Chicago Moms Blog

I Want to Become a Tree

When I heard, on NPR of all places, that Michael Jackson was going to be buried in a $25,00 gold coffin, I choked. It could not be farther from what I want to happen when I die.  As a former attorney and  current control freak, I've had a will for many years.  I decided long ago that I wanted to rest as naturally as possible.  After donating all the organs one can use from my hopefully very old but in very good condition body (If I have my way, I will have died peacefully in my sleep next to my husband),  I state  in my will that no embalming fluid may be used (toxic to the environment, especially the water supply and it is toxic to those employees in the funeral business) and that I should be buried in a simple, inexpensive pine box without a liner in the ground.  My desire: to be "worm food." Some of my friends and family members are freaked out about the idea of worms and other bugs eating away at one's own corpse.  To me, it couldn't be more natural.  I am Jewish and we are supposed to go back into the ground, the whole "ashes to ashes and dust to dust" thing as G-d created man from the dust of the earth.  Cremation is a no-no for my religion.

My Answer: "C. Moderately Stressed"

I'm on the list of several focus group companies where, on the rare occasion I qualify, pay me for my opinion.  Lately, the same type of question has been popping up among the three companies where I am listed:  What is your stress level?  A. extremely stressed B. very stressed C. moderately stressed  D. lightly stressed  and E. not stressed at all.  When the  interviewer telephoned me today to  see if I qualified for a  focus group on beer (sample beer and get paid for it -- yes please!), I answered confidently, "moderately stressed." 

After I hung up the telephone I stopped to think about my response.  Am I really just moderately stressed?  You see, our family has a lot going on. In addition to the ongoing daily stresses of trying to hold together a marriage, contain my cluttered home, and put healthy food on the table, we are attempting to pay our estimated income taxes even though Gadget Man's paycheck is increasingly smaller.  As I write this, I've got water coming into my basement from all of the rain we've been having.  Also, I'm at the tail end of two whole weeks alone with my children while they are in between school and summer camp (I'm going on six weeks with preschooler Charlie).  My mother, who usually gives me a few hours' break three days a week, has been out of town for the last ten days.  Furthermore, my father-in-law is near death in the hospital.  Finally, and what should be the most stressful for me, I had a biopsy yesterday and I'll be waiting for the next three days to find out if my breast tumor is cancerous. Indeed, shouldn't I be more than "moderately stressed?"

Lyme Disease: How an Innocent Frolic in the Woods Can Go Terribly Wrong

We were up Harbor County, Michigan this Memorial Day weekend.  When I returned to the house after a relaxing walk on the beach alone, I heard some voices overhead.  I looked up to see seven-year-old Eva and my father making their way down a hill out of the  woods that surrounds the house.  I basked in the glow that can only be matched by fathers and daughters.  I felt so blessed that they have such a wonderful close relationship, something I never had with my grandfathers since we lived long distance.  "Mommy!  Mommy!" She screamed as she ran down the hill toward me, "Grandpa just took me on a nature walk! Look at my walking stick!"  My father looked proud.  He had found another little girl to worship him, something that I probably stopped doing the first time I discovered he didn't know "everything."

Well, of course I thought it was all wonderful.  What could be wrong with a child and her grandfather frolicking in the woods?  "There are ticks in there!" My mother screeched when she discovered where they had been.  "You'd better check her hair," she warned me.  "Oh mom, if I feel or see a bulge then I'll just take it out," I replied calmly.  "The ticks up here can carry Lyme Disease, you know," Mom said.  Suddenly, a familiar wave of panic washed over me: Lyme Disease!  I had forgotten to worry about Lyme Disease!

Foster Care: Protection Needed

Previously, in my lawyer life, I worked as a Guardian ad Litem for the Cook County Public Guardian's Office. Although I was privileged to be working under one of the most dedicated and talented attorneys in the country, Patrick Murphy, there was something very wrong with the whole system.  As attorney and Guardian ad Litem, it was my job to act as an advocate for the child's desires as well as act in the child's best interest.  Oftentimes, these were two separate roles to play.  Almost all of the time, the children, no matter how abused at home, would want to go back to their parents.  Most of the time, it was not in the child's best interest to do so.  Once children were removed from the home on a temporary basis,  DCFS (Department of Children and Family Services) would attempt to find a suitable person within the family to take the children, if none could be found, the children were placed in foster care with strangers.  Because DCFS and the Public Guardian's Office is  so heavily overloaded with cases (indeed, my own caseload was over 80 cases, and one case could have ten or more children who were usually not placed together!) a volunteer organization called CASA ("Court Appointed Special Advocate") is invaluable. I am dedicating this post to them today in honor of their important role in the foster care system and their Forgotten Children Event today, May 8th at the Thompson Center in Chicago's Loop..

Gun Toting Birthday Boy

This April 20th is the ten year anniversary of the Columbine High School Massacre.  I will never forget how I felt while I sat helplessly alone in my apartment watching it unfold in real time on television.  These were real children, with real guns, killing real people.  With the upcoming anniversary in mind, I couldn't help but cringe when one of my dearest friends mentioned that she was having her seven year-old's birthday party at Lazer Zone.  "Well, you don't have to ask me what I think of that," I said  curtly.   "Yeah, yeah, and I'm sure you wouldn't approve of the Nerf guns we're giving out as favors," she retorted dismissively. I love her, even though we sometimes disagree about the way we raise our children.  Oftentimes, I'm an uptight, worry-wort killjoy.  I try to see the other side of things, but in this case, I just don't get how or why anyone would celebrate a seven year-old's birthday by giving that boy and a bunch of other six and seven-year-olds toy guns and suggesting they run around and try to "shoot" each other. 

Caretaker for the SAHM

Recently, I woke up freezing.  I was freezing in bed, freezing in the shower, freezing out of the shower, freezing with my morning tea, and really, really freezing at Eva's bus stop.. "I just can't get warm," I told my mom while she was in the car driving over to watch Charlie for the afternoon so I could meet a girlfriend for lunch. "Maybe you're sick," she suggested.  I raced upstairs to take my temperature. 100 degrees.  I'm usually a bit under "normal," so the 100 reading was cause for concern.  "Mom!  I have a fever!" I called down to her as she entered my home with her key.  After hanging up with my girlfriend to tell her I couldn't meet her for lunch, I got into bed and stayed there until dinnertime when Gadget Man returned home, taking advantage of my mom's presence.

The next day, I was still feverish and I was hit hard by a terrible cold which went right to my sinuses.  Thank G-d for Mom, who came back again so I could lay in bed for most of the day.  Thank G-d for the weekend, and for my husband, Gadget Man, who let me stay in bed for two more days while I suffered from temperatures up to 102.7, and tremendous sinus pressure pain that even Advil and Tylenol could not relieve.  Even my gums hurt when I breathed through my mouth, and I had to breathe through my mouth!  The only thing that helped my sinuses was a rice and herb stuffed face pack which was heated and reheated in the microwave to keep on my forehead.  I needed it so hot that I managed to scald my scalp over the course of my sickness. I couldn't even get mucus through my neti pot!

Jealousy

The strangest feeling came over me when I read an email this morning.  Matt, an ex-boyfriend from my high school days, emailed me, mentioning that he and his wife were having a third child in a couple of weeks.  A wave of jealousy washed over me.  Of course, I replied with the appropriate "Mazel Tov!" and "I'm so happy for you . . ." that kind of thing.  But I was really feeling something not so nice.   All day I've been trying to figure out what the heck is wrong with me.  Why am I channeling the green-eyed monster?  Do I want a third child?  Do I want to have his child?

Lately, I've been reliving some old memories.  My mom showed up on my doorstep a week ago and dumped three large dusty boxes into my living room.  "Dad and I are finally cleaning out the basement," she explained; "these appear to be yours." Along with my junior high school yearbooks, my Rubiks Cube, and some Hello Kitty colored pencils, there were dozens of letters from high school and college friends and boyfriends.  I read the letters, reliving my lost loves and heartbreaks.  The truth is, Matt broke my heart more that anyone else ever did.  Our high school romance began passionately and ended passionately.  He was the only guy (that I know of) to ever cheat on me.  It was quite the teen drama because it was one of those things were everyone knew but me.  Finally, an acquaintance took pity on me and told me about Matt's transgression, something my three so-called "best friends" chose not to reveal.  After many denials and protests on his part, he finally admitted it and I fell apart.  At the time, I didn't think life could go on . . . ah to be that young!

Video Game Meltdown

The worst thing about being married to Gadget Man is, frankly, his gadgets.  When he gives Eva and Charlie a bath, he sits himself down in the bathroom with his Game boy.  When he lies down with the children to wait for them to fall asleep (yeah, we do that), he plugs his earphones into his ipod and listens to a WGN or NPR podcast.  G-d forbid, if the man has to wait more than thirty seconds for anything, he pulls out his iphone and checks his email or plays a video game.

I can hardly put all of the blame on Gadget Man.  During all of this cold weather, I have been very lax about the amount of video games Eva and Charlie have been allowed to play.  It has been so easy leave them logged on to PBSkids.org or with their hands clenched on the Wii steering wheel racing motorcycles as Baby Mario and Princess Peach while I read the newspaper cover to cover, check my emails, open the mail, pay some bills, make a few telephone calls, etc.. But that Webkinz, ooh those fury little stuffed animals have wreaked havoc in our home.

Aging Drivers and the Children Who Love Them

Lately, I've been feeling more like a mom to my aging family members.  Of course all of this was inevitable.  Indeed, it is a blessing to have had these people in my life this long.  Unfortunately, some of them are demonstrating poor judgment.   My problem is, how do I "parent" my elderly relatives without  embarrassing, alienating, or degrading them in the process?

I live in Skokie, so I'm used to driving defensively around the elderly (I just pretend it's sunny Miami).  It came as no shock to me when today, as the family was settling into our seats waiting for The Tale of Despereaux to begin, Gadget Man got an email from his brother with a picture of my father-in-law's  totaled car sitting on the Kennedy Expressway.  Apparently, his dog, who was riding on his lap at the time, had distracted his already abysmal driving and he crashed into the concrete barrier.  Luckily for the dog, the airbag didn't deploy and suffocate the little ball of fur.  Miraculously and thankfully, no one got hurt.  As for me, I got really scared.

The Arrogance of Striving for Perfection

Whenever I lose something, anything really, it drives me totally and completely batty.  I become that person I have been trying so hard not to be.  I become that person who "sweats the small stuff."  I ask myself, "How could I lose that?" and  "Why isn't it where it should be?" and "Why does there have to be so much chaos?"  I don't want to be that person, but I am.  For example, this morning, I came downstairs to find that my blue painter's tape was missing.  This morning, I needed it to label Eva's organic chocolate milk box she was taking for her school lunch. I use this tape many times a day.  I use it to post "to do" notes; I use it to tack up receipts and dry cleaning slips near the door so I grab them on my way out; I use it to hang the children's artwork, etc. When it is not in the drawer where it belongs or on the counter near the drawer, I go crazy. With futility, I shout to Eva and Charlie in the next room, "Guys, has anyone seen my blue tape?"  "No," they sigh in unison.  After all, they are quite used to this type of question.  The irony is, not once in my entire family life has my husband or children been able to tell me what has happened to something I've lost.    Just two weeks ago, my blue roll of tape disappeared completely.  Where did it go?  It was driving me bananas for days.  Finally, hubby Gadget Man looked me in the eye and said, "Why don't you just go to the basement and bring up a new one?" 

He was right.  Why was I letting it bother me so much?  For gosh sake, it's just a roll of tape, and we had another one stored on the basement.  The thing is, I lost my VISA card this week too, but I hardly batted an eyelash over it.  My wallet had quite a few holes in it and it made perfect sense that it must have fallen out somewhere (of course, I silently scolded myself for walking around with a tattered wallet where something like this was bound to happen).  I simply picked up the telephone, cancelled the lost card and requested a new one which wouldn't arrive in the mail for three to five business days.  Looking back at this, I realize losing the VISA caused more trouble than running down to the basement to get a new roll of tape.  Regardless,  I stressed and complained about the lost blue tape four whole days before giving up and seeking a new roll.  What's wrong with me?