Mama luvs you

Back at the Barnyard: Slop Bucket Games

2009-08-02T21:46:00.000-07:00

Perfect for making a long car ride pass quickly, this collection of 10 games is based on the Nickelodeon movie/TV series, which is full of wacky talking animals.

You can play either in story mode, where you move around a map to discover and unlock the games, or in "Quick Event" mode, letting you jump directly to one of the games, providing you've unlocked it already in the story mode. We tried three of the games, and found them to be well designed, taking full advantage of the DS touch screen. For example, Chicken Launch gives you a catapult and a set of moving targets, and Stickbike Stunts is a clever racing game inspired by the online game, LineRider. In the story mode, you try to win the Slop Bucket trophy. Or, if you like, you can roam freely around the Barnyard and chat with the other Barnyard buddies. Some reading is required. Borrow it or buy it. Created by Firemint for THQ, Inc.

Link to buy Back at the Barnyard: Slop Bucket Games

Boy and Cat

2009-08-01T13:23:00.000-07:00

Backyard Baseball 2010

2009-04-02T13:38:00.000-07:00

In terms of graphics and sounds, this 10th edition of Backyard Baseball isn't the bestlooking, but it does deliver an excellent two-player baseball experience. The 2010 edition features new fields and an updated player roster with kid versions of players from all 30 MLB teams. These include David "Big Papi" Ortiz, Ken Griffey Jr., Vladimir Guerrero, and Albert Pujols. A new pitching camera perspective puts the camera behind the batter when hitting and behind the pitcher when pitching. In addition, the Wii version lets you swing the Wii Remote, both to pitch and hit.

Our tester (Daniel - age 9) has played most of the Backyard Baseball games, and this one tops them all. He liked that there are more fields and players in this version, and especially liked playing the Home Run Derby. By playing games in season mode, he was able to unlock Alex Rodriguez, one of his favorite MLB players. At $30 for a Wii game, this is a great value.

Link to buy Backyard Baseball 2010

Dora the Explorer: Dora Saves the Snow Princess

2008-12-15T13:54:00.000-08:00

Looking for a well-designed first game experience for a preschooler? This is an excellent choice.

In Dora the Explorer: Dora Saves the Snow Princess, players join Dora, Boots and Pirate Piggy as they help the Snow Fairy save the Snow Princess and the Magical Snowy Forest while defeating the Mean Witch. The game features 12 minigames that can be unlocked; all are easy to play and master. In the console edition, adults can pick up the second controller to help, or just play along, creating an excellent social opportunity. In the Wii version, players hold the Wii Remote like a pair of handlebars, leaning left or right to move through the side-scrolling levels. Along the way, they climb, dig, build snowmen, paddle a canoe, steer a dogsled and ride a Pegasus using various motions. You can also ice skate, snowboard and ski while trying to find the magic crystal. In the DS version, you can shout into the microphone to make the sea snake go away, blow into it to help the Snow Fairy fly across the moat, tap with the stylus to steer Paj's dogsled, and use the stylus to drag ice blocks to light up the ice cave.

Both the Wii version and the PS2 version are well-designed, although the game play is very different. Testers found the DS version to be more limited in content, resulting in a slightly lower rating (4.5 stars), compared to the Wii and PS2 versions (4.6 stars).

Link to download Dora the Explorer: Dora Saves the Snow Princess
Link to buy Dora the Explorer: Dora Saves the Snow Princess

Diner Dash: Flo on the Go

2008-05-04T21:31:00.000-07:00

Warning, this game is addicting, so consider yourself warned. Anyone who's ever waited tables knows that it requires juggling a variety of tasks at once. In this game, you assume the role of a fast-footed waitress named Flo. As customers line up at the front door, you must seat them, take their orders, turn them into the kitchen, deliver the food, take the bills, bus the tables and seat the next customers. The better you do, the bigger your tips. Customer satisfaction is measured by a set of hearts; if a customer waits too long, they will leave and your score goes down.

There's been a variety of Diner Dash games in the past (the original idea comes from GameLab). This edition combines casual gaming with a story where Flo is going on a vacation, but loses her suitcase. She has to use her waitress skills to get her vacation and wardrobe back on track. The game features 50 levels and includes blackout and turbulence modes that make waiting tables more difficult, as well as nine types of customers -- including tacky tourists and lovebirds. For $20, you can't go wrong with this fun game, and it definitely stretches your short-term memory. Created by PlayFirst for Bright Minds Media.

Link to download Diner Dash: Flo on the Go

Eco-Creatures Game

2008-04-05T23:25:00.000-07:00

Confusing and hard to learn, this one-player DS game attempts to teach players about the effects that over-industrialization, deforestation, pollution, extinction and global warming have on the environment. While these are big topics, it is hard to figure out what they have to do with this game. Players use the Touch Screen to move a tribe of woodland creatures around an island. Each creature-type has different abilities (Ecolis grow trees, Ecoby build bridges and swim, and Ecomon move objects and fly, and so on). There are 40 missions, but we couldn't get through the first, and our testers all gave up as well. So this really could be a good game, but we'd never know. Other features include a two-tofour player game-sharing mode, and a make your own island feature. Developed by Lightweight Co. Ltd., and Headlock Corporation for Majesco.

Link to buy Eco-Creatures

SpongeBob's Atlantis SquarePantis Game Review

2007-12-09T21:03:00.000-08:00

Full of slapstick Spongebob humor, this scavenger hunt adventure game lets you explore the lost city of Atlantis in search of new outfits and accessories. As you explore, you switch between SpongeBob, Patrick, Sandy, Squidward, Mr. Krabs, and Plankton to take advantage of each character's unique abilities. Each level features unlockable objectives including: Invading Atlantis in the mighty Super-Scooper Tank; getting cultured by creating high art with Squidward; and singing on the magic bus to Atlantis. Additional content includes unlockable bonus features including multiplayer mini-games in the Amoeba Arcade, and customization of SpongeBob with outfits and accessories. Features and prices vary by platform, from $20 for the GBA to $50 for the Wii.

Link to buy SpongeBob's Atlantis SquarePantis

XO Laptop

2007-12-05T16:49:00.000-08:00

"Strange, hard to open, but full of surprises" -- was my [WB's] initial reaction to the famous XO $100 Laptop from MIT that actually costs about $430 for two. So I guess it is really a $215 laptop. I had a chance to test a beta version briefly during last month's (Nov 07) Dust or Magic Institute. Important to note up front: the XO computer will not be available in the US or Canada; the only way to get one is through the buy-one, send-one to a poor child initiative.

The small, green clamshell case houses a 433 MHz processor, 256 MB of RAM and wireless Internet, that we could not get to work. There's also a 7.5 inch color screen, a non-standard rubbery membrane keyboard that is almost toy-like, but can be easily imprinted with different languages (currently available in Thai, Arabic, Spanish, Portuguese, English, West African, Urdu, Mongolian, Cyrillic, Amharic; with others planned). The screen flips around, in Tablet PC fashion, making it into a book reader, minus the touch abilities. There is no hard drive or fan, and there are three USB ports as well as an SD card slot.

After struggling for about five minutes to get the case open, I tried the drawing program, that you access by moving the cursor down to the corner of screen, which causes a listing of the available applications to appear from the sides, somewhat comparable to Mac OSX. There's a strangely large touch pad with multiple parts, one for touch and the other for writing. We found the drawing experience to be refreshingly non-gimmicky although obviously difficult using the touch pad. There's just clean, pixel-by-pixel drawing, with the ability to easily import digital photos from the onboard camera. It is easy to see that this device is powerful and holds a lot of potential for expanding Internet access to remote areas of the world, which might include parts of your own hometown. In addition, the open-source aspect of the operating language is extremely promising, and based on the traffic show at the development wiki (http://dev.laptop.org/) it is clear that programmers around the world are working on the operating system, called "Sugar."

Unfortunately, we weren't able to explore, and that's about all we could get out of this computer before the batteries died. On paper, the specs are interesting -- because each computer has a wireless router, this makes it possible for each computer to create its own mesh network, right out of the box. So a child can send notes or sketches to another child in the same room; and if one of the computers is online, everyone can get online. Clearly there's some powerful thinking behind this computer, although we were not able to get any of these features working to personally test. Keep in mind that there's no disk drive, and you won't be able to install Windows or Mac-based software on this computer. Instead, this computer uses the Internet as it's hard drive; not a bad idea.

Entry date: 11/29/2007

The Children's Circuit

2006-04-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

In the last five years, I've attended my share of children's performances. Daddio has attended his share, too, but still fewer than me. We've braved Blues Clues, Sesame Street Live, Dragon Tales, the Big Apple Circus, the Wiggles and Disney On Ice. I imagine that subconsciously I've forgotten various other performances, but that shows how meaningful those experiences actually were.

I don't recall attending or even the availability of so many children's productions when I was a youngster. Perhaps I was sheltered in this respect, but more likely, kids created their own performances outside on the neighbor's lawn, in my day. Kids programming was limited, at best.

Yesterday evening, we attended The Wiggles Concert.

To say the least, The Wiggles Concert, live and in-person, is an experience. It would be virtually impossible to find yourself nodding off as Jeff, Anthony and Murray scurry through the audience and Greg jokingly plucks out a few notes of Led Zeppelin's Stairway To Heaven for the adults' benefit.

When I originally heard about these four Australian guys, prancing around onstage belting out children's tunes, I assumed they were gay. Who in their right mind would do this for a living? I assumed, they either must be out of their minds, or consumed large amounts of uppers, namely Prozac.

Then, two years ago, I heard a "cool" dad, dropping off his children at school, remark to the preschool teacher, "Hey, sorry the kids are late, today. We went to the Wiggles concert last night. Boy, they were amazing! They're like the Rolling Stones for kids."

Like the Rolling Stones, eh? I figured I better check it out. So, I set up our Tivo to record the show. My kids were immediately hooked. Within a few weeks, the kids demanded to dress in their ballet attire and dance to the Wiggles on television a few times a week. They could watch the same episode three times in a row, possibly more, if I'd allow it.

Last year, we attended our first Wiggles concert. I recall being stunned by the energy. The parents (particularly the mothers) seemed just as mesmerized by these four Aussie fellows as the kids. The mommies belted out every word of every tune as their children swayed their hips and clapped their hands. Not that I've been to a Rolling Stones concert, but it was like stuff I'd seen on MTV.

Now, over a year later, of Tivo-ing the show and listening to the Wiggles tunes, I, too, can belt out the words to nearly all the Wiggles tunes. I've become one of those mothers who is just as mesmerized by these Aussie fellows as are her children. Even Daddio, sang along to the songs he recognized.

However one feels about the four Aussie men, collectively known as the Wiggles, depriving a child of a Wiggles Concert is like depriving them of their childhood these days. If there is one thing that a parent could choose to do with a child, I strongly recommend attending a live Wiggles show. The energy present at both shows I've attended is as exuberant as Times Square in New York City.

I hope we attend the Wiggles concert again next year! At one point, Daddio asked if all the adults actually brought children to the concert. I wonder myself... maybe we will become the sort of parents that will continue to attend the annual concerts when our children are in high school and college.

Doubtful, but not beyond the realm of possibilities.... Why knows, by then, we may find the Cheetah Girls tolerable.

Turnaround

2006-04-21T14:12:00.000-07:00

Today, being the last day of this set of swim lessons, Scooter had a 180 degree turnaround.

Here's the proof:

And some actions shots of Teacup:

Mommy Tips

2006-04-20T14:09:00.000-07:00

Like mommies need to consume more crapola!

But, here's a place you can discover good deals and hear the latest celebrity mom gossip!

Basis of Need

2006-04-19T14:06:00.000-07:00

Teacup has begun to compare notes with her schoolmates.

When she returned home from school earlier this week, she announced that her buddy, Alisha, received more gifts from the Easter Bunny than she did.

Quick on the draw, I responded that the Easter Bunny brings kids things based on their individual needs. Aside from too many jelly beans and too much chocolate, this year, Teacup and Scooter received new swimsuits, beach towels, flip-flops and a small toy in their Easter baskets. I assured her that she received the items she needed to start the summer.

Letting that sink into her noodle, she paused. Then, she asked, "Why does Alisha need more than one kite? I need a kite, too!"

I'm having trouble keeping up with the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny antics. What am I going to do when Santa comes around again in eight months?

Swim To Me

2006-04-18T14:03:00.000-07:00

This week, the girls are taking swim lessons at a friend's pool. These pictures quite accurately sum up the current state of affairs.

Teacup takes on the persona of a mermaid in the water.

Clearly, she is pleased with her abilities.

Scooter shows a totally different side!

While this last photo will garner some yucks, I hope to post more flattering photos of Scooter by Friday.

Paralyzed by Technology

2006-04-17T14:01:00.000-07:00

Last week, my life came to a screeching halt when my computer crashed.

In the working world begot with paychecks, when technology failed me, I called the IT help-line. The 5 digit extension was etched into my cerebrum. Even though the IT department was outsourced by the time I turned in my resignation letter, those guys were always just a call-a-way. I never cared if they thought I was some ridiculously ill-informed user. Nor did I mind if they mocked my technological ineptitude. All I cared about was their ability to fix my machine while I took a ten-minute walk around the building to relieve my frustration. Documents and emails never get lost, unless the company is under investigation by Eliot Spitzer.

The IT help-line was another advantage of the working world. There was always someone there to fix my stuff. Even when my home computer faltered, some tech guy could always keep me surfing the net at work.

It took five days of daddio's dedication to fix my home computer problems last week. I offered zero help. It's not that I didn't want to, I just couldn't. Honestly, the only form of assistance I could have offered would have been brownies or chocolate chip cookies. However, I mucked that up, too, given that I didn't consider it until now. Go figure.

During those long five days, I tried not to think too hard about the potential damage to my life. I had a few minor inconveniences. I would have lost some contact information that would have taken time to recover. Most importantly, I would have lost nine months of precious pictures.

I've never lost a limb. Perhaps it's not fair to compare. But, I sure felt dismembered!

Fortunately, Daddio saved the day. I'm back up and running with none of my photos, contacts or documents noticeably missing.

Thank you Daddio!

Anti-Antibiotics

2006-04-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

Scooter awoke with a red puffy eye two days in a row, earlier this week. Her eye appeared crusty due to some sort of nasty discharge. By the afternoon of the second day, a pinkness encircled the puffiness of her eye. It deteriorated as her pupil peered at me through a diminishing slit.

Pinkeye was the first mom-diagnosis that entered my mind. I've never had pinkeye and I've never formally spotted pinkeye, but I assumed that's what she'd caught from some other germ-infested preschooler.

So, I dragged Scooter and Teacup to the doctor.

As the pediatrician examined Scooter, he seemed to struggle internally about what to do. Eventually, he confirmed that she had not caught pinkeye. Phew! However, she needed antibiotic eye-drops and an oral antibiotic for seven and ten days, respectively. In a rush to be dismissed, without question, I accepted the instructions and immediately filled the prescriptions.

The first day, Scooter liked the idea of the "treatment". With minor opposition, she drank the citrus-flavored oral antibiotic and allowed us to squirt a drop in her inflamed eye.

Her eye quickly returned to a nearly normal state. Then, she strongly refused the oral antibiotics. By her age, a few weeks shy of three years old, when she refuses to ingest something, I can no longer squeeze her cheeks and force it down the hatch. I knew any effort to force the issue would result in her spewing the medicine out of her mouth and me wearing it. I've been down that road with Teacup. No need to repeat that experience....

I focused on the eye-drops. By the time the next dose was to be dispensed, she started to put up a bit of a struggle. She fought to cover her eye. I eventually pinned her to the ground and forced a drop into her somewhat swollen eyeball. The next time, the minor struggle blossomed into a wrestling match with me holding her arms behind my knees and prying her eyelid open. Finally, Scooter added a head-thrashing motion to the full-fledged brawl. So, I gave up on the eye drops for fear that either my fingers or the eyedropper would do more harm than good.

Making excuses, I convinced myself that the pediatrician must have been overly cautious to prescribe both eye-drop antibiotics and oral antibiotics. I figured in the overly anitibotic-crazed society we live in, she doesn't need to OD on antibiotics.

When we returned to the pediatricians office for a follow-up visit, the doctor expressed pleasure regarding Scooter's recovery. However, he hesitated when he peered down her throat.

"How are those oral antibiotics going?" he asked.

"Well..... um..... Scooter doesn't seem to like them. So, I didn't force the issue." I ashamedly stammered.

"Oh. Well, just watch her pretty closely because Scarlet Fever is going around." And that was the end of the discussion.

Now you tell me!, I thought.

Since that visit, I've decided that we are an anti-antibiotic family despite being entirely ignorant of the real issues.

Does this make us pro-biotics?

Birthday List

2006-03-26T13:56:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, Teacup and I sat down to jot down her birthday list. She's turning five years old. Here's what she enthusiastically asked for:

1. Jewelry Box
2. Princesses (which one? All princesses!)
3. Make-up
4. Polly Pockets
5. Princess Game
6. Princess Purse
7. Guitar

As we finished eating dinner, she said, "Oh yeah. One more thing. Mom can you get me HOMEWORK for my birthday?"

Phone Preview

2006-03-23T13:54:00.000-08:00

With Daddio focused on the NCAA basketball tournament during dinner, the girls and I ate dinner together. Okay, they watched me eat my dinner and they talked about their respective days. After I finished my meal, theirs untouched, I took the opportunity to practice using the telephone. Teacup knows the important telephone numbers - the house phone and my cell phone number, including area codes.

To date, she's never let her fingers do the walking.

I gave her the house phone and held onto my cell. To start, she practiced calling my cell. Getting the hang of it, we switched and she called the house phone from my cell.

Making telephone calls is no longer intuitive. When you tell someone to "hang up" the phone, there's nothing to hang up. Telephones rarely hang from the wall anymore. Furthermore, it's rare to see a telephone receiver attached to a long, spiral cord (unless you live in California and deal with earthquakes).

One day, when I'm old, grey and wrinkled (more-so than my current state), the phrase "hang up the telephone" will become obsolete, if it hasn't already. (Teacup blankly stared at me as I instructed her to "hang up the phone" this evening.) At some point, I imagine a youngster asking me the origination of that silly, meaningless phrase. What will people say when they can no longer explain the derivation of the phrase? "Press the button" just doesn't have the same connotation. Given all the various buttons in our lives, which button do you press? Even "end the call", still doesn't seem to cut it. Maybe I'm just old-school.

I regress.

Teacup enjoyed the telephone exercise. Then, Scooter wanted to get involved. I handed over the telephones and walked away (yet still nearby).

I captured this moment:

and fear the teenage years.

Deluge of Incoming Information

2006-03-22T13:52:00.000-08:00

Recently, I've been drowning in paperwork. There seems to be this increasing, insurmountable amount of mail, junk, semi-junk, and non-junk amassing in my kitchen. Among those three mail categories there are school flyers, notes and documents that must be sorted.

They must be sorted and there is only one person able to do the sorting. Me. I'm self-appointed. I schedule the calendar. I know what's worthy of keeping and what can be chucked. Why? Because I chose to serve as the family manager. Plus, in my past life (pre-children), I was incredibly organized. I was so organized I had my spice rack in alphabetical order.

So what happens if I don't sort it? What will I miss? A bill payment? A book fair? A birthday party? Camp registration? Another credit card offer? A birth announcement (seems to be a baby boom among our friends)? Introduction to Libby Lu's Pooch Parlor?

Having recently sorted one of the many paper piles on my kitchen counter, I noticed that we receive more credit cards offers than is prudent, or financially healthy, for any household. I don't know how many trees have been sacrificed to propose consolidated credit or an incredibly low APR. It never matters what we're offered because I submit these overtures immediately to the shredder, located ten feet from the amassing paper piles.

Then, a friend enlightened me to the small print found at the bottom of every credit card offer.

1-888-5-OPT-OUT

I could have saved so many trees by now. I should have done more.... but who reads this junk anyway?

Way To Go, Daddio!

2006-03-19T13:50:00.000-08:00

Daddio ran the LA Marathon today.

When he hobbled into the house after the race, his three girls were lined up and thrilled to see him!

Teacup shouted out, "Daddy, daddy, did you win?"

Daddio, smiled, and responded, "No, honey. I didn't win. But, at least I finished the race!"

I interjected, "But in our eyes, Daddio, you won!"

Way to go, Daddio! You are our hero!

Life Is Short

2006-03-18T13:49:00.000-08:00

And for some, life is even shorter.

I signed on to be a sorority advisor at CSUN last August. It's the same sorority I became involved with during my college years. As an active member many years ago, the sorority served it's purpose. I made some friends, I learned how to make small-talk at parties. I learned how to organize and conduct meetings. I wasn't the most enthusiastic member, but I wasn't entirely apathetic either. Eventually, I outgrew the group and closed that chapter of my life. But, I have loosely maintained a connection to the women's fraternity to find acquaintances when I move to a new locale.

Since the beginning of the current school year, I have advised these young women on matters of Academic Excellence, whether or not I'm qualified. More than anything, it's interesting to see how far I've come in the last thirteen years of my own life since leaving the college scene.

Early this morning, I received a telephone call from a fellow advisor. Surprised to hear a voice instead of reading an email, she informed me that the outgoing chapter president celebrated St. Patrick's Day in Hollywood last night. Apparently, a drunk driver hit her. She passed away early this morning.

The shock of the news is mind-numbing. While I had only met this young, twenty-one year old woman a handful of times, I am keenly aware of her charisma and presence. Overall, I'm paralyzed. I don't know what to say or do. I can only think about this tragedy from the viewpoint of her parents, whom I have never met. I empathize with them despite having never lost a child of my own. It's not supposed to happen this way....

We know that we raise our children to be independent, to make their own decisions. As parents, we teach, we guide, we support. Subconsciously we know that our protective shield is finite, but it's hard to accept this fact. We tell ourselves to trust that our children will be safe in the world without us. We tell ourselves this, but deep down, we know this is a self-comforting fabrication which allows us to go on with our own lives. When tragedy strikes, the truth comes crashing down around us.

Life is fragile.

So, in my fog, I bend down to hug my kids throughout the day, for no apparent reason, other than that I love them.

Life is short.

As Abraham Lincoln once wrote, "In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years."

St. Patty's Day

2006-03-17T13:48:00.000-08:00

Ready for St. Patrick's Day, all dressed in green!

Snow Day

2006-03-16T13:47:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, between December and March, I longed for as many snow days as Mother Nature could afford in any given year. I didn't want one during the weekend. What a letdown when that happened! The idea was that snow days meant "holiday", like winter break, spring break or pupil-free days. But, those days were less appealing being scheduled.

The allure of a snow day was the spontaneity of it. Instead of doing math problems and answering reading comprehension questions, I wanted Mother Nature to throw a wrench in the teacher's lesson plan allowing me and my friends to build snowmen, pummel one another with ice balls, and more than anything, sled down the schoolyard hill on our toboggans in the fresh white powder. Triumphantly, we would glimpse the dark, icy windows of our classrooms while repeatedly marching up the hill and sledding down in the schoolyard. If we were as advanced as kids are today, we probably would have waved our middle fingers toward those empty halls. Eventually, we trudged home with chattering chins, stomped our moon boots clean and begged for a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

That was Iowa.

Living in sunny Southern California, my kids don't experience snow days as I know them. Out here, snow is imported on snow day. It's a planned activity conveniently scheduled in the teacher's lesson plan, right after the math problems and before reading group. In fact, the teachers send home a note to ensure that parents send appropriate clothing for the snow. Perhaps they fear the kids will contract frost bite.

Imported and scheduled snow is not really snow. Not the white fluffy kind that beautifully lines the trees and freezes your nose hairs. California snow is brought to the kids' schools by the ton. It's made from giant ice cubes ground into little ice granules that immediately stick together, harden and melt. To me, there's no fun in it. It's like removing the presents from Christmas or the chocolate bunny from Easter.

Don't get me wrong. I have no intention of moving back to the chillier four-season climates experienced by much of the rest of this country unless I'm handcuffed to a moving van. I have little interest in purchasing another shovel to clear paths to my car or the mailbox. I've done my fair share of scooping and blowing snow.

But a part of me feels like my girls are missing out on the realities of snow day. They are overly excited to wear hats, gloves, scarves, winter coats and snow pants. Honestly, they don't need that apparel, it's more for fun. It's like dressing up for Halloween or being a princess for a day. If anything, they are more likely to encounter heat exhaustion around here on snow day than frost bite.

In fact, one teacher wore a skirt, sneakers with no socks, gloves and a white tank-top as she pushed kids on a toboggan down a hard, manmade snow hill on Scooter's snow day. The external temperature gauge read 74 degrees in my car. Not a cloud hung over our heads. It was clear and sunny. For us, snow day required little more than the use of sunglasses and sunscreen.

Only in California!

Flat Stanley

2006-03-14T13:44:00.000-08:00

Flat Stanley arrived safely at our house yesterday afternoon. He was sent to us from my niece in the midwest.

I hadn't even heard about the Flat Stanley Project until my sister called me about it last week. Apparently, Stanley Lambchop has even been in the news.

Stanley has a very busy schedule while visiting the Los Angeles area. He plans to accompany Scooter to school this afternoon, Daddio to work tomorrow, and may make an appearance for Teacup's "share day" on Thursday. So far, he's been an asset to our family.

He helped Teacup discover the lost bagel from last week and accompanied us to gymnastics. He's a great car companion, since he never screams or whines. Her certainly doesn't add to our already mounting laundry pile and surprisingly he doesn't eat us out of house and home. He's been perfectly well-behaved. We shall see what sort of cultural experiences we can give him over the next few days.

"Te Amo!"

2006-03-13T13:41:00.000-08:00

Last night, or early this morning, I was in a deep sleep. Normal people do this at some point after sundown. Subconsciously, I must force myself to sleep deeply in order to survive the heavy breathing, some might term snoring, emanating from my copilot.

In my state of oblivion, unaware of the digits on the nearby clock, I heard "Te Amo" bellow through the baby monitor. It continued, steadily, "Te Amo!" Pause. "Te Amo!" Pause. "Te Amo!" Pause. "Te Amo!" Pause.

I knew there was only one thing responsible for interrupting my beauty rest.

Lizzie!

Between pauses, I waited for someone else in the house to awaken and sob over the disturbance. Surely someone else would be abruptly awoken besides myself and this dumb doll! It must have been that subconscious "mommy instinct" kicking in during the wee hours.

Silence. I returned my head to the pillow and closed my eyes.

"Te Amo!" Pause. "Te Amo!"....

I don't know if I adjusted to the intermittent "Te Amo!" announcement, or my daughter rolled her head away from Lizzie's knee, the one you press to learn how to say, "I love you!" in Spanish.

By four am, my copilot's alarm-clock rang at eight minute intervals. No less than four minutes after the snooze button was pressed, Lizzie would declare, "Te Amo!" through the monitor.

Aware enough, I forced myself out of bed, trudged fifty paces down the hallway, into the dark, pink kids' bedroom and grabbed Lizzie from underneath Scooter's sweaty head. I wanted to shake that doll and scream, "Don't you know it's 4 am and everyone in their right mind is SLEEPING???"

Instead, I moved her to the toy-box, in the event she had a short-circuit. I returned to my own bed in hopes of resuming a state of REM.

Note to self: Don't EVER let a child take her Language Littles doll, or any talking doll to bed. If it happens by mistake, at least turn off the monitor.

Oh! The Miles You'll Drive!

2006-03-12T13:40:00.000-08:00

When Daddio and I agreed to procreate, I knew at some point we would have to drive our offspring around town to various attractions and activities. But, that was when we lived in Brooklyn, NY. The subway was our primary mode of transportation. When we envisioned uprooting and moving out of our NYC borough, we assumed our furthest destination would be across bridges and tunnels to settle somewhere in the Garden State, the Constitution State or in Westchester County.

Back then, we hadn't a clue that we would ever relocate across the country in one of the most public-transportion-challenged cities of our country - Los Angeles. Now that the inconceivable has become our reality, I realize that Los Angeles is a car-lovers dream, but a small-town girl's traffic nightmare.

To avoid encounters with traffic jams and other Los Angeles realities, I've limited our lifestyle the last two and a half years to a ten-mile radius. Only when we purchase Wiggles tickets or visit a museum, do we have to leave our bubble. And those excursions are special and rare occasions.

My bubble forcibly burst when the kids started school and made friends. A child making friends is a parent's dream, but the convenience of these friends is equally important. It's hard to encourage a friendship when you have to drive 30 miles for a play-date. Apparently, this is normal out here.

Today, I drove 63 miles round-trip for a birthday party. It was a typical party. The kids played, they ate pizza and they sang Happy Birthday to their friend. Will anyone besides the birthday boy remember this party in two weeks or three years from now? Was it worth the 63-miles? Ask Teacup because my view is tainted.

If only I could encourage my children to choose friends based on their proximity to our residence....

PTA Purgatory

2006-03-07T13:39:00.000-08:00

Does anyone really LIKE being a PTA mom? Or, is it something mothers of school-aged children are enforced to endure? For me, it's the latter.

For better or worse, I've become a PTA mom. I don't appear at every PTA-sponsored activity, but I admit to having attended every PTA meeting this year, so far. I hope I'm not one of THOSE superior-acting PTA moms, just someone trying to endorse my children's education. More than anything, it's a signal to my kids that school is important. When I show up at school and Valerie sees me, the light on her face is reward enough.

For now, I'll withstand the cronyism, cattiness, and mind-numbing crap the teachers ask me to do. I'll put on a smile (albeit sometimes a fake one), talk with people I wouldn't otherwise associate with and try to get by until my time is over - which is fifteen years from now. Why did I quantify that? FIFTEEN LONG YEARS ahead of me!

I guess, being a PTA mom helps me to get to know better my children's classmates' families. I may not normally associate with the majority of these people, but my daughters will likely enter these people's homes. To the extent it involves MY off-spring, I want to know what goes on behind closed doors.

Furthermore, I want to advocate for my kids. If I don't, who will? If I see something I like, I'd be happy to support it, even if it involves spending a day cutting hearts out of red felt. If I see something I don't like, I hope to constructively address the issue. Most of the time, I plan to quietly follow directions. I don't want to be one of those loud action-less complainers that I've already encountered so often. The complainer population is growing like guppies.

A few months ago, 20/20 did a segment entitled "Stupid In America" in which the reporters largely blamed teachers' unions and the US government for the failure of our education system. I can't say that I disagree with their report. But, I would like to add that parents, also, are failing their kids.

In my short involvement as a PTA-parent, I'm aghast by the lack of parental support and involvement at the school. So many have strong opinions on not just WHAT should be done, but also HOW things should be done. So, with all of these opinions, why is it that only a handful of parents appear at the monthly PTA meetings? Because it's a private school, do parents expect tuition dollars to buy everything? A checkbook doesn't buy parental involvement. Lack of parental support is a growing epidemic in our educational system.

Currently, I am preparing and recruiting parents to help make costumes for a school event. Yeah - it sucks. I can't sew and my creative ability is largely deficient. Fortunately, the costumes involve scissors, fabric glue, and duck tape (no joke). As I do this, I am tired of hearing, "How do you have time to do it?" "I don't like doing this kind of stuff." "I figure someone else will do it!"

First, I DON'T have a lot of extra time, but I MAKE the time. I opted not to watch Oprah today!
Second, I DON'T want to do this crap any more than anyone else does. But, maybe if we did it together, it would take less time and BOTH of our kids would be proud.
Third, no one else is going to do anything. Everyone has something to offer. And even if you don't have anything to offer, help is always welcome. Please leave the complaints at home.

When I recently lamented about the age-old PTA subject to my own mother, she offered, "Been there, done that. Better you than me!"

One day in the future, I look forward to telling my daughters the same.

Honey, Where's the..... My Head?

2006-03-07T13:37:00.000-08:00

I've succumb to the slow and steady depletion of wrinkles in my brain. I imagine my cerebrum appears more and more like a cue ball, round and smooth. Certainly, I'm not happy about this development, I just seem to lack control over the slow, steady ooze of brainpower depletion. So, embracing the glass-is-half-full attitude, I've opted to accept the facts.

In my daily rush to get out the door, I packed into a Ziploc baggy the uneaten plain mini-bagel with cream cheese from Scooter's breakfast. She begs for snacks when I take her to Child Watch at the YMCA while I sweat and get a mental grip on life. I don't work out because I actually like my appearance in spandex, I do it so that I can eat more treats (six Girl Scout Cookies last night) and maintain some mental sanity.

In my rush to prepare breakfast, supervise getting dressed, make Teacup's lunch, load up her backpack, and get out the door, I managed to misplace the uneaten mini-bagel smothered with cream cheese in a Ziploc baggy.

Desperate to find it, but more to convince myself that I wasn't losing my mind, I searched the refrigerator, garbage, pantry, laundry room, family room, backpack, and bread-box.

It's a day later and I still haven't found it!

Eventually, it's turn up. When it reappears, will it be located by sight or smell?

When losing your mind, do the senses start to deteriorate, too? I can only hope.

Role-Playing

2006-03-05T13:36:00.000-08:00

Lately, Teacup often suggests that we take on different roles around the house. She gets to be the baby and Scooter gets to be the big sister. Yet, why am I always assigned to play the "mom"?

Admittedly, I limited my role-playing options when Valerie offered to be the mommy awhile back. A little too enthusiastically when she offered to be the "mom", I answered, "Cool! You can be the mommy! That means, you get to do the laundry, drive everyone around, sort through the deluge of incoming papers...."

With fervor, Valerie shouted, "Yeah! I'll be the mommy!"

"... and you get to make dinner, too!" I continued.

Apparently, THAT was the show-stopper. She sorrowfully stated, "But mommy, I don't know HOW to make dinner!" (As though she could reach the buttons on the washing machine without a ladder or push the accelerator and check the rearview mirrors while backing out of the driveway.)

Pleading, I offered, "Oh, dinner's easy. I'll show you how to do everything. And if that doesn't work, we could always order out!"

"No.... I guess, I'll be the baby and YOU can be the mommy!" she suggested.

So, that's it! I thought I was stuck being the mommy until today. At age thirty-five, I got to be the "grandma" and Scooter was assigned the role of "mom".

Despite the age factor, I think I just might enjoy "grandmother"-hood one day.

Crazy for Cosmetics

2006-03-04T13:32:00.000-08:00

Being a girl, nearing kindergarten, Teacup has developed an obsession for makeup. When I pick her up from school, her teachers announce that she is playing with her friends underneath the various slides and monkey bars. (In my school years, playground equipment was termed jungle gyms). Apparently, my daughter and her friends give one another makeovers with rocks, pine-cones, leaves and other found fauna.

This interest in maquillage has invaded birthday party goodie bags, to my dismay. This purple goop is disguised in a plastic princess necklace pendant. Not only does this substance smell like grape Bubbilicious Bubble Gum, it stains anything it touches, including skin.

Unfortunately, I found the substance a little too late.

Having survived this particular application of makeup, I opted to address the issue.

"Teacup, did you know that women use makeup to hide flaws? Usually, older people use it to cover up moles and wrinkles. Younger people don't need makeup because their skin is nearly perfect," I tried to explain.

"So, why do YOU wear makeup?" she asked.

Dumbfound, I stuttered and changed the subject! So much for quick wit as a mom.

Since that conversation, I've reduced my already minimal application of mascara, a dab of eye-shadow and lipstick, to my trusty ChapStick®. And, I avoid the mirror.

The Tell

2006-03-01T13:23:00.000-08:00

I've finally decoded "the tell", as it's called in poker. Phil Gordon taught me that.

It's not that my youngest is trying to bluff. She is often too busy to take the time to dispose of normal bodily functions in a socially acceptable manner.

It's clear as day to me, now.

In Scooter's case, she suddenly appears like the speed tablets she swallowed have kicked-in and she runs in place on her tip-toes. Some kids' "tell" appears when they place their hand on their privates while crossing their legs. It's certain to be number two when they turn quiet, hide in a corner, seem focused on a particular toy and stick-out their rump. If not caught in time, you'll hear grunting.

Regardless, when "the tell" appears, running their naked bottom to the toilet before a downpour of urine runs down the legs and pools on the floor becomes an Olympic sport.

Now that I know "the tell", I just have to react quickly and quietly because I have seconds, not minutes, to spring into action.

Running with Scissors

2006-02-28T13:20:00.000-08:00

I recently finished reading Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs.

Minimally, the book was disturbing.

The book chronicles part of Burroughs' childhood. I survived the narrative only because Burroughs tells the story in such a composed manner. Throughout, I felt like I was reading a letter written by a close friend about his experiences at summer camp. His tone and writing style spoke to me in an every-day manner, but the sum of the words amounted to shocking accounts.

I was struck by his descriptions about feeling trapped by too much freedom as a teenager. The guy basically had zero authority figure in his life and virtually no limits placed on him by anyone, let alone an adult.

Burroughs wrote, "Freedom was what we had.... So why did we feel so trapped? Why did I feel like I had no options in my life when it seemed that options were the only thing I did have?"

No one gave this guy any direction. If he wanted to skip school for 21 days straight, no one cared but the school district. And even, then, they don't care either until an underage child misses 30 consecutive days of school. No one cared if and when he went to bed. No one cared if he got drunk and puked his brains out on the living room couch.

Honestly, I can't imagine spending my teenage years like this. However, this freedom is what nearly every teenager claims he or she desires most.

Burroughs continues, "More than anything, I wanted to break free. But free from what? That was the problem. Because I didn't know what I wanted to break free from, I was stuck."

The author finishes the chapter with, "The problem with not having anybody to tell you what to do, I understood, is that there was nobody to tell you what not to do."

So, for as much flack as I receive from loved ones about the rules I have set in our home, this memoir gives me solace that my kids have some structure and some limitations in their lives. The limits give them a sense of control over their sheltered world. Once they have independent lives in their own homes, they can have all of the freedom they want. Until then, it's Daddio and my house and our rules!

Indian Dinner Fiasco

2006-02-25T13:18:00.000-08:00

Last night, we were invited to the home of the parents of Teacup's friend from school. They are Indian and vegetarian. Daddio and I relished the idea of being served a tasty meal and of conversing with adults.

At first, the children played together in the toy-room transformed from a garage. Being kids, they will play anywhere and with anything given the obligatory parental consent.

After appetizers slithered down our throats and filled our swelling bellies, we encouraged the kids to take a break from their amusements to nourish their little bodies. I settled each of my children into their seats and sniffed the air.

Did I smell a horrible sulfur-type odor emanating form my youngest daughter's behind?

As I casually moved my hand toward her rump, I felt the all-knowing warm lump through her clothing. Politely, excusing ourselves to the restroom, I quietly and quickly cleaned my daughter's underwear. Tossing around the various options in my head, I determined that her panties could not be salvaged. Having not brought extra undergarments, Scooter was forced to wear her pink tights, sans panties for the remainder of the evening.

Returning to the kitchen, I discreetly tossed the soiled panties in the garbage compactor. However guarded I tried to be, Teacup loudly asked, "What are you throwing away, mom?"

To which I responded, "Trash, honey. I'm throwing away trash." Noting the raised eyebrows among the rest of the group seated at the dinner table, I added, "And trash isn't polite dinner conversation."

Relieved that the crisis was averted, I triumphantly sat in my chair to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Within minutes, the kids decided they were no longer hungry and wanted to continue playing. To maintain harmony, the parents endorsed their decision and excused them from the table.

Just as the conversation began to roll smoothly among the adults, the host's housekeeper ran into the room announcing, "Your daughter make pee-pee on the floor! Your daughter make pee-pee on the floor!"

Having just taken a bite of my dinner, I looked over my shoulder, praying she wasn't talking to me. When it comes to kids and their problems, why do people always look at the mother? Why couldn't she have run into the room seeking Daddio?

I stumbled out of my chair to follow the trail of urine from the bathroom. At the end of the trail, Scooter stood frozen in the center of a pool of tinkle holding her dress above her waist.

"Holy Shit!" was all I could think. Externally, I smiled and asked for some cleaning products and paper-towels. There was no way to discreetly deal with this potty faux-pas. It was now a public humiliation, mostly for me.

After cleaning Scooter and the hosts' soiled hallway floor, our hostess graciously offered an essential pull-up.

Eventually, the adults returned to the dinner table, encountering cold food and lost appetites. We politely stayed for coffee and dessert. As we bid our new acquaintances good-bye, I wondered if they will accept a return invitation to our home.

Tiny Cracks

2006-02-24T13:17:00.000-08:00

Only moments ago, I discovered my youngest daughter pushing her lunch into a tiny crevice in one of our kitchen chairs.

Developmentally, she is at that exploratory learn-about-my-surroundings stage. Perhaps a child psychologist would tell me how wonderful it is that she's learning about spacial relationships in our world.

All I can see is how she shoved pasta particles from her soup into an unreachable spot. These small pasta bits dissolve as easily as stale crackers turn to dust. It will be impossible to clean. Could a dog help to lick it out of such a tight spot? Will it take years before it hardens and falls to the ground in specs unseen by the naked eye?

Some parents may be more lenient, but they don't live in this house. That move was just plan disgusting. So, Scooter, please, PLEASE don't do that again!

Forgetting So Quickly

2006-02-22T13:16:00.000-08:00

Scooter was awake last night between 11:30pm and 12:30am. At first she complained of a tummy ache. I fetched the "bucket" to prevent her purged her tummy contents from landing on the floor or bed.

At her insistence, I laid on the hard, but carpeted floor next to her bed, offering her support, "just in case." I listened to her toss and turn.

I indulged her. Maybe she didn't feel well.

So, I accompanied her to the potty a couple of times. No success on either end. I got her a tissue and a drink of water. Each time, I returned to my post on the floor, struggled to find a comfort zone and closed my eyes. Within moments of closing my eyes, a little voice whispered, "Mommy! Mommy, I need..... "

Next, she needed her Duke-bear from the toy chest at the foot of her bed. I satisfied her desire because everyone could use a supportive friend when they hork, right? I stayed. I listened. I waited.

My flexibility waned when Scooter requested "a friend" from her toy-box for the third time. My doubts of her needing to hork rose. She was yanking me around, but it took me an hour to figure it out. It was a critical hour, too.

Today, I'm a mess. In the blink of an eye, our newborn babies learn to sleep through the night. How quickly we forget how physically tired we once were.

A Room Mom's Predicament

2006-02-15T13:15:00.000-08:00

For Teacup's class Valentine's party at school, I organized the festivities with the help of the other room mom. We carefully planned out the games (something developmentally appropriate), the craft (something that wouldn't require "drying" time) and snacks (something to accommodate everyone's allergies). We carefully called extra moms to volunteer their time to help.

Asking for parent volunteers is always a balancing act. On the one hand, I can't ask for too many volunteers because the teachers don't like the parental intrusion (understandably for many young kids, a mom's presence or absence can be awfully emotional). On the other hand, given the young age of these kids, nearly every parent wants to volunteer. Being as reasonable as possible, I try to be fair, rotating the parents among events. As expected, there are more volunteers than there are opportunities.

There's always at least one parent in every group who seems to think they're above what's "fair".

One, unnamed mom, tends to be a continual thorn in my side. She complains about everything - the order of activities, the quality of the craft, the lack of drink options appealing to her son, etc. The list seems endless with her. In my mind, I remind myself that I'm the room mom, not a social director or a cocktail waitress. I'm volunteering my time to be with the kids, show my support to the school and help my child to enjoy her education. Furthermore, this unnamed mom was given her chance to volunteer previously.

At the Valentine's party, the unnamed mom appeared unexpectedly. As she helped myself and the other teacher-approved volunteer moms set up for the party, I battled internally. How should I handle this situation? Clearly, she's not supposed to be here. What should I do? My fear was that the moms who were scheduled to be there would be "boxed out" of the activities.

I approached each mom and doled out assignments. She finally asked, "What do you want me to do?"

Given the lack of diplomacy I sometimes (okay, often) have, I blurted out, "Well, I don't have an assignment for you because you've already had a chance to volunteer and these other moms haven't. I'm sorry."

Huffy, she eventually departed. As I recounted the story to Ken, he assured me that I've made a school enemy who will probably be out to get me for the remainder of our children's school years together.

Sadly, I know he's right.

Where Babies Come From

2006-02-15T13:13:00.000-08:00

I was alone with Valerie in the car recently. The time spent together, alone, is such a great treasure. With each passing day, our conversations grow a smidgen deeper.

Surprising me, she recently asked, "Mommy, where to babies come from?"

Thinking how well I could nail this, I carefully explained, "Babies grow inside mommies' tummies." Sometimes, less is more!

Looking for more, Valerie probed, "No, before that, WHERE do babies come FROM?"

Not sure what she was getting at, I offered, "Mommies and daddies love each other a lot and decide to have a baby. Then, the baby grows inside the mommies' tummy." I worried, how much does my soon-to-be-five year old know about the birds and the bees?

Growing irritated, Valerie slowed down so I could catch up, "NO mom, what STORE do you go to, to get a BABY?"

Imagine the population problem we'd have on this planet if we could buy babies at the store!

Loud Laundry

2006-01-31T13:12:00.000-08:00

During a recent visit from the in-laws, my mother-in-law remarked how loud the dryer seemed. I agreed, but assumed the immense clatter resulted from the metal hooks of Dagny's overalls clanging against the heated metal cylindrical interior of the dryer.

Until I peaked inside.

I discovered rocks. Apparently, I've in the practice of washing rocks because it's not the first time I've uncovered pebbles in my laundry facilities. My kids, with their compulsion for collecting gravel, stuff their pockets full of stones. Subsequently, they neglect to empty their coat compartments prior to dumping their soiled garments into the hamper.

Admittedly, I'm partly responsible. Any good mother checks the pockets of incoming dirty laundry, right? As far as I'm concerned, moms who have the time to check the pockets of each article of clothing prior to entry into the laundry just have too much time on their hands. Or, perhaps, I'm just less detail-oriented than they are.

Either way, I'd take rocks over crayons any day. With many things related to motherhood, it could always be worse.

ABCs vs The Alphabet

2006-01-22T13:10:00.000-08:00

In the bathtub yesterday evening, I washed Dagny and overheard her singing, "R S T U V W X" and she stopped abruptly.

I asked, "Dagny are you singing the alphabet song?"

She corrected, "No, mommy! I'm singing the ABCs!"

Duh! Moms can be so silly sometimes, eh?

The Tarzan in My Midst

2006-01-14T22:09:00.000-08:00

I live with Tarzan.

She's been doing this for months. I just happened to catch it on the camera today.

Next, she will swing from couch to chair to kitchen table to countertop. She already climbs atop all of these places, so how soon will I wake up to see her actually swinging from our home's domestic vines?

Note: It's not just the climbing and potential swinging that makes me believe I live with a child akin to Tarzan.

Begrudging Mom

2006-01-11T13:07:00.000-08:00

The question haunts me, How Does She Do It?

I'm talking about my own mother. I'm nearly convinced she's superhuman. Even Ken is sure to point out, "Your mom IS impressive!"

Last weekend, Ken and I enjoyed a short, but relaxing weekend in Mexico, while my parents watched the girls. I wrote a seven page document outlining when to go where and how to get there. I even included medical contact information and insurance cards should the need arise. With limited time, I tried to be comprehensive.

I admit that I've been fretting about my maternal inadequacies since last weekend. To explain, last Friday morning, Ken and I departed the house before normal humans rouse their rested souls from their cozy beds. Sitting in LAX airport at 8:05 am, I thought I would call with my parents to make sure everything was going smoothly during the morning rush hour. As I've noted before, for me, it's a whirlwind daily routine that I feel is barely accomplished each weekday morning. Each day we arrive at school fed, coifed and on-time, I feel I deserve a metal.

As I talked on the phone with my mother, she informed me that the girls were dressed, with hair and teeth brushed. So far, so good. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, my mom continued by recounting that each of my offspring had eaten three pancakes for breakfast. I thought, "What, my children actually ATE breakfast?" Could she be talking about my Valerie and Dagny?

She proceeded, "Yes, and they ate their vitamins and juice and I packed Valerie's lunch and backpack. We're all set to go to school now. So, we'll probably leave in about ten minutes!"

WHAT? Not only did you make fresh pancakes (not the frozen kind you put in the toaster oven), but YOU HAVE TIME TO SPARE? In shock, I just accepted the news, hung up and blocked it out with my new IPOD earphones plugged into my head.

I've wondered about the ten spare minutes for several days now. I can't seem to let it go. HOW did she DO it? So, I expressed my concern to Ken. He laughed and flatly said, "Julie, as impressive as you are at getting stuff done, you're NOT your mother."

I grew defensive in that high-pitched whiney voice, "But, you see, she had a lot of things in her favor..."

As I grew more defensive, the truth of his statement hit me. My mom is truly superhuman at accomplishing just about anything. So, instead of focusing on my own inadequacies, I'll revel knowing that my children were well cared for last weekend in my absence and my seven page document was read and followed.

No Tax Deduction Please!

2006-01-05T13:06:00.000-08:00

Dagny finally discovered the potty over the holiday break. She went straight for the big one, attached to the pipes. We had the little potties left over from Valerie's potty transition, two years ago. I guess watching her older sister and being blessed with longer legs than her sibling, she completely ignored the tot-sized crappers.

Works for me.

Having allowed the potty progress to continue for nearly three weeks, I finally decided I'd had enough of those dirty little potties. Yes, we used them in our house, but only as stepping stools. Sometimes the kids would hid things inside, much to my dismay. Yesterday, I battled internally, "Should I continue to shelter these dirty plastic potty-slash-stools? Or, should I donate these and shell out the ten bucks to purchase real stools that don't double as potties."

I opted to purge the dirty crappers. Despite cleaning them, or trying to clean them, the thought of these potties is just grotesque.

I carefully packed the potties into plastic bags and placed them in my car. I drove directly to Goodwill. I had tried to dispose of our crusty old highchair at Goodwill, but was informed they do not accept baby items. This time, with the potties in tow, I wasn't sure if this donation qualified as a baby item or not. I crossed my fingers and hoped they would accept the bags. If it weren't for the security camera to discourage dumping, I would have left my offerings after dark for fear that I would again be turned away.

When the Goodwill donation receiver met me halfway to the drop-off area, I practically threw these potties at him. He didn't ask about the contents of the bags. Instead, he robotically asked, "Do you need a receipt for these?"

I had already turned back toward my car (which was still running). Over my shoulder, I retorted, "No, not this time. No tax deduction here. But thanks anyway!"

It felt like I sprinted toward my car, though I tried to appear calm. I feared that as he peered into those bags, he would turn back and run toward me with the bags exclaiming, "Miss, sorry but we can't accept these items! Miss, please come back!"

So, I found my way into the car, and drove away as quickly as possible, trying not to screech the tires on the pavement. Valerie noted my expedited departure, "Mommy, why are you going so fast!"

Because it feels so good to have purged those potties, honey!

I Want Yours....

2006-01-03T13:05:00.000-08:00

Many mornings, I eat cereal for breakfast. I may not eat with the kids, due to the rush occurring at day break, but I always eat something at some point before lunch.

This morning, we survived the morning rush (brushing hair, brushing teeth, feeding my offspring, packing lunch, unloading the dishwasher, gulping coffee, filling the backpack, loading the car and driving to school). After dropping Valerie at school, Dagny and I returned home and I allowed myself a tranquil breakfast. As requested, I turned on the Wiggles to occupy my youngest child. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice.

I peacefully sat at the table and scooped the first spoonful toward my mouth. Before the flakey grains could enter my mouth, little feet pattered on the kitchen floor in my direction. I looked down to notice Dagny grinning in her charming way. She asked, "Can I have some, too?"

Sure. I stood up and moved toward the pantry.

"No, mommy, NO! I want YOURS!"

But, honey, don't you want your own?

"NO mommy. I want YOUR cereal."

But, it all tastes the same. It's all from the same box. It's going to be EXACTLY the same, just a different BOWL, okay?"

"NO NO NO, MOMMY! I WANT YOUR CEREAL."

Fine you can have my cereal and I'll get another bowl. As I get another bowl, I watch her take a bite of my cereal. She eats the one bite and watches me fix the next bowl. As I head toward the table with my second attempt of eating, Dagny clearly stated, "I change my mind. I'll have my own bowl, mommy. You take this one back!"

Isn't that what I suggested at the beginning? So, I ate the soggy cereal....

The Polar Express

2005-12-09T01:58:00.000-08:00

Last night, we rode the North Pole Express.

What a fun outing! The train departed at 6pm. Santa's elves read the The Polar Express book by Chris Van Allsburg, while the children ate sugar cookies and drank chocolate milk. Each child was given a little bell tied onto a red string. Then, all passengers and elves sang Christmas carols. When we arrived at the "North Pole", Santa boarded the train. As Santa walked through the train cars, he awarded each child a candy cane.

After the experience at the mall yesterday morning, I expected Dagny and Valerie to panic if Santa came too close.

Fortunately, no one in our group grew hysterical! If it weren't for the candy canes, I don't think either of the girls would have been so amicable to the dear old man in red.

From the picture below, it's easy to gauge the temperature of the reception the girls gave him!

Live and In Person

2005-12-08T01:57:00.000-08:00

Today, we went to see Santa Claus at the mall. We had other business to attend to at the mall, so I explained to the girls that Santa would be there. If they would like, each of them could talk to him, tell him what they wanted for Christmas and even have their picture taken with him. With all of the excitement typical of a little child, both girls were quite enthusiastic!

As we parked the car and walked through the automatic doors, Valerie and Dagny boasted about all of the things they intended to tell jolly ole Saint Nick. It seemed as though I would probably have to tear them out of Santa's lap to give other children a chance before Santa's next break.

That was until we neared the center of the mall and saw the colossal display, including a snow man, reindeer, a two-story Christmas tree, gigantic candy canes. We walked to the front of the display and I showed them where Santa was sitting. At that moment, two little boys were lucky enough to get their picture taken with the man in red.

Suddenly, Dagny nearly pulled my pants down, as she gasped, "Mommy, carry me!"

Likewise, Valerie stopped in her tracks. I moved closer to the fence separating the crowd of onlookers from the display. I offered to go with them to visit Santa.

Valerie replied, "No, mom. Let's get out of here!"

So we watched for a few moments, allowing the girls to change their minds. As we left, Valerie's confidence grew and she informed me that she'd prefer to write Santa a letter.

A Truly Magical Guy

2005-11-29T01:55:00.000-08:00

With Thanksgiving behind us, the girls are obsessed with Santa Claus.

Dagny sometimes self-corrects her mischief two-year-old behavior, as she says, "Santa Claus knows what I'm doing, mommy!"

Meanwhile, Valerie ponders the idea of Santa Claus.

Today, she asked me, "Can Santa Claus really see me?"

"Yes," I replied.

Fully analyzing my answer, she pressed further, "How can he see me?"

"Honey, he's a magical guy," which was enough of an answer for now.

What will she ask tomorrow....

Will Santa See Himself?

2005-11-27T03:54:00.000-08:00

Today, the girls pleaded and pleaded to put up the Christmas decorations around the house. Namely, they wanted to put up the Christmas tree. Perhaps they believe Christmas will come sooner with the decorations in their places.

At one point, while trimming the tree, Valerie asked, "Will Santa see himself when he comes to our house?"

I probed, "What do you mean? Are you asking if he can see himself in the mirror?"

She said, "No, will he see himself on our tree?!"

Finally realizing what she was getting at, I replied, "Yes, he will be able to see all of the ornaments on our tree that look like him. Yes, of course, he will see himself!"

She smiled and continued to carefully and methodically place the miniature Santa ornaments on the tree.

The Pillars of Character

2005-11-21T01:50:00.000-08:00

Apparently, child educators have taken on teaching basic values to children. Each month, Valerie's school opts to focus on one of the six pillars of character in the classroom. I don't remember doing this when I was in preschool or elementary school. But back then, parents and grandparents usually provided these life lessons at home. Perhaps families are too busy these days. Somebody should be responsible for teaching these basic codes of behavior in our society to our future leaders.

Overall, I agree that these pillars of character are a good idea. Yet, I can't help but wonder how these pillars are a bit contradictory. A perfect example arose the other day.

Despite the current concentration on the virtue of "caring", Valerie asked me if I was, "carrying a baby in my tummy".

Not sure where this was going, I responded, "No, honey. I don't have a baby in my tummy. Do you want a baby sister or brother?"

Valerie flatly remarked, "No mommy. You just look like you have a baby in your belly."

I wanted to shout, "But, I go to the gym! I only weigh 118 pounds and am still a size 4 or 6 (depending on the cut)! I've given birth to two kids via cesarean section! My mid-section doesn't look THAT bad!"

Instead, I gritted my teeth and focused on her demonstration of honesty. I wondered when would be a good time to teach the grey area of these six pillars of character. Her honesty completely blew away the "caring" pillar.

I know a few adults who could use a lesson in this grey area, too.

Thirty-Ten

2005-11-19T05:49:00.000-08:00

Valerie: Mom, how old are you?

Me: Thirty-five.

Valerie: Then you'll be thirty-six.

Me: Yes

Valerie: Then you'll be thirty-seven.

Me: You got it.

Valerie: Then you'll be thirty-eight.

Me: Yep, you're a good counter.

Valerie: Then you'll be thirty-nine.

Me: You're right on track, honey.

Valerie: Then you'll be thirty-ten.

Me: Also known as, forty.

Valerie: No you'll be THIRTY-TEN!

Me: I guess thirty-ten sounds better than forty.

Guess how much....?

2005-11-17T01:48:00.000-08:00

Valerie reminded me that next week is Thanksgiving. It falls on the same day as her "share" day at school.

Disappointed that she will be missing the ever-so-important "share" day at school, I suggested we have a share day at our house on Thanksgiving. To make it more appealing, I offered that she could have "share" time with our Thanksgiving guests, including Grandma Gwen, Grandpa Jim, Aunt Sarah and her cousin Abby. This news solicited a smile.

"Mom, you know what? Grandma and Grandpa are going to see me and tell me I've grown so big and ask me what I've been eating to grow so tall!"

I ventured, "What will you tell them?"

"I've been eating DONUTS!"

He Know If You've Been Bad or Good...

2005-11-15T05:45:00.000-08:00

I don't recall exactly how it started.

I must have been irritated with the antics of a two-and-a-half year old. It's easy for any parent to feel like he or she is coming to the end of his or her rope with a child this age.

At the time, she was probably hanging from a chandelier or something comparable. But, knowing that we were nearing the holiday season, a song came to popped into my mind:

Oh! You better watch out,
You better not cry,
You better not pout,
I'm telling you why:
Santa Claus is coming to town!

He's making a list,
Checking it twice,
Gonna find out who's naughty or nice.
Santa Claus is coming to town!

He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake.
He knows if you've been bad or good,
So be good for goodness sake!

Oh! You better watch out,
You better not cry,
You better not pout,
I'm telling you why:
Santa Claus is coming to town!

The line that popped into my mind and out of my mouth was "He knows if you've been bad or good, So be good for goodness sake!"

Ever since, whenever Dagny does something she knows is inappropriate behavior, she'll tell me, "Santa Claus knows what I'm doing, mommy!" Then, she self-corrects.

The over-commercialization of this holiday may not be so bad after all.

Lessons Learned

2005-11-09T10:45:00.000-08:00

Parents and children had more personal freedoms when I grew up. Of course, that's my perception. But, some of life's lessons were not necessarily taught to me by my parents or my teachers. They just came from personal experiences of what worked and what didn't.

For example, I don't remember my mother nagging me to wear a specific type of shoe to school. I don't recall the "rules" about the types of shoes a child could wear to school. The way I remember it, if I wore the wrong shoes to school, I quickly discovered my mistake when I couldn't properly grip the jungle gym with my feet. The next day, and thereafter until my memory lapsed due to the discovery of a fashionable alternative, I wore the appropriate feet gear.

Recently, I purchased Valerie the ugly, but growing in popularity, croc shoes. Upon receipt, the shoes won a very warm reception and were chosen to be worn to school. The shoes technically fit into the "covered toes" category, but clearly they were not going to be useful for climbing on playground equipment. Being a mother prone to nagging, I recall questioning my daughter's decision. "Valerie, those shoes are not appropriate to wear to school. Your sneakers are a better choice." As expected, she rejected my opinion. For the first time in two years of attending school, I opted to let her learn for herself.

Little did I know, that HER choice would be my fault.

Picking Valerie up from school that afternoon, she immediately expressed her outrage. "MOMMY, Ms. S said that YOU should NOT let me wear these shoes to school," she reprimanded.

Interested to understand what transpired, I asked, "Why?"

Valerie explained, "Because I will slip and fall and HURT myself."

Looking for more, I asked, "So did you?"

Valerie said, "No. Ms. S wouldn't let me play on the playground because these shoes are dangerous."

That's very interesting.... Now, she knows that she can't wear the shoes on the playground because of what she was TOLD, not because of what she experienced.

I assumed that was the end of the event, until I opened Valerie's backpack which carried a personal note from Ms. S. It said, "Mrs Haim, While Valerie's shoes are very cute, please do not let Valerie wear these shoes to school. They are unsafe for playing outside. Thank you for your help and understanding in this matter."

At first, I felt guilty. How could a caring, responsible mother send her offspring to school in unsafe shoes?

Then, I grew a little miffed. Why is this my fault? At some point, children will have to learn about life via the traditional trial and error method. Perhaps this is how adults are failing children these days - children haven't learned anything from personal experience because they just aren't ALLOWED to make natural mistakes anymore. Perhaps this is why kids who graduate from college these days are incapable of making independent decisions.

Then it hit me. Ms. S doesn't know whether or not I'm one of those parents whose lawyers will show up threatening to sue the school in the event she falls and breaks a limb. I don't think I'm one of those parents. But then again, Valerie hasn't broken a limb on school grounds, yet.

At Your Service

2005-11-05T01:44:00.000-08:00

The girls opted to eat their lunch on their outdoor picnic table.

But, Ken and I were informed that we should eat our lunch in the kitchen "just in case [the kids] NEED something".

Glad to know our services are appreciated. Apparently, we are a little TOO accommodating.

So, we ate lunch outside, too, to clearly show that the inmates aren't entirely running the asylum.

Birthday Wishes

2005-11-04T04:43:00.000-08:00

Today was my birthday.

At one point, I told my girls so and asked them if they wanted to wish me a happy birthday.

Pausing at the news, Dagny announced, "Mommy, I two and a half!" I was pleased that she understood the association of age and birthdays.

On the other hand, Valerie explained that she was too tired to wish me a happy birthday.

I responded, singing, "Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me. Guess I'll go eat worms."

That certainly created a rise out of my eldest daughter. "Ewe, mom. Worms are SOOO gross!"

I waited a few moments and informed her that on her next birthday, I was NOT going to wish her well, since she can't seem to be nice to her mother on her special day.

At this unexpected news, Valerie flatly stated, "Then I guess I'll go play with bugs, too."

In the end, Valerie came through by picking some flowers in the garden to honor my special day.

If you swallow a.....

2005-11-01T01:41:00.000-08:00

On the way home from school in the car Valerie announced, "Mom. Did you know that if you swallow a knife, you will bleed a lot and die!"

That seems like an accurate observation. How did you arrive at that assessment, my dear? How about we NOT test that hypothesis?

Halloween Night

2005-10-31T01:40:00.000-08:00

Tonight, the girls traded in their former bug costumes to become princesses for an evening. These costumes were taken from our dress-up closet about ten minutes prior to leaving the house for trick-or-treat.....

Halloween Party II

2005-10-29T08:39:00.000-07:00

By our second Halloween Party, we had a last minute costume change. The girls both opted to be ladybugs.

Who's a Baby?

2005-10-26T00:38:00.000-07:00

Dagny has a friend who's going to have a baby sister in a couple of weeks, if not sooner. As I explain to both of my girls this fact, Dagny always assures me, "Mommy, I a baby."

I assume, she is trying to enforce the fact that, indeed, she is the baby of the California Haim clan.

I indulge her when she announces such facts, "Yes Dagny, you are my baby!"

Dagny repeats more loudly, "Mommy, I A BABY!"

Me: I know Dagny, you are the baby of our family. You are the youngest in our family.

Dagny (smiling): I A BABY!

Me: But honey, did you know that real little babies don't get to eat pizza?

Pause.

Me: Did you know that babies don't get to eat candy at Halloween?

Dagny (her resolve slipping a bit): I a baby....

Me: Did you know that babies don't get to go to school?

Pause.

Dagny (emphatically): I A BIG GIRL!

Halloween Party I

2005-10-23T01:36:00.000-07:00

Today was our first Halloween party of the season. The girls dressed up as a bee and a butterfly.

Admittedly, Valerie put together her own costume & was quite proud of herself. The wings were from one of those dollar stores. It was probably the cheapest costume in the country.....

A "Different" Kind of Mommy

2005-10-20T01:34:00.001-07:00

In preparation for Halloween, I bought Valerie an orange pumpkin t-shirt, a "spooky" black t-shirt, orange leopard print pants and black candy corn pants. As predicted, she loves showing spirit for nearly any special holiday and wore the clothing with much enthusiasm.

Recently, I picked her up from school and asked if her teachers appreciated her Halloween "spirit".

Valerie responded, "Yes, mommy. My teachers really like my Halloween clothes!"

So I prodded, "Do the other children wear Halloween clothes, too?"

Valerie assured me, "No mommy. The other kids' mommies don't let them wear Halloween clothes."

Oh, I thought. Well, too bad for the other kids.

Valerie continued, "See mom, you're a DIFFERENT KIND of mommy."

I couldn't help but ask, "Am I a different GOOD kind of mommy or different BAD kind of mommy?" Did I really want to know the answer to that question? Perhaps I shouldn't have asked.

But, she nodded and rolled her eyes, "Mom, you're a GOOD kind of mommy. I LOVE wearing Halloween outfits!"

Phew!

The Curse of the School Baby

2005-10-13T10:33:00.000-07:00

Dagny's teachers often allow Dagny to bring home a baby from school to "borrow" until the next school day. It's great for the children. I guess one could argue that it helps to teach responsibility. However, this is hell for the parents. Of all the things we parents are supposed to remember, focusing on the whereabouts of another thing, be it a baby doll, is too much pressure. As much as I have discouraged the baby from coming home with Dagny, it still seems to visit our home at least once a week.

On Tuesday, the teachers once again awarded Dagny the responsibility of borrowing the baby. At the time, I noted to the teachers that this particular baby is looking a little crusty, so I would try to launder her if time permitted, prior to the next scheduled class. Apparently, children absorb nearly everything (unless you're asking them to set the table for dinner or to get dressed for school).

Departing Dagny's school with the burdensome baby doll, I drove to the pediatrician for the annual flu shot. I believe this particular baby doll is cursed. Either that, or this doll is gunning for me! This doll is nearly an appendage to Dagny's little body. But, she seems to lose her continuously. I've returned to half a dozen places to retrieve this damn doll. Lately, I tell my girls that their baby dolls and teddy bears must take a nap in the car while we enter various establishments in the San Fernando Valley. I've learned the hard way, that unless I want to make twice as many trips to each establishment retrieving these playthings, it's best to leave them in the car. It's enough being responsible for my children, let alone their toys.

Since we were visiting the doctors office today, and I suspected she might need some extra comfort after her flu immunization, I allowed her to bring the baby doll with her. Further, Dagny insisted that the baby needed a flu shot, too. I tried to keep track of the baby, in addition to my own kids, while trying to keep them entertained as we waited for our turn. As we were leaving and rushing to get home for dinner prior to a major meltdown, I must have lost track of that darn baby again. Getting through rush hour, the so-called part of the evening ritual involving feeding, bathing, reading and going to bed for the kids. At bedtime, Dagny requested that she sleep with her "school" baby. I searched high and low for that thing. I couldn't find her anywhere.

On Wednesday, I called the pediatrician's office. I was sure we left her there. I must have called the receptionist three times on Wednesday. Has the baby turned up yet? No, we haven't seen her, was the repeated response.

I continued to tear my house apart, searching for this dirty doll. Surely, we could afford to replace the doll. But, who wants to waste money on a situation that could have been prevented?

By mid-morning today, I abandoned the search and resumed my daily household responsibilities. I really needed to attend to the build-up of laundry. There were clean clothes still in the dryer from two or three days ago. I opened the door to the dryer. At the top of a mound of wrinkled clean clothes laid the dirty baby doll.

While relieved that I wouldn't have to replace the baby for the preschool, I laughed to myself at how helpful darling Dagny tried to be.

When I dropped Dagny at school this afternoon, I recounted the baby's adventure over the last two days. Surely now, that baby will stay at school.

Flu Shot Badge

2005-10-11T01:31:00.000-07:00

This morning, I made the time to stand in line for my annual flu shot. Of course, my darling Dagny accompanied me.

When it was my turn, she sat in my lap as quietly and as motionless as a turtle. The nurse asked about her age. Stating that she was almost two and a half, the nurse looked worried and questioned my intention to hold her in my lap while having a needle jammed in my shoulder. I assured the nurse, that Dagny would be fine. Let's just get this business completed.

Dagny intently studied every move the nurse made. Dagny did not make a peep as the nurse opened the needle, filled it full of the immunization, and stuck it into my shoulder. By the end, the nurse was shocked at Dagny's impeccable behavior. While I'd like to take the responsibility for her good conduct, it was really all her. She was just interested in the proceedings.

Later, this afternoon, it was Dagny's turn to get her flu shot. The nurse instructed me to hug Dagny and turn her head away from the needle. Having already seen the procedure on me, she couldn't help but still be interested. The process of the injection took at most 5 seconds. My youngest child did not flinch or scowl. You'd have thought she was watching a mesmerizing circus act. Even the pediatric nurse commented on how she's never seen a child react so calmly to a shot. We agreed, she's a tough kid!

She wore her Band-Aid like a badge. For the rest of the day, any human being we encountered, she pointed to the Band-Aid on her shoulder announcing, "I got a foo shot!"

No Sweets Before Dinner

2005-09-28T03:49:00.000-07:00

I recently made brownies. After cooking them and cutting them into bite-size pieces, I left them to cool on the stove.

Later, as I prepared dinner, Ken kept me company. I noticed him hanging around the stove area.

At one point the kids joined us in the kitchen. All of a sudden they yelled, "I WANT ONE, TOO!"

I looked up from what I was working on. I thought, what could they possible want or need right before dinner?

Ken guiltily looked at me and showed me his mouth full of brownie crumbs.

So, glaring at him with a little smirk, I said, "Way to set an example for your children, DAD."

He defended himself, "Well, at least everyone knows that I'm going to eat my entire dinner."

Like, they understand.....

Preschool Transition

2005-09-22T05:48:00.000-07:00

After searching high and low for a preschool, I found a program for Dagny that is absolutely wonderful. I just wish I had found it two years ago for Valerie to attend. The school is called Magic Years, and I can confirm that the school is truly magical.

Dagny started school the day after Labor Day. The school takes a transitional approach. At first, one parent is required to stay with their child in the classroom. Over time, as each child becomes more trusting of the incredible teachers, the parent takes potty breaks and visits the "mommy" room where the mom (or occasional dad) can be summoned at any given moment. Then, the parent leaves the "mommy" room to complete short errands. Eventually, the parent is able to leave the child for the full three hour program.

With Valerie, I recall, dropping her off at school. We were literally ripped apart as she screamed and reached for me. Walking me out the door, the teachers scoffed at my misery assuring me that, "She'll be fine once you leave. The faster you leave, the faster she'll recover." I'm not so sure that ever happened. In retrospect, what a mistake Valerie's first school experience was.

I am truly amazed at how wonderful this transition approach is at Dagny's school. I've become a true believer. It took Dagny three weeks to complete the transition. Of course, I can't help but feel mixed emotions that she is fully transitioned. While it's so great that she enjoys school, part of my heart aches that she doesn't NEED me like she once did. But, what is so wonderful about this idea of a first school experience is that it really works: no tears, no separation anxiety, and no fear of abandonment. Why don't more schools do this?

To show you how genuinely happy she is, here's my baby girl waiting to go into school:

Practice What You Preach

2005-09-14T00:48:00.000-07:00

I asked about Valerie's teachers and what their names were.

Me: Valerie, what's the name of the teacher with long blonde hair? You know she's kind of plump.

Valerie: Mommy, you aren't supposed to talk about the way people look!

Nice to know she listened.....

The First Day

2005-09-13T08:47:00.000-07:00

When I picked Valerie up from school yesterday, I asked what the best thing she did on her first day.

Her response was, "EVERYTHING mommy!"

It was nice to hear such enthusiasm.

Bittersweet Transition

2005-09-12T02:45:00.000-07:00

Today marked Valerie's first day at her new school. Many at-home parents happily anticipate "back-to-school" so they can celebrate a few hours of freedom each day. Parents can visit the grocery store without finding mysterious cookies in the shopping basket or debating over which cereal to purchase with their little youngsters. I, too, can admit that accomplishing such daily tasks without the company of my oldest child will make my day run a little more smoothly.

However, I cannot help but feel a little melancholy about my big girl going to school all day. While we filled our summer days with a variety of fun activities, there were so many more things we could have done this summer (not that they would have fit into our schedule).

As part of this morning's rush, I documented my big girl's big day with a photograph:

You can see below, Valerie's transition to school was pretty tough:

I feel better that she was busy and happy when I departed instead of her sobbing and me being forced to leave.

In my spare moments, I work on the list of activities for next summer.

Remembrance

2005-09-11T03:44:00.000-07:00

This is what I wrote last year in reference to the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001:

"Three years ago today, I lived in Brooklyn, NY and worked in Manhattan as a money manager. Everyone in Manhattan that day has their own story to tell & I will spare you the details my particular story. However, at the time, I had a 4 month old baby. Had I not been a wife and a mother on 9/11/01, I am certain my life would be very different today. I was absolutely devoted to both my career and to my family. But being a mother certainly made that day unique for me. In the immediate aftermath of the planes crashing into the towers, I do not remember being concerned with myself. My fear was whether or not my husband and I could make it back to our baby girl so she would grow up with at least one of us. My mission that day was for one of us to get home to her. My husband was closest, so he walked home over the Brooklyn Bridge. In the hours that followed & the difficulties encountered in walking home, I was given plenty of time to think. I realized that as a mother and a parent, I am responsible for meeting my children's needs. On 9/11, I was not available to meet my daughter's needs. Yes, I feared for all of our lives, but what struck me was that I was not available when my child possibly needed me most. She needed me to protect her in a potentially threatening situation and I had chosen to be away from her. It was my choice, because my job and career was not a necessity for our family's survival.

"So, after much deliberation, I realized that it was important for me to stay home with my children. I do not want to be away from them during a time of crisis again. Now, there are plenty of days (esp potty training) when I think it is much easier to negotiate with adults than children. What am I DOING as a full-time parent? There are plenty of days when my former colleagues call me, hear me talking to my young children, and ask me why I gave up so much to just stay home. There are plenty of other mothers (e.g. the crazy working mom on Dr. Phil a week ago) who think that I am wasting myself. However, there is NO time that I regret my decision to be with my children. We all make our own choices and I am very respectful of everyone's decision. I just wish that our society could be more respectful of every mother's situation, whether they have a choice or not.

"I wish you all much peace on this day of remembrance."

Last night I watched an HBO documentary featuring former Mayor Rudolf Giuliani. I sobbed uncontrollably at various parts of the film. Yet, I could not pry my eyes from the television screen.

At one point, Giuliani says, "...through our tears, we grow stronger...."

And we do. It's important to remember. It's important to remember why we choose to do the things we do. And most importantly, it's important to appreciate all that we have.

Appearances

2005-09-10T12:43:00.000-07:00

Recently, the girls and I ran an errand to Target or the supermarket or somewhere. With my brain, it's hard to remember where we were exactly. I just recall the moment we checked out with the cashier.

As we faced the clerk, a rather large man passed through the next check-out line. Valerie's eyes grew large and her mouth fell open. Her thoughts spewed out of her mouth, "Mommy, that man is SOOOO BIG!"

I cringed. Of course, everyone knows that young children say things like this. Parents try to anticipate such embarrassing moments by discussing manners at less embarrassing moments. Despite the awkwardness of the moment, I opportunistically used the moment for educational purposes.

I agree, it was a fact that the man was large. Some people would note positively that my daughter was speaking the truth.

However, in that split second, I stated in a normal voice, "Honey, in our culture we do not discuss people's appearances. It's just not nice." Then, I let it go.

It seems, many adults in our society have not learned this lesson in our society. I remember during my pregnancies the incessant questions and comments of a couple of grown-ups: "How much WEIGHT have you gained?" "You're looking awfully rotund!" "You shouldn't eat that (string cheese and a granola bar) because you'll get FAT!" Typically, I am a petite woman. When I heard these comments, my feeling were interminably hurt and the relationships are probably irreparable. But then, my hormones raged during those nine months and I was certainly oversensitive. Regardless, I will never forget the insensitivity of the comments. In our culture, it is just plain rude to comment on the way others look.

Once in the car, I asked Valerie, "How would you feel if I told you that you looked too big?"

Valerie: Bad

Me: How would you feel if I said that you looked too small or skinny?

Valerie: Sad

Me: How do you think that man felt when he heard you say that he was "SOOOO BIG"?

Valerie: He felt bad.

Me: Maybe you should keep thoughts about the way others look to yourself. I feel really bad for that man right now.

And by the look on her face, she felt bad, too.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm speaking to a brick wall. I just hope that if I repeat myself enough, something might sink into my daughters' heads.

Hurricane Relief

2005-09-09T02:43:00.000-07:00

For anyone looking to donate something other than money check out this donations clearinghouse.

The intent is to establish direct connections between those with things to donate and the people who need them.

Dreaming For A Pony

2005-09-07T00:42:00.000-07:00

At yesterday's play-date, Valerie came face-to-face with a canine. Despite the four-legged creature being rather older and quite gentle, she was immensely displeased to share oxygen with the pooch. In fact, her face revealed signs of utter terror.

During the normal dinner-time discussion recounting the various activities of each family member's day, we discussed Valerie's play-date. The issue of the fearful dog came up.

Daddy: Why didn't you like the dog, Valerie?

Valerie: It was big and mean! (Turns out the dog is a bit of a groaner.)

Daddy: What would you think if we get a dog here?

Valerie: I don't want a dog. (The desire changes weekly.)

Daddy: If we got a dog, we would get a baby dog, a puppy at first, who would grow big over time.

Valerie: I don't want a dog.

Daddy: Why not?

Valerie: I want a pony!

Pause

Mommy: (chiming in) You can get a pony when you grow up and get a job and can pay for it yourself.

Daddy: Yeah, it turn out your mom and I aren't really horse people.

Why do so many little girls dream of owning a pony when they are little? I guess it's good to dream big.....

Soccer Kid

2005-09-06T09:39:00.000-07:00

Today, we bought shin guards and cleats for Valerie's first year of soccer. Despite the first practice and game being this Saturday, she insisted on testing out the new ensemble...

This Little Piggy

2005-08-30T04:38:00.000-07:00

A day without a boo-boo is rare in our family.

As you know, when one kid contracts a boo-boo, the other develops a sympathy boo-boo.

Today, Valerie had a small cut on her finger. As expected, Dagny demanded a Band-Aid to cover her sympathy boo-boo.

I asked her where the boo-boo might be located to accurately cover the sympathetic cut.

She sweetly proclaimed, "I need a Band-Aid on this little piggy!" and proceeded to stick her left index finger in my face.

Moments like these get me by....

Build-A-Bear

2005-08-28T06:36:00.000-07:00

Evidence of our attendance at a today's Build-A-Bear birthday party:

Apparently, my children will not only be eating and sleeping with their new bears, but Dagny plans to potty-train her bear. He's already tried on her pull-ups.

Excuse me, I stand corrected. Valerie's bear isn't just a bear. It's a Koala Bear.

Duh!

Hug Rations

2005-08-27T01:35:00.000-07:00

I have imposed hug rations in our house at bed time. It sounds wicked, but I've put my foot down.

Of late, I put the girls to bed and it usually goes smoothly. The girls get a bath, brush their teeth, brush their hair and read stories. They climb into their beds and I dim the lights. Then the trouble begins.

Hugs and kisses for everyone. Just as I start to leave, someone will call out, "Mommy, I need one more hug!"

Not to be outdone, the other child sweetly calls out, "One more hug for me too!"

So, I embellish them. I think, it's not like kids can have too many hugs & kisses, right? I love the affection just as much as they do. After the fifth time, I get wise to their strategy. Clearly, they are stalling. If I were more agreeable, they could do this all night.

I announce, "You each get only ONE more hug and ONE more kiss tonight. Then, I have to go downstairs and do my own work. I promise to kiss you and hug you more tomorrow. But this is IT! Understood?"

They giggle and squeak out a "yes". They each get their turn and I leave the room.

They protest, but I stick to my guns. Hiding my smiles, I promise more hugs and kisses tomorrow.

When I reach the family room, Ken laughs at me, "What are you rationing hugs now?"

I retort, "What would you do, smarty pants?"

And we realize their affinity for affection will be short-lived. Too soon, we will be just dumb ol' mom and dad.

Old Mama

2005-08-25T03:29:00.000-07:00

For whatever reason, Valerie claimed today that she was a "new girl." I don't remember the exact context of the claim, but she asserts that she is definitely a "new girl."

Me: So what makes you a new girl?

Valerie: Because I'm a cute little girl. And you're an OLD MAMA!

Me: So what does that make Grandma?

Valerie: (silence)

Boy, that sure was a kick in the gut....

Blame

2005-08-24T08:28:00.000-07:00

We were at swimming lessons. Valerie followed directions kicking and paddling in the pool. Dagny played in the little play yard. I quietly kept one eye on each child, somehow without going cross-eyed.

As Dagny opened the gate to the play yard, she bonked her head. Tears sprang to her eyes and she ran into my arms for comfort. She cried, "Mommy, Vaa-ree hit me!"

It was an "Ah-ha!" moment. I'm onto you, kid... Valerie was no where near you, honey.

Bodily Behaviors

2005-08-23T00:27:00.000-07:00

Sitting on the ground, Dagny gleefully announced, "I tooted!"

I nodded, having witnessed the bodily function.

"Mommy, I tooted!"

"Yes, honey, you tooted. What do you say?"

"Thank you!"

Not exactly, but she could be thanking us for holding our breath...

Eating Lunch

2005-08-21T23:43:00.000-07:00

At lunch, Valerie chose Dora the Explorer Campbell's soup.

After two bites, she announced she was finished, but needed a cookie to complete the meal. As most mothers in my predicament, I suggested she eat more of her lunch first. Then, she could have a cookie.

She responded, "How about I eat ten more bites, then I get a cookie! How about I eat ten BIG bites?"

Don't you love it when things just go in your favor? "Well, I guess ten bites is okay.... Maybe you should shoot for eleven bites?"

Stalking Moon

2005-08-20T16:02:00.000-07:00

Last night, I took Valerie to a dinner playdate with a future classmate to get the acquainted prior to the start of school.

On the way home, it was dark. A beautiful, big moon hung above the horizon.

We quietly drove. Half-way home I assumed Valerie had fallen asleep. But, she quietly asked, "Why is the moon following us?"

On the one hand I considered getting into the Big Bang Theory. Instead I answered, "Honey, there is one moon and everyone on earth sees the same moon. Your cousin Abby sees the same moon we see."

"Why?"

Better question, why to I keep setting myself up for these imploring questions?

I responded, "Well, let's ask daddy when we get home!"

Whether Ken answers any of the questions his children ask or not, I'm setting him up to be the smartest man on earth by encouraging my children to believe he knows everything.

To Companize

2005-08-19T13:42:00.000-07:00

Meaning: To keep someone company.

Example: Changing Dagny's diaper before taking a nap, Valerie offered, "Mommy, do you want me to companize Dagny while you change her diaper?"

Not only is she being a great big sister, she's adding words to the dictionary.

Sounded good to me! Maybe I'll start using the word, too!

Girlie Girl

2005-08-18T23:41:00.000-07:00

Today, Valerie knew she had to wear the color blue to camp for the annual "color war" theme of the day. We discussed each piece of blue clothing she owns.

I suggested she wear her jeans. Hers happen to be blue jeans.

Boy, did I get an earful.

"Mom, jeans are boys clothes. Girls wear skirts and dresses!"

Oh, well, some girls wear jeans, right?

"Mom, girls aren't supposed to wear jeans even though some do."

Oh, okay. So, do you know any boys who wear skirts and dresses?

"Mom, of course boys don't wear skirts and dresses. Those are GIRL clothes!"

Thanks for the distinction, honey.

Grovel for Gravel

2005-08-17T23:40:00.001-07:00

I realize that some rocks in the world are precious. Some are worth a lot of money. Some are pretty and sparkly. However, what could be so special about gravel? Isn't gravel just useless rock fragments and pebbles used as a cheaper alternative to pavement?

At swimming lessons, part of the parking area is covered in gravel. There are man-made painted orange lines showing cars where to park. As a result, some of these rocks are colored orange on one side. My children are obsessed by the gravel at swimming lessons. For both of them, picking out their precious rocks seems to be the highlight of the swim lesson experience.

Upon arrival, they hussle out of the car to seize their precious stones. I eventually coax them toward the swim instructors back yard where the pool awaits. As Valerie shyly edges toward the pool, she makes me swear, nearly on my life, that I will save her special piece of the earth's crust until she can retrieve it upon completion of her lesson. I oblige.

Meanwhile, Dagny spends the swim lesson stalking the gravel. She compares and contrasts nothing less than 20 pieces of gravel in a thirty minute period. This one is bigger, that one looks like a fish, and this one is cool. She attempts to keep as many pieces of gravel as her little mitts can carry. If I offered her a bucket, she's start hauling the dirty white rock fragments home to place inside her toy-box containing assorted prized possessions.

After the swim lesson, we head to the car. The girls squat by the side of the car gathering as many rocks as possible to haul home. I inform my offspring that we have to leave rocks for the other kids, too. Each child only gets one rock. I mean really, if we take all the rocks, where will the cars park? Where will the other kids find rocks (knowing full well gravel is everywhere)?

They look up at me silently and I know they are thinking, "Who cares about the other kids? They can find their own rocks!"

The ride home is full of conversation and descriptions of their gravel.

If this keeps ups, their future husbands will save a lot of money offering them gravel engagement rings, painted orange on one side. Maybe I am doing someone a favor by allowing them to steal our swim instructors gravel.

PT Status Report

2005-08-17T23:40:00.000-07:00

On occasion, I admit to my mistakes.

Maybe now it's time to admit defeat....

After two days of potty training, Dagny's had only one success in the potty.

I'm tired of wet panties. Therefore, I'm tired of laundry, too.

The incentive is one jelly bean for pee-pee in her little potty, two jelly beans for poopy in her little potty. She fully understands the incentives.

Now, to get her to fully understand her potty needs. I think the problem is that she's just a busy, busy kid!

Love you...

2005-08-15T23:39:00.000-07:00

For the life of me, I can't remember what I was doing to deserve this....

But, I was doing something to occupy my mind and my hands. I looked down to see Dagny tugging my hand down so I could squat to her level. She announced, "I hug you" causing me to open my arms.

Upon jumping in my arms and sweetly hugging me, she declared, " I wuv you!"

And my heart melted.

Happy Homecoming

2005-08-12T23:38:00.000-07:00

We returned from our vacation. Coming home is usually the best part of any trip, I've decided. I think I only started feeling this way after having children and being forced to check my luggage on airplanes.

Upon arriving home, Dagny decided to be in her birthday suit from the waist-down. After about a half hour of the cool air hitting her rump, Dagny informed me she needed to go poopy. So, I picked her up and ran her to her little potty chair. Within a few minutes, she left a nice surprise in the potty bowl! Woo hoo!

She did this entirely on her own.

So, who was it that told me children should never be potty-trained before the age of three? Just goes to show that each kid does it on their own time. Apparently, just because someone is a parent, doesn't make him/her an expert on all children. We all do the best we can.

Seems like she's READY to rid herself of those dreadful diapers.

Get set!

Let's go!

What a nice homecoming present, eh?

Go! Go! Go!

2005-08-01T23:35:00.000-07:00

I took a blog hiatus last month. I guess summer does that to "at-home" moms. Even though Valerie has spent some time at camp, Dagny seems to require much more attention of late.

For example, if we spend more than a couple of hours at the house, as I try to put away groceries, do laundry, or other typical household chores, Dagny will reach her breaking point awfully quickly. See, after an hour or so of doing what she views as "nothing" she grows bored. Independently, she will open the door to the garage, stand by the car-door near her carseat and scream, "Go! Go! Go! Go!" until I physically place her in the car and drive somewhere. I've gone so far as to drive around the block. But pulling back into the driveway, she immediately returns to her tirade. There's no tricking this child....

Thank goodness Dagny has been accepted into a preschool program starting in September. Apparently, I'm not a very good entertainer unless I chauffeur her to an off-site location. September 6th is the date of blast-off. We've started to countdown... Just 35 more days and the teachers can entertain her twice a week for a few days...

If It Looks Like Chicken....

2005-06-29T17:25:00.000-07:00

While not officially attempting to potty train yet, Dagny has become quite interested in bathroom and potty activities of late. In general, mothers lack privacy the moment they give birth. Maybe when the kids go to college, privacy will return for most of us.

Going to the bathroom today with the door wide open, Dagny sauntered in and asked what I was doing.

Me: Well, what does it look like I'm doing?

Dagny: Going pee-pee! (stated proudly)

Me: Good guess. I'm going poopy. (offering her the words needed to describe her own bodily functions)

She ran around to the side of the potty and shouted, "I wanna see. I wanna see!"

After peering over the side, she shouted, "CHICKEN! MOMMY, LOOK CHICKEN!"

Oddly enough, we ate meat-loaf last night......

Monkeys Jumping on the Bed

2005-06-28T17:24:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, my girls started this bad habit of jumping on their beds. To absolutely no avail, I have tried to discourage this extremely dangerous exercise, largely because bed-jumping is the reason why most kids end up with a broken limb at the closest emergency room.

Last night, we put the girls to bed as usual. Within a few moments, we could hear the springs squeaking. Instead of running upstairs to attempt altering their behavior, I thought, "They'll get tired of it soon and eventually fall asleep." Let's just say, my motherly instinct was completely off-base this time. We all have bad days, right?

At 8:25pm, the creaking mattress spring suddenly halted. Then we heard a piercing scream from Dagny. At the same moment, Valerie panicked and screamed, "MOMMY, DADDY COME QUICK. DAGNY IS HURT. HELP! HELP! HELP!"

What felt like slow motion, Ken and I ran through the kitchen, up the stairs and through the hallway to their bedroom. I found Dagny screaming while sitting on her bed. Her hands drenched in blood, covered her nose and mouth. As parents, we wanted to do anything to take away her pain and to stop the blood. We offered cold cloths and ice to reduce the swelling.

Apparently, little Dagny jumped right into the headboard and smashed her face. By 10pm, the house was quiet and the kids were asleep. All night, I feared her nose was broken.

Fortunately, this morning, she looks better. Her nose is a little swollen and tender, but she is not black and blue. A couple of times, her nose has dripped a drop or two of blood, but she seems in pretty good spirits.

For those who allow their children and grandchildren to jump on the bed, I hate to say, "I told you so", but really it's not acceptable to teach children how to jump on beds. Our job is to protect them - not to teach them how to permanently maim and disfigure themselves.

I am just so thankful that she only hurt her nose and did not break a limb. Hopefully, this will be the last time they jump on the beds. I explained to Valerie that anyone who jumps on the bed in our house or who encourages jumping on the bed under our roof will sleep in the garage without bed privileges until further notice!

As the doctor says, "That's what you get for jumping on the bed."

Happy Camper

2005-06-21T17:22:00.000-07:00

Today marked Valerie's first day of camp at her new school. I left her at the school this morning feeling a little apprehensive. The place seemed completely chaotic - kids, counselors and parents just milling about. I feared there would be little organization to the day.

Fortunately, I stayed long enough to see that Valerie was assigned to a particular group. She trotted off with her counselors and I still had an uneasy feeling.

The day passed very slowly. I watched the clock tick and waiting by the phone, expecting them to call me to inform me of her difficulty adjusting.

The only noise in the house besides Dagny and myself was the ticking of the clock.

As the time neared for me to fetch her from camp, I grew anxious. We had enjoyed such a nice day yesterday at the museum and I missed her so much. Surely she had missed me too!

As I drove through the carpool lane, I viewed her smiling through the rearview mirror, happily ambling toward the car with her counselor.

Once she was settled in her car-seat, I asked, "How was your day? Did you have fun?"

Valerie: Yes, mommy. Camp is SO fun! (with an ear-to-ear grin)

Me: Great. What did you do that was so fun?

Valerie: I don't know.

Me: Did you make new friends?

Valerie: Yes (still beaming)

Me: What are their names?

Valerie: I don't know.

Me: What are your counselors' names?

Valerie: I don't know.

Me: Did you go swimming at camp?

Valerie: I don't know.

Me: But, you had fun at camp right?

Valerie: Yes - I LOVE CAMP! Can I go again tomorrow?

I have no idea what happened at camp today, but I do know that I reside with a truly happy camper!

Stinky Dinosaurs

2005-06-20T17:20:00.000-07:00

We went to the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County today. The purpose of the visit was to see the Pavilion of Wings exhibit. The butterflies were a hit with the girls.

We enjoyed viewing the dinosaur bones, the sparkling rocks, the stuffed mammals and visiting the interactive Discovery Center. Valerie even pet a California kingsnake named Oreo. Dagny made me carry her through the dinosaur exhibit when she panicked realizing the immensity of these former beasts.

Prior to this morning's visit, I explained a little about our trip to mentally prepare my offspring.

Me: We are going to a museum today to see butterflies. There will also be big dinosaurs at the museum.

Valerie: Are they alive?

Me: No, not anymore. We will see the dinosaur skeletons because these animals are now extinct.

Valerie: (pausing) Why do they stink?

Me: (giggling) Honey, they don't smell. Extinct means that the dinosaurs are no longer living. It means the whole species has died out and no longer live here with us. But the words stink and extinct sound alike right? Can you say extinct?

Valerie: No. I think I want to only see the butterflies.

The Gift of Father's Day

2005-06-19T17:19:00.000-07:00

In the US, the person who decided to take time to celebrate fatherhood and motherhood had to be a woman. Really, whoever came up with these special days, often marked as Hallmark holidays, was truly a genius.

Mother's Day is a time for mothers in this country to celebrate their motherhood ALONE. Yes, it's great to send the kiddies off with the daddies and say, "Mommy needs a break".

Father's Day, too, I now realize, is a time for daddies to spend time with their kiddies too.

So, thanks Kenny for letting me get so much done today without having to referee the girls. Hope you enjoyed your time as the involved dad that you are.

Aspirations for a Brother

2005-06-17T17:13:00.000-07:00

As we drove to school today, the conversation turned to brothers and sisters.

Valerie announced: My friend Stephanie has a big brother. I want one too.

Me: Well, it's doubtful that you'll have a big brother or little brother at this point. Your daddy and I have decided that we're happy with just two kids - you and your sister.

Valerie: But, I WANT a brother....

Me: Sorry. Maybe you can borrow your friend's brother until you get tired of him. Or better yet, why don't you pretend you have a brother.

Valerie: (excited) When I grow up, I'm going to be a brother.

Me: How are you going to do that? You're a sister. Once you're a sister, you're kind of stuck - you don't have any options or choice in the matter.

Valerie: It's okay mommy, I'm going to be a brother when I grow up.

Me: Maybe you could dress up as a brother for Halloween. Try that first. Later, you can decide if you want to be a brother when you grow up.

The conversation reminded me of my own disjointed assumptions as a little girl living on 48th Street in Des Moines, IA. I clearly remember straddling the potty. I had to practice going potty like a boy so that I would be ready to "turn into a boy" on my seventh birthday.

How do kids come up with this stuff?

Hang Time

2005-06-16T17:11:00.000-07:00

The latest and greatest weight-lifting program:

A Proud Moment

2005-06-15T17:09:00.000-07:00

Two years ago, a few weeks after Dagny's birth, I specifically recall the girls waking up for the day at the exact same moment. Upon hearing the children stir over the baby monitors, I swiftly gathered up Dagny from her crib and entered Valerie's room.

Valerie's face fell the moment I opened her bedroom door. She screamed at me holding her sister, "Baby, back to bed! Baby, back to bed!" I think those were the first words she uttered toward her sister since bringing the newborn home from the hospital.

In the last two years, Ken and I have worked hard to create a bond between the two girls and to teach compassion toward other people. As any siblings, they have their battles and their bonding moments.

This morning at the breakfast table, I looked over from my position at the sink to see that Valerie had opened Dagny's juice box without anyone making such a request. Valerie not only opened her sister's juice box, but opened her sister's juice first. Valerie offered this help to her sister completely out of the blue without a single prompt from mother or sister. My heart swelled with pride at the thoughtful and considerate behavior my eldest daughter displayed.

Two years ago, dealing with a self-centered only child, the outlook for teaching compassion seemed bleak. For some reason, viewing this small demonstration of kindness today reminded me of how far we've come. Of course, we have a long journey ahead, but it was truly wonderful to mark the moment and see that Ken and my teachings of compassion are not being entirely ignored.

It's moments like these that make motherhood a rewarding experience!

In the Summer Time

2005-06-13T17:08:00.000-07:00

When recounting a memory, Valerie is apt to begin the story with, "In the summer time, ...."

For example, "In the summer time, we ate watermelon." I may not recall the particular moment of consumption, but most likely, this occurred at some point last summer.

Or, "Remember when I took swimming lessons in the summer time?" Why yes, of course, I remember.

Whether a particular event happened a year ago, a month ago, a week ago, or even just yesterday, Valerie often begins the story with the phrase "In the summertime, ...."

In describing another flashback, Valerie might say, "Daddy, in the summer time, I saw Santa Claus." Um, yes, we went to the mall to visit Santa Claus, but that was during the winter time just before Christmas.

Recently, "Mommy, remember when you came to visit my school to celebrate mother's day in the summer time?" Well, last month, I came to your class to celebrate mother's day and that was in the spring time.

Or even, "In the summertime, last week, Stephanie came to play at my house."

Perhaps the confusion of time stems from the warm southern California climate to which we have become accustomed. Or perhaps, the confusion of seasons and timing relates to the failure for most preschoolers to comprehend time in general.

The Ear Ache

2005-06-08T17:06:00.000-07:00

Today marked the second morning Valerie awoke with an ear ache. (At least I hope it was only the second morning. My days tend to run together.) Making a mental note of the complaint, I helped the kids get dressed, teeth brushed, hair combed and tummies fed.

My most insightful moments often occur while driving the car. As I returned to pick Valerie up from school, I remembered I should probably call the doctor to schedule an immediate a sick visit to check Valerie's ear. I would hate for her hearing to be negatively impaired from an ear infection. So, off we tromped to the pediatrician's office.

Arriving at the doctor's office, the nurse began by asking, "So how can we help you today?"

To which I responded, "Valerie, can you tell the nurse why we came for a visit?"

Valerie shrugged her shoulders and smiled shyly with that childlike blank stare, "I dunno."

Me: Do you have any aches or pains today? (thinking, I must look like an idiot parent, but I don't want to always respond on behalf of my kids as though they are mutes)

Valerie: Ummmmmm - maybe because of my ear? (Right on, sister!)

Me: Does your ear still hurt? (or did I drive us here to appear like the resident nutcase?)

Valerie: I think so.

Me: Can you tell us which ear hurts? (hoping she would pick the same one as earlier)

Valerie: I dunno.

Pause

Valerie: I think it's this one? (pointing to the left ear)

Me: (Phew, at least she was consistent!)

As we waited twenty minutes for the doctor to arrive and check the ailing ear, I wondered if I jumped too quickly by making the doctor appointment after only two days of complaints. Valerie has not had a fever yet. She has cried "wolf" enough times in our four year tenure together that it might be possible she just awoke on the wrong side of the bed again this morning.

As the doctor ambled into the examining room and thoroughly checked out Valerie's medical condition, I worried that I wasted the physician's time. Am I one of those overly cautious parents that just likes to waste doctor's time? Whatever the pediatrician diagnoses is going to have a pro and a con: either she's sick (bad) and I was right (good) or I was wrong (bad) and she's well (good).

The doctor determined that, in fact, Valerie has an ear infection and needs to start antibiotics. On the bright side, I am glad I followed my intuition and was not exposed as a lunatic.

Unfortunately, getting her to ingest the prescribed thick and chalky antibiotics is the worst part of the diagnosis.

Maybe tomorrow, I can hope that for improvements in the taste!?!?! Or my stunted brain cells will discover a creative antibiotic recipe to serve.

Starting with "S"

2005-06-07T17:04:00.000-07:00

This morning, Valerie announced, "I want my name to start with an 'S' like my friend Stephanie. Why doesn't my name start with 'S'?"

Me: Are you sure you want your name to start with S?

Valerie: Yes.

Me: Do you want to change your name to Sarah or Sabrina or Samantha? Those names start with the letter "S".

Valerie: No, I want my name to be Valerie with an "S".

Me: Okay, should I call you Salerie from now on?

Valerie: No, my name is VALERIE!

Me: Great, I like the name Valerie, too. But Valerie starts with the letter "V".

Valerie: NOOOOO, I want my name to start with "S".

Me: Well, as soon as you can figure out how to accomplish that, let me know.

Juice

2005-06-06T17:03:00.000-07:00

Having run out of 4-oz Juicy Juice boxes that the kids drink for breakfast this morning, I poured each of them small cups of my beverage of choice, Tropicana orange juice.

Over the last few days, the girls claim to love my daily serving of orange juice and fight over who gets to drink from my cup first. Since becoming a mother, there is no such thing as my having personal belongings. As the saying goes, "What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine." So true, in our household.

Sitting at the breakfast table, they each scrunched their nose at their personal cups full of orange juice.

Dagny stated, "Don't like it!"

Valerie claimed, "This doesn't taste good, mom!"

I offered, "Do you want to drink my orange juice instead?"

In unison, "YES! Your orange juice is better!"

So, I drank their cups in exchange for their sharing my glass.

After a few minutes, I interjected, "Do you realize that each cup of juice came from the same juice container? We're all drinking the SAME juice - just in different cups."

No response - they just looked at me and smiled.

Ain't that something to ponder....

Drawing Straws

2005-06-01T17:00:00.000-07:00

With Ken traveling again, the girls are up to their usual antics: fighting over any toy the other one decides she likes. This evening, the toy of choice was the Fisher Price Little People School Bus.

As they squabbled, it was a textbook girl fight including hair-pulling and skin scratching. I intervened to avoid the fangs leaving marks. My solution du jour was drawing straws.

I explained, "See this toothpick? I am going to break it into two pieces. One piece is short and the other is long. If you pick the long straw, you get to play with the bus first for five minutes. If you choose the short straw, you will play with the bus second - after the timer buzzes in five minutes. Understand?"

Smiling with the excitement of a new game, their heads bobbed affirmatively. I knew this would be a short-lived, fun game as the one who drew the short straw would fuss that about life not being fair.

Valerie chose her straw first, since she seemed to fully understood the game. Dagny just followed suit because she tends to go with the flow. Ewe... she drew the short straw, but she didn't know it yet.

Then it was Dagny's turn. We compared the two straws, noting that Dagny received the first opportunity to play with the bus. As Valerie complained that drawing straws isn't a very fun game, I set the timer and continued stacking the dinner dishes. The complaining died down and the timer rang five minutes later.

"Valerie it's your turn to play with the bus!" I shouted.

"Oh, I already played with it!"

Go figure!

I guess the other alternatives are to buy two of everything to avoid these fights. Or, we could separate and label all of the household toys into what belongs to Valerie and what belongs to Dagny. However, to me those alternatives just seem like the easy way out. As parents, aren't we supposed to teach our children out to interact with others? If they don't learn how to negotiate with their siblings and family members, the world will eat them alive, eh?

So, we'll stick to taking turns and drawing straws until I can come up with a better solution.

Protecting the Gift

2005-05-31T16:49:00.000-07:00

Having grown up in a fairly safe environment in Iowa, as a young adult I was unaware the degree to which nefarious people inhabit this earth. It took living in New York City along with my midwestern cognitive education to become acquainted with what atrocious crimes people are capable and willing to commit against humanity. Maybe it's to a fault, but I have learned to trust my instincts when I encounter questionable circumstances. Furthermore, now that I am a mother, my first and foremost purpose in life is to protect my children from harm's way. My own mother describes me as a mama bear protecting her cubs.

I try to be extra aware of my surroundings when we are out and about town (which is usually daily unless there is an illness), especially when with the kids. At the grocery store today, a homeless-looking woman snuck up behind me as I pulled Dagny out of her car-seat. She asked me for five dollars. My immediate reaction was, "No! I don't carry cash with me." And I quickly walked to the entrance of the grocery store. Maybe my internal alarm bells rang because I am out of practice encountering those with mental and physical problems openly on the street in my current neighborhood. Perhaps, I just don't like to have strangers approach me quickly and quietly from behind. Either way, my instinct was to get my child to a safe place immediately.

As I paid for our groceries, the cashier asked if I needed assistance loading the car. I hesitated but declined; however, I mentioned the panhandler situation to her. I exited the store, searched the parking lot for the begging woman and noticed that she was two rows away. In my head, I had plenty of time to dump the groceries in the back end of the car, plop Dagny in her car-seat and get myself buckled into the car and the car doors locked before the woman could approach us again. That plan turned out to be overly optimistic. Before I could throw two grocery bags into the back of the car, the panhandler quickly darted our way. This time, without hesitation, I closed the car, grabbed the grocery cart with Dagny still sitting there and headed for the entrance of the store.

As I rushed back into the store to ask for assistance loading my car, I wondering why I was so alarmed. I imagined that this unknown panhandler would pull out a concealed weapon and threaten my daughter. Perhaps I have seen too many Hollywood action flicks. My fear could have been entirely irrational, but I was not willing to take a chance. Most likely, if I were on a solo trip to the grocery store, I would have felt no anxiety and only considered it odd that someone was begging for money at the grocery store for the first time in two years.

At the time, I felt bad about my reaction to this woman. Clearly, she needed help due to her mental and physical state. I feel bad about the way I treated her, but I surely don't feel bad about my decision to protect my child. In fact, if the same situation arises tomorrow, I will react similarly.

Recently, a friend told me that she had been molested by her grandfather during her childhood. When she told her parents, they chose not to believe her. I want to be a parent who protects my children from ALL harmful situations. I want to be a parent who is an advocate for my children and possible future grandchildren. I think in order to successfully protect my offspring, I will need to trust my instincts and believe what my children tell me. If I do not listen to my kids, who will?

One of the major atrocities of this country is that the government and American adult voters continue to cut funding for youth programs in favor of the elderly. I wish more parents and grandparents would stand up and vote for the future instead of short-term solutions for selfish gain. My childhood was a wonderful time. I would like my children to have an opportunity to have a better life than I have had. If parents and grandparents worried less about what their "due" is and focused more on the potential for the future, our world would be a much better place. Why not try to leave this world a better one than when you entered it?