Keep Your Advice, We Don’t Want It

Do you know what really pisses me off, beside reality television?  (Okay, I secretly love reality t.v.)  People who don’t mind thier own business.  And there a tons of them out there.  Just today, a 84 year old former nanny, complete with a Mary Poppins hat, “offered” me some parenting “advice.”  I actually usually appriciate advice, but I must admit that I wanted to shove her had down her throat. 

After a sitting quitely through a long sermon at church, my sons, along with all of the other children ran up to the reception hall where coffee and cookies are served.  (Did I mention that I’m usually the person who makes the coffee and cookies? Not that this gives my kids carte blanche to make themselves feel at home, but considering that I usually drag them out of the house at dawn to set up for the after service fellowship, I feel they have earned the right to have a little fun).  Anyway, the shrew said that my kids should not be allowed to act like that in a church and that fun and games were for the playground.

This is true, fun and games are usually enjoyed in a playground, but fellowship and family should be enjoyed in a church.  Since my kids were no where near anyone else, except for the dozen other kids the same age, I didn’t see a problem with them playing.  So this begs the question, if six sets of parents didn’t think that what the kids were doing was a problem, where does Hagatha McShrew get off thinking she should stop them. 

The more I thought about this, the more angry I became.  At first I was mad that she stepped over the line into my business.  Then I became more angry at the fact that she would say anything at all.  Churches and the very tradition of faith are dying out because they aren’t able to bring in young families.  And its no wonder church is losing favor, they are alienating the people that make up thier life blood. 

I digress, what started as a rant about people who give out unwelcome advice has become a piece about the decline of faith.  That isn’t really where I wanted this to go, but you get the point, people suck.  So here it is dear readers, the nugget of wisdom I would like to pass on, the next time someone wants to “help” place your right hand infront of your chest, make a fist and extend your middle finger. 

Candy Corn is Murder!

Wow, that was a fun title to write. And anyone who gets the pathetic B-movie reference gets a gold star. So, my daughter’s preschool teacher is trying to come to grips with this whole three-year-old vegetarian thing and while she’s baffled by it, she is trying very hard to be respectful. Thus the note in yesterday’s lunch pail: “Michelle, we are making Halloween art out of candy corns next week and all the kids will get to try them. If you don’t want your daughter to eat them, please let me know.” My first thought was oh no, they probably have gelatin (bone marrow) and once again I’ll be mean mom saying “No, honey you can’t have that. Everyone else in your class can. Mommy can. But you can’t.” I went to the web to investigate and no, they don’t contain gelatin. They have egg whites in them. Great. I broke the news to her, and she took it well, though she looked so dejected.

So after she went to bed, I did a search for a vegetarian alternative and found that PETAkids has a list of vegan candy. Handy. But no Candy Corns. However, they mentioned Jelly Belly and I was surprised that there were jelly beans in the world that aren’t made of gelatin. A search of the Jelly Belly site revealed that they make Candy Corn. Hope! Unfortunately, the Jelly Belly site doesn’t include ingredients.  So I went old-school. I called my local gourmet market, which I know sells Jelly Belly products, and asked if they had the Candy Corn. A store manager was kind enough not only to confirm it, but to read me the product list:

sugar, corn syrup, Contains less than 2% of the following: modified soy protein, artificial flavor, sorbitol, color added, yellow 6 lake, yellow gold 3, beeswax [which some vegans do not eat], carnuba wax, confectioner’s glaze, salt.

Her teacher was thrilled when I brought in a package today for next week’s festivities. And my daughter was giddy as, well, a school girl.

Things that make me laugh

I just happened to stumble upon a hilarious mommy website that has become my new addiction.  For anyone who likes to laugh and enjoys commiserating with others I strongly recommend visiting www.truemomconfessions.com  It is a site where real moms anonymously confess their deepest darkest.  If you have had a similar experience you can click the me too icon and make someone feel a little less alone.  You can also post your faux pas and see that someone else has done it too and maybe even a little worse.  Mothering is hard enough, it’s good to know other people are fumbling too.  There is also a companion site, www.trueofficeconfessions.com  where you can state your work related grievances.  You can get it all of your chest and have a good laugh at the same time.

For the Love of God, Turn it Down

There is some sort of contest going on in my house.  I do not know when it began, nor am I familiar with all of the rules, but the point seems to be that you must be the loudest thing in the house.   For example, if I am using the vacuum cleaner, my oldest son will yell in order to hear his own voice over the sound.  This will then spark my youngest to yell in order to be louder than his brother.  This chain of events will lead my husband to turn up the television.  The house will be so loud that I won’t be able to hear myself think.  I will then be forced to drink.  So, you see, I have decided that it would be in the best interest of the family if I just stopped vacuuming.

How I Got My First Grey Hair

The most frightening moment of my life happened yesterday.  I would have blogged about it then, but I had to spend the rest of the day in a bleary, xanax induced catatonia.  My youngest bolted on me.  There I was, ordering some fast food, asking about the soup of the day, when I looked down to see that my baby was gone.  Not only was he not next to me, he was no longer in the store.  He had run out the door and into the parking lot.  Thank God, a very quick man ran after him and grabbed him moments before he would have been flattened by a delivery van.  I ran out the door leaving my purse and everything at counter and met my escaped child and my hero in the parking lot.  There were no words to thank the kind and quick man.  Thank you did not seem to be enough.  I clutched my youngest while shouting at him never to run away from me again.  I was able to hold myself together long enough to get home where I began to sob uncontrollably.  I sobbed until I vomited, then I cried a little more.  My husband wanted to know why I was so upset when nothing happened.  How do you explain fear, dread, gratitude, embarrassment, shame and relief in one emotion?  I’m not sure, but I think ten years came off of my life.  The worst part is, I know that this is just the tip of the fear ice-berg that is parenting.

Obsession du Jour: Water Bottles

It is back to school season, replete with buying frenzy. Of course my dear girl has only just begun preschool, something not even deemed necessary when I was her age, but a milestone nonetheless. My mother sent her some goodies to mark the occasion and I got her a fabulous new dress (she is in a extreme girly phase) and a new water bottle. The latter I thought would be a nice transition from the sippy cup she and her cohorts in the 2-3 room drink from.

I bought what I thought was the latest and greatest: a “lined” aluminum bottle. With old-fashioned aluminum, one has worries about the link with Alzheimer’s but the new ones, like those made by Sigg, are resistant to the deleterious effects of the acids found in many beverages. Thus, the aluminum isn’t supposed to be released into the liquid and, therefore, not ingested. But alas, I got suckered and didn’t buy an authentic one so when my husband went to “sign off” on the latest addition to the lunch pail, he threw up all kinds of flags. And, okay, he might be right. Even IF the Sigg bottles are resistant to leaching aluminum, I may not have purchased a lined bottle. Oh, for shame.

I am in the midst of a horrifying cycle at my job; one of the busiest times per year. Thus, I found an insatiable need to obsess on my poor choice of beverage receptacle (instead of work, which I can’t control). No, I’d not chosen to stick with mini disposable water bottles, not wanting to perpetuate the massive plastic usage these have added to our ecological issues (though they are darned handy those little bottles…). And no, I’d not fallen prey to affordable Nalgene Lexan Ibottles, often clad in cute characters, which may well leach all sorts of nasties into our drinks as well as nasty flavors. But I’d made the “wrong” choice anyway. Oh the hours spent trying to figure out the right one! My husband wisely pulled the plug on my OCD research binge, pointing out that my daughter would certainly benefit from these same hours spent with her instead. Oh, and he suggested I buy something stainless steel. Oh, duh.

Well, duh and not so duh. Sure, stainless steel is sleek and time tested. But it isn’t adorable like those made from aluminum or plastic! Shallowness, take me away. All this said, I have found the water bottle that will grace my daughter’s lunch pail until she loses it or I hear something bad about stainless. And she loved Earth Day so, despite its lack of name brand characters, I’m optimistic she’ll still like her new Klean Kanteen water bottle.

George and Martha

It’s not usually my thing to talk about something useful, but following Michelle’s lead, I also have a book recommendation.  My boys just borrowed a stack of books from the library.  Among the dozen books was a compilation of ”George and Martha” short stories.  Each story is only a few pages long and is therefore an excellent choice for when your child demands one more story before bed.  The books were also the basis for the “George and Martha” series of cartoons on HBO.  The cartoon is also adorable and follows the book relatively closely, helping young readers gain confidence. 

Interogate Before you Medicate

I was just talking to my sister-in-law, who is a fourth grade teacher, about her new fall class.  She teaches at a very rural school and therefore has a small class.  Her entire class consists of 14 students.  Of those 14 students, seven require medication for various mental/medical conditions.  Three of the seven suffer from ADD/ADHD and four have been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.  This means 50% of her students take daily medication and 29% are being treated for a illness that is relatively rare in children.  This quite frankly made me really sad.  Although I have never met these children and could hardly pretend to diagnose them, statistics alone lead me to doubt the diagnosis.  As a parent as well as a health care provider, I strongly recommend getting a second opinion before medicating your child.  If a doctor is quick to prescribe, you should rethink your doctor.  I am not suggesting that you do not medicate your child, I’m not Tom Cruise, I’m simply suggesting that you really ask all the questions before you chemically alter your young.  Has your doctor spent any amount of time observing your child?  Has she spoken to your child’s teacher?  Do you feel you have mentioned all of your child’s symptoms?  Are symptoms able to be corrected through behavior modification?  Is there a pattern to your child’s behavior?  Don’t be afraid to go to more than one office.  If ever you are uncomfortable asking your doctor questions, or if you feel you a being brushed off, you are seeing the wrong doctor and should look into employing a different one.  If your doctor does prescribe something, ask how many of his patients are taking the drug.  If this seems like a large number compared to the size of his practice, consider the possibility that your doctor may be a one trick pony who uses a catch all diagnosis and seek a second opinion.  While medications can offer a real miracle, they are often over given as a chemical restraint, masking other problems.

Pooh Pooh

Okay, this is becoming a regular thing, but my girl likes books. I like books. We don’t always like the same books. A couple of nights ago, she pulled out a Winnie the Pooh boxed set. Now this sounds like a good opportunity to snuggle up with some classic kid’s lit. Uh, no. I made it through Pooh Goes Visiting alright, though she interrupted me every two sentences or so to ask who said what because A. A. Milne doesn’t bother to attribute quotations. Guess Milne counted on moms being able to do really good Eeyore impressions so kids can tell his moppy remarks from Pooh’s slackerly ones. Then we moved on to Kanga and Baby Roo Come to the Forest. I made it to the part where the team lays out a plan to capture the marsupial duo and simply couldn’t made it another insipid nearly-nonsensical word. Not good nonsensical either. Not Seussian whimsy, rather more a complete lack of comprehensible narrative. So at about page six, I turned to my 3 1/2 year old girl and told her straight-up: “Mommy can’t take this book anymore; it is giving mommy a headache. Please, dear girl, pick out anything else in the world and I’ll read it.”

Luckily, she just received a couple of wonderful books, written by what I think may be of one of the most underrated kids authors I’ve come across: Chris Van Dusen. Usually when books are beautifully illustrated and the illustrator pens the text, well, at least the pictures are pretty. Not so with Van Dusen. Oh, he can illustrate alright–the pictures are amazing–but the stories are really fun as well. He keeps it simple, but original. He rhymes a lot, but it has a bounciness that makes it fun to read. And his recurring characters Mr. McGee and his dog Dee are immediately loveable without becoming saccharine after a few reads. However, the book If I Built a Car (in which McGee only makes a cameo) is truly marvelous. It is one of those books that inspires the imagination (and even an interest in science and engineering) effortlessly. It is a joy. Read up, moms.

Playground Talk

Yesterday, my daughter and I drove to a playground in one of the many well-to-do nearby towns. We got there just after four and, as expected, there were quite a few kids since it was after school hours. It seems to be pretty standards playground etiquette for moms to make polite conversation while their young kids struggle up ladders and climbing walls. This is a nice break from “normal” social mores in CT, in which you aren’t supposed to speak to any strangers lest they be outside your socio-economic class.

It is fairly unlikely to make actual adult friends at a CT playground, but at least it gets you out of the house and off the toddler conversational plane for an hour or so. Yesterday, I met three nannies, three actual mothers, and a dad. The latter was particularly awkward, and I feel bloody sexist about the whole thing: His daughter was playing beautifully with another girl about her age and his son and my daughter were imitating each other climbing up then sliding down various slides. Thus we trudged around the playground on a parallel trajectory for a good five minutes before he ventured a bit of idle chatter. Any female parent would have already said something pleasently inane about how cute the kids were and the conversational ball would have been off and running. But I admit that not only did it take an awkwardly long time to start a conversation between we mixed-gender care givers, I was suspect of his motives for another full 10 minutes.

Ultimately, he turned out to be one of the friendliest people I’ve met in ages. And fancy this: he, his wife, and two kids just moved here from Telluride, CO. (Yes, that’s why he was so friendly! He’s not from here!) Turns out he’s been a stay-at-home dad for four years and is just re-entering the workplace, while his wife has pursued a very demanding career. They too are raising vegetarian children… long and short: what a nice chat. As my daughter and I left, I noticed another dad on a lonely circuit around the playground. He was wearing the Connecticut workingman’s uniform–blue shirt and khakis–so I’m pretty sure he was another kind of fab dad. The kind that gets off a hard day at work and scoops up his 18 month old to toddle off the playground for an hour before dinner. He was, however, doing it sans playground chat-mates.