Lunch with Co-Workers

One of the most frustrating aspects of motherhood is that sometimes it's impossible to keep your cool in front of other people. It's particularly vexing when you lose control in front of co-workers.

It's no secret. I would like to become editor of the Asbury Park Press some day. But if those same co-workers with whom I had lunch today are still around 20 years from now - It'll probably take me that long to work my way up the newsroom ladder, considering my part-time status and all - I think they will offer serious doubts about my leadership abilities when I couldn't even get my own child to sit still for a meal.

(I should have known it was a bad idea to bring Hendrick when the waitress scolded me for letting him sit at the bar while we waited for our table.)

I know what you're thinking, but I had to bring him. There was no one to watch him today and it was my boss's last day. Jimmy D, as we call him, had been so understanding each time I had a family emergency or babysitting breakdown I had to be there to show my appreciation.

Professionally, however, I may have done myself a disservice. Nobody can make a 20-month-old boy sit quietly for 90 minutes without the use of sedatives.

On the job, I have tried to maintain an image of competency and self-control, of coolness and chic. And then my son decides to run up and down the aisles with my purse dangling off his arm, ignoring my every command.

There went my reputation.

Oh well. At least I have plenty of time to restore my image before I'm ready to apply for the job.

When Johnny Has Two Mommies

I get a little bothered when I hear social conservatives assail gay couples who have adopted babies or, through some artificial means, parented their own child.

The recent news of Vice President Dick Cheney's daughter, who is a lesbian, having a baby has caused some leading conservatives to lash out at her decision. Even the research on this topic has been exploited, it seems, to fit their view that same-sex parenting is harmful to a child.

The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette did a great job interviewing two young adults with at least one gay parent and examines some of the research on this topic. (The majority of studies suggest these children do as well as those from heterosexual households.)

As an adoption advocate, it upsets me to think there are people who would dissuade prospective parents from adopting children simply based on their sexual orientation. Do we really think these children are better off growing up in an orphanage overseas? or, more so in this country, raised by their single teenage moms in poverty?

DYFS is bending over backwards to get qualified adults to become foster or adoptive parents to older children. Where do you think these kids wind up if no one takes them?

I wonder how many kids missed out on a happy home because of our society's intolerance.

Here's the link:
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/pp/07161/793042.stm

Tips for Dealing with Toddlers

I thought I had more time to enjoy my baby before he hit the Terrible Twos. I always thought that phase would start sometime after Hendrick's second birthday. Apparently it doesn't work that way, and I'm not ashamed to tell you I was completely unprepared when he threw his first temper tantrum a few months ago.

I found a Web site that contains a list of helpful hints by Dr. Laura Markham on how to deal with your toddler and his often uncooperative self. I think her advice makes a lot of sense and is worth reading.

Good luck.

Here's the link:
http://sheknows.com/about/look/8167.htm

False Hope and Hair Plugs

From now on I'm not leaving the house without my wedding ring. I wish I could tell you my decision was based on the fact too many handsome men keep hitting on me, but it's the older men who think I'm a single mom to whom I don't want to give false hope.

The other day in the supermarket my boy, Hendrick, started waving hello to an older gentleman in line behind me. An innocent game of peek-a-boo ensued and the man started getting wistful.

"I can't wait until I have a grandchild," he declared as I read the latest edition of "Soap Opera Digest."

We chatted casually for a few minutes about the pleasures of being a grandparent while the line crept slowly toward the cashier. Then he started telling me about his only child, a son, and lamenting the fact that none of his relationships seemed to last.

"I don't understand it," the man said. "He's a mechanical engineer, 6 foot 5 inches tall, and he looks like Michael Bolton."

"Mullet? Or post-mullet?" I wondered, considering my options for a moment.

If I had been single, he would have had me at mechanical engineer.

He would have lost me at Bolton.

My Afternoon Addiction

An addiction has an insidious way of sneaking up on a person. At least it did in my case. I told myself I could walk away at any time. I said I did it just to pass the time. It meant nothing. But then I found myself getting a little anxious one day while waiting in line at the grocery store.

"God, why can't that cashier move faster?" I said to myself while giving her the fish eye in the hopes it would prod her to scan those cans a little more quickly.

My heart started beating faster as I stuffed the bags and the baby into the backseat, nervously checking the time. It's almost one o'clock and I have to get home.

"Days of Our Lives" is about to begin, and I don't want to miss any clues as to what started the vendetta between the Bradys and the DiMeras.

My God. Am I really addicted to a soap opera?

For this, I blame my husband.

He kept telling me I had to rest while our son took his afternoon nap if I was going to work nights. He said I was running myself ragged and that he was worried about me. (It is true. I would just keep cooking, cleaning, gardening, anything but resting during my free time.)

The trouble was I couldn't sleep in the middle of the day. So I turned on the boob tube. I needed something to force me to lay on the bed for an hour. I never thought I would actually get hooked.

I never had any desire to watch soap operas when I worked full time. Let's face it, the story lines are a bit far-fetched and the constant repetition of the latest plot can be mind-numbing. On the other hand, I like being taken to a fantasy world where everyone's hair and makeup is perfect and the actresses wear all the latest fashions. I can lie there and wonder what the handsome actors are like off-stage and whose love interest I would play if they wrote me into the script. (I don't think there's much work for a Diaper Diva so I'd probably have to change my whole m.o.)

Spending a lot of time at home with a baby can be lonely. So, it's no surprise that many women find an hour's solace in daytime television. There's something comforting about seeing the same faces day after day.

The first step to recovery, though, is admitting you have a problem. I recently fessed up to my husband that this soap opera obsession was becoming the focal point of my afternoon.

Then, my real-life hero came to my rescue once again. He knew just what to do. (He apparently battled the same demons when he was a college student.) Now, he sets the VCR each morning to tape the show in case I can't be home to watch it, and then we watch the show together on the nights I don't work.

If only the Bradys and the DiMeras could find an answer to their troubles with such ease.

New Study on Antibiotics and Asthma

Mothers may want to think twice before urging their pediatricians to give their sniffling babies an antibiotic. The New York Times reported Tuesday that a new study has found the use of antibiotics in the first year of life is associated with an increased risk for asthma at age 7.

Researchers learned that antibiotic use had a "greater impact" on children who would normally be considered low risk - those who live in rural areas and whose mothers did not have asthma - than city kids or those with a genetic predisposition.

Here's the story link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/19/health/19asth.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&adxnnlx=1182400995-0WwOySEjEKpJOF56g5+Dag

Parents-In-Waiting

When most couples decide they want to have a baby they plan a romantic evening and let nature take its course. When my husband and I want to expand our family, we curl up on the bed, get comfortable and fill out an application.

Oh, we still talk sweetly to each other, just like other couples. But we have to throw in a few questions that don't exactly qualify as bedroom banter: "How much exactly did you earn last year?" and "What's your Social Security number again?"


That's the way it goes when you set your sights on adoption.

The initial application is quick, and the $35 fee that goes along with it is probably the smallest check you'll write during this process. (Like considerate lovers, the agencies start out gently.)

The adoption track may seem slow-moving, but the months can go by quickly as you work to satisfy all the requirements. They include numerous inquiries on your financial status, family history, religious affiliations and views on parenting; visits with social workers; fingerprinting; creating a family profile; interviews with potential birth parents; medical exams and collecting letters of recommendations. (Be nice to your friends, just in case.)

For some couples, the adoption process can be highly emotional. I tried to remain stoic during our first adoption, but it's hard when you're playing for keeps. So I prayed. A lot. (There may have been some begging and bargaining in there, too; however, the revisionist in me would prefer to say my faith remained steady.)

The funny thing about adoption, as we learned the first time around, is that unlike sex this is pretty much a sure thing. There is going to be a baby out there for us.

When we mailed in the application for adoption the first time around, Hendrick was already growing in his birth mother's womb. We couldn't have imagined back then that a child so beautiful and lovable would soon be ours.

Another application went in the mail last week and hopefully there's another child for us in the making. Now, it's just a matter of waiting.

Diaper-Free Babies

I thought the diaper-free movement would last as long as a toddler's attention span, but it seems to be gaining momentum.

Not in my house, of course.

I appreciate the environmental benefits of a world without disposable diapers, and I applaud those who care enough about the planet to undergo such an endeavor. But I just can't imagine investing that much time and energy into something that, frankly, sounds so unnatural. Can we really toilet train infants, or are we just training ourselves to figure out when Junior has to go?

Sometimes I let Hendrick run naked during diaper changes to air out his bottom, and every now and then he leaves a little puddle behind. It's funny to see that bemused look on his face as he watches himself go.

Potty training my boy is going to be hard enough. I'll save my energy for that.

If any of my readers has experimented or had success with the diaper-free method, we would love to hear from you.

Here's a column that appeared in the Epoch Times written by a mother who doesn't diaper her baby:

http://en.epochtimes.com/news/7-6-13/56392.html

Thomas The Train Recall Alert

The U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission announced a voluntary recall today of various Thomas & Friends Wooden Railway toys.

The commission, in cooperation with the toy distributor, RC2 Corp. of Oak Brook, Ill., said about 1.5 million of the recalled toys were made. Consumers should stop using them immediately because surface paints on the recalled products contain lead. Lead is toxic if ingested by young children and can cause adverse health effects, according to the commission Web site.

No injuries have been reported.

The recall involves wooden vehicles, buildings and other train set components. Toys marked with codes containing "WJ" or "AZ" are not included in this recall.

The recalled products are:
Red James Engine & Red James' # 5 Coal Tender
Red Lights & Sounds James Engine & Red James' #5 Lights & Sounds Coal Tender
James with Team Colors Engine & James with Team Colors #5 Coal Tender
Red Skarloey Engine
Brown & Yellow Old Slow Coach
Red Hook & Ladder Truck & Red Water Tanker Truck
Red Musical Caboose
Red Sodor Line Caboose
Red Coal Car labeled "2006 Day Out With Thomas" on the Side
Red Baggage Car
Red Holiday Caboose
Red "Sodor Mail" Car
Red Fire Brigade Truck
Red Fire Brigade Train
Deluxe Sodor Fire Station
Red Coal Car
Yellow Box Car
Red Stop Sign
Yellow Railroad Crossing Sign
Yellow "Sodor Cargo Company" Cargo Piece
Smelting Yard
Ice Cream Factory

The recalled toys were made in China, and sold at toy stores and various retailers nationwide from January 2005 through June 2007 for between $10 and $70. Consumers should call RC2 Corp. for a replacement toy, according to the commission Web site.

For more information, call the company's recall hotline at (866) 725-4407 or visit its Web site at recalls.rc2.com

The U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission's hotline is (800) 638-2772.

Free Play

I think the experts are trying to tell us something because I keep finding article after article warning parents to stop over-scheduling their young children with sports and academic classes and dismissing the notion that so-called educational toys and videos will make children smarter.

We all want to make sure our babies are able to compete - even thrive - once they reach kindergarten, but there is something much more valuable for them to do at this stage: free play.

The Wilmington (Del.) News interviewed a University of Delaware education professor about the "educationalization" of young children. The professor says she would much rather parents take the old-fashioned approach to learning.

There are plenty of tips in this article and a list of benefits by carving out time for free play.

It struck me funny that all the benefits listed are the same ones that prompted me to buy the Baby Einstein videos, enroll my son in music class and start teaching him a second language.

Just think of all the money I could have saved if I just allowed him to play with his blocks and bang on the pots and pans instead.

Here's the link:
http://www.delawareonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070612/LIFE/706120313/-1/NEWS01

The Youngest Consumers

Sometimes I catch myself making purchases based on clever marketing strategies. As I was food shopping with Hendrick yesterday, I saw a box of macaroni and cheese that had the character D.W. on it. (You know, that cute little whatever-she-is from the "Arthur" cartoon.)

"Look, Hendrick," I said to my 19-month-old son as I handed him the box. "It's D.W. You know her."

He took the box and looked at her image while I pushed the cart. A few second later I grabbed it out of his hands and put it back on the shelf. I exchanged it for one made by a company with no obvious cross-marketing relationships.

For a few seconds, though, I did just what marketers wanted me to do: engage my child in the earliest form of consumerism. We were going to buy a product simply because we recognized the licensed character on the cover.

Brandweek Magazine interviewed a former technology correspondent for U.S. News & World Reports who just wrote a book titled "Buy, Buy Baby."

Author Susan Gregory Thomas, in the interview, contends that not enough research has been done to study the effects of television and marketing geared toward toddlers and babies. She is concerned that babies and toddlers are being trained and targeted as consumers - the youngest consumers, in fact, in American history.

One thing she suggests - I know it's hard to hear - is shut off the TV and remember the importance of downtime. Kids can entertain themselves if we give them a chance.

Here's the link to the interview:
http://www.brandweek.com/bw/news/spotlight/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1003596904

Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be gangsters

I have had a love-hate relationship with "The Sopranos" for eight years, and tonight it finally ended. HBO's wildly popular series about North Jersey mafioso has done a great deal to harm honest Italian-Americans like me, but I always loved the way so much of it felt familiar - the family banter and explosive tempers, the characters' accents and mannerisms, and the way they pronounce words like cappicola (you know, ga-ba-gul).

At first I thought the show romanticized violence and made some of the characters a little too endearing. Then the hits and the headbashing - and the businesslike approach to making amends - became a little too routine. Could anyone really find that lifestyle appealing?

I admit I was annoyed when the show ended with Tony Soprano having a nice dinner at a local restaurant with his family. Why wasn't he gunned down, or arrested?

There were men lurking in the restaurant in that final scene, but the producers didn't let us know whether they were FBI agents ready to make a bust or Phil's hit men looking for retribution. Viewer were left believing there was a chance Tony was going to get away with his crimes once again.

Perhaps that was the perfect ending. I was looking for justice and I was angry when it didn' t come. I should know better. Sometimes justice doesn't come at all in this world. Sometimes, like Uncle Junior, the former head of the family who ends his days in a nursing home, you outlive your life of crime.

The trouble is, in many cases like these, you pass it down to your children and it starts all over again.

My Anniversary

Today was my fifth wedding anniversary and I spent it with the little love of my life. Not the big one; he worked all day and I worked all night.

Our special day didn't start out as I envisioned it. There were no flowers on the table, no Hallmark card expressing some sappy sentiment. And, worse, no chance for a romantic celebration because we're all booked up with other obligations this weekend.

I can't be too mad. Romance works both ways, and I didn't get him anything either. We are both adamantly against spending money on material things we don't need just to make some grand gesture of love. But I guess I wanted some tangible sign that, even though most of the time I look completely unkempt, covered in the spaghetti sauce Hendrick wipes on my clothes, he still adores me.

Without my usual drama, I told him so when he called during the day to check in. I made it clear that we should be careful not to take each other for granted just because we are now bonded by a baby.

When I got to work there were five large roses and one white one waiting for me on my desk. The card read: "Not for granted. Forever."

How can I argue with that?

Virtual Playtime

I didn't think it was possible to entice little girls to play dress-up dolls on the Internet, but traditional play, it seems, is slipping into the ether.

The New York Times wrote an article on the popularity of Web sites for children and what several of those interactive play sites have to offer. One of those sites is Cartoon Doll Emporium, which allows users to dress up virtual dolls and have online chat with friends.

I thought little girls liked the feel of the different fabrics, the ability to hold their favorite Barbie while mixing and matching outfits, and the intimacy of smoothing her long blond silky hair.

A few weeks ago, our babysitter's 8-year-old son tried to show me the Webkinz Web site, which offers virtual games with cuddly stuffed animals. I quickly lost interest.

Perhaps I should have paid attention. I didn't realize what a phenomenon this has become with the millennium generation.

Those of us with babies and toddlers don't really have to think about this yet, but it makes me even more committed to ensuring my son learns to play the old fashioned way - with other kids who are sitting next to him, not through a network that virtually connects them.

Here is the link to The New York Times story:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/06/technology/06doll.html?hp

Also, here is a link to an Asbury Park Press story on Webkinz:

http://www.app.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070601/LIFE/70601002/1006

My Young Scribe

When my husband and I said we would encourage our son to write we didn't mean on the walls. Or, as he prefers these days, on his clothing, face or our upholstered dining room chairs.

It's not that Hendrick won't use a coloring book or plain paper. It's just that the pencil or marker seems to travel off the paper and onto the nearest surface. My kitchen counter top once fell casualty to his unbridled creativity.

(I tried giving him crayons instead of markers but he just eats them.)

I fully realize it's my fault. (It's always the mother's fault!) If I had been keeping a closer eye on my boy I would have caught any mishaps before they happened. The trouble is I don't have eyes in the back of my head, and there are times when I just have to focus on other things.

This clever diva, however, found a solution to her problem: MagnaDoodle. Have you seen this thing? Hendrick can rewrite "War and Peace" on this magic board with no chance of ruining any nearby fabrics. Its wonderful magic pen never runs dry because there's no dreaded ink!

He loves holding the pen in his hand, doodling away, then erasing his designs and starting all over again.

Finally, peace of mind - for only $14.95. If only all my problems could be solved so easily.

Impolite Questions

There are some things that just don't make for polite conversation or idle chit chat, and my son's medical condition is one of them. Ever since Hendrick started wearing a neck brace to correct his weakened neck muscles strangers have unabashedly peppered my husband and me with questions.

Some people even asked my boy, now 19 months old, what happened. We, of course, always felt compelled to answer because we don't want to appear rude.

But, last week, after enduring these intrusive inquisitions for months, I almost lost it.

An older, brusque woman at the fruit market yelled over a display of fresh corn: "What's he got on his neck?"

I paused for a moment as I collected my thoughts and quietly replied: "He has a muscle condition" then promptly walked away.

But the old lady and her adult daughter caught up to us on the check-out line. "How long does he have to wear that?" the daughter asked. Everyone on line seemed to be listening. I'm sure I turned as red as the tomatoes she was purchasing.

"For a few more months," I said quickly, then turned my back to her.

I find it astonishing that people might think I would want to casually discuss my son's condition with them, these strangers we meet in stores or on the street.

When I got home I vented to my neighbor. "Oh, my," she said. "I don't even like to make eye contact when I go to the store."


Perhaps I should start handing out little cards with Hendrick's medical history - along with the definition of torticollis and graphics to show what could happen to his sweet little face if he doesn't wear the brace - so these nosybodies can have all the details. Or maybe they'd like to accompany us to the physical therapist so they can see how we're trying to keep his head from drooping to one side. Maybe they'll be so moved they'll cover the $40 co-pay.


I know my son's condition is correctable and he won't be wearing the brace for much longer (if we are diligent with his care), but it is upsetting, and these unwelcomed interrogations certainly don't make us feel any better. There are times, such as when we go to a party, I don't put the brace on him just so his condition doesn't have to be a topic of conversation. Other times, I dress Hendrick in a collared shirt so the brace isn't so noticeable.

But what about parents who can't disguise their child's disability? What must it be like for them?
I thought about asking one mother I recently met whose 2-year-old son had such a serious disability he couldn't even hold his head up. I thought, for the sake of this blog, I would ask her how she feels, but I couldn't bring myself to broach the subject as I watched her hold the boy in her arms and feed him.

She has enough to deal with. She doesn't need to satisfy my curiosity. Because, when it comes right down to it, that's all it is.