NYC Moms

The First

I've been reading to my daughter since she was a baby, like parents are encouraged to.  I remember the times we read together fondly, mostly because I have faulty memory and have filtered my attempts to get the toddler that she was to stop running around and just listen to me, into a cherubic scene of us snuggling while looking through the pages of Jamberry.

When she got older, I wanted to so much for us to read together.  A mother-daughter book group of two.  Reading to me is a lifeline. I am not happy unless I have a book that engages me.  I am not happy without a book.  She resisted.

Although she was an early reader, she hated to talk about books.  And I didn't love the books that she chose.  Junie B. Jones drained me. I didn't understand why Junie wasn't in a constant time out.  Or incarcerated.

A Day Without Children

I recently attended a week-long program that my company holds every year at Vassar College.  In order to attend, I had to take my children to stay with my family in the Detroit area while I was away.  I missed them terribly while I was gone, and at one point, it seemed, in every conversation I had with one of my colleagues, I spoke of how happy I would be to see them again.

Over and over, I repeated my planned travel schedule to anyone who would listen: program ends on Thursday, return to New York City for one day on Friday, and fly to Detroit on Saturday to reunite with the kids and spend a week with my family in the Detroit area.

After hearing this travelogue for the umpteempth time, one of my colleagues said, "Oh!  So you have a day at home, in your house, by yourself!"

The Last Minute Sabotage

Last week I found a word on Urban Dictionary that defines me perfectly: chronoptomist.  Well, maybe not their specific definition, which involved getting weed, something I don't get (in the literal sense, and in that I just don't understand why people do it - I already have no memory and constant munchies).  But the implied definition, that I always think it's going to take me less time to do things than it actually does, is me all the way.  My kids are consistently five or ten minutes late for school.  The problem is, we live too close to school.  It is at the very most, if we're dawdling, a ten minute walk away.  If we lived farther, especially if we had to drive, I would build in extra time for the unforeseen: slow traffic, an accident, lack of parking, etc.  But there's really nothing between our house and school that will slow us down enough to make them late.

So how does it happen then?  It's the kids' fault (isn't it always?).  Our mornings are actually kind of mellow.  Nine days out of ten, I don't even have to be showered before dropping them off (if you've ever tried to make an appointment with me before noon and I've been reluctant, now you know why), and my daughter gets a bath the night before.  Only Jake has to shower when waking up.  He recently started making breakfast for himself and his sister, so after showering and getting dressed he rushes through breakfast so that he can spend some time with his video games before school.  He's an early riser, so there are days when he has an hour between breakfast and school in which to play, or watch TV.  I'm often asleep through all of this.

Summer Sunshine -- Uh Oh!

All parents know what it's like to have a stranger on the street tell you to bundle up your child in the cold or put a hat on. And surely you can appreciate the frustration that ensues when you know the reason your child isn't wearing a hat or gloves is because he refuses even though you’re aware that his hands and ears feel like popsicles. So now that it's summer it's time for the less obvious advice and perhaps a little guilt or self doubt. 
 
Recently we were walking along the street taking in the sights of a street fair. I'd walked through while they were setting up early in the morning and my son was completely engrossed watching the tents being set up. As we walked by, I pointed out the different merchandise that would soon be on display for interested buyers. He was practically in a trance and, to my surprise, not even bothered at being in his stroller for an hour. 

Traveling with Baby, or not?

Haven't we all gotten the pang? The feeling deep in your belly when you see an adorable baby and want (another) one of your own desperately? Their delicious scent, adorable smile and seemingly edible tiny feet are captivating.

I traveled home from  Istanbul yesterday, and saw many cute babies in the airport.  I was kid-less (my two are away at sleep-away camp) and I breezed through the airport with Ayelet Waldman's book "Bad Mother" in one hand, and nothing but my purse slung over the other.  Ms. Waldman's has a chapter in her insightful and funny book on motherhood entitled, "Baby Lust".  Ms. Waldman is a mother of four, yet she still fights that urge to have another she says, "Never again to feel the sandbag weight of a baby slung over my shoulder? Never again to hold miniature, translucent starfish fingers in my hand? Never again to match my breath to a baby's shallow wheeze?"

Tragedy

My family has been in utter shock for days.  A friend of my daughter’s, a senior in high school with excellent grades and lots of friends, committed suicide.

This must be the ultimate parental nightmare.  Not only is your child dead, but she chose to end her life.  According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), suicide is the third-leading cause of death for 15- to 24-year-olds, surpassed only by accidents and homicide.

What Happened to the Girl I Married?: Join us for Silicon Valley Moms Group's next Book Club on Friday, July 17th

Let's face it - sometimes a couple's relationship changes once they have kids. Join us Friday, July 17th as we discuss the book What Happened to the Girl I Married by Michael Miller and talk about what we think happened for our next book club.

About What Happened to the Girl I Married (from the author's website): In What Happened to the Girl I Married?, Miller steps out of his corporate executive job and into his wife’s uncomfortable shoes at home. With no staff or administrative assistants to support him, Miller’s “ah hah moments” begin on day one and become more profound with each step down the path. Through his journey, Miller offers a new found appreciation for the tireless efforts of stay-at-home mothers and clues as to why women might lose themselves in the job. For the men they married, Miller lets them connect with his evolution through humor, man-isms and motivations for change that are hard to resist.

In his journey to enlightenment in What Happened to the Girl I Married?, through both laughter and tears, Miller provides readers with:

• A revealing perspective on the job of a stay-at-home parent and appreciation for it’s unique challenges
  (from a man who never had it)
• Creative imagery and colorful examples to help communicate the job’s complexities and the feelings they can generate that are sometimes hard to put into words
• A non-threatening way for the partner of the stay-at-home parent to examine how their words and actions might be contributing to a loss of self worth and identity
• Ideas for small, manageable changes that can have a big impact on the relationship, and how the stay-at-home parent feels about themselves and their job
• A simple terminology that both partners can use to help get their love affair back on track and keep it that way

What Happened to the Girl I Married? is an honest and enlightening love story that’s funny and thought-provoking throughout. The story’s messages help heal old wounds and offer both partners a language to get back on a loving path together – and stay on it.

Read along with us: Buy your copy of the book today and get ready to discuss with us on Friday, July 17th. See you at book club!

Past Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Clubs have included:

• Testimony by Anita Shreve
  
• Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs
• Much to Your Chagrin by Suzanne Guilette
  
• It Started with Pop-Tarts by Lori Hanson
• Who By Fire by Diana Spechler
• The White Trash Moms Handbook by Michelle Lamar
• Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues
• The Vaccine Book by Dr. Robert W. Sears
• The Other Mother by Gwendolen Gross

Read along with us: Buy your copy of the book today and get ready to discuss with us on Friday, July 17th. See you at book club!

Past Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Clubs have included:

• Testimony by Anita Shreve
  
• Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs
• Much to Your Chagrin by Suzanne Guilette
  
• It Started with Pop-Tarts by Lori Hanson
• Who By Fire by Diana Spechler
• The White Trash Moms Handbook by Michelle Lamar
• Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues
• The Vaccine Book by Dr. Robert W. Sears
• The Other Mother by Gwendolen Gross

Love/Hate Relationship with the Ice Cream Truck

Everybody with kids New York City surely knows about the ice cream truck that magically appears as soon as the temperature rises above 65 degrees.

Lucky for me, or not so lucky for me, we have an ice cream truck literally a block from our apartment. We have a dog and typically we go for a walk every night after I get  home from work to take the Rock man out and of course most nights I do my very best to avoid the ice cream truck. The kids are getting to smart though and they know the route to walk to stumble across him and then proceed to beg for ice cream. Not always a scene I am in the mood to deal with after a long day of work, not to mention the internal debate I go through on if the ice cream coming out of these truck is actually sanitary…

However, there are other times when the ice cream truck manifests into my savior. On those nights when the kids are fighting, I can tell they are tired and in general nothing is going smoothly, the simple suggestion of getting some ice cream is just the magic anecdote. Immediately the mood lifts, the kids are rushing to get their shoes on and we actually just really end up having an enjoyable time sitting on our apartment stoop being messy and savoring our little summer treat. All the fighting subsides and peace prevails. The power of ice cream.

Original post to NYC Moms Blog.

When Toys Lose Their Magic

"Go play," and its counterpart, "Go play with your toys," are two phrases that can often be heard 'round these parts. As parents, we invest in playthings for our little ones (or over-indulge, depending on the amount of restraint one shows) and then we're often frustrated when they don't translate into the long minutes (even hours) of playful bliss that were sold to us as part of the package. It's not just the thing that you buy or make for the child that enthralls you, it's the possibility that they will be transported to a timeless place once that darling little thing is in their grip.

But our toys have been losing their magic--how about yours? Recently I realized this was because we had gone on auto-pilot with them. We were using them as a distraction. Here--You build with the blocks while I sit next to you and watch, and perhaps I will talk to the other parent or let my mind wander while you do so. Or--You go play in your room while I clean the apartment/make dinner/fill-in-the-blank. Now, there may be a time and a place for this posture towards toys, but when it's the only posture being modeled, it's no wonder the juices of imagination begin running dry.

The Truthiness of Facebook

A few days ago I received a message on Facebook from an old high school acquaintance.  "You look as pretty as I remember you from [our 5th grade class]".  Blushing a bit, I was impressed that he would have remembered me from so long ago.  It felt so nice and out-of-my-ordinary that someone might think of me as "pretty"....most days I would take it as a compliment if someone described me as "sane", or "not homeless looking".  Then my thoughts turned to my appearance at the time: makeup free, hair in a ponytail, t-shirt and "mom jean"-style khaki shorts....not to mention the spit-up and snots on said t-shirt.  Of course, what my "friend" was commenting on was my profile picture: from 2 year ago: at my baby's Christening, I was wearing makeup, earrings, and a necklace...a sufficient difference that it might qualify for the witness protection program.  So I got to thinking...is the way I represent myself and my life on Facebook is more "truthy" than truth?

Wanted: Second Grade Class List

Playing with peers is overrated.  Over the weekend I brought my three children to an amazing kid-filled fourth of July party, full of people my children had never met.  We'd all assumed that they would pair off according to age.  Of course my five and a half year old would LOVE their five year old, of course my eight year old would bond with their nine year old.  And of course, we were all wrong.  My five and a half year old loved their seven year old who was over the moon at having such an adoring fan.  My eight year old was kind of curious to hang out with their twelve year old, who got to be an expert on everything and ignored the thirteen year old to hang out with this younger creature.

It got me wondering...and not for the first time...why do I always look to my children's classmates for playdates and out-of-school experiences?  The closer my younger daughter is in age to her playmate the more likely there is to be some enormous grabbing squabble or hideous competitive impasse.  My eight year old daughter was completely iced out by some mean eight year olds this year.  If she could have spent all her recesses with six year olds and thirteen year olds she would have been in heaven. And they would have enjoyed her company too.  She's mature and doting for the younger ones, and curious and faithful to the older ones.  Alas, the school schedule just isn't set up for that.  She has a lot to offer kids who aren't her age.  

Bye Bye Blankie

When my kids were babies, I prided myself on never using a pacifier. I wasn't one of those moms whose kids walked around with a tooth-deforming hunk-o-rubber in their mouths. No, my children would be soothed by a washable, all natural cotton security blanket.

By the time they were four, my kids were still hanging on to their "blankies." I asked their pediatrician when I needed to take it away: "When they're 40." he said. He explained that since it wasn't doing them any harm -- and since he'd never heard of a kid going off to college with a security blanket, I shouldn't worry about it. He added that it wouldn't even be so bad if they kept a little square of it in their wallets as adults. "Hey," he said "anything that makes them feel more secure, as long as it isn't hurting them...why not?"

Luckily, I had selected Comfort Silkie on the recommendation of a friend, so I could buy them by the dozen, yellow for him, white for her. My kids slept with them, they were quieted by them in the car and on airplanes.(I think they saved us from the wrath of those-in-the-next-row on many a flight) No dental issues, and no worries about having to take them away. All was right with the world.

The grit in our lives...

I grabbed a great picture the other morning. We were waiting for the F train and the girls were sitting together on the steps. They happened to both be smiling at the same time and the occasionally reliable camera on my phone actually caught the moment! It was amazing, so I tossed it up onto Facebook to share it with everyone. My caption for the photo described how I was too stunned by seeing both of them smile at the same time to think about how much sludge was collecting on their tushes. Every time they sit on the subway steps I cringe a little, but I've come to terms with it and realized that I'd rather just let them get a little dirty than walk way down the platform to sit on the bench (and you should hear the stories they tell about what kind-of germs and bacteria are on New York City subway platform benches).

School is over...let the arms race begin!

Public schools in New York got out for the summer last week and as if in answer to the prayers of school-age children everywhere, it stopped raining for almost forty-eight hours: just long enough for the summer-time arms race to begin.

When the boys were young, there was no question about what to bring to the various sprinkler parks where we spent most of our summer days: I gave them both spray bottles and they happily filled them up and chased each other around. The spray nozzle had different settings, the bottles were easy to fill, and big enough not to need refilling too often (a big plus, given that refills were usually my job).

Then it happened: Liam noticed one of those massive water bazookas and suddenly his lowly spray bottle wasn't enough. Noooo, absolutely not. He wanted A BIG GUN.  And of course, if he wanted one, so did his younger brother (who actually, if left to his own devices, would have been perfectly happy with the spray bottle for a few more years). You know what I’m talking about: those massive plastic guns that shoot water with enough force to knock over a small child (or soak a parent from such long way away that the parent doesn’t know who to yell at); guns that have an all-too-realistic firing mechanism, sort of like a pump-action rifle.