Chicago Moms Blog

Beyond the usual of being a mom...

Four years ago, on June 27th, I got "the call"--the one you dread as an adult, the one you wish you'd never get. My dad was dying and the doctors had told our family members to gather everyone around.

My older son was 8 weeks old, only home for 6 weeks after his 2 week NICU stint. I had just gotten over hanging out by a hospital bed feeling helpless...or so I thought. We scrambled, got a flight to SF and 24 hours after we arrived and my dad met his first grandchild, he passed...on my parents 37th wedding anniversary.

I got "the call" again a week ago from my mom. She, thankfully is ok, but her older sister, the last of the 3 surviving out of 9 children is not. I scrambled, making her flight reservations, contacting the US Consulate in Tijuana because her passport is expired but she has her naturalization papers, drivers license, et al, and trying to ensure her safe passage back to the US as well as trying to determine if and when we could get there from Chicago--expired/lost passports and all.

The Gift of Community

The school year ended this week for my Nik, his first year in preschool. It was filled with love, laughter, backpack folders filled with all sorts of paper creations, birthday party invites, tears at drop off, giggles when a classmate's name was mentioned.

My year as a first year parent was filled with the chaos of getting the kids out the door by 8am (we live 2 miles from school) and learning to sit in traffic on the Kennedy for 20 minutes to go three exits!  I got involved with our school fundraisers, met a fantastic group of parents that became my committee members and volunteered in my son's classroom once a week--just because. Life got comfortable. Nik loved school and we loved everything about his school. We were in our zone, our groove.

But as it always goes, there is something that throws you off, something minor at times, something more dramatic in this case.  On a Sunday night, March 15th to be exact I received an email from my school gala co-chair.  One of the little girls at school, "KG" had been diagnosed on Friday, March 13 with Stage 4 Wilms Tumor, a rare childhood cancer.  The frightening part was, almost exactly a year before, another little girl, "GG" had been diagnosed with the same cancer and it was "KG's" family that had lead the charge to support "GG"s family.

Food for the Soul — “Comfort Food” by Kate Jacobs

Food is everywhere. It provides nourishment,  plays a large part in learning one’s cultural roots, maintains our ability to function, and in many cultures, is part of one’s rite of passage, or in the case of Kate Jacobs’ novel, rites of passage.

We blog about food, as mothers, it is always on our minds—what to make for dinner, what to feed our little ones, organic vs generic, what restaurants are kid friendly, what restaurants are date night friendly, how can we cut our grocery bill in this economy without sacrificing the quality of the food we buy.  On a bad day, we can turn to food to provide solace. On a good day, we turn to food to celebrate our bodies and minds. Kate Jacobs captures the human spirit in her book “Comfort Food” and brings back my memories of my 29^th year, obsessing over my “checklist,” what was coming next, where I was in life, where I was going, where my life needed to change. Like the main character, Gus, my life came to an impasse (abet 20 years younger) and food and drink played a huge part in that. I started entertaining again—the bigger the party the better, regained a love of food that I had discovered on my own (my mother to this day eats because it’s a necessity and hates to cook even though she did almost every night when we were growing up—sorry mom!), and as I am staring the big 40 in the face next year, my favorite room in the house, as it was ten years ago, is the kitchen.  In the kitchen, I have loved, lost, celebrated and mourned, over wine, homemade applesauce, pot-roasts, birthday cakes and the occasional bag of chips.       

Like Gus, without the career in food, I have spent my life in the kitchen, entertaining, concocting, debating, finding solace, finding my soul.  Gus is real, even for those who are kitchen challenged. For those of us who love the kitchen she is our mirror image on the Food Network, whichever chef is closest to our hearts. For those who are kitchen challenged, she is the waitstaff that directs us to the menu item that becomes our "usual" or the person behind the deli counter that saves the day once again in a pinch before a dinner party. Gus is a thinker, an artist, a doer. She is the modern day woman, the modern day mom, with her forte being the kitchen.

Life is a celebration. Bring on the food that creates our everyday memories and gets us through the mundane as well as the challenges that arise. Bring on “comfort food.”

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post. When she's not shooing her kids out of the kitchen or running a school fundraiser, Serena Beltz can be found at Chic Simple Moms or  Multicultural Mama.

Kindergarten Rejection

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Beltz......

After (6) months of filling out forms, meetings and interviews, prepping ourselves and our almost 4 year old son, I reached into our mailbox for the coveted envelope.

The #10 envelope with the school’s familiar logo growled at me from the depths of my mailbox. I knew what was inside before even opening it.

We’d been…I tore the envelope open with the gusto of Charlie in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory…” In our case, no Golden Ticket, not even a wait list. A full out rejection.

…For early decision Kindergarten.

KINDERGARTEN.

I love all day preschool!

It's hard to believe but we've already had to submit the form to my son's preschool, reregistering for this Fall. I happily signed him for the 5 day option, the ALL DAY 5 day option. His school, prior to him arriving there, ended their ½ day program and since they've added an additional classroom, I suspect I'm not the only mom that likes the full-day program.

My son is an "older three" with an April birthday so perhaps that's one of the reasons why I feel comfortable with him being away all day. Going back further, I suspect that it's because he was a NICU baby (full-term, just didn't like labor) for the first 11 days of his life so I learned early on that there were other people perfectly capable of taking care of him. Distance also plays a part I suppose. We live 4 miles from school which on a good day is a 10 minute drive, on a bad traffic day can take up to 40 minutes. Deep down, I know my reasons are very biased as I've worked in elementary education as a teacher's aide in preschool classrooms and seen both programs in action.

Snow day...for SOME of us....

We got hit with a dickens of a storm here in Chicago, the second this week. 300 flights canceled at O'Hare, 30 (including my sitter's) flights at Midway. For the most part, the city went on lockdown last night before rush hour with schools and corporate entities alike planning for the worst. I stopped by my son's school to drop off gifts for the teachers and administration yesterday afternoon, assuming that today, the last day of school before break would be a snow day.  My husband works in commercial landscaping and snow is his winter specialty. We were making bets, despite the fact the storm kept getting moved from 3pm to 5pm to 7:40pm to 9pm on whether today would be a snow day or not.

Now, for the non-Chicagoland readers, one must understand that snow is an intricate dance between the City, unions, contractors, sub-contractors and the like. Daily commutes can range from those who live in the city and spend 20 minutes on an EL train to those driving in from Wisconsin or Indiana at the early hours of dawn, spending up to an hour in traffic. Add snow to the mix and a comfortable commute turns into 4 hours slugging through snow and slush.

Hug your kids--it's the holiday season!

I dread the holidays. And here it is, 6.44am central time on Thanksgiving and I'm WIDE AWAKE for no apart reason except the thoughts running through my head.  I dread the holidays for childhood reasons, simply because they were emotionally traumatic for me.

I was THAT KID that threw up on Christmas Eve at age 6 all over the mens' department at Macy's and never forgot it. Why? Because I had the stomach flu leading up to Thanksgiving and spent that in bed, my not so forgiving mother reminding me that I had ruined everyone's day.  And here it was, a month later, and in a flash, Christmas was moved to our house and my mother had to host and she never let me forget that either.

I was simply, the one that ruined the holidays in 1976.  Nothing worse to tell a child because it stays with them forever. I'm 38 years old now. Believe me, I haven't forgotten.

ADD Mama

I'm scattered. And I can't blame it on "mommy brain." I'm just scattered and I've documents to prove it.

I've been scattered for as long as I can remember and that's pretty far back, spanning 34+ years. It's not intentional, it's not age, it's Attention Deficit Disorder and I've had it for most of my life.

Contrary to what people think, ADD isn't a bandwagon diagnosis or condition. For those of us who deal with its complexities on a daily basis, it's REAL. I could be the poster child for all the meds you see in the parenting magazines. Ritalin, Wellbutrin, Stratera. None of them worked in any form. Yes, I could concentrate a bit easier but it came with side effects. My co-workers learned very quickly how to recognize the signs...of my Ritalin crash if I didn't take my second dose on time. Not a pretty sight on a deadline to say the least.

My car needs a makeover!

My car needs a makeover! My 2004 Forest Green Ford Explorer, affectionately nicknamed "Zilla" as in "Godzilla," was once my pride and joy. Now she has a few ouchies on the exterior and needs a lot of TLC on the inside.

Zilla needs a day at the spa and a makeover!

Her grey interior, once spotless is now littered with Cheerios, Goldfish crackers, empty sippy cups and an endless supply of pacifiers.  Books are strewn about as wtih Happy Meal toys and random change.  The cup holders are always home to some empty juice box or chewed up straw and my seat smells like the coffee I spilled in a mad dash to get Bubs to school on time. The front passenger seat holds the mail I bring with me on the way to preschool pick-up should I actually get there early one day and have time to open and read it (hasn't happened yet).

Bahm!

"Bahm!" my 18 month old "Mister" screeches when he hears my husband's alarm clock go off. 

"Mama, mama! Bahm!" He's now bouncing on me as he somehow wound up sleeping with us last night, his two year molars coming in, slight fever and all.  Obviously he is feeling much better this morning.

"Mom. Mama. Mama." He is now nose to nose with me, pacifier still in his mouth. "Ma-ma."

My husband thinks this is awfully cute. A display of affection.  But he's up for the day. I'm not.

"Mom." At 18 months, Mister knows how to get my attention. Even his three year old brother doesn't call me mom yet.

"Bahm!"  The bouncing on top of mom starts again. "Bahm!"

It's now 5:30AM. I am not amused. Why is it exactly that Mister didn't make it back into his own bed when his dad came to bed after watching the Eagles lose to the Cowboys on Monday Night Football? Hmmm.  Don't wake the sleeping baby right?  Well, that same baby is wide awake and even though dad has one foot out the door to work, I have no need to be up this early.

Normally I find his new word cute, amusing, endearing. 

"Bahm!"

Not at the crack of dawn when I'm still trying to get some sleep and he is trying to snuggle and use me as a trampoline at the same time.  This game continues for another hour or so.  Putting him back in his crib is futile at this point: he can get out of his sleep sack and his crib and I am in no mood to play "put the toddler back in his bed." 

At 7:00AM, I send him back to his room to get his brother up. I guess I'm up for the day even if I don't want to be.  It's not a school day--I want a more sleep but that is futile. Come on mom, roll with it!

It is now 9:30AM. The formerly wide awake Mister is down for a nap and I'm trying to decide whether to try to sneak in an hour of sleep before we have to take his brother to his cooking class.

Nah. 

"Bahm!"