LA Moms Blog

Where Did My Miss Manners Go?

Are 3-year-old children supposed to have manners, let alone good ones?

Ever since my daughter first started speaking, my husband and I have been encouraging her to say "Please," "Thank you" and "May I ..." Of course it's taken a while -- I mean, heck, she had to learn English first -- but she has often surprised me when she's approached a friend or relative and asked, "May I have that cup, please?"

You can imagine how I beamed. Forget that beatific glow, I was on fire with pride.

But lately -- yes, there's always a but -- there's been a little resistance. Instead of "May I," it's been "Get me ..." or "Let me have ..."

Where did my pint-sized Emily Post go?

'Lost' May Be Over, but It's Just the Beginning

The final season of the mega-popular TV series "Lost" has come to an end, and after six seasons of questions, answers and more questions, what fans like myself can agree on most is that there will always be nostalgia for this enigmatic show.

It was definitely a game-changer, and now that it's gone superfans have to make peace with its absence and move on -- hopefully finding equally fascinating programming come fall.

If I sound as if I've gone a little overboard for a mere TV show about plane-crash survivors and the mysterious island where they land, it comes at a time that marks an important, nostalgia-filled benchmark in my own life -- preparing my child for full-time preschool.

Sleep Is for Wimps

"I want to play all night long!" said my 3-year-old daughter, her hands on my cheeks, after I asked her why she hadn't napped at preschool.

Apparently it's not just the nighttime. Kiddo wants to rock out in the daytime, too, and one of her teachers is not having it.

It's been a recurring theme when I pick her up from preschool. One of the teachers corners me and tells me we need to have another talk with our child because she's not napping. Instead, our little angel is singing and dancing and trying to inspire her sleeping friends to recreate "Preschool Musical 2: Electric Boogaloo."

Is there such a thing as Baby Ambien?

Kidding. Well, sort of.

Catholic Church in Los Angeles vows to Keep Kids Safe, Mine Included

April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month, and the Los Angeles Archdiocese has also highlighted the month with its "Keep Kids Safe" campaign.

My first thought, when I heard those words at Mass on Sunday, was: Finally.

In recent weeks, the Catholic Church has come under harsh -- that is not to say, undue -- scrutiny and criticism as more priests have been accused of sexually abusing children. A new wave of adults has come forward, once again, to tell their stories of how the people in their church have failed them -- in the most intimate of ways.

The L.A. Archdiocese has decided to address this head-on with a campaign that includes abuse prevention and education programs for children and adults. If you see Angelenos wearing blue-ribbon stickers that read "Keep Kids Safe," this is why.

I am Catholic. I grew up Catholic, and that is how my husband and I plan to raise our daughter. And yes, despite the devastating blows that have come in the form of horrific stories and weak apologies, I am still a Catholic.

Daylight Saving Time is cleaning my clock

Is it just me, or has Daylight Saving Time turned into the worst day of the year?

Don't get me wrong. I love that the day is longer, that light lingers in the sky a few hours more than it did before, that I can look outside at 4 p.m. and not mistake it for midnight.

But seriously, it's wrecking my daughter's sleep habits, and it's wreaking havoc on those two or three precious hours before my own bedtime, when I get to unwind and indulge in a little "me" time.

I know it sounds selfish. It is. But I've realized that in order to regain some sort of sanity before I hit the sack, in order to temper the stress that comes with having a To-Do list that defies the number of hours in a day, that time is very important.

Whether it be watching a movie, reading a magazine or hanging out with the hubs, I always look forward to that part of the day when I'm more "me" than "mommy."

And it must be OK to be a little selfish sometimes. Right?

Preschool Panic

A few weeks before my daughter's second birthday, I went into panic mode.

Not only had I not secured her spot on a waiting list for a decent L.A. preschool, I was almost two years too late.

I remember at the time talking to another mom, whose boys were around CC's age, when she brought my faux pas out into the cold, harsh light.

"Wow, you're worse than we are," she said with a laugh. At least they had already started their search.

My husband and I? Not even close.

After all, our daughter was 1. One. A number that doesn't even have two syllables. To me, that qualified as barely out of the womb. Now I had to think about school?

Apparently, I should have put her on a waiting list the moment I saw two lines on the pregnancy test stick, if not before.

Potty training is a pain in the, well, you know

Potty training is seriously about to kill me.

For some reason, my loving yet stubborn child has refused to fully commit to all the privileges that come with being Pull-Up-free.

It didn't really bother me in the beginning -- I knew there would be some sort of transition -- but she's 3 now, and the hubs and I are ready for her to graduate to the big-girl leagues.

I also think she's ready, too. She's talking a lot, she's very coordinated, and I know she wants to be a big kid. She's even said as much.

But there's this daunting aspect to using the potty that's the largest hurdle to her kicking the diaper habit. It seems to scare her a little, and that's the last thing any of us want.

How do you explain death to a preschooler?

A few weeks ago, my husband’s uncle – who was really more like a father to him – passed away.

It was a difficult day, and of course it had been raining here in Los Angeles, which added to the overall sadness. Although his Uncle Peter had been ill, the news took its toll on my husband, Ian. Peter had been larger than life and seemingly indestructible.

Although the shock had jolted Ian, I had no idea how the news – or even the concept of death, for that matter – would register to our 3-year-old daughter. How do you explain to a child what it means to die? In a way, it seems just as difficult and intangible as describing the color blue to someone without sight.

And that’s not to say anything about her understanding of how it affected her own father.

Don't bother me, honey. I'm too busy blogging about you

When I was asked a few weeks ago to join a discussion with PBS producers about the upcoming "Frontline: Digital Nation" broadcast about life in the Internet age, the first thing that came to mind was an embarrassing moment with my daughter.

Embarrassing for me – not her.

I was sitting at the table, 100 percent focused on my blog – a blog that heavily features my toddler daughter – when she came up behind me and asked me something. I believe she wanted me to play with her.

“Just a minute, Sweetheart,” I said, only half paying attention. “Mommy’s on the computer.”

She stood there next to me, in her footed pajamas, and didn’t move.

“Mommy’s on the com-poo-ter?” she repeated, but with some disappointment in her voice.

Helicopter parent hits some turbulence

Hello, my name is Laura and I am a helicopter parent.

Yes, guilty as charged.

I am the kind of parent who hovers around her child when she is in the same baby-proofed room. I am the kind of parent who defiantly refuses to leave any room as long as her child is in one with an unprotected electrical outlet.

Yes, I am that parent. And I don't apologize.

But, according to Time magazine's article "Helicopter Parents: The Backlash Against Overparenting," I and my ilk are going out of style. Apparently laissez-faire parenting is the new black.

So it is all the more disconcerting to reveal that my child had to be rushed to the ER due to a household accident. On my watch. While I was less than 10 feet away.

Hello, stitches. Goodbye, parenting confidence.