Potty Training 101

The above title is a misnomer since we have no practical advice to give on potty training. Below, however, are our war stories from the trenches:

(1) Do not mistake pull-ups for kinda cool diapers. Because if you give in to your toddler’s demands that she wants pull-ups just like all of her friends in preschool, but you’re not actually ready to potty train yet, then you’ll be stuck buying pull-ups for ages until she is ready. And in addition to being much more expensive, you will find yourself without a transitional piece, forcing you to go cold turkey (or full commando, whichever metaphor is more appropriate here).

(2) Cleaning out a “solid” accident from a pair of close-fitting underwear is not at all as efficient as changing a dirty diaper. There’s the navigation of said full panties down the legs and over the feet without leaving streaks behind. And then you have to wash out the panties yourself without turning a bit green. All under the constant threat of another accident while your babe is now bottomless.

(3) You start to sound like a raving lunatic as you oscillate between repeating the same questions every five minutes (Do you need the potty? Are you sure? Why don’t you try to use the potty, anyway? Do you need the potty?) and being the world’s most hyper cheerleader (Yay!! You used the potty! Great job! You’re such a big girl! Way to go! Look at that poop!). If you ask these questions often enough, you will elicit an actual eye-roll from your toddler with the accompanying “I know, Mom!” full of teenage scorn and attitude.

(4) Accidents will happen, just like the spit-up on a new shirt or baby food on the walls. What is astounding is the quantity that can flow from such a tiny little person. Apparently that’s what 12 ounces of fluid looks like on the floor. On the plus side, doing two loads of laundry every day does make you a bit nostalgic about the newborn days. You know it’s bad when you kind of miss the convenience of diapers (There, I said it, we all have our little dark secrets).

(5) Toddlers are stubborn little things with the will of a dictator and the attention span of a gnat. Although she may be standing within inches of an available potty, and although you may have asked her a dozen times in the last five minutes and finally convinced her to go into the bathroom with you, she may still have a full blown accident standing beside the potty because she was distracted by a decorative bowl of little stones next to the toilet. Note to self: giving in to her initial demands of holding one of these stones five hours earlier is seeming less innocent now, in the wake of the big clean-up that followed.

(6 ) Potty training is not fun for toddlers either. If given the choice between having an accident in her pants or continuing to play with Play Doh, guess which one option she will choose? Now refer back to #2 above.

(7) Little girls are not born knowing to keep their knees together when on the potty. Apparently when your daughter sits on a full-sized potty with a wide stance (to keep from falling in), and you kneel in front of her (to keep her from falling in), your chest is at just the right level to receive an inconvenient dousing. I suppose this is where you feel lucky that it’s your chest and not your face. I didn’t feel quite this lucky when it happened to me.

(8) You begin to have anxiety attacks when you travel for any distance in the car. You start to obsessively memorize the maps of stores and the zoo and can tell anyone where the nearest bathroom is from your current location. You learn to chant to your little one, “Hold it in, hold it in, keep holding it in!” as you race for these spots at the count of 1, 2, 3 “I have to pee!”

(9) You notice how much better your toddler’s jeans fit without the bulk of a pull-up or diaper. Yes, this is minor silver-lining, but still, you take what you can get.

(10) You marvel the first time your toddler makes it a whole day out of the house without an accident. And life feels just a little bit easier. So while she is still able to double your blood pressure with the simple phrase “I need to use the potty,” you start to envision a life without bottles and pacifiers and diapers and lovies. At least until the next one comes along…

(11) You imagine just how much harder this would be if you had a son and had to teach him how to aim standing up. For those that do, kudos to you!

Sugar and Spice…

One of my best friends and I had children around the same time, three years ago. She had a boy, I had a girl. We often commented how fun it is that we can compare being a mom of a daughter versus a son. And there are indeed big differences, as one can image, and yet more similarities still. One of the bigger differences that we have encountered, although this may be limited to just our experiences, is the idea of gender-specific roles for boys and for girls.

My little girl is a daredevil in many ways. She has never met a sofa she didn’t want to jump on, or an obstacle too tall to climb. We did have prior knowledge since her favorite activity at 4 months old was to throw herself backwards in your arms in a reckless back dive. She also loves cars and trucks and trains, and “Bob the Builder” and “Thomas the Train Engine” were both recent obsessions. Her favorite color can be orange or black or blue or pink, depending on the day (and let’s be honest, whatever color happens to be in front of her at the time). She loves to jump in puddles and poke at insects with a stick; she loves to wrestle and dig in sand until she’s a mudpie herself. Not that she’s a tomboy, because she also adores her ballet classes, twirling in front of the mirror in her skirts or dresses, and dressing up like mom. I mention all of these activities because in my mind, she is first and foremost, a child, and then a girl.

My friend on the other hand, is always apologizing when her son likes something that is considered more “girly.” My daughter recently received a furnished doll house for her birthday. My friend’s son came over for a playdate and was absolutely enraptured by it, and she apologized several times that he was playing with her doll house and mentioned that her husband would be . . . not exactly horrified, but that they would never buy their son a doll house. She had the same reaction when he played with her play kitchen, and with her Cabbage Patch Kids. At an earlier playdate, her son was soaking wet after a satisfying time at the water table, and I offered dry clothes for him to ride home. Although the shirt was burgundy and the shorts were navy and white, she grudgingly accepted the loan because the shorts were too short and looked “girly.” I could go on, but you get the idea. She has very clear gender-roles in mind for her son.

My personal favorite has been the idea that boys are not allowed to play with play kitchens. More than one of my friends has mentioned this in passing, or sometimes it is the father that objects to the play kitchen. Here are my diplomatically couched thoughts on this: (1) I hope he marries right after college so he will never have to cook for himself; (2) what are all of those world famous chefs doing being men? and (3) it’s just playtime. Seriously. He’s not going to put on a tutu and a tiara to stir that soup he’s making for his future partner.

This is something that I have noticed at more and more playdates and public play places. The idea that some toys are feminine and others are masculine. There are even masculine and feminine equivalents of the same toy. There can be Barbie Jeep cars and cameo Hummer type cars. But somehow, the girls are supposed to gravitate towards everything pink and sweet and boys are supposed to love guns and trucks. In the end though, I think kids just like to explore and imagine and be allowed to march to the their own beat.

Regardless of color or decor or type of toy, surely childhood is the brief respite we should have to live outside box and just enjoy play time. From our perspective, she can wear her hard hat and pink tutu skirt while she plays with her Thomas Train set, or sit down to tea in her purple pajamas with her vampire doll and King Kong action figure as guests. Either way, she will find her place soon enough, and we intend to enjoy every quirky moment along the way.

Our little girl is made up of sugar and spice AND snips and snails and puppy dogs tails.

Sticks and Stones

Originally written 5 Sep 2011

Girls can be mean. Just ask anyone who has survived junior high, or high school for that matter.

Or ask a pregnant woman or first time mom.

The playgrounds are no less terrifying for a new (or battle hardened) parent than for their munchkins. At least with the littler set, I can understand. I mean, that is a pretty cool toy you have there, of course you would both want to play with it at the same time. And yes, I did see him push you first, of course you would want to push him back. Not to mention that no one likes being assaulted with a toy or having someone steal your goldfish crackers (a capital offense, if ever there was one).

But the cruelties of parents to one another is more subtle, and more undermining, in many ways. It is the way that someone can compare her child to yours without actually making an overt criticism. It is the way a supposed friend can always one-up you when you are having a bad day (or a good day for that matter). Or the way a strongly opinionated soapbox can render your parenting choices as selfish and immature, or how unsolicited advice can come across as judgmental.

Unless the person really is putting herself or her children in immediate harm’s way, chances are, she already knows that it’s time to lose the diaper and the paci, and that a lunch of goldfish and chocolate milk is not the most nutritious choice. She probably wishes her child would behave in restaurants as much as you do, and she probably hopes that some day her child will sleep past dawn. I doubt that she enjoys answering her child’s endless questions, or stepping in as referee every other minute because her child is going through a year-long “hitting phase.” And most of all, she probably wishes you would understand well enough to offer her an ear, or at least a stiff drink.

Because a support network of good friends who have blazed this trail before or alongside of you is also uplifting and necessary. No pediatrician or hand book is as personalized and meaningful as asking your friends if your child really should be screeching at the top of her lungs, or whether she will ever calm down long enough to get dressed or eat a meal at the table, or whether you can really survive potty-training while keeping your sanity. Friends are good for the practical advice that never make it into books or manuals, and when all else fails, friends are great company for a bottle of wine or something stronger.

I have been blessed to have wonderful friends who keep me sane (and some of those other “friends,” too, who keep me on my toes). Much like a good pair of jeans that hide the mummy-tummy, or a fabulous purse that can hold everything without looking like a diaper bag, or a fantastic pair of shoes that allow you to chase your toddler down the street and still look stylish, another mommy-must-have is a great group of girlfriends. ‘Cause although we love them to death, but men are just not hairy women, as a local newspaper rightly pointed out, years ago.

We’re all treading water here, even if some of us appear better at it than others.

Yoga for Moms (or Dads)

I used to be a yoga-addict (does it count as addiction if it’s good for you?). Nothing helped lower my stress and zen me out more than a hard, sweaty class followed by a yummy frozen yogurt dinner (ah, the life of a 20-something). These days, yoga has taken on a new stance in the most-baby world. Here are some of my favorite poses:

Warrior 3 – closing the fridge door with your foot (that your toddler left open) while serving up breakfast from the skillet and turning off the running faucet with the other hand (that your husband left running); a typical family morning

Tree pose – standing on one leg because you just stepped on another lego/Dora doll/rattle with baby balanced on your hip, diaper bag over arm, trying to get out the door

Cobra pose – lounging on the floor on your belly, playing with puzzles with your child, while he/she alternates between riding on your back, climbing on your shoulders, and running back to take away the puzzle piece you just fit into the board

Chair pose – sitting down in squat without aid of a chair because they were all occupied by your child’s favorite stuffed animals and dolls, but she still insists that you join them for tea (and you cannot sit on the ground because –that- would be improper, apparently)

Triangle pose – using one leg/foot to keep a heavy door wide open into the store (most likely a coffeeshop), while navigating a wide stroller through it, holding your breath that your infant who just fell asleep will continue to sleep in the store just long enough for your quadruple espresso over ice (so you can chug it like a junkie shoots heroin)

Child’s pose – curled up in a little ball in the dark closet while playing “hide and seek” with your moody toddler, enjoying the few minutes of bliss before she finds you; consider maybe hiding in the next door neighbor’s house to prolong the process

Lotus pose – or sitting cross-legged on the floor, as this is the only place that you sit anymore since you stand everywhere else and the sofa has only been used as a trampoline (by your toddler) and as a bed (at 3am by an exhausted parent who has been exiled by the (finally) sleeping baby next to his or her spouse in bed)

Corpse pose – lying on your back, pretending to sleep, taking deep breaths while counting down the last hours before your child’s bedtime; breath in (just three hours to go), breath out (I can see the light at the end of the tunnel), breath in (this too shall pass), oommph! breath out (I didn’t need those ribs anyway)

The Third Tri

Now that our daughter is three, I can see similarities between the first three years and the three trimesters of pregnancy.

In those first few months as a newborn, you experience exhaustion and nausea and wild mood swings. The exhaustion is pretty self-explanatory, except that no one ever mentions that “sleep when the baby sleeps” is a fabulous concept for those lucky few who can afford housekeepers and chefs and personal assistants. Otherwise, you start to resemble a sticky, sweaty, badly neglected baby who may receive enough sleep, but could sorely use a well balanced meal and a long, hot shower. Or even a poorly executed meal and a cold, harsh shower. We’re not terribly picky at this stage.

The nausea, of course, comes from the incredible deluge of bodily functions and fluids you never thought you could or would be comfortable handling, until you have a newborn. Your mantra becomes “I can always wash my hands. And my clothes. And the baby’s clothes. And all of the sheets. And get new carpeting. And paint the walls a nice dark plum that will cover all the stains. And breathe through my mouth.” With every blowout, the trauma lessens a bit and your ability to stomach the next strengthens, until one day you’re handling the full stripper routine like a pro: baby first, then you, then both of you in the tub, then clean clothes for baby and into the crib for a full scrub down of bathroom/bedroom/hallway, etc. for you.

And the mood swings! Who knew that this tiny little package would make you feel such wild dynamics of pure joy and utter terror all within the space of a breath (or the lack of a breath, as you check to make sure baby is breathing for the fiftieth time in an hour). To fall in love so completely is to also surrender to the tightest grips of fear of every tiny danger that could befall your beloved, including that fabulous bumper that you thought you had to have, or that intellectually-stimulating, monochromatic mobile that could fall on her head, or that 50 year old crib that your grandmother keeps insisting you use for your baby.

But then miraculously, you enter that golden second trimester, where baby becomes mobile. And although that brings its own challenges, you start to remember what a regular routine feels like and you start to get more than 3 hours of sleep a night. Diaper changes become far more routine and life is kind of fun, introducing your little one to new places and experiences. Other new parents with infants start to ask YOU for advice and you think, “huh, I think I’ve got the hang of this.”

And then your child gets older and you hit the third trimester, where everything becomes larger and unwieldy and uncomfortable. I’m talking potty-training and temper tantrums here. Because although “baby” is now over two years old, she still wants to be carried everywhere when she is tired or anxious. And let me tell you, 37 pounds of joy is just plain heavy compared to that initial 8 pounds of love. And just when you were coming to terms with diapers and actually appreciating the convenience of being able to go anywhere, for any length of time without fretting, along comes potty-training to throw a wrench in the mix. And your lovely diaper bag that was replaced with a cute, medium-sized bag, now becomes a large, unwieldy backpack as you carry two changes of clothes for your child, one change of clothes for you (because she insists on being carried), and snacks and diversions and other miscellaneous gear.

So here we are, firmly entrenched in the third trimester. She is much more active, much more expressive, but as temperamental as a summers storm. From happy go lucky to full-fledged throw-down mode in the time it takes to utter “no more lollies for you.” Not to mention the discomfort as those same parents seeking advice look around in embarrassment at dinner when it’s your child screaming a the table or it’s you chasing your streaking preschooler around the house with threats of “no books or chocolate milk tonight unless you put on these clothes right now and don’t even think about having a potty-accident while you’re running around naked! and what in the world do you have in your mouth??”

And where will this lead? With hope, to the birth of a well-behaved child as we near her fourth birthday. Although at this point, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be all natural and mommy needs a stiff drink to anesthetize the (growing) pain(s).

Norman Rockwell Can Kiss My Tush

Growing up, my dearest, fondest wish was a very Merry Norman Rockwell Christmas (and Thanksgiving, but this is the Christmas edition). You know, the version with little rumple-haired children falling asleep in front of the lit fireplace and the sparkly tree on Christmas Eve, being carried to bed by mom and dad, and sleeping soundly until (very early) Christmas morning to bounce down the stairs to a heavily laden stash of brightly colored, wrapped presents.

Well, having not received these types of rosy holidays as a child, I was determined to make them extra-special for my daughter when our little family of two became a family of three. So far, this is what I have learned:

1) Babies and toddlers are scared of Santa. I mean, come on! Who doesn’t love the big guy with the twinkly eyes, the wide lap, and the power to give great presents?

Babies and toddlers, that’s who. Every time we tried to take a photo with Santa, usual mayhem ensued. As a baby, at least all she did was launch herself out of Santa’s lap into mommy’s (unsuspecting) arms. As a toddler, she happily raced to Santa when it was her turn, in order to make a sharp, right turn as she neared the big guy, with a look of utter terror on her face that he was much, much bigger in person than she thought. This year, we have finally graduated up to the lean as far away from Santa as possible and pretend-to-be-happy-about-it-smile. I’ll take it.

2) Too many presents can overwhelm a young child. After opening the first present, she wants to play with the new toy. Now, while I certainly cannot blame her, why does every toy have to come with 100 of those annoying black twist ties? And the non-twist-ties that take a pair of garden shears to cut open. And about 100 yards of tape. And don’t get me started about those hard-plastic-two-piece packages around some electronic toys that take super human strength (and leave about 12 fairly deep cuts) to open. Seriously. Who are these sadists that invent these migraine-inducing packages?

3) Kids only know one (if you’re lucky two) Christmas carols. So while you may have visions of singing around the Christmas tree or piano, your toddler has plans to scream “Jingle Bells” at the top of her lungs. And not the entire song, just “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells.” And if you’re silly enough to try singing the “dashing through the snow” verse, be prepared for a lot of bossy shrieking about how you’re not doing it right.

Subsection (b) if you’re really lucky, your child is in preschool and they have taught her a new “holiday song,” the words of which you do not know. And since she’s only 3, she doesn’t know the words either. But she desperately wants to sing them with you. So you try to make the words up as you go. Big. Mistake. I refer you back to mayhem above regarding “dashing through the snow.” Nothing annoys a preschooler more than when she knows something that you don’t know, but she can’t remember it well enough to teach you.

4) Christmas cookies apparently look prettier on the walls, the floors, and down your preschooler’s pants. You have 1950’s visions of making beautiful, poignant cookies with your darling little girl, and decorating them with festive sprinkles and artful little swirls. Ha. Yeah, that’s right, ha.

As you’re turning around to get another pan out of the oven, your tiny darling is trying to shovel as many cookies in her mouth as possible (leading to the hysteria-driven tantrums mentioned above when you don’t know the words to “the blue mitten loves Frosty who is best friends with Rudolph on Santa’s Sleigh” or something like that).

Sprinkles are finding themselves into every conceivable crevice of your kitchen (where you know they will melt unseen and cause little pet ants to migrate in the spring) and into your hair and down your shirt and down her pants, but NOT on the cookies themselves. And if you were silly enough to let her have a hand in making the cookie dough that morning? Flour was already in all those same crevices that the sprinkles now adorn.

5) Decorating a tree with your gorgeous bundle of joy will be a wonderful family tradition. Well, it’s not entirely your preschooler’s fault that spherical ornaments look like balls. They are after all, balls on a string. And you can’t really blame her for treating them like the soft balls they throw at school. Even if they were a family heirloom (and you shouldn’t have turned your back on her in the first place, even if it was to catch the 8 foot tree as it started to tip over on your head). The same with all those priceless (or pricey) crystal ornaments. They are pretty sparkly after all. Who wouldn’t want to run over to the window with one to see how the sunlight creates rainbows in the crystals. Even if you might trip and send the said crystal flying.

6) Sleigh rides are a lovely winter tradition. Especially when you were smart enough to bundle up your baby in layers, with mittens and hat and snowpants and snowboots to keep her cozy. Even better when she’s now potty-trained and after waiting for 30 minutes for the sleigh ride, you hear, “mommy, I need to go potty,” as you get ready to board. At the mall. With no potty in sight. Well, at least all those layers will be absorbent if you don’t make it in time.

7) Snowball fights and snow angels are a great winter activity, sure to make memories. Unless your little one has a hard time making snowballs with her mittens on (seeing as she’s still mastering turning door knobs and getting her shoes on by herself). So she takes off her mittens and happily makes a few to toss at you. And then she starts to cry because her hands are too cold. But now you’ve lost the mittens, and she won’t take yours as a substitute because they are (a) too big and (b) not pink, which you should know is her “favorite color!!!”

Snow angels on the other hand, are kind of doomed from the beginning if you have a child who is not thrilled by the idea of cold snow going down her neck or up her pants (but keeps forgetting her finicky ways and insists that you help her make an angel).

8) Writing a letter to Santa is a lovely tradition to start when your child first understands the concept of both Santa and letters. That is, unless your child sees this as a free-for-all to ask for whatever catches her eye. And as any parent of a young child knows, their whims have a shelf-life shorter than a ripe banana. And Murphy’s Law dictates that as soon as you find that “must-have” toy (and if you’re brave, at a great discount on Black Friday), she will have changed her mind and now desperately, heartbreakingly earnestly must have something entirely different.

9) Extended family can make the big day extra special with their festive attitudes and helpful ways. I’m pretty sure we all have extended family and know how naïve this one is from the start.

10) There’s nothing like sitting down to a joyful meal with all of your nearest and dearest to celebrate the season. That is, unless some of you happen to be under the age of 10, and there’s nothing you would rather do less than sit still for a long, boring meal. And not only will you not admire the food (because you’re 3 years old), but you will also not eat any of the lovely meal. And will demand that you have buttered toast for dinner. Buttered on both sides. With the crusts off. No!! Not cut into slices, I need it whole! (unlike yesterday when I wanted it in slices.)

Despite all of this, there is no one I would rather celebrate my favorite time of year with than my darling little girl. Seeing the wonder of the lit trees and shiny decorations reflected in her eyes makes it all worth it.

So raise a glass with me, will you, and Merry Christmas, one and all.

10 Ways To Make The Holidays Meaningful For Kids

As we recover from Black Friday and Cyber Monday, I wonder if there’s a way (or two or three) to show our munchkins some of the non-present sides of the season. Here are some ideas:

1) Get together with some friends or moms’ groups and teach your kids just a few, simple carols. If you’re ambitious, add in a few instruments like bells or some sign language. And go serenade a retirement home. Get extra brownie points by checking to see if you can bring some cookies along.

2) Ask a local soup kitchen if you (and your friends or moms’ groups) can bake some cookies for them and enjoy making (several dozen) cookies for those less fortunate. Or your local Ronald McDonald House, or a shelter for women and children.

3) Go to your local bookstore and buy a book for a child, and maybe inspire the love of learning in another family. Choose a family favorite to make it special, or let your child choose a new holiday classic to add to his or her collection and give a second as a gift to a family less fortunate.

4) Adopt a child or a family to shower with Christmas presents. Let your child choose a toy or two, and explain that although he or she is a very lucky child, others are less fortunate and he or she has the ability to be “Santa’s little helper” and make someone else’s Christmas just a bit more jolly.

5) Collect together old toys and cold weather clothes, still in great condition, and make a trip to your local charity for a drop off.

6) Make some homemade Christmas cards with handprints or footprints (and plenty of sparkle) to send to the military overseas who must be extra-homesick during the holidays. May be include a little wish for “Peace on Earth” so that they may return soon to their families at home.

7) Donate some favorite holiday classics like hot chocolate mix or packages of marshmallows or pre-packaged cookies to a food shelter. You may not be able to feed everyone, but whomever receives it might feel just a bit more warm and toasty. Maybe package each piece nicely with some holiday stickers and a personal note.

8) Consider donating a goat or flock of geese to a family abroad, whose lives and livelihood could change overnight with such a gift. Explain to your child what this might mean to a family who is less fortunate, and have your child help you with handmade cards explaining to loved ones that this year, you have donated the gift of livelihood to another family, in their honor and in the spirit of the season.

9) Pick out a plastic (or other easily sterilized) toy and wrap it up for a child spending his or her Christmas at the hospital. Maybe a new, shiny toy would be a nice distraction as they are recuperating.

10) Make sure to remember loved ones far away with something personal. Maybe a Skype call or a video greeting or some personalized pottery piece for the grandparents or aunts and uncles who are too far away to travel. Nothing says “Merry Christmas” like the personal touch.

If you’re ready and you know it, clap your hands

The recent tragedy of Madonna Badger reminded me how ill-prepared we are sometimes for the forces of nature. And this is particularly tragic because it is my job to be prepared, both as a professional, and as a mom. Here are my emergency preparedness tips for you and your family. Do we do all of these things? No. But every little bit helps.

(1) check your smoke alarms annually (at least); install new batteries, check that they work properly

(2) make sure that the storm windows in your basement can actually open in case of an emergency

(3) cover storm wells in the summer so that small children will not fall through

(4) at least one bedroom upstairs (ideally all bedrooms) should have an escape ladder tucked in the room in case of fire

(5) have at least one, if not two, fire extinguishers near the kitchen; (5.b.) know how to use them – the first time I tried using one (to put out a fire in our toaster oven, I accidentally fired it backwards, towards my husband’s face . . .

(6 ) have a “go pack” ready – this is a backpack that has copies of all of the important papers and other items that you might need in case of a fire. Have it in your home office or mudroom or somewhere near an exit or the garage. It should have copies of an insurance in formation, numbers and accounts you will need to contact companies in case of fire or natural disaster; an emergency contact list would be helpful too, although most of us have this on our phones these days. If you feel ambitious, also store your passports and a check book and some extra cash in here. This is how you will rebuild your life if you need to evacuate quickly.

(7) have an emergency meet-up place outside of your home in case you and your family get split up or are not together when the emergency occurs; maybe a friend’s house in a different town, or another location. Also have a back-up emergency meet-up place that is farther out of town (or in the next state) in case something happens in the entire area (e.g. tornado or earthquake, etc.)

(8 ) have an emergency phone number that is out of state that everyone in your family can call to get in contact; during a local emergency, cell phone towers may be down due to high traffic. Having an outside number you can call from a landline or payphone can keep you all in contact.

(9) try to refill prescription drugs before they are completely empty; make sure to keep them together and in a place you can grab quickly if you need to evacuate (instead of all over the house like ours end up sometimes)

(10) try to fill up your car when it gets to half a tank instead of waiting until empty (or waiting several miles after the light comes on – it’s a weird game of “chicken” I play with my car; I don’t know why, it’s a quirk). Especially in cold weather, you do not want to run out of gas if it takes you several hours to get home in a snow storm.

(11) keep emergency supplies in your car during the cold weather – a sleeping bag or warm blankets, a few bottles of water, some non-perishable snacks, flashlight and extra batteries, jumper cables, make sure the spare tire is in good condition, etc.

(12) have an emergency stock of canned goods and bottles of water in case you need to “shelter-in-place” for awhile in your home. Plan for roughly one flat (24 bottles) of water, per person, in your household. Yes, this is probably unrealistic, but even just an extra flat or two could be helpful. Keep them in the garage or mudroom so that if you need to evacuate in your car, you can toss them in the trunk quickly.

(13) when there is a sale on at the grocery store, or every time you go grocery shopping, buy an extra non-perishable item for your pantry in case of emergency. Over time, you will build  up a nice supply. Just remember to rotate your supply so the expiration dates are not an issue. And buy foods that your family will eat (tuna is great for emergencies, but if no one will eat it, it’s just a paperweight). Also, consider that the electricity might be out, so consider foods that do not need to be heated or cooked.

(14) consider back-up plans for your digital files. If there’s a house fire, or if you need to evacuate quickly, how have you backed-up all of your photos and videos and files. An external harddrive is great for insuring against a computer failure, but if you need to evacuate (or if you’re not at home when disaster strikes), you may not be able to access it. Consider uploading photos and videos to a free site that allows for full-resolution uploads (photos) or youtube type places for videos.

(15) your “go-pack” should also include any necessary items that you might need overnight (e.g. change of clothes, baby formula, glasses, prescriptions, etc.)

(16) obviously, this is a long list. We’re not going to all be able to accomplish all of these. But at least sit down together and review the list. See where you are as a family in terms of preparedness, prioritize what can be done, and discuss where you might go next. And in the end, as they say in my husband’s home land, just remember to “stay calm, and carry on.”

Parenting Walks of Shame

As a parent, there are many types of walks of shame in the first few  years. Some are more personal, like walking through a restaurant with two spreading headlights on your shirt as your body realizes that the baby’s hungry (except the baby’s not with you because you dared to take a long lunch with your girlfriends, first time post partum, and baby is safely at home with pumped milk in the fridge at the ready). There’s the slightly more urgent walk of shame as you hurry to the restroom to clean up after your baby has a blow-out or there’s abundant spit-up slowly making it’s way down your shirt. But these are all fully understandable in those first, hazy weeks of parenthood. It’s the later walks of shame that are sometimes more . . . embarrassing.

My daughter is recently potty-trained (it’s been six months, but I’m being generous here). One of the more athletic walks of shame is the mad dash from the far, opposite corner of Costco to the bathroom at the dreaded words, “mommy, I have to go to the potty.” Because by the time she’s uttered these words, the clock starts counting down, and you’ve got about 30 seconds before the big flood. So off we merrily go, blithely abandoning the cart, with her tucked tightly in my arms, her clutching her bottom, both of us chanting “hold it in, hold it in, hold it in” as I beat my personal best track-n-field record for the 100m sprint. So far, no major accidents.

There’s the very well-recognized walk of shame after the grocery/toy/drug store melt-down. It’s usually after all of the items of shopping are in your cart, often at checkout. There’s just something your child must absolutely have, right-this-minute, or her little heart will just break. And after a long day of diplomacy and negotiation, this is where you decide to draw the line. Hours (well, minutes really) of yelling later (and this is just from your end), it’s time to pick her up, limbs flailing, and make that walk of shame out the store and to the car. I guess you didn’t really need those groceries for dinner/toys for the birthday party/anti-anxiety meds for you.

And finally, there’s my least favorite walk of shame: the daily pick-up from preschool. Our daughter is in that lovely period of 2-4 years old, otherwise known as the 6th ring of hell. So every day at pick-up, it’s a crapshoot as to whether she has been well-behaved. On a good day, I get a smile from her teacher and a reassuring thumbs-up as I walk through the classroom door, implying to me that there will be stickers and happy faces on her daily sheet. I know it’s a good day, because her teacher doesn’t bother to get up from the floor, where she’s anchored by no less than 6 kids crawling all over her.

My level of dread, however, is inversely proportional to the speed at which she rises to give me bad news. On a difficult day, she starts to rise as soon as she spots me through the door. And then she approaches with that “we need to talk” look that I have come to know, and we chat about the “sad choices” that my daughter has made and the many adventures in not-napping that have occurred. Apparently naptime is a good opportunity for chatting to friends, or singing at the top of her lungs, or for playing with her lovey, who likes to skip around her cot and in and out of the holes and dance around her belly. This is all quite amusing . . . if it were happening to someone else. Isn’t parenting grand?

What is your “favorite” walk of shame?

What Not to Wear (but do, every day)

Apparently there was once this TV show that would go around and interview random people on the street and ask them what they were wearing (labels) and then would critique the outfit in the studio. This probably caused an entire nation to critically examine their closets in the morning (these are clearly young adults without children), or (sensibly) avoid the TV crews on the street. I can only shudder to think what they would say about my daily attire as a mom.

First of all, let me start by saying that I work from home. This implies two things: my child is in full-time preschool (or let’s be real, daycare) and secondly, I can wear what I want around the house. But there’s this brief period of time called “drop-off” and “pick-up” when I have to look “presentable,” and even I draw the line at wearing my colorful pink giraffe print pajamas out of the house (thanks Victoria’s Secret!).

So every morning, I brush my teeth, put in my contacts, do something sensible with my hair (e.g. quick up-do or ponytail), and put on an outfit for the preschool parade of parents (whom this is all for, since the kids would probably appreciate pink giraffe print). To add some complexity to the situation, I am still in that in between size where most of my pre-pregnancy clothes do not fit in a flattering manner, and I am just plain too stubborn to buy bigger clothes. Thus my clothing choices are mostly limited to a the few tops and bottoms that are appropriate (e.g. no flesh showing where it should not) and vaguely comfortable. So my daily wardrobe for her (kind of elitist, private) preschool is as follows:

• yoga bottoms
• yoga tank
• semi-cute hoodie or fleece jacket
• cute sneakers or flipflops or faux-fur boots (weather dependent)
• hair up and out of my face

On a REALLY good day, a light film of foundation and some mascara, maybe some chapstick that I slick on after my daughter is done playing with my makeup set (she’s only allowed to play with the brushes and chapstick – no Toddlers and Tiaras here).

This isn’t too bad, because my gym IS across the street and I do sometimes go after drop-off. But here’s the thing. As soon as I get home, I change back into pajamas. Because comfortable as yoga clothes are on me, I really prefer the extra roominess of wide legged PJ bottoms. And sometimes, after a busy day in my office, I kind of forget exactly which yoga outfit I wore that morning. If I’m really industrious, I put on “real clothes” to pick her up, keeping up the pretense that I went to the gym after drop-off and I am now presentable.

But more often than not, I put my yoga clothes back on for pick-up as well. So I have to wonder, what do others’ think when they see me? That I’m perpetually dressed for a yoga class that I never actually attend? That I go to yoga after dropping her off, go home and shower and change into identical yoga clothes, then go to another class at night? No, I’m pretty sure the gig is up and they know I’m just slumming it at home and barely making an effort for them. C’est la vie.

Four Years in the Trenches, Some Random Thoughts

Our daughter just celebrated her fourth year and as we were running around, taping up balloon banners and pennants and laying out a nail salon and face paint station and creating tea sandwiches and an assortment of tasty desserts, these thoughts were foremost in our minds:

- thank god her birthday only comes around once a year. Not only would we be broke, but also broken, battered, shuddering heaps, running entirely on coffee fumes

- there were moments when we seriously doubted all three of us would make it to her fourth birthday (you know what I mean)

- the reason expecting parents agonize over the name of their child is because they must know, subconsciously, that whatever name is chosen will be heard and spoken and shouted roughly one million times a day. You had better really like that name. Try this: take a ball, roll it down your driveway towards the street, and start shouting that name in increasingly more shrill tones. Still like the name? Then you found a winner.

- expectations of good nutrition for you and for your child start plummeting down a slippery slope when your child turns two. Or three. It started with all organic, well-balanced, homemade meals. This was great for the first year or two of eating solids. You secretly (or not so secretly) patted yourself on the back for having such an excellent eater. Then she turned two. And now she eats a steady diet of buttered bread, cream cheese and crackers, chicken nuggets, fruit of all kinds, and chocolate milk. Some days, you swear the only thing standing between her and starvation is the chocolate milk.

- siblings were made to help entertain one another. We have an only child. It has taken us four years to realize this little gem. She will (hopefully) be receiving a baby brother or sister in the near future. Our tired bones need a break.

- hide and seek is a fantastic game. If you find a great hiding place (like under your blankets in bed), you can catch a quick power nap if you convince her to count to 100 (and since she can’t quite do this on her own yet, it actually takes her even longer). Or better yet, have her hide and take five to make yourself a cup of coffee and savor the silence.

- you didn’t know what a fantastic liar you could be until you had kids. Those little white lies that you practiced for your friends and your partner? Yeah, you could cover your neighborhood in snow with the doozies you have come up with in parenting.

- it’s probably not a great sign when your child refers to your (regular) glass of wine as “mommy juice.”

- you could still be so terrified of all the many big and small ways that your child could be hurt, even though she’s now “big girl” and no longer a baby.

- that you can have such unique and fun conversations with this little person, and belly laugh your way through those long, long days.

- that your heart could still expand, that you could love her more day by day, and that you can find a soul-drenching peace within the small moments with your child.

Off the beaten track

There’s a saying that goes something like this: if you make a plan, life will just laugh at you. The original saying is much more elegant, but you get the general idea.

When I was younger (e.g. before kids), I had a pretty clear life plan. I spent much of my 20’s in school (first college, then graduate) and had a pretty clear idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. First graduate school, then postdoctorate research, then an academic career. Seems pretty easy, right?

And then I got ambitious. I wanted my career, and a family. I somehow thought that being pregnant would be –just– the motivation I needed to finish my degree. Well, pregnancy had its own plans and finishing my degree was not part of them.

But in those first hazy, infatuated days of motherhood, I simply didn’t care. I was in love with my newborn and wanted nothing more than to squish her cuddly self and proclaim my amazement at her tiny toes. We had six blissful months of enjoying the novelty and wonder of becoming parents: picnics and zoo trips, Father’s Day, July 4th fireworks at the beach, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and her first Christmas. And then like all things in life, everything changed.

We found out on New Year’s Day that my mother had the big C. And not one of those subtypes that can be won with miracle drugs and fighting the good fight. One of the bad ones that are terminal and painful and horrid. But we got through it, all of us, and we had eight months together before the end. Because the hour after we heard the news, we started packing up our lives in California and moved our family 2000 miles away, back to my hometown near Chicago.

And so started the year from hell. A big move cross country with a 7-month old, a new routine of hospital visits and doctors visits and chemo and radiation. Hope and disappointment, kairos moments of family bliss tempered with unjust despair at how things turned out, all mixed up; shaken, not stirred. And underneath all of this, finishing up my degree in four months so that I could graduate in time for my mom. For seven years, our weekly conversations had centered around two main topics: how was I? and when would I graduate. It was a bittersweet moment when we had a chance to get a photo together in my cap and gown, in our living room, after we canceled our trip to California for commencement because she was too ill to travel.

And then she passed, on a beautiful fall day, surrounded by family and friends. And there was the funeral to plan and execute, her estate to clear and details to attend to, and her home to pack up and renovate; and in moments both too long and too short, the year was over. With the weighty responsibilities of parenting and work and her estate to manage, another year passed as well, but a better one, filled with those magical moments of early childhood where the wonder of a child can heal your soul and lift you up out of grief and loss and uncertainty.

So we found ourselves buying a home, building a new life in the Midwest, one where we would raise our daughter, maybe add to our family, and hope that there would be many good days ahead. But in buying that home, establishing a new life here, something was exchanged in the process. My old plan, my career, my clear and certain path.

There is a part of me that wonders, in an alternate universe, is there another version of me that completed that original checklist? Would she be on her way to an academic career? Would she still be living in California? Would her mother still be alive and well? Some days, I would like to be her.

But most other days, I count my blessings. My gift of a daughter, whom I adore and who adores me back; my loving husband who deserves real medals for putting up with me; my incredible friends and family who find me funny and support me when I’m not. We have a good life here.

Even if my career is faltering, even if my work is treading water until we have another child and he or she is ready for full-time preschool, life is still full of possibilities. I am making peace with this different path. It is okay to choose my family, to choose this life we have made for ourselves, instead of professional accolades. And when my former classmates write of their fancy fellowships or new academic positions, of the great strides they are making in their fields, I find myself cheering them on, and only a bit wistful of their success.

This wasn’t the path that I had designed, but it is the one that I am on, and I will stop along the way to enjoy the roses.

Walk a Mile (in my sticky, blotchy, cereal-encrusted shoes with bubblegum on top)

A friend of mine, who does not have children, recently posted this poll:

“Ok, FB friend..help settle a debate. This is especially directed to parents with young children. Is it rude to tell someone that they or their kids are being too loud in a restaurant,coffeeshop,business,etc. How would you, as a parent,react if a stranger approached you and asked you and\or your children to be quiet(er). What would be inappropriate? How would you like being approached? How not?”

There were a variety of responses, but what really struck me was the big divide between those with kids and those without kids. To grossly generalize, those without kids were mostly unsympathetic to noisy and rowdy kids running wild in public, especially restaurants, coffee shops, and movie theaters. Those with kids were divided between those were sympathetic, and those who believed their children were always well behaved and respectful in public (or whose children would be removed if they were otherwise).

From my point of view, I can sympathize with all three points of view. Despite what my frazzled appearance may suggest, I remember the days before children. I remember going out to nice restaurants or the movies and being aggravated by unruly children. But that was in the halcyon days before children, where I sincerely believed we would live these all-natural, no-tv, only homecooked meals and riveting conversations around the family dinner table, attachment parenting lives (feel free to laugh hysterically here – I just did).

But then we had kids, which is a 24/7, 365 kind of commitment. No weekends, vacations, or sick days (well, mostly) – that’s a tougher gig than even the most rigorous residency, investment banking, or second year associate in a law firm kind of job. And the reality is, those brief tantrums that others are witnessing (e.g. suffering) may be annoying for those few minutes (or if you’re unlucky, a transpacific flight), but those parents are dealing with it daily. Every day, weekends and holidays too. So give us a break. We’re really doing the very best that we can, even if sometimes that does not seem to be enough.

Afterall, the table of drunken football fans spilling their beer and obscenities everywhere is just as distracting for us as our food-throwing, juice-spilling children are to you (actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve been food fights among sports fans as well). As are rowdy bachelorette parties, fraternity brothers on spring break, sorority sisters out bonding, or extra-loud tourists everywhere . . . there is a time and a place for peace and quiet. It’s probably at a yoga class or waiting in the doctor’s office exam room. But it most likely is not at a chain restaurant on a Friday night or even a “nice” restaurant at a weekend brunch. Relax, and have another cocktail. At least you’re not worried about them serving it to your child by accident!

Battle of the Muffin Top

Sadly, this is not a blog entry about wrestling the top of a tasty muffin away from my child, although that kind of behavior did contribute to the topic of today: that dreaded muffin top. I would love to blame my jeans. After all, what adult who is larger than a size 4, wants to wear low-slung jeans that require having perfectly slim, sculpted hips and abs? But the reality is, I’ve been ignoring the growing problem of my midsection for way too long. Too many broken New Year’s resolutions, too many excuses to not visit the gym, too many late night gab fests over carbs and wine.

Like many, I have started (and cheated on) many diets. I try avoiding carbs, avoiding alcohol, not eating past 7pm, only eating foods that are green or yellow, eating while slowly jogging in place, only eating my daughter’s leftovers, etc. Unfortunately, none of them have helped, because according to recent studies, in order to lose weight, not only do you have to exercise and follow a healthy diet, you also need to:

- get adequate amounts of sleep

- reduce stress

I think any parent reading this right now had a good snort or chuckle at those two. I did, even as I was writing them. Because no matter my good intentions, I am patently unable to get to bed before 11pm. When your “free time” starts in the evening, it’s hard to give up those precious moments to relax, catch up with the spouse, feed your brain some quality tv junk food, and while you’re at it, feed your increasing belly some satisfying junk food too.

However, four years later and twenty pounds heavier, I looked in the mirror one morning in horror and thought – is this the best my body can be for the rest of my life? I mean, it only goes downhill as we get older. And early thirties is just too young to give up on my body!

Now, many of these observations are shallow and focused on appearances. No one likes having their belly and hips hanging out of their pants. Everyone would love to find a flattering pair of jeans or swimsuit that makes them want to leave the house and flaunt it. But what really struck me was this: I can be healthier than this.

I can be stronger than this. I want to be able to run after my child, I want to play with her (instead of worn out refrain of “mommy’s too tired”), and most importantly, I want to be around for a long, long time. I want to watch her graduate, and get married, and play with my grandchildren, years and years from now.

So with that motivation in mind, I got to work. It is slow going. It is hard. But it’s for the very best of reasons. So I started tracking my calories and stayed within my limit (which at 1200 calories a day is HARD). I dress in work out clothes every morning M – F and I hit the gym as soon as I drop her off at preschool. And I sweat. And curse and push harder and go farther. And day by agonizingly slow day, little by little, it’s working. Down twelve pounds, looking trimmer, and feeling stronger already. After all, my daughter is counting on me, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

I remind myself daily, I have to take care of myself in order to care for her. And I want to be a good role model. Nothing makes me happier than when she comments that “mommy, are you exercising? That’s good. Because you need strong muscles to do things, like ballet and play soccer. When I grow up and I’m big, I’ll have strong muscles too.” Yes, darling, yes you will. And I want to be around to see it.