Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Sticker shock over the pediatric dental bill!

When I was a kid, I had three cavities total. My brother had 12? 13? I don't know - a lot! But while my mother probably fretted over the oral hygiene habits of her children, she didn't fret about breaking the bank to fund our dental care.

When my twin boys and I stepped into our pediatric dentist's office a few years back, it was love at first sight. The office was bright, beautiful and inviting. The office staff was warm and friendly. The wooden toys were clean (unlike the plastic toys at our pediatrician's office - yuck!). Cartoons played on a flat screen TV and a sparkling clean train table entertained young patients in the waiting room. A subtle aquatic theme decorated the office, the work of an interior designer. The pediatric dentist was engaging and good with the kids.

There were Method products and Geberit wall mounted flush plates in the restrooms!

Interstate 5: A flat tire, a dust storm and stinky cows

With spring break behind us and summer vacation looming, a brilliant idea popped into my head. Why not pull my twin boys out of kindergarten and head to Disneyland for a day? We'd sneak in on a Tuesday in early May after the spring break crowds but before the grad night crowds and the Memorial weekend start of the summertime crowds. My husband had to work, so I sweet talked my mother into accompanying us, saying we'd go for a one day pass only and a two night stay at a nearby hotel.

Like many a Bay Area resident, I'd made the drive down I5 to the Los Angeles basin and back dozens and dozens of times. Sure, the once 5.5 hour drive before we had kids has stretched to about seven hours with all the potty breaks and caffeine refueling we now have to do, but it's generally an uneventful drive. Besides, I love road trips.

I should have taken the downpour of rain as an ominous sign. I'd made a last minute decision to throw rain boots, rain jackets and warmer clothes into the car, just in case . As I pulled our once spartan mini van come Grapes of Wrath truck onto the highway, rain was coming down in torrents. I drove cautiously over Pacheco Pass and was passed by just about everyone.

The Kid in the Star Wars Shirt

Quick, spot the kid in the Star Wars shirt! At any given date and time, at any given location, there will always be at least one kid in a Star Wars shirt. A boy, usually. If there are two boys wearing Star Wars shirts, they will stop and stare at each other's shirts. Sometimes, one boy will unzip his sweatshirt and stretch out the bottom of his shirt so that the entire Star Wars graphic can be seen. Then one of the boys might mention Anakin. It will go something like this, "Anakin Skywalker turned to the dark side of the force." Then each boy will assume the light saber position and start making light saber sounds.

Wearing a Star Wars shirt is like belonging to an exclusive club. It's an invitation to a conversation or better, a light saber duel. You like Star Wars, I like Star Wars. Let's be friends. It's the badge of the 3 to 10-year-old Star Wars groupie. Is that a Star Wars mini fig shirt you've got on there? Well, I've got a Y-Wing at home!

My boys might love Star Wars, but I'm not a big fan of those shirts. I'd rather see my boys dressed in colorful, cheerful clothes, Mini Boden style. But it's a losing battle. Given the choice, my boys would wear a Star Wars shirt every day. I hate the black shirts with the busy Star Wars graphics. It looks like graffiti to me. The Target and Old Navy version are barely tolerable. The Lego Star Wars shirts are better because at least they tie into the act of building Legos. If I had to choose, I'd say the Star Wars shirts I picked up at H&M are my favorite.

Losing My Sons ... Someday

We have several variations of the classic story, The Three Little Pigs, on our bookshelf at home. In every version, the three little pigs leave home and a wolf tries to eat them. The appearance of the big bad wolf used to make my boys cower, but as they have grown older, the wolf has become less and less frightening, replaced by a fear that they would someday be sent by me (their mother) to go live by themselves into houses of their own.

I read: "The mother pig said to the three little pigs, 'It's time you had houses of your own.' "

Before I can continue with the story, my boys are interrupting, saying, "But we'll build our houses right next to yours and we'll dig tunnels between our houses so we can visit each other. Right, Mom? Right ... Mom?"

"Of course," I say, tousling their hair reassuringly.

As a mother, I want to hold and protect my children for as long as I possibly can. As a daughter, I also know how important it is to release the maternal grip and allow children to take flight. As a sister, I've felt  the dull heartache of seeing my brother drift off to another family.

Outed at Forever 21

My gorgeous and stylish sister-in-law was outed the other day. I don't know what gave it away. Perhaps a single strand of gray hair?

It was a targeted but covert verbal launch.

Will that be all for you ... Ma'am?

Translation: Will that be all for you ... and pssst, you're not 21 anymore!

Yes, my youthful 30-something sister-in-law who could pass for the actress Anne Hathaway was outed at Forever 21.

My sister-in-law laughed it off, saying, "How can I feel Forever 21 when they're calling me ma'am?"

There are the 21-year-olds who shop at Forever 21 and then, well, there's the rest of us who shop there.

The 35-year-olds.

The 40-year-olds.

Forever 21 and perimenopausal.

Forever 21 and a grandma.

Forever 21 by night, Chicos by day.

A Farewell to San Jose's Liquidambar Trees

We love trees. They dot the landscape of our lives, standing like monuments through time and seasons. In winter, I stare with my children up through barren branches, searching for clumps of twigs - a nest! In spring, I open the skylight of our car as white blossoms fall upon us like snowflakes. In summer, we run and play amongst the shady trees, happy to be sheltered from the heat. In autumn, downtrodden leaves give forth a most satisfying crunch.

On windy days, we look up and see drama in trees full of movement.

In early September, we look up and see a red leaf, then a yellow leaf. Our eyes light up - fall is coming!

Where would we be without trees? Without trees, the seasons would be boring. Trees make me happy. They make my children happy. My children will tell you that a tree is nice.

Yet, one by one, in some San Jose neighborhoods (Willow Glen, for instance), certain trees are being felled. Giant, beautiful Liquid Amber (?) Liquidambar trees topple like dominoes, replaced by assorted scrawny saplings no bigger than a branch. My children and I wonder about the ages of these fallen trees. We could not wrap our arms around the circumference of any one of these trees, so my children guess the trees must be ancient, as old as grandpa.

Crying in Savasana

For 90 minutes, I said nothing.

For 90 minutes, I stared at my third eye.

For 90 minutes, I wobbled through 26 poses.

For 90 minutes, I was aware of my every breath.

For 90 minutes, I detoxed in a heated room.

Then the room faded away and there, while lying in final savasana, I wept.

The emotion stemmed from nothing specific. Gratitude? Loss? Exhaustion? But there it was, making me weepy.

I blamed John Denver, whose acoustic delivery of Sunshine on My Shoulders sparkled around me like fairy dust during final savasana, awakening my emotions.

I sat up, suddenly self conscious, then gathered up my belongings and quickly left the room. I soon rejoined the routine of my day, but that moment stayed with me. I couldn't shake it.

Sorry, Virginia, There is No Lightsaber

It would have been better if I'd told him there was no Santa Claus.

He teared up, sunk into a brief melancholy, his face full of disbelief. As I watched my son, I had a flashback to that devastating day when I'd found out there was no Santa Claus. I knew how he felt.

How does one explain to a child that the DK Star Wars Visual Dictionary references a work of fiction, that the lightsabers referenced within are the result of special effects? Sure, some of the ideas in Star Wars are based on hard science, but most of it stretches the truth as to what science can actually do. It's science fiction, after all.

Recently, we were in the audience at Foothill college's annual Physics Show. We had to flee midway through the show because my two little scientists were not getting along, so when we got home, I gave them a guilt trip made up a story about how, by leaving, we'd missed out on a demo of lightsaber physics. There really was no such demo, but I wanted my Star Wars obsessed boys to think they'd missed something great.

My boys think that somewhere out there, lightsabers are real. They do realize that to enter the world of Star Wars is to enter the world of make believe, but when kids yearn for something so much, they push aside all logic and believe what they want to believe. Lightsabers are real. Santa Claus is real. Elf on the Shelf is real, sort of. Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker? Not real, but lightsabers are something that could be built. It certainly is a world of mixed up realities over at our house.

To my kids, lightsabers are the coolest thing ever. We started out with pool noodles and small inflatable party favor lightsabers. Then this past autumn, we finally acquiesced and bought our now 5-year-old boys, a bunch of heavy duty toy lightsabers. But I think, at the back of their minds, these toy lightsabers were just a way to a means, that somehow the future would bring the coveted real lightsaber, like the ones wielded in the Star Wars movies.

Lies I Have Told on Behalf of Elf on the Shelf

He's upside down, our Elf on the Shelf. His legs jut up into the air, his head buried deep in a pile of folders, hands clasped behind his back. He looks as if he's been pushed off the edge of a cliff, bound and blindfolded. He was pushed alright, but according to our made-up-on-the-fly rules, there was no direct contact, so the push was legal (as was made up by me) and our Elf did not lose his magic. I'm too tired to turn him upright, I'm ready for him to return home. A few more hours, and he'll be back at the North Pole for another year. I'm tired of our Elf, tired of the lies.

Grandma was over last night. She spotted our Elf in a bucket of plastic dinosaurs and she...she...touched him! The kids stopped in their tracks, breathing deeply and staring at grandma.

"Grandma, you touched Elf on the Shelf, " the boys whispered, staring in disbelief. (We did not give him a name, as we were instructed to so he is not Tony or Elfie, he is Elf on the Shelf.)

Grandma stared back, not quite comprehending.

"Yes, Grandma, the Elf loses his magic if we should touch him, " I explained, smiling through clenched teeth.

Grandma squirmed and denied it, "No, I um...I touched the dino---"

"Hat!" I interrupted, "You touched his hat and that's okay because grownups are allowed to touch his clothes," I lied.

Oh, the lies I have told on behalf of Elf on the Shelf.

Keeping up with my Grandma

Over ten years ago, my sprightly grandma sold her large San Francisco home and moved into a comfortable life care facility ("the Meadows") in a tony Silicon Valley suburb. She left what had become a lonely house full of stairs and settled comfortably into a one bedroom apartment, filled with familiar mementos and her comfy pink couch.

At her new digs, she quickly made friends in a lively community peopled by retirees who'd led accomplished lives. She made friends easily and every day, every meal was a social affair. She relished visits from family, especially when we came with children in tow. We lived nearby so we visited often and by the end of each visit, we'd been introduced to every single resident and worker who'd strolled within sight of her.

"Regina, " She'd say to the very patient cafeteria worker, "This is my granddaughter and her family!"

"Ed, this is my granddaughter," she'd announce proudly to a very busy Ed. "Ed has worked in the office for 5 years, " she'd explain to me.