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-- ABC11 Moms On the Go blog about work, family and everything in-between.
Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010
You Can't Rush Good "Momming"
By Frances Scott
My husband Skip calls me "the ultimate consumer," but SOME of the stuff I buy sometimes helps me become a more efficient and therefore more effective mom. I am constantly looking for products that will help to help me "mom" more quickly and more thoroughly. As the mother of our house, my primary responsibilities include some things that can't be rushed or shorted: to enforce manners, to correct grammar, and to read to and snuggle anyone who wants these services. Most products will NOT help me to do these things any more quickly than I'm already doing them. My job as Mom is also, however, to record and document all family events, to account for all family-expenditures, to do these things while everyone else is asleep, and to do any "self-care or maintenance" on my own time (whenever THAT is), and there ARE products that can help with some of THOSE responsibilities!
During my four years home alone with three preschoolers, I was constantly trying to find things to help me do ANYTHING in a reasonable amount of time, which you parents out there know is fundamentally impossible once children are born. Skip said to me one day, "You know there's nothing for sale that's going to make this any easier, right?" Yet I pressed on. So to get to the point of all this, there are three things that REALLY DO help me "mom" more efficiently. One of them is Carbonite.com. It's a $54.95-per-year website/application that backs up all our pictures, documents and home movies each night to an independent server that's somewhere out there in Internetville. Carbonite effectively allays my fears that I'll someday lose my babies' baby-pictures to flood, fire or (gasp) hard-drive crash, and it does its work quickly!
I am, however, not ONLY our family's Snuggler-in-Chief and Secretary of Family-Life Documentation; I am also the family's accountant and controller, which is ironic because there's only one CPA in our household, and his name isn't Frances. That's why Mint.com is my second favorite "effective-momming" product as of late. It's a supposedly-secure website that tracks our bank accounts, 401Ks, Roth accounts, 529 plans, credit cards, mortgage, bills, and debt and then shows us what we're spending (or to be honest, shows ME what *I'm* spending). It pointed out this morning that I spent $2300.00 last year at Target and $30.00 last month on Snickers from ABC11's vending machines.
Considering that I have somehow found just enough time to do all of our family's tutorial-work, snuggling, etiquette-enforcement, picture-taking, movie-making, and banking, you moms out there might quickly realize why Benefiber Orange (aka "Tang for Old People") is now the third product which I recommend to moms who want to be efficient. Though etiquette prevents me from elaborating further, let's just say that, if we moms had time to make a salad for lunch instead of going for the vending-machine Snickers, we'd only need Carbonite.com and Mint.com to help us make the most of our time.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Did God Do This?
By Frances Scott
"Did God Do This?" "How could God let this happen?" "Is there a God at all?" These are some of the questions I'm sure many of us are asking or fielding this week, with regard to Haiti.
Indeed I have told my kids about what's happened there. We are praying with them at night for the people there. I want them to learn compassion. I want them to understand that tragedy is in fact a part of life. I'd rather them hear upsetting things directly from me, so I can provide context and hopefully some answers. So yes, I do let them watch the news, but only if I'm sitting right there with them. Of course, about Haiti, there just aren't many definitive answers.
And that is why I'm glad my friend Steve tackled the question, "Did God do this?" He's my church's teaching pastor, Steve Daugherty, and he started the task Sunday by walking us through God's creation of the world, light, animals and finally people. And then, he summarized, in Chapter 3 of Genesis, "it broke." Steve also brought up the explanation that some people give, when bad things happen: that God might be pouring out His wrath on us, as payment for our sins, and then He might be then adding to our "hell" by not telling us why it happened, as if to say, "Now, just try and figure out why I did this!" Well I do believe, that that notion just wrong. It's flawed reasoning, especially for those of us who believe the Bible. The fact is that, according to the Bible, the payment for our sins has already been given, thousands of years ago. God poured out his wrath on a part of Himself, His son. There's no more atonement needed, ever. That's why Jesus said, "It is finished." FINISHED.
But back to Chapter 3. Humans broke what God offered. Why were we allowed to break the perfect design in the first place? It's because, as Steve puts it, "A puppet can't love." If God had made us just puppets that didn't really have the chance to go our own way, then our choice to follow him would be insincere or scripted, and therefore "fake." Or as my kids' favorite Veggie Tale puts it, "A gift that's demanded is no gift at all."
So the reality is that the way it was supposed to have been-- is broken, and that's allowed sickness, death, tragedy to become a part of our lives. Whether we humans believe the Bible or nothing particularly at all, most of us have the feeling inside that, when we look at the pictures from Haiti, says "This is just wrong." Reality has shown up, and it is ugly. Something in our world is just not right, and everybody knows it. As Steve put it, "What ought to be& isn't." The real question, he added is, "What are we going to do about it?" And there is a definitive answer to that question, and I think we all know what that answer is.
My kids haven't asked me yet, "Did God do this?" but I'm sure that someday soon, they will. When they do, I'll say, "No, He didn't do this. He HATES to see anyone hurting." I'll explain what Steve taught last Sunday; that the world is broken and dark. But I'll also tell them that we've all been invited to offer some light. And this is our time to do some serious shining.
Monday, January 18th, 2010
Honey, I Blew Up The Kids!
By Amber Rupinta
This weekend was the longest amount of time I have ever been away from my children. And, if you have or have not experienced being away, it's another funny thing that happens when you become a parent. Thursday night, I put the boys to bed and did not see them again until Monday morning. Can someone please explain to me the phenomenon of how the growing process goes into warp speed when a parents go away for more than 24 hours?
I truly believe, looking at my 16-month old son in his crib upon arriving home, he had grown maybe an entire foot. My 3-year old hadn't grown quite as quickly, but, he had grown. How is it possible? This is not something science can ever try to understand. And, to top it all off, I am truly convinced the baby is also speaking in a deeper voice and has added possibly ten words to his vocabulary. Again, how is this possible? The logical side of my brain tells me this probably didn't truly happen. But, the "mom" side of my brain (which has probably taken over 99%) tells me it is true!
For the first time, stepping away for 3 days makes me actually see the proof I already know, my children are growing faster than the speed of light. I only hope I can keep up.
Email me and let me know what you think.
Friday, January 15th, 2010
Friendly Competition
By Tisha Powell
When I was her age, I was on the swim team and eventually joined the track team. No balls involved. Those were the sports I enjoyed most and I considered myself part of a team, especially durning the relays. I'll admit I did play a little softball during the summer, but being a mediocre softball player was not one of the highlights of my childhood. In sports like gymnastics, track and swimming, your individual scores are added to the team's total score. I also like the fact that your individual accomplishments stand out. In other team sports, I've noticed that you're only allowed to shine as much as your position allows you to, and that's often a position determined by the coach based on level of talent.. or sometimes favoritism.
I often watch my daughter giggling with her gymnastics teammates in their matching leotards thinking to myself how much she enjoys being on the team. And even though no one is going to throw, pass or kick her the ball, I think she's still part of a team nonetheless. If she's missing out on some valuable life lesson other kids are learning in little league, I don't think it's going to hurt her too much.
Wednesday, January 13th, 2010
Watch out for that Dog Bowl!
By Frances Scott
It's time for our kids to start playing sports. I've been looking forward to this forever. Ever since I was a kid, I've loved playing sports. I wasn't any GOOD, mind you, but thankfully, I don't care about looking like a fool. So if you ever saw me on a field or out on a track, you'll most likely remember me, wiping out.
Heck, I can't even step off a sidewalk without spraining at least one ankle. Still, I am so excited to pass on my love of sports to our kids. My HAPPIEST memory from my 20's was FINALLY having a little brother to play football with. Now my other younger brother is playing football himself, and I wish wish wish I could watch him every Thursday night in Charlotte.
The problem is - I'm chickening out. My husband Skip broke his neck when he was 18, playing high school football in Houston, Texas, and is very lucky to have lived and have avoided being paralyzed for life. Though he says he learned a lot from football, he's not really excited about endorsing the sport that put him in a 'life or death' situation.
He says most of his friends who played in high school and beyond are struggling with arthritis that's so bad they can't even walk without pain. BUT, I DO love the hitting and blocking involved in sports like football. I mean you have to admit that those sports are just more fun to watch than non-contact sports. I've never yelled at the TV while watching golf or pool. I played flag football for several years in college, and really ENJOYED the contact that happened "incidentally" (wink wink) with that sport.
BUT I myself have broken many bones and torn a few ligaments, one of which required a ligament graft and repair. (A few weeks after surgery, I was wearing slick sandals and slipped in the grass, breaking the very kneecap that had just offered part of the ligament graft!) I do hope our kids will to be active and love sports like I do, but when I know, first-hand, about the injuries that come from sports, it's hard to intentionally lead them down that road. BUT what IS a sport, if it's not a LITTLE physical?
I've been trying to decide whether Skip's reservations and my own reservations have come from just being hyper-concerned parents, or if they're from being athletic ourselves and then enduring the surgeries that follow. Truly, when I think about American kids' struggle with obesity, diabetes, and weight-related problems, IN MY HEAD, I know that my kids will most likely struggle more because of INACTIVITY than because of activity, but IN MY HEART, I've already put myself in the stands, 13 years from now, when my own child is flat-out on his back on the field, writhing in pain. I'm wondering now, "Will I regret signing them up for sports at all?"
Personally I'm fine with my own pain. Pain is pain. It's not anything I can't endure. But our kids haven't had a single broken bone yet, and haven't even had a sprain, which is most likely because I dress them in knee braces and head-to-to chain-mesh, wrap all their joints each morning with ACE bandages and make them wear helmets everywhere but in the shower (where they get to wear blow-up helmets.) I'm just not sure I can endure THEIR pain.
Ultimately, "pain avoidance" is not a life-strategy I'm trying to teach. The bigger lesson for which I'm shooting is that yes, life can be painful, and pain is hard. Relationships are hard. Work is hard. Loss is hard. But nothing worth having in life is easy or pain-free. And you have to take risks to get victories. I guess I've decided that what we learn in sports is more valuable than the injuries we could have. I probably won't have to worry about it anyway. There's a 50 percent chance our kids have inherited my "coordination gene," and we'll all be in the ER someday, not because of a varsity-sport break, tear, pull or strain, but from tripping over the dog's food bowl on the way back to the fridge for more ice cream.
Monday, January 11th, 2010
Allergy Alerts
By Amber Rupinta
As a parent of a child with severe peanut allergies, I am constantly paying close attention to labels. While there is much progress being made in the researchresearch of new treatments and possible vaccinations against certain allergens, until there is something to prevent the allergic reaction, you can't be too careful.
So, I took notice last week of the way things have changed since I was in school as my son began pre-school. Because he is a child with severe allergies-a big notice on the door to his classroom went up on florescent pink paper. It stated there is a child in this classroom with a tree nut allergy! Then, I had to have the doctor write a prescription for a new epi-pen to bring into the classroom with specific instructions. And, reading through the school handbook I found it very interesting to learn if you intend to bring in cookies or cupcakes or any food item to celebrate a birthday or some other event for the child you must bring in store bought food with every ingredient listed on the label. Boy, how things have changed!
I remember back in the day, when mothers painstakingly baked and iced cookies and cupcakes to send into school. I always looked on with envy when another student brought in those home-baked goods. That's because, as a child of a family of 8, with both parents working full-time there was no way my mother or father would have the time to home-make anything like that. The funny thing is, I always wished I didn't have to bring in store bought items. Now, it's the only way. So, the good news is, my children won't have to feel slighted if a classmate brings in cupcakes that look more like art pieces because of all the allergies. But, I wonder, why there has been such an uptick in the number of allergy cases in children. Some theorize it's because our country is "too clean." They argue other nations-especially third world countries don't see these types of allergies. Perhaps, it's due to more awareness and education. Either way, allergies are no joke and in schools especially, it's no laughing matter.
Email me and let me know how you deal with allergies.
Friday, January 8th, 2010
Holiday Burnout
By Tisha Powell
I did so much traveling, I actually got sick along the way. I remember waking up one morning in Baton Rouge feeling puffy. In fact, I couldn't get my rings off my fingers. I didn't know what was happening, but I had to struggle to find clothes to fit my swollen body. After eating a relatively healthy diet leading up to the holidays, I spent days on the road stuffing my face with salty food and I think my body went into shock. I had to wear sweat pants on the flight home because they were the only thing that fit. I went to the doctor in North Carolina who told me I had developed edema from overindulging on salty food and alcohol. Too much holiday cheer I guess.
Even though I've lost most of my water weight, I'm still holding on to a few holiday pounds. What's even sadder is that I haven't even unpacked yet. I'm getting dressed in the morning using travel toiletries and sifting through my suitcase for clean clothes. The house looks like something exploded. There's wrapping paper and boxes out and about along with Christmas cards and other signs of a holiday gone by. I just need some free time to pull it all back together to its pre holiday state. Not quite the vacation I need, but at least when I'm finally done, home will feel like home again.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Hopeless!
By Frances Scott
I am hopelessly in love with my children--- AND they make me a little batty. Well, a LOT batty. I truly cannot concentrate when they’re around, because they’ve not yet grasped the concept of waiting their own turn to talk, and they all talk at once, all the time. Since I am a mother, and I hear every single word they all say, it can leave one rather disheveled.
So this week, my husband is off in Texas, hunting, male-bonding, and doing, generally “all things dude-ish.” The kids are off with their grandparents, and I should be relishing in my single week of “being able to accomplish something/anything,” but instead I am pining away from my family. The house is too quiet. Quiet is normally something for which I long. The ability to read a book alone, in the quiet? Not interested. Getting to watch whatever I want on TV? Suddenly BORING to me. Organizational projects for as many hours each day as I like? No thanks. All I want is my family back. Although it is nice to be able to drop by friends’ houses or maybe offer to help some of the new moms in my life who were there for me years ago, but who are boxed out most days by my family’s needs, I find myself this week gazing longingly at my kids’ pictures, caressing their stuffed animals, and calling the grandparents more than I should. The kids humor me--- by accepting my calls, but they’re busy, and a simple “Hi Mommy. Yes, we are fine” is the most I’m getting. I know. It’s not about what *I* want anymore.
So what am I doing on my one week of total freedom this year? I’m playing home-movie tapes, non-stop and trying to edit them into little music videos (starring our family of course) which I am hoping my kids will be thrilled to see when they get home. My friend was mentioning the other day how his 13 year old daughter edits home movies on her computer. “If she can do it,” I thought, “perhaps I can figure it out!”
It really does become “all about the kids,” doesn’t it? Now that I’ve finally accepted that fact, when they’re away, I’m SO lonely. Steve Daniels and I were talking about this today; the fact that we are so sad ALREADY for the day when our little fledglings grow strong wings and leave our nest. As scared as I once was to have kids; now I’m scared for the time when they leave us, and all I have left are my little music videos. Life is sweet. ((Sigh… ))
Monday, January 4th, 2010Resolution Solution
By Amber Rupinta
A new year is upon us and with that-new resolutions. This year I am going to (fill in the blank.) Funny how, now, after two kids, my resolutions are no longer what they once were. Pre-children resolutions were all about losing weight, getting in shape, etc. This year, resolutions are all about trying to slow down and carve out a minute or two for myself. These minutes are not easy to find with two small children-they will have to come during naptime but, I am determined to find the time!
With that said, let's talk about the resolutions I am setting for myself. Just for fun, here's a list of the top ten people make each year: http://pittsburgh.about.com/od/holidays/tp/resolutions.htm Now, in no way, am I trying to set the world on fire. I remember one year setting the goal for myself to be fluent in another language by the end of the year! By the end of the year! HA! Now, if I can just remember all the words that somehow escape me in my native language vocabulary on a daily basis since having children-life is good! I don't know if it's the sleep deprivation or the stress or the constant list making in your head, but, the amount of words you forget post-babies is incredible. I wish someone would do a study on it. Call it baby fog-pregnancy fog-call it what you want-but I am convinced it never goes away.
Back to the resolutions. This year, I am hoping to read a few more books-all the way through and watch a few more movies-uninterrupted. That's it. Those are my huge goals this year because they really mean I will sit still for a few minutes in silence. That's all I'm trying to achieve this year. Problem is, after a few minutes of sitting down to do one of those things-my eyes begin to get heavy and I usually pass out. Maybe I should re-think these resolutions and just strive for uninterrupted sleep on a daily basis. Now, that's a resolution worth keeping.
Email me and let me know if you set any resolutions this year.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Who Keyed My Car?
By Tisha Powell
As yet another year comes to an end, I sit wondering what I’m going to do differently in 2010. How can I make life better for my family? I think I know exactly where to start. As I was getting into my car recently to take my daughter to gymnastics, I happened to notice that someone made three long, deep scratches along the driver’s side and trunk of my car. I got keyed! As I stood there in shock, my daughter started asking me what was wrong. I barked at her: “Nothing!” I stuffed my seven-year-old in the car and barely spoke to her as I huffed and puffed all the way to gymnastics. What did she do to deserve that? Nothing.
I have got to stop letting other people control my emotions - flipping them on and off like a light switch. My resolution this year is to learn to let go. The next time I catch myself stewing over something, I’m going to take control of my feelings. I spend very little time with my family due to our busy schedules. The time I do have with them is precious, and I shouldn’t be distracted by nonsense. Especially by something as insignificant has a few scratches on my car probably put there by a disgruntled driver who thinks I stole his or her parking spot.
I want 2010 to be peaceful year. Maybe even the beginning of a peaceful, harmonious life. I read an article today on meditation. It gave tips on how to quiet the mind and relax. It seems simple enough. Maybe I’ll even try yoga and cut back on some of my running to give my ankles and knees a break. I think this may be the start of something good for the whole family. They say positivity is contagious. We’ll see.
Wednesday, December 30th, 2009You get what you settle for
By Frances Scott
I'm learning that kids will rise to whatever bar you set& or sink to whatever is acceptable. Take for instance the "sleep hygiene" going on at our home right now. We have a baby who's gotten into the habit of coming into our bed EVERY night. Well, actually he's not a baby, he's four years old, but he's OUR baby, and I think we've allowed him to show up each night around three a.m., because he's not just our BABY; he's our LAST baby. We've made certain of that. And knowing that he's probably the last little person we'll have regularly coming in each night for reassurance, comfort and a snuggle, we've just gotten lax about telling him to go back to bed.
The problem is, the other two kids have caught on to us, and they've started showing up too! Last night there were FIVE wiggling, squirming, whining people in our bed, and it was literally a circus! Skip ended up highly annoyed, carrying Jake back to his bed. Well Jake was of course howling, because he's not used to being taken back to bed, and so I jump up to try to comfort him. Well the other two kiddos, knowing that I won't be snuggling with THEM anymore, follow me back to the boys' room, and WE ALL ended up sleeping together in Jake's bunk bed! That's not sleep; it's torture! I guess it's time to re-set the bar.
Monday, December 28th, 2009
Unstuff It!
By Amber Rupinta
So, we made it through Christmas! I am pretty sure, I'm not the only one who takes a big sigh of relief, then looks around and thinks, 'now where do we put all this stuff?' Well, this time, I am forcing myself to think, 'we need to get rid of all this "stuff" to make room for the new things.' I can't believe how much "stuff" you accumulate over the years and how much faster it multiplies once you have children. With that said, this weekend after the Christmas packages were unwrapped it is out with the old in our house. Anyone who told you the "nesting" will happen right before you have a baby obviously had never experienced the post-Christmas nesting that puts that pre-baby nesting to shame.
As my husband and I spent the day pulling out closets, I was in awe of the things we uncovered. Why we still have packaging for the aero bed we bought 2 years ago is beyond me. I couldn't tell you where that aero bed is, but, thank goodness we still have that packaging! The endless piles of papers, the organizers to organize our organizers, the blankets, and the sheets-don't get me started on the sheets. I think if we never bought another sheet again for the rest of our lives, we would still be covered-no pun intended-in that department. But, here's the other dilemma. All the sheets we have been buying are white. White. All of them. White. Now, if you have ever tried to wash, fold, and sort all white sheets with beds of different sizes you know how time consuming and frustrating this can be. Never mind that you are fighting for the time to do this while a baby sleeps and a toddler sits dazed in front of a video game (as my previous blog suggested-someone's getting neglected). So, the precious minutes wasted trying to figure out where those white sheets belong must become a thing of the past! This is my new obsession. I announce only colored sheet sets will make their way into the house from this point forward! So, as hard as it is, I have no choice but to give away the white sheet sets. (This after spending an hour trying to sort them for Goodwill-because, I really don't want to make someone else have to try to make sense of this nonsensical mountain of white cotton).
As I'm wrestling with the sheets, my husband tackles the toys. He is brave. I don't even know where to begin with the toys. My kids are overwhelmed with the toys. A few months ago, we started rotating the toys into bins. We would put them away and pull out older bins. My 3 year old would light up each time he discovered a "new" toy in the bin. Even though he had played with that toy just a few months earlier-it was new to him all over again. But, the problem with this is-it's out of sight out of mind. So, you fool yourself into thinking your toy area is cleaner than it really is. My husband tackles the toys and I hear a lot of music going off as toys are thrown into a bin. I hear Elmo laughing more times than I care to acknowledge and I think the alphabet and spin spin a letter repeat nearly a hundred times throughout the day.
When it's all said and done, I walk into the garage and see the toys among the giveaway pile. My first thought is to go through them and decide which ones we should keep-just in case. I see the crawl ball both my boys lurched for when they were learning to crawl. I can feel the emotion start to interfere with the purging of the stuff. I want to take the ball and put it back in my closet-as if in some way, it would be like holding onto them as babies. Then, I talk to my friend, Frannie. She says it's ok to let the stuff go on and "bless someone else." She's right. I feel it's ok to let it go. We have great memories with all that "stuff" but it's just stuff. I imagine another child playing with that crawling ball and another mother or father smiling as they inch towards it. This makes me smile and I walk back into a house that's a little more organized-at least for now.
Email me and let me know if you are a purger after the holidays.
Wednesday, December 23th, 2009
The Elves Didn't Show&
By Frances Scott
The Best Christmas Gift is an Unstressed Mom
There are six pounds of sausage in my Jeep right now, plus three dozen eggs, two packs of candy canes, 3 packs of biscuits, a shop vac, the rain-cover for our tent, a reciprocating jigsaw, Gator Golf, a Pop the Pig game and 12 sets of pajamas. It's a combination of Christmas shopping, grocery shopping and a lot of random things that I've yet to unpack from our six-month move. I've promised myself that I would not to be a stressed-out mom this Christmas, and I'm holding up pretty well, but because of the "to do's" AND because of the multi-stage move, the stuffed Jeep should signal that I am secretly, but silently, totally overwhelmed. Today "catching up" required that I grocery shop on my lunch break, but the store was so packed that it took longer than I'd budgeted, and I felt certain that I didn't have enough time to get it all home and put away before my "lunch hour" turned into a "lunch afternoon," so it's all still in my car. You might want to eat before you come to my house.
You see, I've decided to give my family the gift of a happy, unstressed mom for the holidays.
I knew that such a gift required that I relax the standards a bit. It's not that I'm lazy. Hang out with me for just one Saturday and you'll beg for mercy the way my husband does whenever he sees "that look" in my eye on any given day off. I'm not talking romance here, but a pure, unadulterated desire to reorganize, create, display, de-clutter, straighten, clean out, and generally "accomplish stuff." Sometimes my desire to accomplish is destructive, in terms of the way I treat those around me while I'm trying to "get things done."
This Christmas, however, I'm not giving casseroles, ambrosia, hand-made croissants, balled melon medleys, or neatly-wrapped packages. The silver is still tarnished, the linen napkins are a little wrinkled, and there's no cute, holly-berry centerpiece. I'm pretty sure the candles are still packed in the POD. We did finally get a tree which, my husband said the other night, looks like it was conceptualized for a Dr. Seuss book. I'm not cooking. I'm barely straightening. And I'll be doing well this year just to clothe myself and the three kiddos. (Thankfully Skip dresses himself.) The Christmas cards have become Happy New Year's cards, and you know what? My six-year-olds and four year olds don't even notice that this isn't "Martha Stewart's Best Christmas Ever."
They WOULD be noticing the stress though that I'd be feeling if I'd not given myself a pass this year. My kids don't deserve to be ignored while I reach for some unachievable goal, and my husband (St. Skip) certainly doesn't deserve that either. When I was a child, the bar was set insanely high at Christmas, and it was gorgeous, yummy and perfect. But for me to pull of that kind of "event," with two kindergarteners and a preschooler, here, right after a move of epic proportions, would take a boat-load of elf-costumed minions at my beck and call for the three months prior. The "little voice" in the back of my head says I'm being slack, uncaring, or even lazy because I've given myself a pass this year. But I know that in many, many families at Christmas-time, all anyone really wants is to be around people who are pleasant and not stressed. There will be a time when I can "do it all" without stress, but until my children are a bit older and we are a bit more settled, what I'm giving this year really is my best.
Besides& the elves didn't show& and my minions are rebelling. God bless them, every one.
Merry Christmas, from the woman, lounging in her hot pink terry-cloth robe and blue bunny slippers, sipping coffee on the veranda and eating bon-bons.
Friday, December 18th, 2009
Mapquest for Santa
By Tisha Powell
There's no place like home for the holidays. The question is whose home? As a child, I remember waking up in MY bed in MY house and running to see what Santa left for me and my siblings under OUR Christmas tree. You see, my parents didn't move too far from home. Most of my family lived within driving distance, so we could spend Christmas Eve at our own home and still see everyone the next day.
Now things are different. Being home with family for the holidays now means plane tickets, shipping toys and extra time off from work for travel. But it also means a different set of Christmas memories for my daughter. I'm ashamed to admit that on the years we travel out of state for Christmas we don't even put up a tree. There's so little time to enjoy it if you're not going to be home for Christmas. It's like having a beautiful centerpiece on a table you're never going to sit around for a meal. I have a hard time convincing myself it's worth the effort.
I spent the first 18 years of my life in the same house on the same street in the same small town. My daughter has already had three homes and she's only seven. Every Christmas morning has been different. The one thing she has never questioned though is whether or not Santa was going to find her. Seeing her smiling and happy while opening her gifts on Christmas morning lets me know her memories of each and every Christmas are special. Even if she can't quite remember exactly where we spent the holidays.
Monday, December 14th, 2009
Dizzying December
By Amber Rupinta
Add this to the list of "things no one tells you after having children." Post children-at least in my world-December becomes one of the most hectic months of the year. This is especially true if one of your children has a birthday falling anywhere near the month of December. My first son was born ten days before Christmas. It was a scheduled c-section because he was frank breech. As I was picking out the date of the surgery, I wanted to hold off until the 18th. My mother said, "You should go ahead with the earliest they could do the surgery." She advised, "The closer to Christmas, the more hectic it will be in the future."
My mother never had a child born in December, but, she did raise 8 children, so, I think it's safe to say she had some experience in this department.
And, as we approach my sons third birthday, I am sure my mother would love to know I now think, "Boy, was she right!"
Whether you observe Christmas, Kwanza, Hanukah, or any other celebration during this time of year, there is a lot to do during the month. The birthday on top of it all leaves even less time to get everything done. I have asked others with December birthdays how they handle it to make sure no one gets "gypped" as many December birthday babies like to say when they get older. (By the way, I really sympathize with the parents who have the difficult task of birthdays that fall on Christmas/etc.
I am told I must make it a point to separate the celebrations. But, already, I find myself having a "soft" birthday party kind of like a "soft" opening in the business world. Pizza and cake, a few friends, everyone sings happy birthday. Ta-da! Party done! Now, onto tackling the Christmas celebration!
Will I get better and this as the time goes on? I know one thing I've learned, I will have to get better at asking or seeking/recruiting help from the outside. The places that are one-stop shopping will be a life-saver for future Decembers. Places like Monkey Joe's and TK's Jungle will already be on my list to call for info on parties.
The funny thing is, I remember my birthday parties growing up. Three of the eight kids had birthdays in September. For as long as I could remember, my sister and I had one cake together as our birthdays were two days apart. I never cared. I never wished I had my own special day. It's one of my favorite memories growing up. So, no matter how hectic it gets and how stressed out I make myself this month, in my heart, I know he won't know any different and it will be enough. And, as long as we celebrate his special day in some way, no matter how soft the party is, the magic will follow-along with Christmas ten days later.
Email me and let me know how you handle December birthdays.
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Friday, Dec 11, 2009
Mommy's homework
By Tisha Powell
My daughter is a second grader who gets quite a bit of homework, but now that she is in school.. so am I. I go online to a website set up by her school to check out her assignments for class.. and mine. It usually involves filling out a permission slip for a field trip or sending in a certain amount of cash in a labeled envelope. Just before Thanksgiving, I had to buy a tub of cool whip which we don't use and potato chips that we don't eat, so the containers could be used for art projects in class. The hardest thing for me is keeping a record of exactly how many minutes my child reads a day and how much exercise she gets. I have to keep a log and turn it in at the beginning of every month. Well, I lost the log altogether and begged the teacher for a new one. I managed to keep up with that single sheet of paper for ten months last year, but this year.. not so much.
Being a working mom means juggling a lot of things and that includes homework. I'm working on keeping a positive attitude about all of OUR assignments, but I must admit frustration often creeps in for the both of us. There's so much to do and so little time. We're now getting reading assignments done in the car on the way to school and different activities. That's also where we study spelling words as we try to make the most of every minute. Both were ideas suggested by my daughter's teachers.
I'm trying to get better at getting MY homework assignments done by not waiting until the last minute. I've also dumped a few trips the store on dad and I have also taught HIM how to check the school website for spelling words, assignments and schedules. I think it all boils down to setting a good example for our daughter. If we don't do get our homework done as parents, why should we expect our daughter to do hers?
Wednesday, December 9th, 2009
Gaining Perspective
By Amber Rupinta
Working in the news business, you get to witness many things front and center. Sometimes it's history in the making, or a community rallying behind someone in need, which is always interesting and inspiring . Other times-more often than not- it's heartbreaking stories of tragedy, sickness, loss, and destruction. Those are the stories that are hard to cover. Those are the calls that are hard to make to inquire about the incident. Those are the toughest knocks on the door to make to ask a family to talk about their loss. Every time, it is difficult. Many times, there are tears to fight back when talking to the people behind the "stories." Once you get to the lives behind the "stories" you can't help but be affected. Often, it stays with you long after the story airs and the next news cycle begins. But, through all the stories there is a small gift of sorts you are given-the gift of perspective.
Complaining about your weight first thing in the morning or the lack of sleep you had last night gets put into perspective by the afternoon when you get sent out to cover the family praying for their daughter clinging to life in the hospital fighting the H1N1 virus. Or, you get sent out to talk to the friends of the teen killed in a car accident. Once again, everything else seems trivial. Putting it in perspective is a good thing no matter which business you work in. But, especially so in the news business when you witness life events good or bad daily. My "problems" pale in comparison to many of the "stories" we cover. Last week, I was sent to cover the story of a courageous 18 year old from Fayetteville. His name is Lavelle Sloan. Up until May, he was a star football player. But, his dizzy spells and nausea led to the discovery of a malignant brain tumor. The story is about where he's finding inspiration while facing a devastating and life threatening diagnosis. But, I wonder if Lavelle knows how inspiring he is to the reporters, nurses, and doctors he meets throughout his journey?
It's not always easy to put it in perspective-it takes work actually. But, it's something I try to remember. It's something I am working on daily-trying to check myself when I find negative or destructive thoughts creeping into my head. I hope I somehow raise my kids to put it in perspective too.
Email me and let me know if you have any tips on how to put it in perspective for children.
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Monday, December 7th, 2009
I'm Stuffed
By Frances Scott
Well we finally closed on our new place, and we got moved in& all 4,000 square feet of stuff we've inherited over the years, smashed into about 1200 square feet. Our move to a smaller place is a reflection of our attempt to live a more simple life, which has always been a goal of mine; a goal not yet achieved.
Actually, a 10' by 10' by 18' PODS unit is coming, bringing more stuff, as soon as we clear a spot for it in the garage. I KNOW that I could have cleared the garage in the two weeks since our movers came, but, when you're moving to a smaller place, moving in is much more complicated. Moving turns into 'purging,' and that takes a lot more time than just unloading.
The problem started because I was the youngest of six step-siblings, and I hit "the real world" right about the time that my great aunt, great uncle, grandmother, parents and some of my step-siblings were all downsizing themselves. I had nothing, and the furniture coming my way was free, so why not take it? Evidently my husband's family was doing about the same thing at the same time, though he was more protective of his free space. The furniture we have is not really my style, but some of it belongs to people about whom I've cared very deeply (who've since passed away), and with a good "refinish" or "recover" someday, it will be just fine. The problem is, for TWELVE YEARS I've been lugging around all this stuff, and I've never found the resources or the time to refinish or recover any of it. So it's still the same mahogany or cherry-finished traditional style, complete with ornate beveling and brass knobs, and that is SO NOT my style. That's why I'm about to let it all go to "bless other people."
I read a book by a woman who calls herself "The Fly Lady," and another book by a guy who's on Oprah a lot called "Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat?" I have become obsessed with decluttering, and have amassed a new library, teaching me how to declutter. Gone though are all my books from grad school, which I guess I was saving, maybe to hopefully impress somebody someday Gone are all our CD, DVD and VHS cases. I even tossed one of my grandfather's sweaters. That one was really hard, but "Papa" would definitely have understood. He of all people knew that a "thing" did not equal "love," and he, of all people, would have wanted our family to live a more simplified life than we've been living.
I'll leave you now with some "Epiphanies of Decluttering:" Just because you love someone, doesn't mean you have to keep everything they've ever given you. Your stuff owns you. You have to clean it, move it, care for it, and eventually, if you have enough stuff, it will steal time from the PEOPLE you love. I don't want to spend more time caring for my stuff than my family.
Most people can't manage all their "collections of things," especially if they have more than one. I've decided to keep only pictures, and I've even taken them out of the bulky photo albums, scanned them all to a hard drive, and that hard-drive is backed up on an external website called Carbonite weekly. I no longer have to fear (I hope) that fire will destroy pictures of my kids as babies. GONE are all my frames. I have ONE digital frame, which cycles through hundreds of pictures each day. I no longer have to look at the dusty photo albums. I've made a few bound photobooks of my favorite trips using a site called myphotobook.com. The pictures are printed on to the pages, and bound like a normal book, so GONE is the nightmare caused by old, unsticky glue, and pictures falling out of place.
I do keep all music, but not the cases of all the CD's we've bought over the years. Skip will be upset if he ever finds out I've thrown out the jewel cases. Good thing he never reads my blogs. He still thinks the cases are in a crate in the attic!
Forgive yourself for buying that crap and just let it all go. There's someone out there who really has nothing, and by letting your excess go, others can be blessed by your mistakes& (unwise purchases etc.) If you ever do have a yard sale (and I've had plenty), you probably won't make more than 200, so you have to consider whether that's worth the 48 hours worth of work it takes to get it all together. One Tupperware box of Christmas ornaments is enough.
Once you get cleared of your excess, protect fiercely your home. NOTHING comes in, until one or two things go out.
Sometimes you have to get firm with well-meaning loved ones. We've come to think that giving a present is the best way to show somebody that we love them. I tell my mother, "Please& all our kids want is US& THEY WANT OUR ATTENTION. They do not need another plastic THNEED (Dr. Seuss reference). Giving our kids too much stuff is like stealing their mom from them, because instead of playing with them, I have to spend all my free time, sorting, cleaning, and organizing, which leaves me no time left for playing." That explanation seemed to work. (And believe me& my kids still get stuff; my efforts just curbed the inflow.) And finally: stuff is not love. Gifts are not love. Food is not love. Love is love, and in order to have time for more love, a lot of the other stuff has to go---- and I've never missed any of it.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Don't Judge
By Amber Rupinta
There has been a transformation of sorts that has happened since I've become a mother and I wonder if others have experienced the same thing. I don't judge other mothers anymore. Before having a baby, in my inexperienced mommy life, I would come to a pretty fast opinion when I saw children having meltdowns or heard how parents were raising their kids. Now, I don't even think twice about it. Perhaps it's the lack of time and energy to put into it, or, perhaps it's a positive change in my life that has happened because I "get it" now. I like to think it's the latter. I definitely find myself sympathizing when I see a mom struggling with the stroller, drinks, snacks, and other kid-paraphernalia while the child or children run, jump, or meltdown nearby. It isn't easy juggling it all. Now, my first inclination is to see if she needs a hand.
This new outlook can be applied to nearly any parenting scenario. For example, a friend called me to ask if she could pull into my garage and leave her sleeping children there safely while I listened out for them. She then asked to borrow my car to go grocery shopping. (That's where she was headed when they both zonked out). My thought was, "Sure! How creative of you to think of that!" I don't question the "creative" ways moms get things done or the difficulties that goes along with juggling a million things and keeping your child safe. I truly feel inclined to help make another mothers life easier if it's in my power because I understand it's not easy! This of course, does not apply when there are horrific stories of child abuse, neglect, etc.
There are times I have to check myself with this "non judging" attitude. I have to stop and think, 'I've been there' when there's another mother struggling nearby. And, I hope others feel the same. Then, the other day I was at the doctor's office with both my boys. We were at urgent care, by the way, so it wasn't a usual night. Nonetheless, my boys were pulling every magazine off the rack, coughing up a storm, trying to figure out how many times they could push the water fountain on, running out the door into the rain, and pushing each other to try to get the front desk woman's attention. As I felt the eyes watching us, I thought to myself, "I wonder if they know this isn't how my kids usually act." Just then, I caught the eye of another woman who smiled and said, "Those sure are two adorable boys. Reminds me of mine when they were little." It was just what the doctor ordered for that particularly hectic mommy moment.
Email me and let me know what you think.
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Friday, Nov. 27th, 2009
Ghost of Thanksgiving Past
By Tisha Powell
I'm happy to say that I have made it through yet another Thanksgiving. I have never really been crazy about Thanksgiving. It's something I feel like I have to endure rather than enjoy. As a child, I would spend it with my father's family. My grandmother's house didn't have heat, so the drama always started with determining who was going to get to stay at my aunt's nice, warm house nearby. My mom always made the turkey, one of my aunts made pies and one of my uncles always said the longest grace on the planet. I honestly don't remember what everyone else did, but I knew it was only a matter of time before someone would irritate someone else.. either on purpose or by accident.
I don't know what other families are like during Thanksgiving, but for us... you could cut the tension with a turkey carving knife. My dad's mother has long since passed away and we don't all get together on Thanksgiving anymore. In fact, many of us don't speak at all. My parents are now divorced and I spend most of the holidays with my mom and siblings. We're a much smaller group now, and we actually laugh and look forward to seeing each other.
I know the holidays are about family, but should we be forced to spend time with family members we don't get along with simply because they’re family? Should we bury the hatchet and extend an olive branch during the holidays to people we haven't spoken to all year?
I want my daughter to have pleasant holiday memories, and not be haunted as an adult by holidays that went horribly wrong. I want her to always feel loved, accepted and happy. Maybe we should spend more time with family members when it's not so hectic and people aren't as stressed out by the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Maybe we should make more of an effort to develop better relationships with our relatives throughout the year, so we’re not strangers who merely tolerate each other during the holiday season. Or even worse.. strangers who refuse to speak to one another for the rest of our lives.
Thursday, November 25th, 2009General Home Manager
By Frances Scott
My husband is the pied-piper of children. He literally can skip through a room, and the children will follow him like ducklings. And frankly, I wish he’d stop mopping the floor with me, when it comes to his mastery of children and our household. I mean we all know that he’s simply better at it, but the way he’s been showing me up lately is ridiculous!
When I was a working mom, four years ago, right after the birth of our twins, I can honestly say I was judgmental of working moms. Like we don’t have enough guilt on our plates; I had to go ahead and toss in some disapproval, with a little self-condemnation sprinkled on top. My thought was, “I decided to have these kids! Why shouldn’t I be the one to be with them 24/7 and to do stuff for them? I mean I can hold down a job and run a house-hold! How hard could staying HOME with them be?”
And God laughed.
Four years of being a stay-at-home mom humbled me, 100 percent. Fact is: I’m just BAD at “momming” young children, and never is it more evident than when my husband’s in charge. Until we get our house unpacked (yes, we finally closed on our place), Skip will continue to be in charge of the house and kids, and once we get settled, he’ll go back to accounting. “General Home Manager,” or GHM for short, is what we call the position. Both of us have had the position before, and we’ve agreed that its contract should have a “two-year burn-out clause.” When he was GHM from 2003-2005, he burned out physically (a back problem that left him literally crawling for months. You can still see the scars on his knuckles). I burned out emotionally, at two MONTHS.
When Skip’s GHM, our bills are paid, our pantry’s stocked, our clothes are folded, our kids are clean, their teeth are plaque-free, their breath always smells quite pleasant, and dinner is not only on the table at six, but the evidence of it is gone by 7. He even remembers to feed the turtle. And, dang it; I just can’t figure out why he’s so MUCH better at this than I am!
But Skip has help, thanks to his “selective hearing” and his “emotional switch.” Skip, the three kids and I will be in the car, and he’ll be in the middle of telling me something DIRELY important, when --- “Excuse me, Dad? Dad? Dad? Excuse me, Dad? Um, Dad?” As Skip talks on, and after about two more minutes, “Dad? Dad? Excuse me, Dad?”-- I interrupt. “Seriously, Skip! You don’t even NOTICE that???” He looks at me blankly, “Notice what?” If children are the dog whistles of life, then Skip is the human being, and I am the dog. I can’t NOT HEAR their every whine and peep. The absence of selective hearing started my GHM burn-out, which was hastened by the insane, incessant sweaking and shrieking that comes from the videos that I’d let the kids watch, when their talking started to REALLY get to me. Within the first month of my attempt at being a happy, well-adjusted stay-at-home mom, it was clear, instead of Supermom, I had become an angry, frustrated, dizzy, distracted, helpless blubbering idiot of tears.
But Skip also has an emotional switch, and I don’t. If one of our kids is stressed or upset, he can just “turn it off.” He can manage the outburst, soothe feelings, and move on. Meantime every person and every thing affects me emotionally, and you can go ahead and SQUARE THAT, when we’re talking about my children. Skip can steer right on, through a hurricane of snot, tears, and wails, and he can even sidestep the whining hailstorms and poubting tornadoes that whirl on each side. NOBODY will ever be able to push Skip off course, and if he DECIDES to change course, he’ll do so calmly, rationally, and with a clear-head.
Skip knows how much it bugs me that he’s better at being our designated pied-piper and GHM, but he says there should be one consolation. “You know how the children affect you to your core, and you get paralyzed by them, and there’s nothing you can do can change that fact?” he asked me one day, after a particularly hysterical melt-down I’d had over something probably as significant as trying to get the kids to put on shoes. “Yea?” I said, secretly hoping he’d found some technique I could use to neutralize their effect on me. “Well that’s exactly what you do to me. You’re MY kryptonite. You’re the one thing over which I am powerless. So when you think I don’t know how you feel… You have to know that I know EXACTLY how you feel.”
Great. He’s a great GHM, AND he always knows exactly what to say. Maybe I’ll get my groove back in time for the teen-age years.
Monday, November 23rd, 2009Warp Speed
By Amber Rupinta
As many parents will tell you-time takes on new meaning after you have children. It seems to move faster, there's never enough of it, and there are a lot of opinions of how you (and your children) spend it. And, this weekend, I had one of those moments where I realized how sad it can make you if you really think about how fast the time goes. My father turned 75 this weekend. In my book, 75 is a big birthday! My father is in great health and still works full-time because he loves it! He's a nurse and feels like he's doing God's work. "It keeps him young," he says.
But, I couldn't help but feel bit of sadness with this birthday. Of course, I know I am lucky to still have both of my parents. Maybe it's the holidays quickly approaching. (Didn't we just celebrate Halloween?) Somehow, though, my father's birthday makes me think about the next few years and how I want to spend them. I don't have many vivid memories of my grandparents. I only knew my mother's mother. My father's parents never came to the U.S. from the Philippines. They both passed away there when I was pretty small. So, I look at my boys and wish they will have a different experience. I want them to know and remember their grandparents. If something were to happen to one of them at this point with my children being so small, I know there would be no memory of either of them. I ask my husband about this and he says he also doesn't remember his grandparents because he didn't spend that much time with them and almost all of them passed away when he was really young. He was blessed, though, to have his Nana well into his 20's.
This milestone birthday makes me think back on my parent's lives. I remember when my father just graduated nursing school-he was in his 30's. In a flash, he's now in his 70's. I think about his life and all that he's accomplished and wonder if he is as amazed as I am. Of course, with a little luck and some good health, he will be around for many more years. But, one thing I know for sure. Time seems to be moving at warp speed. Before we know it, one day we all wake up and say, "Where did the time go?" So, before we have to pause to remember, I am going to make sure we pause to create some memories. I call my mom and ask her if there's anything I can do to make sure my parents are going to make it down to North Carolina this week to celebrate the holiday. My boys and cameras are standing by.
Email me and let me know how you slow down with your family.
Friday, Nov. 20th, 2009
One last visit from Santa!
By Tisha Powell
I'm afraid to ask my seven-year-old what she wants from Santa for fear she has stopped believing. Christmas is just over a month away and she hasn't said a word. There are Christmas songs on the radio, toy advertisements and decorations up, and my second grader hasn't asked for anything from Old St. Nick or even talked about making a list to give him at the mall. Is my sweet little innocent daughter... a non-believer?
This past Easter, my daughter asked her dad if the Easter bunny really exists. He then asked her, "What do you think?" You could see her wheels turning, but she just sat in silence. We just let it go. She didn't push the issue, so neither did we.
The excitement of Christmas morning has been more fun as a parent than it ever was as a child. I remember my sister and I being too wired to sleep and chatting the night away until fatigue finally won over. This went on for years, but then suddenly.. it happened. We both stopped believing in Santa and stopped getting up in the middle of the night to look under the tree. Just like that... the magic stopped. Life pulled back the curtain on Christmas.
I know our kids have to grow up, but I can't help being a little sad. I know this will likely be our last visit from Santa, if he hasn't already scratched my daughter's name off his list. I just want one more magical Christmas like in the Polar Express. I wish I knew how to convince my daughter to keep believing in the jolly old elf just a little while longer. That's what I hope I get from Santa this year. p> Email me with feedback and comments.
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Wednesday, November 18th, 2009
Why, why, why...
By Frances Scott
Like so many of you, I just can't even fathom who could murder a child. I mean MURDER& and a baby girl, no less! I've been in "news" now for about 14 years, and have certainly known of plenty of child-abduction cases, but I still find it hard to believe that so much "wrong" is in the world. Every single situation that ends like this one just rips me to shreds. "Who could do this? How? Why?" At this moment, I know of at least eight dear friends who would love nothing more than to welcome children into their homes. Some people desire and cherish children; others treat them no better than hunted animals. Any ONE of these eight friends of mine would have joyfully brought Shaniya Davis into his or her family, especially to spare her from this fate. So many people long for babies, as my husband and I did years ago, and others treat children like trash.
What puzzles me so much is seeing that picture of her, dressed in that perfect pink and white dress, with those gorgeous bright eyes and simply perfect smile. She was obviously adored by SOMEONE, at least at SOME point. You know the will and determination it takes to take any child, clean and pressed, to a photographer. In the picture that I'll always remember, her hair was tied up neatly on top of her little head. Somebody had wanted to preserve that moment in her childhood. When I photograph my own children, I do it as part of an effort to, in some strange way, "preserve" them& to capture who they are and to try to remember how much I loved them at the very moment the camera lens clicked. That's part of why those of us who work "in news" simply enjoy documenting and conveying "life." Contrary to popular thought these days, many of us in media really do like the "good stories" better than the tragedies. I can tell you first hand, especially for those covering the search for Shaniya out in the field, this story has really left us with a sense of despair. Normally, when it comes to the bad stories, we're trying to show what's wrong, and hopefully provide part of the inspiration behind an attempt to fix the problem. With Shaniya's story though, how can we even begin to think there's a way to "fix it?" How do you fix something that is so fundamentally wrong?
My English teachers years ago taught me that every essay should be wrapped up with a driving-home point, or at least it should come full circle with a revelation, some sort of closure or some tiny bit of insight. But I have to say, when it comes to little Shaniya's story, I'm just stumped. All I can think is "Why?"
Monday, November 16th, 2009Toy Degree
By Amber Rupinta I need a PhD. But, it's not what you think. The reason I need the advanced degree is due to the toys these days. If you have ever tried to open the packaging of a modern day toy, no doubt, you can sympathize. It is one of the craziest things I've ever seen with all the little ties, and plastic mini-bungee cords. Most of the time, it takes at least 10 minutes to get the toy free of the packaging it's been tied down into and there's a little dance I see my almost-3 year old son break into while waiting. I like to call it the toy-toy dance (this is not to be confused with the pee-pee dance he does at other times-but that's another story).
I know many toys are made overseas because it's more economical for the production. And, I am sure the travels the toys have to endure to get back on the shelves of stores across the world have everything to do with the high tech securing of the toys. And, no doubt, manufacturers know they would have complaints galore from parents after spending their hard earned money on a toy only to find it missing pieces or damaged in shipment. But, is there no simpler way to package a toy so parents everywhere don't have to break out the screwdriver, knives, scissors, pliers, jackhammers, and/or power drills just to get the plastic piece of kid heaven? (Teeth also work from time to time, but, in my experience are not recommended on a regular basis). One Google of this issue brings up 2.3 million responses! Really! Try it. 2.3 million online postings on this issue. So, at least I know I'm not alone.
This breaking into "Toycatraz" as it's lovingly referred to in our house is such a time consuming ordeal, that, my husband and I have agreed we would begin our holiday shopping now so we can devote time to untying the toys before wrapping them. We all know how fast the days go by, especially the holidays, so, we don't want to waste half of Christmas morning pulling the gifts Santa brought out of the packaging. Plus, my son has been telling me for the last few weeks he really really wants a marble elevator. I keep telling him to put it on his list for Santa. I am pretty sure he's finally starting to "get" it when it comes to the whole holiday gift-giving thing. But, for an almost-3 year old to wait months for a toy only to have to watch and wait for a half hour while it gets opened when it finally arrives seems like it would be like torture to a almost-3 year old.
Then, two days ago, we go to Target. I buy a toy robot that walks, talks, and spins around. During this time, I think to myself, 'They can make a robot that does all this, but, can't come up with an easier way to package him?' While waiting for the robot to be freed from his cardboard jail, my anxious son is doing the toy-toy dance jumping up and down and onto me. He's giggling while walking away to send his robot on an adventure and I laugh too. It only took me six minutes to free the toy out of the box and I didn't have to use any tools. My PhD professor would be proud. Email me and let me know about your toy opening issues.
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Friday, Nov. 13th, 2009
Daddy Mix-up
By Tisha Powell
My husband and I went to a Veteran's Day program at our daughter's school. After it was over, a kindergarten teacher called us over to meet a student in her class. Come to find out, the little girl had mistaken my husband dressed in an Army uniform for her father who is currently deployed to Iraq. My heart sank. At that moment, I couldn't help but wish her dad were there with us and I realized how fortunate my daughter is to have her father safe at home.
My daughter was too young to really remember what is was like to when her dad was deployed, but I remember it well. What was already a challenging time as a parent was that much harder. I experienced the terrible two's, potty training, ear infections, accidents and more all by myself. I developed a new found respect for single mothers and what they face everyday. I remember driving my daughter around in the car on Sunday afternoons praying she would fall asleep, so I could go back home and do chores around the house. I would play video tapes of my husband reading her stories, so she wouldn't forget what he looked like and sounded like.
Life for military families with loved ones overseas can often be filled with anxiety, frustration and sadness. Many of my co-workers and friends would help me out by babysitting my daughter or picking her up from preschool when I had to work late. I wouldn't have made it through without their support. That's something I would like other moms and dads to consider if they know a military family. If you see parents who are struggling and need help.. lend a hand. They may be up at night worrying if their soldiers are going to make it home. Think about what you can do to give them one less thing to worry about.
Email me with feedback and comments.
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Wednesday, November 11th, 2009
Console Freak
By Frances Scott
I'm worried that video games might be the devil. However we now have not one, but TWO video game consoles in our home. Last year I agreed to let a Wii become our kids' Christmas present. I'd tried out Wii Boxing and had worked up a serious "glisten," so I figured the Wii offered our kids a lot more activity than most consoles. Plus we were living in the mountains of Southwestern Virginia at the time, where winter lasts eight months, and an allergy to cold was giving me hives. As a way for our kids to stay active without all of us developing hypothermia, I opened my heart and our home to the Wii.
Well wouldn't you know that the ONLY game they ever wanted to play was Wii Off Road, a driving game, which you can only play while SITTING there, virtually MOTIONLESS? To see our kids suddenly SO transfixed, irked me to no end; it was like I could SEE type-two diabetes settling in. But when it's a gift from people who'll notice its disappearance, is taking it away worth FURTHERING one's reputation as "the difficult, controlling, high-maintenance, hard-to-please, up tight wife who won't let her kids do anything that other kids do"? In addition, "protecting our kids from video games and television" has shown up NOWHERE on my husband's radar. "Some of the smartest guys I know started out as 'gamers!'" he tells me every time I broach the subject. Mind you I do go to bat when there's an issue that, in my motherly opinion, affects our kids' safety or health (wearing seatbelts, wearing helmets, eating vegetables, wearing helmets while eating vegetables, et cetera). I'm still trying to convince myself that it's OK to let this video game thing slide.
We moved down here to NC this past August with almost no personal effects. Left behind were the TV, the Wii, and the V Smile (another gaming system given to us when the twins were four, and the baby was two, for Heaven's sake). For the past three months, our kids have played with paper, clay, blankets and metal cars. I even caught our daughter trying to read the Marketplace section in the Wall Street Journal. The kids have built forts, looked at books, created roads out of popsicle sticks, practiced writing, finger-painted the carpet (OK, so that wasn't so great), and made entire cities out of decorated mac & cheese boxes. They fought less, played together more, and generally reflected upon me the title of "Superior Mother."
Well some of our stuff has finally made it here to the Triangle, and back are the fights over Off Road, complete with glassy-eyed stares. Every ounce of my being would rather see my kids sitting down with a book or driving their trucks all over our popsicle-stick-lined living room than playing video games. I am impassioned enough EVEN to sacrifice household order.
A recent study reported that some kids spend more hours in front of a screen than adults spend at work. I'm sure that 99% of those kids will be just fine, but my "inner mother" hates every bit of it, and I'm trying to figure out if there's a legitimate danger here or if I've just taken my "control-freak parent" inclinations to a whole new level. I've concluded that it's certainly not worth additional chastisement of my poor husband or the trashing of the gifts that people with good intentions have given us, but I do often dodge the issue all together. When the kids come to me, whining about a console that won't turn on, I just say, "Sorry. I'm not sure what's wrong. Mommy doesn't play video games. I think they're boring."
I'll also confess that a console or two "mysteriously" falls behind the entertainment cabinet at least twice a month. A mother has to maintain a Wii bit of control, doesn't she?
Next time, I'll tell you whether we've progressed beyond life in one tiny hotel room and moved finally into a permanent residence. (Here's a hint: "No.")
Monday, November 9, 2009
Getaway Guilt
By Amber Rupinta
In my almost 3 years of being a mom, there are many things I am still trying to figure out. But, one thing I know for sure-there are many things people don't tell you will happen when you become a parent. One that stands out for me, specifically, is just how filled with guilt you will be and how often it will happen. This guilt can best be described as the feeling you can't do everything you need or want to do and be with your children at the same time. There are even books about the phenomenon. I often ask my friends about this and they assure me- it's completely natural. Some say you "get over it" eventually as your children get older and become busier and more independent. But, for the time being, the guilt hits hard and often-at least for me. Some of the moms I have talked with say they feel guilty for working-whether it's a choice or not to work. Others say they feel guilty if they go to the gym for an hour and put their child in daycare at the gym or leave them with a sitter. Some say they feel guilty if they stop to do anything on the way home that may somehow cut into the precious and short time with their kids in the evenings after work . The overall theme with all the moms I talked with is no one seems to feel as if they have enough time or are devoting enough time to their children.
And, it doesn't matter whether you stay at home or work. It's seems like the guilt goes both ways. For instance, my three sisters and my sister-in-law and I have talked about a "girls" weekend for years. It is finally coming to fruition as we realized no one is breast feeding or pregnant and we can actually get away for a few days sans kids. So, we plan a weekend. Sure, there's a lot of juggling to make it happen with schedules and babysitters and husbands who agree to keep the kids all weekend while we are away. Then, a few days before the trip something happens. The excitement that was brewing when it was a month away has turned into anxiety. I can hear it in my sisters and my sister-in-law's voices. There is worry they shouldn't be going. There is worry they will miss something. There is worry all the laundry needs to be done, and the fridge needs to be filled with groceries before we leave. This strikes me as odd since the last time I checked, the grocery stores stay open and no one will go without clothes if the laundry stays piled up a few days longer than usual. I find myself feeling the same thing as the weekend approaches. Then, I remember something. My mom worked full-time my entire life. She had 8 children-yes that is correct-8 children and somehow managed. Yes, we all had to ask our siblings for help with homework or ask our friends parents for rides home from practice. I certainly remember packing my lunch by myself more frequently than not. For the most part, we turned out ok. But, I don't think there was a whole lot of guilt in that house from my mom. That's just the way it was. Does this generation have higher expectations? Do we over extend ourselves and our children?
With those thoughts, my guilt lessens and my hope that no one backs out of our trip grows. I am pretty sure in the back of all of our minds we know everything will be fine. The house will not burn down. The kids will not starve and we'll be back home and back to our routine before we know it. Soon enough, we'll be back to juggling days of shuttling kids to school or practice, running to the grocery store or the park, and putting out whatever fire sparks up on any given moment. Somewhere in the middle of the routine when we are back at home, we'll still feel like there's not enough time. Maybe it's just one of the things no one told me would happen after becoming a mom. Time has taken on significant new meaning. With that realization I have to come to a new conclusion. My friend Frannie said, "You're only guilty if you're doing something wrong." That is so true. So, with that, I unpack the guilt for this trip with my sisters. Because, no matter how many minutes a day I spend with my kids-it's how I spend those minutes that count. Email me and let me know how you feel about kid-less vacations.
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Friday, Nov. 6th, 2009
Blue-eyed Dora
By Tisha Powell
While watching television with my daughter the other day, I happened to see a commercial for the new Dora Links Doll. It's being called the hottest new toy for tweens. You can link the doll to your computer and control her appearance. You can change the color of her jewelry, make her hair grow longer and even change the color of her eyes from brown to blue. Okay... I'm a bit disturbed.
Do we really need something else out there sending the wrong message to our daughters? Shouldn't we be teaching them self-confidence and acceptance? That they're beautiful whatever the color of their eyes or texture and length of their hair. Remember the good old days when Dora was a cute little Latina who palled around with her best friend Boots and went on adventures. Well, the folks at Mattel decided it was time for Dora to grow up and get hair extensions and blue contacts.
Dora isn't the only doll Mattel is making over either. Have you seen the new 'Palm Beach Sugar's Daddy Ken' doll? It's a part of Mattel's Palm Beach doll line geared toward collectors. The new Ken doll is wearing a swirly green jacket, pink shirt and white pants. Mattel says the doll's name is in reference to Ken's pet dog Sugar, and not the term often used to describe the rich older lover of a younger woman. Mattel says the doll that will be available next year is made for adults. I'm just glad my child is being influenced mostly by me.. 'Mommy'.. and not Mattel.
Email me with feedback and comments.
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Wednesday, November 3rd, 2009
Sympathy for the Turtle
By Frances Scott
There's a turtle in my car, and I feel really sorry for her. She's our pet turtle, "Boa," and she's become my car companion for the time being.
You see, we just left our apartment (a three-month lease). We had to tell the managers as soon as we moved in whether we wanted to be checking out in 60 days. "Of course," we assumed, "we'll be able to find a place by then!" Well "then" was this past Friday, and the condo we were trying to buy didn't close on time, because of some snafu regarding the property's title. (I can't tell you exactly the problem; I just know the phrases "TARP program " and "government purchase of bad, bundled debt" were involved.) I have to say, these are really hard times to be trying to buy a house. Most of us who've recently moved still have our "old house," back, wherever we last lived.
Selling our house has proven to be a bear, and of course we are like so many people right now: afraid to buy, for fear the housing market will drop even more. But even as we do try to show some courage and faith, we're realizing that right now is the first time for us (in five previous house purchases ) that the banks are really expecting more from those applying for loans. While applying for our loan, I got lost in all the paperwork and signatures, but I vaguely remember that the lender wanted to know my bra size, my daily fiber intake, and how many fillings were in my mouth. Sheesh!
Anyway, back to Boa. We're living in a hotel now, while we give the condo deal two more weeks to come to fruition. Of course hotels don't allow turtles, and seeing that it's a last-resort place for us to house our three children, I'm not even tempted to skirt the rules. So Boa's hanging with me, with the car windows rolled down, of course. I am, after all, a very compassionate woman it's almost my Achilles heel. When I see Boa crammed in that small white bucket, I feel her pain. I know she hates that tiny bucket. I know she'd rather be back in her expansive tank. As least I think she feels that way. She does convey her disdain effectively, hissing at me from the back seat. Poor little thing.
God describes himself as compassionate too. When describing himself to Moses (in Exodus 32), God picked a word that showed his own vulnerability: "compassionate." Our pastor talked about it last Sunday. I guess I'd never before thought of God as emotionally open or vulnerable to feeling my pain, but to truly be compassionate, his heart would have to hurt when our heart hurts. I've always understood that God is strong, powerful and all-knowing, but I've just never grasped, I guess, that he's compassionate towards us. I guess that notion really spoke to me on Sunday, because compassion for my own children has really felt like a handicap at times, at least when they're throwing their worst fits. Sometimes their pain or frustration almost paralyzes me. I've thought on so many occasions, "If their crying didn't upset me so, maybe I could handle mothering without throwing tear-filled tantrums myself. "
It's not that crying children get to me; it's when MY children are cryingor, not even that they're crying, but that they are in some way troubled or hurting. It's not the noise; it's the unhappiness. I heard last week: "A mother is only as happy as her least happy kid." Boy isn't that the truth? I'm not sure if all fathers get that, but I'm coming to understand that our heavenly father gets that, and I think it's really cool.
I'm not saying that my heart is even 1/1000th as loving or as compassionate as God's. I guess I've just taken new comfort in knowing that He too feels it deeply when his children throw tantrums or get hurt. I just wish I had some of his wisdom, to know that my children will indeed be OK, that we will eventually have a place to call home, and that this poor turtle will soon be on stable ground again.
Email me with your own stories and comments.
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Monday, November 2, 2009
Eating Standing Up
By Amber Rupinta
Is my house the only one that turns into what I like to call the "witching hour" close to dinnertime? Do you know what I mean by the witching hour? Let me describe the scene. Usually around this time, my almost-3 year old has taken every cushion off of the couch and draped every blanket he can get his hands on over them. He has pulled any free toy into his couch "fort" and has started doing somersaults from the coffee table onto the cushions. Usually around this time, my 1-year old screeching like a pterodactyl is pulling on my leg to be picked up to A) see what I am cooking or B) point to every piece of food in sight as a signal to me that he is hungry. As if I'm not already feeling enough pressure to get the food on the table, right? Now, I need to do it even faster with one hand making sure I don't burn the baby on my hip.
So, there is the mad rush to get something to eat on the table for the kids and, of course, something on the TV like Moose A. Moose is blaring (see previous blog entry titled Someone's Getting Neglected). One child is laughing and screaming and jumping into his couch fort while the pterodactyl screeches are increasing in intensity. I am not saying I don't enjoy this rowdiness-I am sure I will look back on these hours and miss them. I, in fact, love having a rambunctious house. I just think it's amazing how having kids makes what used to be an easily accomplished daily task now extremely challenging.
As the "witching hour" comes to a close and I am scrambling to get the food on the table I proceed to wolf down my dinner while standing. This brings me to another observation-every meal I eat at home now seems to be done while standing. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear the news reports that say children who eat with their families stay out of trouble. Trouble is-did that study take into account the "witching hour" leading up to that meal. And, does it affect the children's outcome if mom eats standing up? Email me and let me know if you have a "witching hour" in your house.
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Friday, Oct. 30th, 2009
It's not swine flu?
By Tisha Powell
Last Friday night, my daughter took two bites of her dinner and then put her head down in her dad's lap. She was down for the count. I thought to myself she MUST have the flu. She has been vaccinated for seasonal flu, so it has to be swine flu. That's all anyone talks about, so what else can it be. By midnight, she her temperature was 100.5. By the next morning, it had gone up to 103.2 degrees. Our flu battle was officially on.
Dr. Dad, the pediatrician, brought our seven-year-old to the hospital with a rising fever, chills and body aches. Her lungs looked clear on the x-ray and her flu screening came back negative, but she felt horrible. We decided to treat her flu symptoms with ibuprofen, acetaminophen and Tamiflu. Her fever went up and down from 102 to 104.6 degrees all weekend. To make matters worse, she started vomiting, breathing rapidly and complaining of a new pain in her chest in addition to the other body aches.
By Monday morning, I thought things were looking up. She got her appetite back and ate a pretty good breakfast. It was the most she had eaten in three days. That was around ten o'clock in the morning. By four o'clock, she was vomiting with a fever of 105.4 degrees. I was terrified and about to call 911! That's when her dad walked in from work, listened to her chest, and we were off to the WakeMed emergency room. A new x-ray showed she had pneumonia and needed two different antibiotics. She got her first IV and handled it like a trouper. They let us go home that night with instructions to come back for more antibiotics and another x-ray the next day.
After a week, my daughter is finally on the mend. She's using something called an incentive spirometer to help with her breathing. We're also patting her on the back to loosen the phlegm in her lungs. The big question: Did she ever have the flu? My husband says the flu screening could have given a false negative, but there is also a possibility we could go through this all over again with swine flu if there's no vaccine available. It's a very helpless feeling. I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Email me with feedback and topic suggestions.
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Wednesday, October 28th, 2009
Evil Lurks
By Frances Scott
I often hear that those of us "in the news" like to sensationalize. But maybe it's just that we become intensely passionate, after what we see and hear, while doing our jobs each day. But I'll confess that I simply cannot understand how a human being could NOT be passionate about the abduction, abuse, rape or murder of a child. When a child is abducted, missing, abused, or killed, I want to shout it from the rooftops, so that people caring for children understand how real the danger is, and realize that predators can literally jump into our lives in a matter of seconds.
I wish my kids could enjoy the sunshine by themselves sometimes, or even partake in unrestricted neighborhood romps, but I also want them to live long enough to enjoy such freedoms as adults. I can never remember running freely in a neighborhood, with friends or without; however I distinctly remember the time at which I first understood that there were indeed bad people in this world. It came shortly after the abduction of a Charlotte fourth grader named Amanda Ray, and it was affirmed by the abduction of a Charlotte five year old named Neely Smith. At about 3:30 p.m. on July 18, 1979, Amanda Ray's mother got home from work and couldn't find Amanda. The next day a family, out picking blackberries, found Amanda's body. She had been beaten and smothered. Police believe sexual assault was the motive behind her murder. At about 5 p.m. on February 18, 1981, five-year-old Neely Smith walked from her apartment to a neighbor's apartment to see if anyone could come out and play. Within the hour, her family was searching for her, and within two hours, police had been called. For about two months, her family and the entire city of Charlotte it seemed searched for Neely. Two months later, a guy noticed what looked like a human skull in a driveway. Neely Smith had been raped, beaten, and smothered.
In 1987 a man named Fred Howard Coffey Junior was convicted of murdering Amanda Ray. Police had also questioned him about Neely Smith's murder and numerous others in Virginia, Maryland and Tennessee. According to a psychologist who testified at his murder trial, Coffey admitted to sexually assaulting more than 100 children, up and down the East Coast. Today he is 64 years old. He's in a medium security prison here in NC, and is up for parole again in two years. This coming Monday, he'll have another custody review. A change in his custody status would send him to a minimum security prison facility, where he would become eligible to work and attend church outside prison fences.
I could go on and on, reciting more stories of kids I've known or have covered in the news, who were raped, fondled, snatched, beaten or killed, either by relatives, friends or strangers. CJ Wilkerson. Precious Whitfield. Tristen Buddy Myers. Indeed some child predators are caught. Some are convicted. Some do register as sex offenders, and some even use their real addresses when they register. I don't want to sound judgmental or condemning toward people who parent differently than I do. Agreed-- there's no excuse for a person harming a child, ever. Agreed-- the parents of young victims need prayers and love; most already feel enormously guilty and responsible. My hope is that we all arm ourselves with reality. I'll never forget Amanda, Neely, Precious, Buddy or CJ, or that first sense of vulnerability that I felt when Amanda was murdered. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, that danger is still here, and it's still lurking. Please don't let down your guard.
Monday, October 26th, 2009
Am I Wearing A Diaper?
By Amber Rupinta
"Mommy, am I wearing a diaper?" That's the question my almost 3-year-old son asks daily now that we are potty training in our house. And, each time I get that question, I wonder, "If he knows enough to ask the question doesn't he really know enough to just go?" It also makes me wonder how many other things he really knows but doesn't let onto. After a week of the 'am I wearing a diaper question,' I now have a pad answer, "I don't know, you tell me. Are you wearing a diaper?"
Now, I'm no genius, but, I'm pretty sure he can tell with one feel of his bottom if he is in fact wearing a diaper or not. So, he usually gives me a yes or no answer and then decides if he needs to go to the potty. This leads me to my next observation of the question which I'm not so sure is a question, "Mommy, can I have a treat for going in the potty?" That's usually followed by, "I could have a cupcake. I could have a lollipop. I could have a muffin." I think there's a little more behind these questions coming from my son. So, we are now redefining "treat" in our house to mean something more than a sugary substance.
Treats can mean a lot of things now. Treats can be a sticker-which is going to take some time to get used to on his part because unless it has him climbing the refrigerator 20 minutes after eating it--it was not a treat in his mind. (He really did this the other night after eating a cupcake. He held onto the door handles and climbed up the front of the fridge.) Treat can mean we go to Target and pick out a new matchbox car-which is a 2 year old obsession and quite the bribing tool for moms. But, I am working on making my praise also fulfill the treat requirement.
So, last night, I got the question and we headed to the potty. Afterwards, I took the pre-emptive strike and said, "Mommy is so proud of you for going to the potty." And, to my surprise, his response was, "Thank you Mommy." My heart melted knowing that was treat enough. Then I decided it was a great time for a cupcake.
Email me and let me know your potty training tips.
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Friday, Oct. 23rd, 2009
Clean Up! The Cleaning Lady is Coming!
By Tisha Powell
My husband never thought it was necessary, but I did it anyway. I hired a cleaning lady. Trying to work a full-time job, raise a child AND keep a clean house is close to impossible, so I hired someone to help out every other week with the cleaning. It's a move I thought would help relieve some stress. Boy was I wrong! One of the most stressful times of the week is the day before the cleaning lady comes. There's a big rush to pick up, so she can clean up. How can she vacuum floors covered with toys and dirty laundry, or wipe down kitchen counters cluttered with dirty dishes and bills. The morning she comes, I'm constantly in motion doing last minute chores.
A lot of people tell me that all the cleaning I'm doing defeats the purpose of hiring someone to do it, but what exactly is acceptable to ask a cleaning lady to do? I find myself unstacking the dishwasher and filling it back up, so she can clean the sink. Should they do laundry and widows too? I often tell the cleaning lady to treat my daughter's room like she would her own daughter's room. Put things away neatly like the books on the shelves and prop up dolls on the dresser. I tell her to make neat piles of stuff throughout the house. That's how I live my life.. in piles. Piles of clothes, piles of magazines and piles of junk mail. I rarely know where the bills are, but somehow I manage to pay them.
I have to admit I was green with envy listening to a co-worker talk about how her new nanny who takes care of her baby also cleaned out her refrigerator and organized her cabinets. My husband says the only way to get someone to do more is to ask. I always struggle with asking the cleaning lady, babysitter or anyone else to do anything. I'm under the impression that if they thought it was part of their job they would be doing it already. So like most moms, I just do whatever needs to be done myself to avoid controversy. Okay.. why did I hire a cleaning lady again? The vicious cycle continues.
Email me and let me know if you have the same issues.
Wednesday, October 21st, 2009
Jedi Mom Gets 'Cool' Stolen
By Frances Scott
"Oh Sweetie! You look like you're from The Matrix!" said my husband this morning as he kissed me goodbye. I didn't know whether to take his statement as a compliment or not.
Last week, his remark was, "Ewww! That outfit makes you look like a Jedi!" "Um--- Thanks-- I guess," I replied.
I think he's been shocked lately, now that I've gone back to work, to see me dressed in anything other than sweatpants, pajamas, or the standard-issue Mom uniform: a slightly stained t-shirt, black yoga pants, pony-tail and running shoes. There actually is a strategic reason we moms defer to that ensemble. It makes us look like we might have just been to a hard-core workout session for several hours at the gym with our trainer, Philippe. However we know the truth: we just spent the first half of our day picking granola pieces out of the grooves of the hardwood floor and trying to scratch the dried yogurt off the glass-top kitchen table with our fingernail, followed by no less than 60 minutes of chasing a jacked-up toddler through the grocery in an effort to pick up JUST TWO THINGS, followed by a good two hours of trying to get that same exhausted toddler to PLEASE take a nap so we could finally (at 2pm) get our bath for the day, before all the other rug-rats get home from school. Plus, Philippe's rates are too high anywayand he's not cute enough for us to spend that kind of money.
Now I'm no rocket scientist, but my sense is that any Star Wars reference, coming from a man age 20 to 50 years old, (I'm fairly sure) is a good thing. The problem is I am not even cool enough to know what's cool anymore. I might tell you that I no longer care about being cool, but I'd just be hoping you'd think I'm cool for not caring.
I drove to work today, feeling sort of cool still, because I was listening on my iPod to Temple of the Dog, what I consider to be the last cool CD I bought. (Although, when I bought it, I was actually purchasing a cassette version.) As I sat in traffic through RTP, I wondered to myself, "When was it that I actually lost my 'cool'?" Was it the day I sent my bikini to Goodwill? Was it when I started having to wear makeup every day to cover the age spots I'd acquired during all the years I spent tanning in butter and baby oil? Was it when I stayed inside a cubicle so much that my hair no longer naturally got blonde from the sunshine, and I had to start coloring it to hide the gray too? Was it when commercial radio suddenly started offending me? Was it when physical therapy became more of a part of my daily life than running, weight lifting or snow skiing? I know I'm not cool anymore. I just wonder exactly when and how it happened.
My sense is that doctors remove your 'cool,' when they deliver your first child. I'm not sure where they put it, but I'm thinking that they give it to your children for future use, say, in middle school or something. The good Lord certainly knows that a middle-schooler will need 'cool' way more than you do. I am CERTAIN my OB/GYN removed part of my brain when she delivered my twins. I think the next doc, who delivered my third child, removed whatever grey-matter was left. Why not take the modicum of 'cool' you have left as well?
Fast-forward 15 minutes, and it's now five 'til nine. The cubicle beckons, and I realize I'm seeing my last few rays of sunshine for the day. I turn into the parking lot at work. The iPod has shuffled on from Temple of the Dog to the end of a Matt Nathanson song (probably the only artist I've purchased in the last 4 years), and again, I sense a lost twinge of cool. (It's hiding somewhere in the car. I can feel its presence.) I turn up the song even louder, and open the door to my car, letting the song rock the neighborhood, fantasizing that someone will hear it and think, "Man, Frannie's old, but she's still a little cool." While wrestling with one of the eight bags, purses and satchels which I carry to and from work each day (another sign of "uncoolness;" cool people live free and unencumbered), the iPod shuffles to the next song, and before I can run around to the front of the car to hit the pause button, my high-heeled boot gets caught on my Matrix coat.
I fall into the very pile of homeless-lady bags, satchels and purses that I'm trying to unload. As the rest of my coworkers emerge from their cars, my iPod blasts one of my kids' favorite songs to the entire ABC 11 parking lot-- "We are the Doodlebugs."
I'm no rocket scientist, but I'm fairly sure that the doodlebugs just killed what cool I had left. Monday, October 19th, 2009
Swine School
By Amber Rupinta
Working in the news business can be a blessing and a curse when it comes to being informed. Case in point-H1N1 or the swine flu . We all know the swine flu has been leading local and national newscasts for months http://abcnews.go.com/Health/SwineFlu/ . You hear about children dying from the swine flu and in many cases it's children with pre-existing conditions like asthma. But, it still makes you worry about sending your children off to school. Last week, I stopped into a pre-school to talk about registering my 2 year old son and the first question I had was, "How many cases of the swine flu have you had?"
But, I wonder-shouldn't we be just as worried about the seasonal flu? Is it because the swine flu is new and leading the news that there is such a fear? My son is asking to go to school and I want him to go, but, now people are telling me I should wait until next year when he is 3 and the flu season is over. The problem is, I wonder how we ever managed to get to this point with all the things we didn't know about growing up. I would really love to talk to someone who has a child who had the swine flu to know just how bad it really is.
There is so much information it is hard to determine what is hype and what is the reality. If I give my son the swine flu shot will it help protect him enough that I won't have to worry about sending him off the his first adventure to school? Has your child had the swine flu? What are the symptoms? Then the other day my friend tells me her doctor isn't swabbing to determine if her child has the swine flu, but, he's sure that's what it is. This only confuses me more. So, I am going to cross my fingers and let him start pre-school knowing he will get sick regardless. Maybe I'm the one who could use a lesson from a mom about the reality of children who get the swine flu.
Email me and let me know if you have any insight into the swine flu.
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Friday, Oct. 16, 2009
Biker Baby
By Tisha Powell
My family and I were riding home from church and pulled up next to a man on a motorcycle. He had a passenger riding with him who appeared to be his daughter.. maybe about nine years old. This young girl was wearing a half shell helmet, a t-shirt, capri pants and flip flops. I thought to myself as I turned around and looked at my seven-year-old daughter, propped up in a mandatory booster seat, is that legal? Well, come to find out.. it is. According to the North Carolina Department of Transportation, there is no age restriction when it comes to passengers on motorcycles.
That just seems odd to me considering the recent changes in state law regarding booster seats in cars. In 2004, legislators passed a law requiring children younger than eight years old and weighing less than 80 pounds remain in booster seats. Supporters said it would prevent injuries and deaths. The last thing I want to do is upset motorcycle enthusiasts, but does a child really belong on the back of a motorcycle? The idea scares me to death. I just wonder if that little girl's mama knew where she was.
I'm sure many parents are excellent riders, but it's not them I'm afraid of. A few months ago, I was driving down the road and needed to switch lanes. I didn't realize until it was too late that I had forced a person on a motorcycle out of their lane. I just didn't see him. They were able to quickly switch lanes to avoid disaster. Other drivers simply not seeing a motorcycle in traffic is one of the most common causes of motorcycle accidents. If you can't see an adult on a motorcycle.. how can you see a child along for the ride?
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Wednesday, October 14th, 2009
Buy This & Get Skinny
By Frances Scott
"Mommy look! If you get that stuff, you'll be skinny!"
My daughter's words stopped my beating heart. She had been watching TV for some reason. I normally only let our children watch PBS, because I understand, somewhat, the power of advertising. (Notice I said *I* only let them watch PBS. My husband doesn't subscribe to all my "rules," but he tolerates them while I'm home.) Normally our kids get bored enough with the PBS long-format documentaries that they wander off and start drawing, screaming, torturing one another, or generally causing household chaos. But for some reason, in that millisecond, a different channel was on, and my daughter noticed a commercial for some sort of diet aid. I was so upset by her remarks because, in her six years of life, I have gone out of my way NEVER to criticize anything about my body or appearance and, in fact, ONLY to praise myself (in spite of very real doubts and struggles).
One day, as I was getting ready to go somewhere, my husband, after casually mentioning that his mother ALWAYS wore a bathrobe while getting ready, said, "You know, when the boys get older, they may not want you to be walking around the house like that." I said, "I want them to know what a REAL woman's body looks like." I feel it's so important for us to show both boys and girls that the bodies we see on TV are normally those of the most fit people, whose JOB it is to stay in shape, which sometimes requires hours of fitness training several times a day.
My parents have never mentioned my body-shape or appearance, at least not in front of our kids. Of course my husband has never criticized my appearance. (Otherwise I'd be a widow.) So how did my children pick up on my struggle with weight?
When I moved here from Virginia two months ago, I brought only our clothes, some sleeping bags, a tent, our computer and my treadmill. The treadmill was our only "real" piece of furniture for weeks. Maybe my occasional foray into the world of home-fitness has tipped off my children. "Mommy needs to work out to keep her back strong and to stay healthy," is how I normally put it. It has, however, always been my intent to emphasize to our children that "Skinny isn't necessarily healthy," and "We want to be strong and active, not skinny for skinny's sake!" But somehow she's caught on about my battle with weight. Why are kids so smart and perceptive, even as kindergarteners?
When she made the "skinny" comment, I decided to use the moment as a teachable one, again reminding her that our goal in life isn't to look like or be like people we see on TV, but to love God and other people and even ourselves. I reminded her, as I have in the past, that most of what she'll see on TV and all around in America is marketing, and that it does serve an important purpose: to help people make money to support themselves and to provide support for other people in this world. Marketing isn't the bad guy. Not recognizing marketing for what it is; that's where we seem to have gotten off track. I am so proud when I hear my six-year-old son say to his three-year-old brother "That's a want, not a need," or "They are just trying to get us to spend our money, but we need to save for college."
Of course if marketing didn't work and weren't an important part of business, I'd not be here writing you today or enjoying any other aspect of employment. I love TV and its ability to reach people. I love our country. And and maybe it's because I married an accountant, I think that what I understand about capitalism has greatly benefitted America. I respect capitalism, not because it's enabled us to be one of the world's wealthiest countries, but because of how that wealth provides us with the opportunity to help others. That said, I'm going to start being even more diligent in making sure that when my kids see commercials, and when I see commercials, we also see THROUGH them.
The next time my daughter saw that same commercial, I heard her say, "Mommy's fine, just as she is." My Strategic, 18-Year Mommy Marketing Plan has begun to work.
Monday, October 12th, 2009
Someone's Getting Neglected
By Amber Rupinta
OK, I survived the trip to the doctor solo on shot day. I have to say, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be! My first son's trip for shots at two months that scarred me was not a true indication of what it would be like with baby number two on his first birthday. I have to admit, I shed a few tears, but, we both survived.
Now, that brings me to my next topic-just surviving. Many mothers experience those days (some more often than others) that we are all doing ok if we just survive. I am on a mission to stop this in my house and it doesn't seem like I can. My friend, Denise, and I were talking the other day and she was saying in her New York accent, "You know, Ambah (that's not a typo-that's how she says my name) those women who are at the park all dolled up with their hair and nails done and their trendy outfits are all a sham, right?" She continued, "Someone's getting neglected for her to look like that!" And, as Oprah says, I had an A-ha moment!
Someone does have to get neglected for anything to get done in my house. Mommy needs to cook dinner so we don't eat out five times a week and I can provide you with a nutritious meal-someone's getting neglected. Mommy needs to fold the laundry so we can all have some order when we reach for a t-shirt in the hectic morning-someone's getting neglected. Mommy needs to go to the gym for my sanity and to fight the baby weight (see previous blog entry) and you guessed it, someone's getting neglected.
Now, when I say neglect, it's not the "call social services" type of neglect. It's the "put on Noggin" http://www.nickjr.com/about/noggin-nickjr.html and buy myself 20 minutes type of neglect. In fact, I'm not embarrassed to admit Moose a Moose is my pinch hit babysitter from time to time. But, that frazzled feeling of never having enough time and the daily feeling of, ok, we are surviving this doesn't seem to be going away. I am guessing it will get a little easier when I don't have two kids in diapers and they can interact together more when the play. But, currently, it's my 2 year old snatching everything from my 1 year old as he screeches like a just hatched baby dinosaur. I could drop what I'm doing and get involved to make sure they are playing nice, but, something else would have to get neglected. I guess for the next few minutes, we'll just survive.
Email me with your experiences.
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Friday, Oct. 9, 2009
What's in a name?
By Tisha Powell
One day my husband came home from work and told me about four newborn baby boys he had cared for that day at the hospital. They were all from different families and all looked different, but all had one thing in common. They were all named Aiden. According to the Social Security Administration, there were 904 baby boys born last year in North Carolina named Aiden, Ayden or Aidan. When you add them all up, the popular name beat out the number one name of William which only has one common spelling. There were only 878 of those last year.
So where did this obsession with the name Aiden come from anyway? My best guess is the hit show Sex and the City and Carrie Bradshaw's lovable boyfriend Aidan Shaw played by John Corbett. Many fans hoped Carrie, played by Sarah Jessica Parker, would eventually marry Aidan, but we all know how that turned out. This may not be where the Aidan obsession began, but a lot of women of childbearing age did faithfully watch that show.
I guess what I'm really wondering, as I type on my Mac laptop like Carrie, is why so many moms choose names for their children from the same small pool of names every year. For instance, at my daughter's dance school there are 11 Carolines, 11 Hannahs, 10 Emmas and 8 Emilys. Emma was the number one name chosen for baby girls born in this country in 2008.. beating out Emily which ranked number one for the past 12 years!
My daughter's first and middle names come from my paternal grandmother and my husband's maternal grandmother. I will admit I was in love with the name Emily Grace, but after doing a little research we decided to go in a different direction. We honestly didn't consider any celebrities, star athletes or politician's names. We just wanted something simple her teacher could pronounce and the average person with a brain could spell. We also wanted her to have a name with some family history that she hopefully wouldn't have to share with half of the other girls in her class. Some people try to avoid that by giving a popular name a unique spelling. Last weekend, I saw the name Bridget spelled B-R-Y-J-Y-T. Don't expect to find that on a keychain.
I love it when celebrities have babies because I can't wait to see what crazy and unusual names they're going to come up with for their new kids. Sometimes I just turn to my own family for amusement. My brother-in-law's sister named her daughter Cartier Milan after an expensive brand of jewelry and the fashion capital of Italy. Maybe she's fulfilling he materialistic desires through her child. I have known people named Porche, Mercedes and Diamond.
My mother plucked my name from the credits of a movie she was watching while in labor starring actress Tisha Sterling. According to howmanyofme.com there are exactly 11 people in the United States named Tisha Powell. Tisha is a name that's often mispronounced and often misspelled, but one thing I have grown to love about my name... I seldom have to share it.
Wednesday, October 7th, 2009
From a little Libra on a public school bus
By Frances Scott
Just One Perspective...
I'm a Libra, and it seems to fit perfectly with my chosen career. Libras are constantly trying to find balance, thus "the scales" are our sign. I am always weighing and considering and trying to make up my mind. It's not that I'm easily influenced, but I can normally see things from many perspectives, and I enjoy finding out what other people think and why. When it comes to Wake County's school system and its efforts to make schools effective for all kids, I am honestly able to see both sides: those for keeping schools neighborhood-based (Who doesn't want their kids near home?) and those who want to make sure no school has more than a small percentage of kids who come from homes below the poverty level (A less-than-affluent neighborhood shouldn't mean that kids should be doomed to a less-than-stellar education).
I spent all twelve of my primary school years in the Charlotte-Mecklenburg School System. At the time, it was one of only a few American systems that subscribed to "forced busing." A student would spend three years going to a neighborhood school, then three years being bused to a school way across town, then three years close to home, and three years of being bused across town. When I was nine, I remember leaving home at 6:00 in the morning to ride the bus for an hour or more to a school far from my home, in hopes of keeping schools racially diverse. I hated the busses. I hated the trouble the kids on my bus would make during the long hours riding the busses. I hated being in a school in a neighborhood I had never seen before, and knowing my mom was more than an hour away. I was scared. I don't want our kids to experience what I experienced with forced busing.
When I was young, being raised by a single mom, I am pretty sure I would have been considered one of the "poor kids." In my neighborhood, I saw kids with pretty rough lives and also a lot of things I'd rather forget. My second elementary school was in the most economically-challenged part of town, and in fourth grade, I remember being so scared, because there were bars on the school windows. I hated the bus rides that made my school day far too long. One day, my classmates found a hand on the playground. Yes, a man's severed hand? under our monkey bars. What an education I was getting!
When I was ten, we moved to an area where the wealthier kids went to school. There were girls on my sports teams who needed rides home after practice, and when I'd drop them off, I'd find out that they were headed not inside to do homework like I was going to do, but out to fast food restaurants to work for the money their families so desperately needed. Talk about a great life-lesson! As I drove home to hit the books, I wondered how they would ever be able to do their homework, once they finished working at 11:00 at night. I also thought about how hard it would have been to be involved in any extracurricular sports or activities, if my high school hadn't been so close to home.
On the flip side, there were kids in my AP classes who wouldn't have had access to those specialized classes, had they gone to their neighborhood school instead of the school across town in the "suburban" area. I became friends with girls and boys whom I never would have gotten to meet, were it not for forced busing. I now love and am comfortable with people from all backgrounds and economic spectrums, thanks to forced busing.
The real problem for me came when I got to college and found I was woefully unprepared. The kids at Virginia Tech with me had been educated in the Northern Virginia school districts and simply knew much more than I did, plus they knew how to study. Though I'd taken AP, AG and advanced classes, I'd never been challenged enough to need to learn how to study. I wondered how I could have graduated with a great GPA and still was so far behind. It made me wonder if Charlotte school leaders had spent money on diesel fuel that they could have used for hiring and keeping the best teachers. A lot of my friends' moms were teachers and they really did care about their students, but couldn't afford to stick with teaching, because it didn't cover their own life's expenses.
I think the answer, at least for my family now, has come down to one word: choice. If my husband and I, as parents, can be the ones to select for our kids the schools that are the best academically and the best for our family's circumstances, and if all parents are given that choice, then competition will force the "under performing" schools to get better, provided there are consequences for the under performers and rewards for the over-achievers. My diverse educational upbringing has taught me that great teachers come from all ethnic backgrounds, have all skin colors, and can succeed at making kids love to learn in spite of troubled neighborhoods and in spite of economic trials. But we have to affirm what works, and we have to be able to walk away from what doesn't. I am so curious to see which way Wake County is going to go. Email me with your own stories and tips.
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Monday, Oct 5th
Painful Vacinations
By Amber Rupinta
My son is due for his one year vaccinations. This is usually a really bad day in my house and it's more my fault than the babies. Normally, I have my husband take the kids to their shot appointments because I bear to can't watch them get injected.
Yes, I know this may be a little extreme, but, I discovered I had a "low" shot tolerance at my first sons two month check-up. That was the first recommended round of shots AAP Immunization Recommendationsby our doctor. Maybe it was the hormones of just having had a baby, but, I cried hysterically and had to leave the room. From that point on, I have always stepped out of the room when they need shots or had my husband take the kids.
Well, this time around, he is out of town when the appointment is scheduled, so, it looks like I am on my own. I am nervous. I am also wondering if other parents feel the same way on shot day. I have asked a few people and most say they don't get really nervous about the shots. Sometimes, I wonder if it's from working in the news business. There is so much news about what can go wrong with reactions. When I was pregnant with my second child, I covered the "Green Our Vaccines March" on Washington. Green Our Vaccines March This fueled the debate about vaccinations in my home.
So, between the warnings on both sides of the vaccination debate are parents like me hoping they are doing the right thing for their children. But, I know one thing for sure, check-ups where shots are recommended are dreaded days in our house. So, as we say in the news business, stay tuned to see what happens next after my solo visit.
Email me with your own stories and tips.
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Friday, Oct. 2nd
Extracurricular Overload
By Tisha Powell
As the choir director leads a number of singing kids, a seven-year-old bolts into the sanctuary twenty minutes late wearing pink tights and a leotard. Choir practice starts promptly at six o'clock, exactly when dance lets out. My daughter wants to do both. But it's not just dance lessons and the church choir on her list of after school activities. Her time is divided between several hours a week of gymnastics training, religion class and ice skating. Oh.. and lets not forget the violin that's sitting on the floor in the guest room. Her father is planning on creating the next Itzhak Perlman.
So just how much is too much when it comes to a seven-year-old's itinerary? I was always told that it's all about your grades in school. If your grades are suffering, then you have to give up an after school activity that's cutting into your study time. My daughter is actually doing pretty well in school. I couldn't ask for more. I'm pleasantly surprised by exactly how well she manages to balance an advanced cirriculum at school and all of her sports and social activities.
What I am worried about is the toll the demanding sport of gymnastics is taking on her body. For a seven-year-old, she's very lean and is showing symptoms of Osgood-Schlatter Disease, a condition that causes her some knee pain. According to Dr. Dad, it's pretty common in growing athletes. She simply needs some rest. But with her rigirous workout schedule, downtime is hard to come by.
I have come to the realization that we can't do it all, and one day I'm going to share that information with my daughter. We cut back her time on the ice tremendously because skating conflicts with gymnastics, but that hasn't diminished her desire to skate. I also hope the choir director at church continues to be understanding when it comes to her tardiness. Singing is one of her passions. I admit I'm still trying to figure out how to juggle them all and decide what to let fall without her being too disappointed. I don't want to be told ten years from now.. "You killed my dream."
What matters most to me right now is her happiness. The look on her face when she won first place at her last gymnastics competition was absolutely priceless. Shock and pride all rolled into one. She had a feeling accomplishment and pure bliss. What I'm also proud of is the person she is becoming due to her busy schedule. She has the discipline it takes to stay on task in school, the strength and flexibility of a good gymnast and she has a strong faith and commitment to her church. All the right ingredients of a pretty well-rounded child. How did I get so lucky?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monkey Bars and Merle Haggard
By Frances Scott
I just joined Curves. I feel kind of silly, but I'm really enjoying it, and I wish I could spread the word to all women who are intimidated about working out in a coed gym. In the past few years, I've developed a sort of self-consciousness about working out in coed facilities, in part, because of all these crazy hip and low-back stretches that my physical therapist has prescribed. Nobody wants to be known as "that news lady who's always doing contortionist moves." It's bad enough being recognized at the OB/GYN's office.
My answer to this conundrum was to do my exercises at home, but let's get real. If you have a family full of preschoolers and kindergarteners, you know what happens whenever you get down on the floor and start stretching. We call it "Mommy Monkey Bars." All our kids immediately stop whatever they're doing and immediately jump on me like I'm some sort of monkey-bar gymnasium. Obviously, at that point, my attempt to work out has been thwarted.
The thing I like most about Curves, beyond the fact that there are no men around and the women talk non-stop, is that truly, the women running the place get you in and out in 30 minutes. The women who work there emphasize to all of us guilt-ridden females (who feel like we really should be home with our kids or doing laundry or putting in extra hours at work) that our bodies are worth 30 minutes a day, or at least 90 minutes a week. It's funny that we need so much reassurance about that, isn't it? But "if Mama ain't happy, " as the saying goes, "ain't nobody happy." And if Mama's clothes are tight, and she's feeling fat and out of shape, not only is she not going to be happy, but the Mommy Monkey Bars are a lot less likely to be open for business.
OH, and I promised in the last blog to tell you about my run-in with Merle Haggard. Yes, meeting famous people is one of the cool parts about my job, but this run-in was not what I had in mind. It happened this past summer, when I was working in the bureau of my last station, which happened to be located in the Civic Center of Roanoke, Virginia. Because it was a bureau, nobody was ever there in the office with me, especially after hours, when all the Civic Center people had gone home. Well earlier one summer day, the reporter who'd already logged numerous hours had asked me to feed (send via microwave) his story back to the main station for the 11pm newscast. I said, "No problem."
Fast forward four hours, and I was home in my pajamas for the night: orange and black Halloween pants, complete with bug-eyed black cartoon kitty cats all over them, and a red Dale Earnhardt Junior "Number 8" tank top that my husband had bought me as a joke one time, after I'd said I thought "Little E" was kind of cute. Well I was in the middle of my dinner (Frosted-Mini-Wheats and a Kit-Kat bar) when I realized that I'd forgotten to send in the reporter story and panicked. It was already 10:30 p.m. I'm sure you can relate to eating dinner (cereal and candy) well past 10 p.m.
I put down the Mini-Wheats (but not the Kit-Kat), grabbed some flip-flops, and jumped into the car. When I got to the station, I noticed an unusual amount of cars in the parking lot. What was normally an empty civic center parking lot was packed. I ran in, sent in the story, and proceeded to finish my Kit-Kat, as I walked, relieved that I'd made deadline, back to my car. I was "mid-chew" when my eyes met his. It was none other than Merle Haggard himself, who'd obviously just finished his concert in the building beside mine, and was headed from one tour bus to the other. For a second I tried to figure how I could avert our crossing and maybe take a different path to my car. But it was too late. We were on a b-line toward each other. To change paths would have seemed obvious and awkward. I worried that I'd offend him if I suddenly ran in the opposite direction. He was carrying a box of Triscuits that he was taking from one tour bus to another. Our passing was unceremonious. He gave me a courteous nod, and I efforted a grimacing smile back. The king of Outlaw Country had just seen me in my pajamas.
I'd always pegged Merle as more of a Wheat Thin man.
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Joy of Less
By Frances Scott
Burn the Pod.
I was thinking this morning how happy I am that we don't have furniture. Perhaps I'm just trying to relive my college years, the years we went "sans furniture" to save money. This time my husband and I have left all of our furniture back in Virginia to help our house up there show better in our futile attempt to sell it, but it's driving my mom and my Aunt Mary nuts. "I can't believe you don't have any furniture!" says my mom. "Well, we DO have mattresses, Mom, and really, with three small kids, we spend all of our time on the floor anyway!" I said.
We do have a kid-sized table though, so the kids can eat dinner on something other than the floor (or in the tub). It's a table upon which my cousin Rhonda and I used to play "waitress" when we were six years old. Actually my real-life waitressing skills have helped me so much as a mom and in the work force. Are the kids crying because they don't want the food that you've served? Yes, I remember handling several customers like that when I was serving lobster bisque at Duffy's Quarterdeck in Bar Harbor, Maine, in the summer of 1992.
Daily my son and I do this little dance that I like to call, "My milk's not warm enough/Now it's too hot!" It sends me running back and forth between the microwave and the ice-maker, normally, about five times per morning. "Save your steps," we used to say in the waitressing world. That means you should never let a trip to the kitchen be just for one purpose; always grab a dirty dish to take with you or the tea-pitcher for that other grumpy customer. In the morning, I am a grumpy waitress in a restaurant full of grumpy customers. Oh, and one other thing that one of my waitress-friends taught me: "Don't expect tips? You're lucky just to have a job." That one has helped me a lot recently, both in the office and at home.
Life without furniture has shown me how simple life can be, without all of our stuff. Your stuff really does own you. I've found that to be true, the more I let go of it. My husband thinks I'm purging stuff that we actually do need and that I'll end up buying it all again, but now that I've started getting rid of all of our stuff, I'm addicted to the idea that it's gone on to help a family that really needs it, and that I don't have to dust, move, maintain or look after it ever again!
All we really need to get by in life, even with children, is Children's Tylenol Flu medicine, a few games of knee football on the bare living room floor, book-time each night, a camera, some Diet Mountain Dew, and a very strong washing machine and drier set. We've even gone for months now without cable! As we've gotten rid of some things, and other things are just sitting in a Pods unit somewhere, I've realized how little I need, and how little I want, which is really making my husband happy, as we house shop. Suddenly 1400 square feet of house seems like PLENTY of room for a family of five. I'm sure it will be, until the Pod and the moving truck show up. At that point I plan on having a huge yard sale and taking a huge truck straight to Goodwill.
I was sharing all of these epiphanies with my dear friend Amber Rupinta. "Downsizing is in," she told me. Now I just hope I am just as successful in downsizing my hips.
In the mean time, I hope our Pod burns. I don't ever want to see that stuff again.
Next time, I'll tell you about my recent run-in, in my pajamas, with Triscuit-weilding, country music legend, Merle Haggard.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Back in Black...
By Frances Scott
You can learn a lot from Angelina Jolie. Well you can learn at least one thing, and it's something all mothers of multiples know: black is your best friend, when it comes to dressing yourself. My husband was looking at some picture of Angelina in an _Us Weekly_ I had sitting around. (Notice I had bought it, but HE was looking at it.) "I can't believe you read these things," he always says of the tabloid rags I bring home (my guilty pleasure).
"Angelina Jolie always wears black," he said, staring at her picture, to which I replied nonchalantly, "That's because she has so many children."
Whether you have one child or six, as a mom, you know that simply getting dressed in the morning is a huge struggle. Add to it the frustration of trying to dress several other live, wiggling, resistant bodies, and you understand why black is my color of choice. Several years ago, I threw out all of my shoes that weren't black. They were just taking up space and cluttering my life. Now finding shoes that match is one less thing I have to do in the morning.
From that point on, I said, "If I can't wear black shoes with it, I'm not buying it." So the next articles to go were pants that were any color other than black, and then non-black tops. There are so many reasons to celebrate black. You don't have to worry about things not matching if you wear only black. When kids brush up against you, they don't leave a stain. We all look trimmer in black. When you own only black clothes, packing yourself becomes much easier too, leaving you more time to care for others. Black top? Check. Black pants? Check. Black shoes? Check.
And... if you've not put on makeup yet for the day, or brushed your hair, you simply look eccentric if you're wearing black, not mentally unstable. And isn't that what we're all striving to hide anyway? Next time I'll explain why my life is ten times better now that I've given up furniture. (No, that's not a typo.)
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Friday, Sept. 25th
Not in Our Backyard
By Tisha Powell
My neighbor just told me that another one of our neighbors recently put a new brick fireplace in his backyard. I failed to notice any construction, so I looked out of my bathroom window to catch a glimpse of this new addition. I noticed that in the process of putting in a fireplace, my neighbor had to move his trampoline farther out into his yard, and a little closer to mine. Great! Yet another reminder that we DON'T have one.
I grew up with a trampoline in my backyard and spent countless hours bouncing up and down and up and down. I was out of the house, out of my parents hair and having an energy burning good time. I later went on to make the cheerleading squad at school because there was so much pep in my step. The trampoline was a great way to practice my cheerleading jumps, and I loved it. My daughter who is a gymnast loves it too. She runs straight into the gym and right to the trampoline. It's the only place she is really allowed to jump on one.
Very few holidays have gone by without my daughter asking for a trampoline, but Dr. Dad the pediatrician always gives a stern.. "No." He calls the trampoline the state flower of North Carolina because there's one growing in nearly every backyard. He insists they're just not safe and proceeds to recall every trampoline injury that has ever come through his office. Yes.. the American Academy of Pediatrics says trampolines can be very dangerous and there are a lot of injuries, but many are caused by too many children jumping at once. When I was a kid, a bunch of us would drag the thing just close enough to the pool so we could take a flying leap from the trampoline right into the water. How dangerous was that? I wouldn't recommend it, but I don't see a problem with one child jumping on a trampoline with safety nets and pads in her own backyard with a parent watching. I guess I'm just a mom who wants to see her kid be a kid, and a happy one at that.
When it comes to this issue and Dr. Dad, there is no middle ground. We're not getting one. I think what scares him the most, aside from our little girl getting hurt, is feeling like a hypocrite. I can understand his need to be honest with his patients and parents, but sometimes it's hard living our lives by medical journals and statistics. I remember the day he took the training wheels off our daughter's bike. After several wipeouts and bumps, she eventually learned to keep her balance. It made me so nervous I could barely watch. But you know what, she is better for it. I know I'm not going to win this backyard battle, but I just can't help reminiscing about the many afternoons I spent as a kid in my backyard... bouncing.
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Wednesday, September 23th, 2009
Baby Weight and Miami Spice
By Amber Rupinta
We went on vacation last week and spent some time in Miami. I discovered some good news while on vacation. My 1 year old son has decided on his own that sand isn't the greatest snack. My 2 year old kept picking up coconuts and spent the vacation trying to figure out how to open one to drink the milk. That was a nice treat for me since I was worried I would have to fight him to stay out of the water the entire time as he was telling me for weeks he was going to try surfing.
Miami is one of my favorite cities with all the culture, cuisine, trends, and posh places to stay. But, I also discovered that being in a bathing suit in Miami can be bad for your self esteem. It seems like everywhere you look there are beautiful, exotic women who are dressed like they stepped off the pages of a magazine or walked off their photo shoot and grabbed their kids in their 5 inch stilettos to strut down the street without even blinking an eye. I think I spent more time people watching in Miami than I did beach watching. I am well aware plastic surgery is very common in Miami-in fact, you are the minority if you haven't had anything done. Plastic Surgery In Miami So, I'm trying to keep in mind that many of these women have had some help. But, it still makes you think and wish.
Every woman struggles with "baby weight" after having a baby. After my first baby, the weight came off pretty easily with a lot of exercise and diet diligence. Second baby-and 2 c-sections later-not so much. I am sure the fact that I polish off every unfinished bowl of macaroni and cheese, chicken fingers, and pizza my 2 year old leaves behind isn't making it any easier. And, Im so much busier this time around I always find myself eating on the go (thus my ants in the car blog). But, if you google search losing baby weight this is the first link that comes up Baby Weight followd by thousands of other links. So, my question is, how long do you keep waiting for the baby weight to come off? How long can you say, "I just had a baby." Will you ever feel "normal" again?
As all these thoughts linger, I go back to work and have a voicemail. It's from a friendly woman named Veronica. She watches ABC11 and wants to know what I'm doing to lose so much weight after having had a baby last year. I think I'll call Veronica back asap. She's the reality check I need after going to Miami. Next up: choosing a preschool-yikes!
Email me and let me know what you think.
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Friday, Sept. 18th Heroine of Hair
By Tisha Powell
I remember walking my daughter into class one day and running into her best friend. The desperate little girl asked.. "Miss Tisha can you help me?" She was holding a ponytail holder in the air with her hair all disheleved as if she'd just rolled out of bed. She said to me with her soft sweet voice.. "Daddy dropped me off." I knew immediately that was code for save me from the embarrassment of looking homeless for the entire day. I immediately grabbed her pink scrunchie and proceeded to comb this child's hair and restore a sense of pride and normalcy to her life.
What is it that's so hard about men learning to do their daughter's hair? This little girl's father is a chemist. He can whip up the most complicated of pharmaceuticals to cure the rarest of illnesses, but yet learning to put is daughter's hair in a ponytail is beyond the scope of his capabilities. He's not alone though. It's also a challenge in my home. My husband will volunteer to dress our 7-year-old daughter... if I do her hair! Where does this aversion come from. My husband is a pediatrician. Let's call him Dr. Dad. He often tells me about the delicate process of performing circumcisions on newborn baby boys, but this same man approaches combing his daughter's hair with such angst. I have to admit, he is getting better as our daughter gets older. The straightener I put in her hair is also making things easier.
This may seem like an attack on dads, but hair can also be a challenge for moms too. While sitting in church, I often find myself scanning the sanctuary looking at happy and sometimes not so happy children. I can't help but notice all of the little girls with their hair tightly anchored to the tops of their heads like Red from Fraggle Rock. I recently had one mom ask me for help with her daughter's hair, and I have agreed to help out. Mainly because I actually like styling hair. I love seeing the smile on my daughter's face when she looks in the mirror and giggles at the sight of her reflection. I know that she feels loved, happy and pretty, and that makes me feel really good.
Email me with comments or topics about your mothering experiences.
<center>Moms On The Go Home</center>
Thursday, Sept. 17th I blame my kids for my hips
By Frances Scott
Getting off the baby weight, after four years?
I used to work out at night. Now that I have kids and a husband, I stay home at night and read about working out. The latest book I'm reading is called The Cardio Free Diet. I picked it up one day, because my back and hips were killing me. Did you know that sitting at a desk or in a car is actually about the worst thing for your lower back, especially for those of us who run or used to run? Low back pain is also big problem for women, after we've had kids, because of a hormone called relaxin. No, I didn't make up that word. It's a real hormone that helps your ligaments stretch to help your pelvis expand for delivery of your baby. Relaxin is also why our feet grow about half a size during pregnancy and never go back to normal. Our feet have so many ligaments that stretch, because of relaxin. Well after pregnancy, our ligaments don't always go back to their normal length, but are too stretched out, so women's bodies become, kind of, "too flexible," and that often leads to back and hip pain.
So that's why I don't work out anymore. From the birth of my twins in 2005 until now, when I walk (at a very slow pace), I am in aggravated pain for days or weeks afterwards. My physical therapist called it "lower cross syndrome." Basically, it's common among long-distance runners whose hip flexors are overdeveloped, and whose gluteal muscles are often underdeveloped. (Save your flat-fanny jokes please.) Add to that, sitting for hours at a desk, which shortens your hip flexors, and you have a recipe for low back and hip pain. I taught aerobics for about six years during college and grad school, and ran about for at least an hour several times a week from age 14 until age 26, and I'm thinking that didn't really help my joints very much either. Jane Fonda just had hip replacement surgery in June, but she says her years of aerobics had nothing to do with her damage. Either way, I'm taking a break.
So that's the back story (ha ha) of why I don't do cardio right now. Well The Cardio Free Diet was developed by Jim Karas, who helped Diane Sawyer lose weight a few years back and who now trains Hugh Jackmon (and did you see how lean he was in Wolverine)? Karas' premise is that how you look and feel comes a great deal from what you ingest, and that, if done properly, weight-bearing exercises can give you a significant amount of heart and lung benefit, without the cartilage damage that can sometimes come from running or aerobics. Now I'm not endorsing his diet; all I can do is tell you what it's done for me, a gal who, right now, is having a hard time doing cardio.
The first thing I noticed is that, when I went to the grocery with the week's grocery list that Karas puts in his book, my cart was overflowing with all that bulky raw food! Normally, my cart only contained what Cookie Monster calls "sometimes foods." Basically, if it wasn't squirted out of the back of a factory and wrapped in plastic, I didn't buy it. That worked for me when I could run five miles a day, but not now. My grocery bill was also very high, but that may have been because I'd taken my three-year-old with me to shop, so I couldn't pay close attention, and bought too many expensive organic vegetables!
The second thing I noticed was that I felt, physically and mentally, better than I ever have in my life! For a middle-aged mother of three, that is saying a ton. It let me know just how poorly I must have been eating, and how that must have been what was affecting my mood. It was either poor diet or three small children.
Finally, I noticed that there was a significant amount of preparation time involved, washing, chopping and storing all the vegetables and fish you have to eat, but I found that I could do almost all of it on Sunday. That made fixing the meals much easier during the week. I don't like seeing raw meat, so that was another obstacle to overcome, but I just substituted a lot of cooked tuna for a lot of the meat Karas mandates. With all the time I was saving, not driving to the gym, changing clothes, or walking for an hour on the treadmill, I had time to chop a few vegetables.
So I was set to go forward on this amazing lifestyle change, but that's when I got the job offer from ABC 11. So I switched my focus to selling our house, finding a new place to live here in NC and getting our kids started in kindergarten and preschool. Now that we're as settled as is possible in an 800 square foot apartment with three kids, I'm ready to hit The Cardio Free Diet again, and I want you to hold me accountable, or even join me!
And please don't tell my kids that I'm blaming my back pain, weight gain and lack of exercise on their birth! It's bad enough that I'm making them eat all this tuna and raw broccoli.
Email me and let me know what you think.
<center>Moms On The Go Home</center>
I need a cape... not the Supergirl kind; just a run-of-the-mill-getting-your-haircut cape. I could wear it all day, and my clothes would stay free of stains until it's time for the 5:00 p.m. news. HD television is going to kill me. I'm not worried so much about my facial wrinkles showing. We all have wrinkles anyway, don't we? You know I have them. I know I have them. If I didn't have them, they'd be coming, so let's get on with showing them? But the stains are really going to be a struggle for me. Years ago, on T V, a tiny makeup, coffee, or chocolate smudge on your jacket button hole wouldn't have shown, and I was very thankful for that but now that we're in HD, I'm in big trouble? until I get my cape.
Another thing I've noticed, being back at work, is that it's freezing. The internet technology guys claim it's because the computers need to be kept cool so they run properly, but I know it's a testosterone thing. Guys are always hot in their suits and ties, and we women are always scantily clad and freezing. So I have to remember to bring my blanket to work. All women here at ABC 11 (and I'm sure at your workplace) keep blankets at their desks. But I keep freezing, because when it's time to leave in the morning, I'm so nervous about getting my three-year-old child to daycare and the fit he's about to throw, that I forget to throw the blanket in the car. (Today was the first day in 30 days that he didn't scream at drop-off. He did protest, but it wasn't a full-out assault, Praise God!)
Since I've been back at work, I've also realized how fun it is to try to keep your kids from touching you, after you've gotten dressed for work. My days as a running back, playing flag football at Virginia Tech are serving me well. It's almost like you have to stay in your pajamas all morning while you get everybody ready, load them into their car seats, run back inside, put on your "real clothes" and then rush back out to the car. I used to come home from work on my dinner break and sneak upstairs before the twins knew I was there? to change clothes. One misstep could cost us $17 in dry-cleaning! Isn't that incentive enough for a cape? They say that, once you have more than two kids, you go from "man to man" defense to "zone," but I think, whenever my kids see me fully dressed and ready for work, they work out a masterfully planned blitz on this quarterback. I'm sacked every time. There goes my $17 bucks. I hope my kids don't grow up, remembering their mother always saying, "Wait! Don't touch me yet!"
I remember watching an Independent Lens documentary on called "Iron Ladies of Liberia," about the woman who had become leader of the country and all her cabinet members. (Yes, I really do like PBS shows.) I hate to say it, because she had such a huge job to do, repairing a war-torn country that's trying to recover, but I was really distracted by her beautiful outfits, thinking how great it would be to be able to wear one of her tunic-style dresses OVER my suit, in an effort to stay clean and warm. Would it be politically insensitive for a woman like me, a Pacific Islander of Polish, Belgian, and Scotch-Irish descent, to wear a traditionally East African style of dress? On the days when it's 30 degrees outside, and my hair is nothing but a static-filled mess, I'd also like to wear one of the traditional African headdresses.
For now, I'm just going to try the Snuggie, though I need to find one that's been Scotch-guarded and is fleece on the inside. That way the food and makeup won't stick to the front of it, because the good Lord knows I don't have time to do any extra laundry! You think I can get one for under $17? Oh, and that's why I've been eating Zone bars for the past four days; they're not messy, they're full of protein, and normally won't crumble and leave stains on my suit skirts, when I'm eating them (as I eat all meals) in the car. Go ahead and tell me. I know it any<hr />way. Your life, too, is this glamorous.
Next time I'll tell you about the new diet I'm starting: The Cardio-Free Diet. It's a book that was written by the guy who trained the star of the latest Wolverine movie. I'm not a real Wolverine fan, but one of my favorite actors costars in it. Can you see me? Looking like an all ripped up Wolverine news anchor? I can't wait. I'll also tell you why I keep washing my iPods. And no, that's not recommended.
Email me and let me know what you think.
<center>Moms On The Go Home</center>
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Monday, September 14th, 2009
Baby's First Birthday-Sort Of
By Amber Rupinta
So, I have made it through my second sons first year! Woo-Hoo! Definitly worth a celebration, right? But, there's one problem. This was not on the top of our "to do" list now that we have two kids, and, my husband and I both work full-time. So, here we are the day before D's birthday and we have no birthday planned, and no idea when we can pull this together. Last night I was wondering, does it really matter if you throw a party for a baby's first birthday-the baby won't remember, right? Wrong!
Fast forward after about an hour on the computer looking up party ideas and even Wal-Mart has suggestions for baby's first birthday parties. wal-mart first birthdays Now, I am feeling like a woman who totally does not have it together so, I call my mom. She wonders how this date came as a "surprise" and crept up on us. So, I turn on the TV and look in my DVR. And, I admit it, I watch Tori and Dean. And, here's an episode to really make matters worse-it's called Stellapalooza. Stella is her daughter who just turned one and Stellapalooza is her first birthday party complete with ponies and a ladybug theme. Stellapalooza
Now, I know Raleigh is a far cry from Hollywood, but, this makes me decide I absolutely have to have some sort of party with at least one or two friends to celebrate. So what if we celebrate the party about 3 weeks late? That's the only time I can gather everyone to have a little cake and take a few pictures. Geez, a kid only turns one once, right? Next time, I'll tell you how our adventures at the beach go this week for our upcoming vacation. D has discovered sand is his favorite snack and J has decided he's big enough to surf at 2.
Email me and let me know what you think.
<center>Moms On The Go Home</center>
Wednesday, September 9th, 2009
The Best Mom in the World
By Frances Scott
Well I'm back at work here at ABC 11 after four years off. During these past years, I've had a third baby and somehow managed to get my twins to six years old. All along the way I've said "If everybody survives, it's been a good day," and when I'd drag my brood back into a store to pick up my ((insert lost item here? shoes, purse, keys, dry-cleaning, cell phone, iPod)) that I'd left behind, "At least I didn't leave a kid" always seemed to keep the talkers quiet.
Seriously, it's so awesome to be back to work. To get to be actually paid to be reading and learning, all day, every day, and talking to people; well, you just can't beat that! But along with that comes the mommy guilt of which I am trying to absolve myself. (It's not working.) My youngest has screamed for 30 days straight, as I have dropped him off in his temporary institutional care facility. I've tried cajoling, coaching, snuggling, and going "cold turkey." Nothing works. I feel so sorry for him.
I do have an increased sympathy for single moms and dads, as my husband has stayed behind in Roanoke for a month or so, to give his company more "time" to adjust to life without him at the helm. WOW. That's all I can say. I know that, for me, this time as a solo, working parent will quickly end? like, in days, but I really feel for the moms and dads out there who know that "doing it solo" is just the way it will be for years on end. It's a good grind, but a grind none the less. Last night I gave the kids dinner in the bathtub. Let's just say I'm not the most domestic of parents.
My kids and I are having a blast though. We are breaking all the rules. When I was pregnant I read so many books on how to parent and actually felt that the supporters of "attachment parenting" and "co-sleeping" in the "family bed" were making the most sense. At least, to my heart, they made sense. I also read the books On Becoming Baby Wise and Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, and agreed that those philosophies made sense too. I WANTED to keep the twins on a schedule, but there was literally nothing I could do to stop myself from rushing to console them upon every whimper. But thankfully I had married a reasonable man who maintained that schedules and "children sleeping in their own beds" was the way it should be. But he's not here right now. Hee hee. So I have an incentive plan to get him here sooner. Right before he left to go back to work in Virginia for the week, the kids said, "Daaaad! Don't go!!!! We're learning bad haaaaaabits! We're sleeping in the faaaaaamily bed! We had Frosties for diiiiiiner all last week!" That'll get him!
Tomorrow I'll tell you why we're all sleeping in a tent and why I've had nothing to eat but Zone Bars for two days. If you want to feel like a great parent, just read my blog.
Email me and let me know what you think.
<center>Moms On The Go Home</center>
Friday, September 4th, 2009
Ants in my minivan
By Amber Rupinta
Yes, ants in my minivan! I noticed the creepy crawlers on Sunday when I opened the door behind the drivers seat to put my eleven month old into his car seat. There was an army of ants all over the baseboard where you step up into the car. First, I thought it was just a few ants that had just started crawling onto the car and I had caught the problem early. Boy, was I wrong! I opened all the doors and found ants on and under all the baseboards! Ants!
Apparently, the crumbs my kids drop in the back of the car while in their car seats had gotten so bad, there were crumbs in the area under the automatic door. Well, this area is like a sort of "trap" but it's outside the car. So, the heat warmed up those crumbs which was like sending off a sugar alarm for the ants (reminder-always pick up those little puffs when 11 month old drops them!).
So, I aborted the mission. Put the kids back in the house with their dad and peeled out of the garage to the nearest (and highest powered) vacum I could find. On the way there, I couldn't help but think about a few things: First, I really need to start vacuming out my car more often-maybe once a week. Second, perhaps, I should feed my children before we head out the door. And third, are those bug bites on my 2 year olds back really ant bites? Feeling pretty much like I wasn't winning any mother of the year awards anytime soon I frantically vacumed out the van then headed to the store.
Now, ant traps are hidden under my baseboards and ant spray lines the "trap" under the automatic door. Good news is, I saw a few ants over the next two days but, haven't seen any since. I'm keeping my fingers crossed and wondering-am I the only person who finds surprises like this in my car since having children?
Email me and let me know what you think.
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