looked upset and hung up the phone.

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. He was carrying a heavy black case used for instruments. I could tell the strain from lugging both the case and his backpack was causing him pain. “I have to carry this trombone home and it’s really heavy,” he said. “I wanted my dad to come and pick me up but he can’t.”

I noticed he turned down our street and began to walk. “Listen,” I said, “I know you’re not allowed to talk to strangers but I live right there.” I pointed to my house and told him my name. I introduced him to Aimee and Lily and said, “I don’t want to do anything that would upset your parents, but I could carry your trombone to your home if you want us to walk with you.” He looked immediately relieved and said, “Yes! Would you? Thanks!”

I picked up his instrument (for the record, it was really, really heavy and I can’t imagine how a kid his age was expected to carry such a spine-buster back and forth to school). On the way to his home I kept wondering what affect my Good Samaritan gesture was having on my kids. I have been going over and over “stranger danger” (I’ll get to that in a minute) and now here I am, a stranger, helping a kid out. Why should he accept my help when I tell my own kids never to go with people they don’t know?

The whole situation was a mind twister for me. I walked him to his home and said, “Tell your mom who I am and where I live in case she wants to talk to me,” I told him. He thanked me and ran off.

Because I let Lily walk to school I have been talking to her (more than I probably should) about strangers and potential dangers. What I learned from Free-Range Kids was something I have heard before from a policeman: kids should not be told not to talk to strangers. What they should be taught is to never go anywhere with a stranger. Strangers are everyday folk in your town. My kids see me talk to “strangers” every single day. And when I do, Aimee always asks me, “Do you know that person, Mommy?” The question always stumps me.

So I tell my kids, “It’s okay to talk to people. The crossing guard is a stranger but she is there to protect you. Policemen are strangers but they are also there to help.” Then I explain what they should never do: “No matter what, a grown-up should never ask a child for help.” I say that to them all the time. I tell them grown-ups should always ask other grown-ups for help, and if a grown-up asks a child for help he or she is up to no good. I go over the old tricks people use, too, such as, “Hey, could you please help me find my puppy? He’s lost.” I then say, “Why shouldn’t you help that person?”

“Because a grown-up should never ask a kid for help,” they answer. (Yay!)

(Note: I could go on here about what you should tell your kids, but Lenore Skenazy has done a brilliant job in her book so if you want to learn, either go to her Web site, buy the book or borrow it from the local library.)

So how did I explain why what I did with that boy was right?

I lied.

I told them he has seen me around the neighborhood and knows we live on the same street. I told them I was a mom with my two children and he knew Lily from school (kind of a lie – he’s in fourth grade and they do attend the same elementary school).

Then I said things that were true. I told them I wasn’t asking him to go anywhere with me, and that I was helping him out. I said, “Did you notice he walked quickly in front of me? He wasn’t sure if I could be trusted, and that was smart of him.” I also said I was a mom with my children

I hate that recent events make it so helping a child is confusing to our kids. I know most of the world is filled with helpful, well-meaning folks, yet I want to teach my kids to stay away from those who might pose a threat. How do we do that and also teach them compassion? I worry I sent them mixed signals by helping this boy and now I don’t know how to explain it.

Thoughts? Please post a comment.

Photo by Roma Flowers, courtesy of stock.xchng

Women For Women

I've been a supporter of Women For Women International because I know just how lucky I am. I was not born in a war-torn country. I was not forced into marriage. I was not raped as a child. I have a hot meal on my table every day and know my children will sleep with a belly full of food. I live in one of the greatest countries in the world.

Because I am so fortunate, I understand I need to help those who were not given the same opportunities I have had.

If you count your lucky stars as often as I do, please visit Women For Women International's Web site and learn how just a few dollars can help an underprivileged woman start a business and earn enough to feed her children. If you donate before October 31, 2009, each dollar you give will be matched by a generous supporter. You can give as little or as much as your budget allows (it will be doubled, people!).

As women it is our obligation to support and help other women. By doing so, we help not only a person, but also her children and her community. Women truly are the key to a peaceful world.

This Is Going To Be Interesting...

When I was 22 I got really bored with my hair. (I also happened to break up with a guy I liked and wasn’t thinking clearly.) I asked my mom to add a few highlights to give myself a “kissed by the sun” look. (Hey, I was living in California and the request wasn't that far out of the question.) My mom is not a hair stylist but she had done enough with her own mane to know a thing or two about adding highlights (I so thought). She got one of those silly little plastic caps with the tiny holes (which I believe now are buried next to the cotton gin) and pulled it down tightly over my head. She slowly began dragging my locks through the holes with a hook (yes, it hurt a little). She carefully applied the solution as we chatted. After a few minutes she said, “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” I asked. “Mom, when I’m getting my hair done, the last thing I want to hear is, ‘uh-oh’,” I said.

“Go wash your hair,” she said. “Now.”

I ran to the tub, turned on the faucet and quickly dunked my hair in the stream of water. I looked up and saw my reflection in the mirror. My mom was laughing and I didn’t know whether to join her. My brown hair was now leaning on the very golden side of blond.

“Mom!” I said.

She began to howl. Because she was laughing so hard, I cracked up, too. We sat there in her bathroom, holding out stomachs and laughing.

“Well,” I said, “I guess it’s time to figure out if blonds really do have more fun.”

More giggles.

Cut to me now, 20 years later...

I am fortunate because I never started getting grey hair until I turned 40, and even now, at 42, the grey is very slight. (Of course the ones I do have are smack dab at the top of my forehead, in a style that resembles a Pepé Le Pew’s stripe, so I am now forced to cover that grey with a hue close to my own.) So other than relax my curl a bit, the only work I do on my hair is color it with the same brown shade, adding a caramel-colored highlight here and there when I felt like “going a little crazy.”

I’m going to be 43 in November and whether it’s the moon in retrograde or Gemini in Scorpio, something has convinced me that it’s time to kick it up a notch with my hair color. I went to a salon (this was my first mistake because I had only been to this particular place once before to cover my grey) and said to the colorist, “Go for it. Make me lighter. I can take it.”

(Her first clue that I was lying should have been when I began to shake after seeing just how light she decided to go.)

So, I’m kind of blond again. Well, in parts. Mostly I'm just lighter brown. Sort of. My husband walked in the door last night from work, took one look at me and said, “Hi Shakira.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” I said, laughing. (Mind you, when I first got glasses he didn’t notice for hours. Okay, they are rimless, but still. Glasses? On my face? Come on.)

“Do you hate it?” I asked him.

“Um, no, but I like you the way you are,” he said. (Good man.)

“I know but I just wanted to mix it up a bit,” I said.

He nodded, kissed me and walked away. (Smart man.)

I already made an appointment to tone this color down because I am a little freaked out at how light my hair is, but maybe I’ll live with it for a bit and see how it goes. If the pimply bag boy at the grocery store hands me his number, however, I’ll getting a box myself and go back to brunette. Pronto.

Got a good hair horror story? Post a comment and let me know. Misery loves company.

I'm Losing You

Two weeks ago Lily said to me, “I wish I was 10 years old.”

I smiled, remembering how, when I was little, I always wanted to be older, too.

“Lily,” I said, “I know it seems older kids get to do so much more. But here’s the truth: each year you get to do and be something wonderful. Try to enjoy being seven. You’ll be ten soon enough.”

She nodded and didn’t answer.

“Why do you want to be ten so badly?” I asked her.

“You know how sometimes we go to a store where everything is really fragile and I can’t touch anything?” she asked. I wondered where she was going with this because Lily is the master of non-sequiturs. (She was describing a recent trip we made to a building supply store that was filled with doors and windows. She and Aimee had to sit quietly while we spoke about boring stuff to the clerk.)

“Yes?” I said.

“Well, when we go there I wish I could just sit on a bench outside by myself and wait for you,” she said.

I finally understood what she was trying to say. She wanted autonomy. She wanted to be a big kid and do things on her own. This conversation took place before school began and we had been discussing how she would walk to school by herself. The very idea of going it alone made her drunk with confidence.

I thought about what she wanted to do and, even though I believe in being a free-range parent, the idea of leaving her alone outside a store seemed much more daunting then letting her walk to school. For one, she’s walking to school in my town where I wave to the cars as they pass her because I know almost everyone who is driving by. When we go to a store, however, it’s usually in a much bigger town. I highly doubt anything would happen to her (I’ve read the statistics and know she’s probably very safe) but her age – 7 – tells me she isn’t quite ready. (Yet.)

“I understand how you feel,” I said. “It’s boring being in a store where you can’t touch anything, right?”

She nodded.

“Well, maybe we can come up with a solution the next time it happens,” I said.

She smiled, seemingly content with my answer.

Now that she's been walking to school by herself for the past week I can tell you this: she is a much more poised, self-assured child. One mom who saw her walking said to me, “She walks with confidence.” I nodded and said, “I know.”

Letting go of my child has been difficult (full disclosure: I’m still slightly terrified that she is all by herself on the way to and from school). I am caught between proud and petrified. But I can see by allowing her to do small things on her own I am giving her a gift unlike any other.

Photo by Sue Byford, courtesy of stock.xchng

Life Needs Parties. Good Ones.

I really miss going to weddings.

The last nuptial celebration I attended took place more than three years ago. My best friend from high school, Melinda, got married and that celebration was the perfect excuse for my husband and me to enjoy a fabulous, romantic getaway. We rented a room at a bed and breakfast on the beach and enjoyed the company of some of my closest friends from high school and college. The wedding was just the backdrop to an already fabulous party.

I called Melinda a few weeks ago and suggested she organize a celebration for her five-year anniversary. “That was such a fun time,” I said. “We need to do it again.” She laughed and said, "That was really fun." (Of course, it was her wedding, so...)

Although my husband and I enjoy each other’s company, we are also incredibly social creatures. We love hanging out with fun friends and thankfully I have a lot of good pals from my pre-child life who to this day make me laugh and smile. They are just a ton of fun to be with. We have hilarious memories and still crack each other up when we recall them. (I’d repeat some of them here but would totally be sued for slander.)

Although I have met folks after I became a mom, there is something about being around people who have known you through your childhood and later years that is really comforting. They know you. They don’t judge you for the mistakes you have made and just shrug when you say something inappropriate because they are well aware of your history.

As a grown woman in a small town (a mother, no less), I find I have to watch what I say so much more. (Considering how brutally honest I am, you can imagine how hard that is for me to do.) People around me can be terribly judgmental (gee, am I the pot calling the kettle black much?) and I worry something I do or say could affect my entire family. I don’t enjoy the freedom I have when I hang out with pals who have known me half my life.

My guess is the people around me feel the same way I do. They, too, have to temper their behavior, and therefore, the conversation often becomes polite.

Polite = boring. Very, very boring.

So, Melinda, if you're reading this, have another party. Please?

Photo by Kriss Szkurlatowski, courtesy of stock.xchng

Unconditional Love

Aimee asked me an interesting question the other day. “Mommy, do you still love me even when you are mad at me?” she asked.

She knew the answer because I had told her a million times before.

“Yep,” I said. “No matter what you do, I always love you. I can’t turn that off.”

“Even if I go to jail?” she asked.

I nodded my head. “Will I be happy if you go to jail? No. But I will always love you, no matter what you do.”

I explained that we do the right thing and follow rules because, just like our family is a team, our community is a team as well. “A team only works well if every player follows the rules,” I said.

According to a recent study on unconditional love, I actually said the right thing. (For once. Sheesh.)

A team of experts studied children who were raised by two kinds of parents: the first were those who held back love when a child misbehaved and the second were those who loved unconditionally. (Click here to read the New York Times article on that study.)

In this previous post I mentioned how my parents rarely explained why I needed to behave when I was a child. If was told why I shouldn't jump off the roof or run with scissors in my hand I could have digested the information and I probably would have been more apt to obey. As a mother, I know by giving my children choices, as well assigning small tasks around the house to establish independence (and allowing Lily to walk to school!), I would boost self-esteem.

Well, by God, the study on child-rearing with conditional or unconditional love actually corroborated my point:

“[U]nconditional acceptance by parents as well as teachers should be accompanied by ‘autonomy support’: explaining reasons for requests, maximizing opportunities for the child to participate in making decisions, being encouraging without manipulating, and actively imagining how things look from the child’s point of view.”

Validation. Now that's unconditional love for you.

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Reluctant Mom? More Like Grateful Mom

People often ask me why I call this blog 'A Reluctant Mom.' I did so because I was not the kind of girl who dreamed of getting married, settling down and having kids. It’s not that I didn’t want children or a husband. I just really wanted a career and figured being a mom would always come later. (Ah, the best laid plans…)

A funny thing happened on the way home from the hospital after giving birth to my first child. I fell madly, deeply, and inexplicably in love with my baby. I vividly remember coming home from the hospital, looking at my mom (who was visiting at the time) and bursting into tears.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

After several minutes of bawling uncontrollably, I finally said, “I just love her so much I cannot bear it.”

She smiled and said, “Oh, honey. It’s just the hormones and lack of sleep making you feel that way. Go take a nap.”

My mom was only partially right. I was exhausted and my hormones were buzzing out of control. But the love I felt for Lily was something I could never, ever imagine. Now that I have two children my love has been tempered and shared equally. But the intense adoration I have for them still scares me to death.

I recently read something that horrified me and made me contemplate the title of my own blog. I quip that I’m a "reluctant mom," but in reality, I’m a very thankful mother. My girls are not easy and they test me daily, but they are also a huge source of joy. I count my blessings daily at how lucky I am to have them.

So you can only imagine how stunned I was to read this letter by a mom who says she rarely hugs or kisses her daughter and how she is, in every sense of the word, a reluctant mother. Here is a small excerpt:

I am not touchy feely, I am not affectionate and I am a bit of a hard nose. I thought it was bad when she was a toddler, but each stage of life replaced one strain on my nerves with an even larger one. My daughter is now 13 years old and I am daily amazed I haven't killed one of us. Now that she is old enough to do things without me I encourage it. I pay what needs to be paid, I feed her, [dress] her and I grudgingly attend those events that require my attendance, but if the truth is told -- I find motherhood a burden more than a joy. This is why I only have one child.

The woman, who admitted getting pregnant by accident and having the child at 22, says the constant demands were too much for her to bear. I appreciate her honesty, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to take that woman and slap some sense into her.

Here’s the thing: I, too, had a hard time with my first child. My husband worked extremely long days and I was stuck at home from early morning until late night with a colicky, sleepless baby. I remember sitting with Lily on my lap, rocking her, soothing her, breastfeeding her all day long with no support or help. But did I begrudge that child for my lot in life? Not one second. In fact, I loved her even more. Each time she cried I felt a strong, maternal pull that drew me closer to her. I laughed at the time my husband, who was home on a Saturday and experienced one of her three-hour bouts, said to me, “Oh, my God. How do you still love her?” (Love him.)

One of my closest friends is having a really hard time getting pregnant. I spoke to her last night as she wept and my heart ached for her loss. I have always known just how lucky I was to get pregnant (by accident, nonetheless) and how fortunate I was to be given two healthy, challenging kids. After hearing my friend relive her painful experience, I counted my blessings once again.

There are thousands of women out there who are just like my friend. They desperately want to get pregnant and can’t (for a variety of reasons). I hope moms who do have kids stop and think what a gift they have been given. We have the opportunity to put a human being on the earth who might actually change the world for the better. We can raise future presidents and scientists or we can be like the woman above and possibly raise future Hitlers or serial killers. She should have given the child up for adoption to a family that would have cared and loved that child (and probably would have been thankful to have such a child.) At least her daughter would have a chance at knowing what unconditional love feels like. And everyone should have that knowledge.

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