Work/Life Balance...Huh? by Jamie

I came home from a much-feared Statistics test the other day, and breathed a sigh of relief. I thought I’d done pretty well on the test—and now I had about two hours to myself. My dad was picking Jayda up from daycare and taking her to the library for awhile so I could have some down-time. And what did I do? I raced around the house, stripping my bed and washing my sheets, wiping down my ridiculously dusty bedroom furniture, and then donned rubber gloves and attacked the downstairs bathroom. The following afternoon, when I finished writing a paper ahead of schedule and found myself with several “extra” hours, I manically scrubbed all of Jayda’s mildewy bath toys with giddy satisfaction, sorted through all of her summer clothes, and cleaned out my sock drawer. Literally. Spare time well spent.

A friend of mine recently posted a query on Facebook about work/life balance:”Who keeps perpetuating this myth that people can have a work/life balance? It's not working for me.” And a clever male friend remarked “single people... the rest of us are just making it up as we go…” I couldn’t have said it better myself. I may not be commuting to a full-time job anymore, but between freelancing and school (and stressing like crazy about both), it’s impossible for this single mom to get everything done…let alone actually relax. Factor a Type-A personality like myself into the mix, and it’s almost laughable. For instance, my mother has been offering me a “free” massage (she bought a package from a local masseuse and has one to spare) for months, but I haven’t had the time to take her up on her offer. Oy.

Lest I seem too pathetic, I do make time to go out for drinks with friends every few weeks, or out on an occasional date, but more often, I’m spending my evenings doing work, studying, or desperately trying to catch up on my sleep. And last week, when my plans to go out for drinks with a girlfriend fell through, instead of kicking back with a glass of wine by myself in front of the television—as a person with a “good work/life balance” might have—I cracked open a Diet Pepsi and a textbook, instead, and did some studying. I couldn’t miss the opportunity (or the opportunity to do a load of laundry, too, as there’s always laundry to do!).

I always pay my bills on time, but my filing system sucks—and I rarely balance my checkbook. Mind you, I never bounce checks—but I can’t take the time to nitpick over every number like I probably should. I never leave dirty dishes in the sink, but I also drink out of soda cans and eat out of take-out containers to lessen the amount of cleaning I’ll need to do. And cook? That rarely happens. I do sort through Jayda’s clothing seasonally because that girl is growing like a weed—but I’m guilty of never going through my own closets; I have clothes in there from pre-Jayda years, that I just don’t have the time to go through (or the energy to throw out). I hear about kids who get baths every night and I don’t understand how or why their moms can make that happen. My daughter’s lucky if she bathes every other night (and believe me, if it was up to her, she’d NEVER get into the bathtub). Working moms have to cut corners, somehow—and something’s gotta give. I never have time to watch DVDs, let alone TV. In fact, if it wasn’t for the Wiggles DVDs I order for Jayda, it would probably be more economical for me to cancel my Netflix subscription right now.

The only thing I do have time for is my daughter: we have several play dates every week, and we do things together after school almost every day. And I always have time for cuddling with her in bed. I’m an excellent multi-tasker, and combining sleepin’ and lovin’ all at the same time is my forte. Because there’s one thing I can always balance: Jayda’s head on my chest and her arms wrapped around me. But as for the rest—my life is definitely off-kilter. And with a kid relying on me, and work that always needs to be done, I’m not sure that’s ever going to change.

Reassurance with Trepidation -- by Robin

A friend of mine raised a question this week that immediately resonated with me.

She is having marital challenges and finds herself feeling the need to reassure her young son that all will ultimately be ok, in the face of her own deep letdown and insecurity. Understandably so, under the circumstances, she is very hurt by a man she had planned to spend her life with and who she relied on to be a strong, constant presence in her son's life. Now, the future seems uncertain, and she's digging deep to find an inner strength powerful enough for two...both her and her son.

Not only do I feel for her, but I "got" it. I truly did.

Totally different set of circumstances, but I, too, found myself as a mom, working hard to offer reassurance to my son despite my own trepidation.

I grew up with parakeets. At one time, we had three in my childhood home. Parry, Polly and Corky. They were green, blue and yellow. I remember them like it was yesterday...especially the story of how my mom valiantly captured Corky at a local supermarket during a shopping trip. He must have flown the coop from his owner's cage in the neighborhood, and my mother and others bird lovers hunted him down, and mom was the victor, bringing him home in a paper bag. I thought it was so heroic.

Ultimately, one by one they passed away, not to be replaced.

When I got married, Marc and I bought a parakeet of our own. We named her Chiffon because she looked like the white and yellow of lemon chiffon pie. Or, perhaps it was meringue? But, Chiffon sounded better.

I adored her, but 5 years ago, she passed away, and my heart was broken.

Seth was very young then, though he swears he remembers and misses her. We do have photos in the house, and I vividly recall how she used to land on the tray of his high chair, as he'd swat at her with delight, and she hopped away from his attempt to grab hold of her.

After years of knowing that no bird would be the same...I used to call her a "little person with feathers..." I decided I had room in my heart for another. I was ready. Seth would have preferred a dog or cat, but since we weren't going to go there, we opted for a larger bird. Something bigger than a parakeet, but not as large or pricey as an Amazon Parrot.

Hence, we are now the proud owners of Smokey the Cockatiel. Or Smokes, as Seth has dubbed him/her. We think it's a girl, but we're not sure. She's 5 months old and is yellow with patches of smokey grey, hence her name.

It was exciting picking her out in the pet store. Quite unnerving bringing her home in a dark cardboard box for a car ride that felt like a lifetime. I kept imagining that the poor thing must have been terrified. Every now 'n then, we heard a small thud in the box. I presumed it was her attempt to break free.

We speedily prepared her cage and let her out of the box into her new home. And, she freaked out. One minute she looked like a frozen deer in headlights. The next she was fluttering about wildly. Afraid she was going to hurt herself, I took her out of the cage. She made a hissing sound and pecked my hand...luckily I'm not afraid of being bitten. But, I felt so badly. What would it take to get her to trust us? And, how long would the process be? Can you imagine how she must feel? One minute she's in a cage with birds like herself and the next she's living in a strange cage all alone with people she doesn't know staring at her and talking to her.

I want her to love us. We already love her.

Seth kept asking me if Smokey was ok? I believed she was, but there was a little girl inside of me who was fearful knowing that I have no experience with a Cockatiel, and questioned what I was thinking getting a larger bird like this? Couldn't I just remain within my comfort zone and stick to another parakeet?

An even louder voice was screaming at me to believe in myself and our ability as a family to care for and endear this bird to us. As the matriarch, I am the one to assure both Seth and my husband that we made the right choice here. That we'll enjoy Smokey, and she'll enjoy us. And, that we will conquer Cockatiel territory, if we do our homework and have patience.

But, it made me realize, that just because someone is a grown-up, doesn't mean they have all the answers. And, as a mom, we have our moments of uncertainty just like anyone. But, to our children, we strive to be the ever present hero, so that if they're not feeling so brave or confident, we instill in them a sense of peace as we endeavor to navigate new ground together. But who makes us feel brave? How can we do that for ourselves? We can't always look to others even if they offer support. As they say, sometimes it's an "inside" job." And, maybe we're stronger than we admit?!

Smokey made me think back to bringing Seth home from the hospital. That was 7 years ago, and I'm no longer that same novice mom. I still have my days of self doubt. I'm sure I always will. But, just as with Seth, I trust that one day I will feel like caring for a Cockatiel is within my comfort zone, or at least relatively speaking.


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Granny Day -- by Gina

Since she was just three months old and I returned to work part-time, my mother-in-law has been taking care of my daughter Gianna for two full days a week. Gianna lovingly refers to these as “Granny Days”, because the other three weekdays she has “School Days.” I am fortunate to have “Granny,” and the fact that she is home sick today with bronchitis has made me realize how missed she is.

When I say, Granny watches Gianna for two full days… I mean two FULL days. I sometimes get exhausted just listening to the replay of their day. A typical day may include any combination and many times all of the following: doing an art project, playing downstairs in the playroom, playing upstairs in the bedroom, going out for manicures, having lunch in their favorite café or the pizzeria, painting at the pottery place (I now am the proud owner of about twelve assorted handpainted mugs, cups plates, and candy dishes), and going for ice cream. These days alternate or sometimes include visiting the Children’s Museum, Chuck E. Cheese or Barnes & Noble. And that’s just in the winter… once the weather her in New York gets warmer, you can add the beach, park, playground to the list. Whew!

On top of all these great activities, Granny is so caring and patient with Gianna. Last Christmas, Gianna was treated to a hand-crocheted Christmas skirt, with a matching one for her Hello Kitty doll. She got to choose what color yarn she wanted for the skirt, and even what order she wanted the three stripes in…even if it meant Granny pulling out the work she’d already done on the skirt and starting over, just because Gianna wanted the black stripe first, then the red. I told Granny you don’t need to do that, you’re spoiling her.. but I knew my words fell on deaf ears. I got the old line, “I’m her grandmother, it’s my job to spoil her!”

Having grandparents healthy enough and living close enough to be involved in your child’s care is such a blessing. I was not nearly as close with my grandparents. I never met my paternal grandfather, and my paternal grandmother, died when I was very young, about three. I remember her vaguely – pouring water out of my plastic bucket onto her feet at the sprinklers in the Brooklyn playground, her smuggling baby bottles in the bottom of her shopping bags after my mother had already weaned us onto cups. I do remember her always smiling, then remember being told that she was with God and we wouldn’t see her anymore but she could still see us.

My maternal grandmother lived in Long Island - we took the Long Island Railroad out to visit almost every Sunday while we were young, then less as we got older. It was a long trip from Brooklyn, having to first take the subway to downtown Brooklyn, and we always left early, so we would occasionally whine, “do we haaaave to go?” My mother always responded the same way, “It’s your choice… but you don’t know how long Grandma will be around….”

We always had a huge Polish dinner (at 12:00 noon). After which, we usually passed out on the couch, my sister and I both trying to squeeze onto the daybed for a nap with my grandfather. When we surfaced, we might play "Penny Ante" or Rummy card games, or visit my grandfather's "victory garden" at his friend’s house, a short drive away, where we would inevitably get scolded for stomping all over the root vegetables. But then it was back to Brooklyn and maybe we’d be back the next Sunday or the one after. My grandfather died when I was a teenager, leaving my grandmother to downsize and rent an apartment in Brooklyn so she could be close to us. Her health declined rapidly - a heart attack, mini-strokes, and eventually Alzheimer’s led to her needing live-in homecare. Her decline lasted almost ten years, of which there was little “quality time” due to her age and illness. I said goodbye to her through tears over the phone from my boss’ office in Manhattan, when my mother called to say, “It’s finally time - Grandma’s finally ready to go. You better say goodbye now. She may not make it until you get home.”

I missed my grandmother when she was gone, and indeed longed for those Sunday visits I used to complain about. Moms are always right, aren’t they?

When Gianna was younger, I feared Granny was spoiling her too much. M&M's before breakfast, and making a habit of showing up with a box of Dunkin' Donuts in hand. Not to mention jumping up to fix Gianna some instant macaroni and cheese after just preparing a nice family dinner of pasta and meatballs, because Gianna was not happy with our choice of pasta shape. I would say No but Granny would say Yes. Those things burned me inside. I tried to talk with Granny about it, and of course she’d agree to stick to whatever I wanted. But… I have learned, as I imagine most moms do, to pick my battles.

So, now I don’t mind so much anymore when Granny brings Munchkins. In fact, when I lamented how it was hard to get Gianna off her steady carb diet of pastina, spaghetti, and mac n’ cheese, she showed up the next morning with a Ziploc full of hard boiled eggs, which is now a staple of Gianna’s diet – something I never even thought to try.

I want Granny to enjoy her time with Gianna, and vice versa. She is so good to us, and I know it means the world to her to have lots of quality time with Gianna. The years are passing so quickly and Gianna is in Pre-K this September, and then full day kindergarten. Then, this special time is over and on to the next stage. My mother-in-law gives Gianna so much love and attention, and so many wonderful memories. It is a relationship like no other, that of a child and a doting grandparent. Besides, Granny gives her attention which I cannot, due to working full-time. I like to think instead of spoiling her, Granny is showing her that she’s special, and worthy of lots of attention and affection… and perhaps a little good old fashioned “spoiling” now and then, too. Besides, what are Grandmas for?

Worried Sick -- by Cara

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about my upper respiratory illness and how it always seemed that no matter how sick we Moms are, we still put our own needs aside for the sake of our families, especially our children.
Well, this week is the reverse. Now I have recovered, however my son came down with...well, we really didn’t know what.

My son started to exhibit signs of not feeling well last Saturday night.
My night owl son, who typically falls asleep between 9:30pm - 10:00pm (genetics...not bad parenting), fell asleep at 8:30pm. That was my first clue. The ONLY time my son falls asleep before 9pm is if he is sick or becoming sick.

The next day, Sunday, my son was extremely cranky and whiny. He also didn’t look very well. He had circles under his eyes and looked extremely tired. We had a birthday party to go to that day and my son wanted to go desperately. But throughout the party, he kept coming out of the play area and would plop down next to me and rest his head on my upper arm. I felt his head...it was hot. But it could have been hot from all of the running and jumping he was doing in the party room. It was when he asked when we were going home that I suspected something was wrong. My son NEVER wants to leave a party early. We stayed until the end, but said our thank yous quickly because I really wanted to get home and take my son’s temperature.

I almost fell over when I did take it. 103.3!! I ran to get him some Motrin, but getting it into him was an even bigger challenge. He hates sweet tasting things, so he can’t stand the children’s liquid medicines.

He won’t take pills, even crushed up and put into applesauce. He didn’t want to eat anything. So we just decided to let him sleep and hoped the fever would break soon. My son’s only request was water. Lots of water.

I lined up little water bottles on the table next to his bed, and by morning they were all empty. And this was the scenario, day after day:
lots of sleep or awake and lethargic. Temps ranging from 103-104ish almost around the clock. No eating of food of any kind. Water, water, and more water. An occasional dose of Motrin when his temps were so high he was practically delirious and would take the medicine with minimal fighting. To put it mildly, we were scared out of our skins.

I have a fairly solid medical background, although I am not a physician.
I have real, professional medical books that I combed through. I went to some professional, medical web sites to look for answers. I even consulted a handy iPhone App called Pediatric Symptoms MD which walks you through determining whether your child’s symptoms need immediate attention, call the doctor in the morning symptoms, or wait a day or two and see what happens symptoms. This handy App suggested calling our Pediatrician first thing in the morning.

I was up that night practically every hour on the hour either checking on my son or hearing his weak requests for more water and running to get some for him. The next morning, we bundled our son up, and my husband carried him to the car and then into the physician’s office. Other than extremely high fevers, our son didn’t exhibit any other symptoms whatsoever, which led the doctor to diagnose him a viral fever. He assured us that the fever would break in 2-4 days. They did a rapid Strep test which turned out negative, but the doctor said he would call us the next day if the overnight test came back positive.

The rest of the day was the same...extremely high fevers, hydrating him with only water, and occasionally being successful at getting Motrin into my son.

Concerned friends were calling and e-mailing. Could it be the flu? The Swine flu? An undetected infection? Were we sure it wasn’t Strep? I called the doctor the next day and said there was absolutely no change in my son and if anything, he appeared to be getting worse and looking terribly ill. The doctor told me to bring my son in the next day for another Strep test and a blood test.

We went back the next day. Again a negative Strep test, no true indications of any type of flu. White blood cell count was NORMAL (which blew me away...how can someone’s white blood cell count possibly be normal when their body is fighting something so hard to handle? But, like I said, I’m not a physician). We left with no definitive answers and a little boy who was getting worse by the hour.

Now it was Thursday. Fevers still hadn’t broken and the time frame for a “viral fever” had expired. We called the Pediatrician again. He said if the fevers didn’t come down by the next morning, he wanted him to get a chest x-ray. Then we noticed throughout the day, the fevers dropped to the 102-103 range. We managed to get more Motrin into our son. As the day went on, the fevers dropped even more to the 101-102 range. Our son still looked absolutely awful, but he started moving around. He wanted food. Of course everything he wanted, we didn’t have in the house. My husband ran to the grocery store. Slowly, our son was starting to eat. Fevers were down again to between 99-low 100s! My son hadn’t slept or taken a nap at all that day. But he had a very full belly and his fever seemed to finally be breaking!

By 7pm that same evening, I had to tackle an enormous pile of clean laundry by folding and putting the items away in my bedroom. My son crawled under the covers of my bed and watched me. After 5 minutes, I heard heavy breathing. He had fallen asleep. I finished a little more folding then turned off the lights and let him sleep.

I went to check on him a couple hours later and found him burning hot and drenched in perspiration. His fever was finally breaking! I didn’t want to move him, so when I was ready to fall asleep, I simply crawled under the covers next to him. Throughout the night I slept lightly, feeling his forehead, which felt cooler. And he sensed my presence because he kept snuggling closer to me and even would grab my forearm and clutch it to him like his favorite stuffed animal. He even interlocked his little hand in mine, drawing it close to his body. I was half asleep but gushing with emotion! This little angel needed me, wanted me, cherished me enough that he wanted to draw himself as close to me as possible and hold on tight to whatever part of me he could. All while in a state of sleep and return from the depths of a terrible illness.

I loved sleeping with him that night. In fact, I think we may have more occasional Mommy and son sleep togethers. I know he felt safe, warm, protected, and loved. I was overflowing with love for this child, even though I didn’t sleep very soundly. But the love I did feel from him was tremendous! He is approaching an age where displaying physical affection, especially towards your Mom, can be a little embarrassing.

But feeling the true, uncensored adoration of me, while my son slept, made my heart swell one-thousand-fold!! I felt so relieved that he was finally on the mend! But most importantly, I felt just how much I really mattered to him. And I know I made him feel exactly the same way! I can’t wait for our next sleep together! I can feel my heart swell as I remember him interlocking his little hand with mine, pulling it real close, and sighing himself back to sleep. The two of us, together.

Unlike My Mother -- by Laura

I’m new to blogging, to motherhood, to New York, and Motherhood Later...Than Sooner. My name is Laura Houston, I am 45 years old, and I have twin boys Lyle and Wyatt who are 10 months old. I recently moved to Manhattan from a farm in Oregon, and I transitioned from having my own business to being a stay-at-home mom. We’re a different lot – we mothers of advanced maternal age – and I find older moms bring a richness to their job that opens up a treasure chest of insights and wisdom. I hope we can all share.

I didn’t have much of a role model when it came to mothering. After four kids and a desperately common life in the suburbs, my mother got tired of being a mom and she checked out. And I got tired of being her kid, so I checked out. I did whatever it took to get out of the house, out of that Midwestern suburb, and as far away as possible from her life, her bitterness, and her unhappiness.

That was the start of my journey into motherhood. I called it the Do-Not-Turn-Out-Like-My-Mother Plan, and I hoped it would serve me when I finally became a mother, which is something I desperately wanted some day. I made most of my life decisions based on this question: “Would my mother do it?” If the answer was no, I would do it. If the answer was yes, I would not.

In order to have a life unlike my mothers, I wanted an extraordinary man who would want an extraordinary woman. I made a list of everything I desired in a man, and I set about to be that person. I went back to school to get my master’s degree. I spent a summer kayaking in Glacier Bay, Alaska. I started my own business and became financially solvent. I bought an old house, remodeled it, and flipped it for twice what I paid for it. I volunteered as a tutor for at-risk youth, and I ran a half marathon. I became a temporary foster mother. My life was almost as full and as rich as I wanted it to be.

But at the age of 35, I still did not have that extraordinary man, and I was running out of time to have children. My friend Valerie and I made a pact that at the age of 37, we would rent a limo and take it to the fertility clinic in downtown Portland and get inseminated.

When you’ve got a backup plan in life, it often seems you rarely need it. I ended up finding that extraordinary man one year before the artificial insemination due date, and this man was worth waiting for. Together we bought a farm that would be the ideal place to raise children. After going through six years of fertility treatments, we were finally able to get pregnant with twins. Finally, I could be the mother I had been training to be.

But five months into my peaceful, blissful motherhood, the phone rang with a job offer for my husband. It was a big job. In Manhattan. I asked myself, “Would my mother do it?” And of course she would not. So we left the farm, the chickens, my gardens, and the grape vines and headed to the city with our twin boys. And here we are trying to figure it all out and navigate the new challenges of motherhood and a fast city.

Living my life trying not to be my mother is not easy. At all. In fact, it’s downright hard. Manhattan is a challenging place to live for a mother of twins. My stroller doesn’t fit through some doorways, on the bus, the subway, or in the trunk of a taxi cab. The winter weather alienated me from my walks in the park. My dearest friends and helpers are 3,000 miles away. But I’m not living my mother’s life. Sometimes that’s the only gauge I have for measuring how I am doing. And most of the time, that’s enough.

My Little Fashionista -- by Jamie

Before becoming a mother, I suspect I sometimes looked judgmentally at little girls in completely mismatched outfits…never really understanding why their moms let them leave their houses looking that way. But now I understand that often the way a child dresses really isn’t under the mother’s control. Sometimes it’s not worth battling with your daughter over outrageous fashion choices when you’re already battling to leave the house on time.

Jayda was fighting with me over her outfit selections earlier than I ever imagined she would—probably by the time she turned two. The blissful baby-dressing years—when I’d been able to dress Jayda in whatever I wanted without consulting anyone else’s opinion—ended abruptly, and she was soon pulling clothes out of her drawers, rejecting many of my choices, and throwing fits when I insisted that her clothing selections didn’t match, were out of season, or, simply no longer fit her.

To appease Jayda and foster her creativity, I gave my daughter carte blanche over her pajama choices; I filled the bottom drawer of her dresser with all sorts of tops and bottoms, and let her pick out whatever she wanted to wear at night. Often that meant polka dots on top and stripes on the bottom. Or pink velour pants with a green cotton shirt. And that was fine with me. Jayda’s wacky outfits were confined to the bedroom and I was content. But of course that wasn’t enough for Jayda; it wasn’t long before she wanted control 24/7.

Now, every morning, Jayda is in charge of picking out her clothes for school; I do get to supervise and offer opinions, but Jayda gets the final say (unless my daughter is insisting on wearing a sundress in 30 degree weather, in which case I put my foot down). Fortunately, I don’t have it as bad as some moms at daycare—who are forced to send their kids to school every day in swirly dresses, or swathed in pink from head to toe. But I do have to make sure that I do laundry constantly, because Jayda is obsessed with her Tinkerbell underwear (and asks for it constantly…throwing fits if I inform her that it’s dirty), and goes through phases where she likes to wear the same things over and over again. And lately, she gets very upset if I don’t listen to her fashion advice while dressing myself, as well.

A few weeks ago, I put on a tailored burgundy shirt I hadn’t worn in ages and Jayda snarled at me: “I don’t like dat, Mommy! Throw it in the garbage!” When I told her that wasn’t going to happen, she got very upset: “What?! You’re not taking it off, Mommy?” I was forced to placate her with fruit snacks and a Max and Ruby video, to make up for my “defiance” of her request. But alternatively, I scored points by purchasing a new “pokie”-dotted bra that Jayda thinks I look “bootiful” in…and believes I should wear “every day!” She even likes to check to see if I am following her advice (and, as I mentioned before, it’s a good thing I do my laundry very often!).

Fortunately, along with the bra, there are plenty of things in my closet Jayda does like—especially shirts that are pink or purple. And when she looks through my clothes, my daughter likes to remind me, “when I get bigger and bigger, I’ll wear these, too, ok?” Sounds fine to me…it would sure save us shopping time…and a heck of a lot of money!

Seven -- by Robin

My son turned 7 this week. Time sure flies.

I went to school on his birthday to celebrate with his first grade classmates. It was very sweet. I brought ice cream cups, juice and Oreos. My mother in law came as well, and we read books to the kids. In honor of Seth, we chose two fire truck-theme stories, and he couldn't be happier.

We took photos with other students and the teachers, and I whipped out my new handy Flip camcorder to give it a try.

We hung up decorations at home and went out to dinner, where he ordered a decadent chocolate mousse dessert, and we sung to him as he blew out the candle.

I asked him the day after how it felt to be 7, and he thought about it for a second, and said "good." It made me smile.

This weekend is his birthday party, and we're looking forward to celebrating with friends. While I find party planning a bit stressful...so many details....especially since I was organizing the class visit as well....it's great to have a happy occasion to celebrate.

My last blog related to my ailing senior dad, and his return to the hospital is looming in my mind. So, this was a welcome, positive break. And, he'll be coming to Seth's party Sunday, and hopefully, even if for a short while, he can let go of his constant downbeat health-related thoughts. I was disappointed that he didn't call Seth on his birthday, but I know he's mentally caught up in his health issues, as his stent procedure is this coming Wednesday. He can't get it done fast enough, and I will once again be on edge.

It was actually nicer than I expected to have my mother in law come to Seth's class. She is a hugely judgmental person, and isn't always easy to be around in that regard. My husband and his brother were pleasantly surprised to hear that she read a book to the kids. I told him that I kinda didn't give her a choice. I handed her the book, and said "why don't you read this next book." And, she rose to the occasion, and I actually think she enjoyed the interaction with the children. For a fleeting moment, I found myself picturing her reading to my husband when he was Seth's age, assuming she did that. And, I wondered if it took her back to that place too?! Her son, my husband, will forever be her baby, as will Seth for me, even though he's growing up fast.

HAPPY 7th BIRTHDAY Seth! We love you high as the sky sweetie!!


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Snow Days -- by Cara

When I was a little girl, I can remember dancing with joy when the radio announced that our school district would be closed due to a snow storm! My first chore was always to help my Dad shovel the driveway. But once that was cleared, I was allowed to play out in the snow to my heart’s content!

We lived 3 houses away from a golf course, so many children in the area would gather their sleds and in my case, a toboggan, and set off to go sledding down the hills of this exciting “snow course!” Even as an only child, I had a blast, and would often run into other classmates who lived close by! What wonderful memories!

Other times, I would make a snow man and decorate him with one of my old hats, a scarf, and mittens! My mother would provide me with a carrot for a nose and black buttons for eyes, nose and mouth! Cars would actually slow down to observe my work in progress! I adored playing in the snow! And my mother always had a warm mug of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows waiting for me once my excursions in the snow were done for the day! Ahh, the days of childhood!

Now, thirty-five plus years later, I’m not as fond of being outside in the cold as I used to. My son does, though, which is to be expected of a six year old boy! With every significant snow storm (in this case, another East Coast blizzard!), my son can’t wait to get outside to make snowmen!! And because it does bring back those fond memories of my youth, I usually get bundled up with my son, and we set out to make our snowman! The snow this blizzard brought happened to bring perfect snowman making snow - a little wet, but still fluffy!

To my amazement, my son made quite a magnificent base for this snowman! I then showed him how to roll a snowball in the fresh snow to make a medium size middle for the snowman and then a smaller size for the head! But instead of the usual hat, scarf and mittens, my son wanted his snowman to be “cool”. He named the snowman, “Snommie,” and put a bandana, sunglasses, and a cool scarf on “Snommie.” I guess snowmen have come a long way since I was a child!
Then he found two large branches for arms and used small rocks for “Snowmmie’s” mouth. My creative child proved his creativeness!!

As for the sledding, my husband took my son to a local park with hills to sled down the next day in his 4-wheel drive vehicle. Because I had my fill of snow and cold, I didn’t join them for the sledding fun. But I did make myself a large mug of delicious hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. Just the way my mother used to make it! It almost made me want to run outside and make “snow angels!”

Missing Men -- by Jamie

When I first considered becoming a single mother by choice, all the books and materials I read warned me about the importance of surrounding my future child with positive male role models. I figured that wouldn’t be such a difficult task, as I knew my generous, loving father would be greatly involved in the upbringing of my child, and I also had a handful of other terrific males in my life whom I could count on. For instance, I’d been assured that my sister's husband would be a strong presence in my child’s life, as he was a bit wary about my decision to raise a child without a father figure, and told my sister that he’d make sure my daughter always had him to lean on. I also had several good male friends whom I knew I could always rely upon, and assumed they would continue to be involved in my life after my baby was born.

When Jayda arrived, my father stepped in, as I'd predicted, and became a doting grandfather and the perfect male role model any mother could want for her child. And it wasn’t as if I could ignore the idea of having men in my child’s life even if I wanted to; from the start, my daughter appeared to adore men wherever we went. As a baby, she'd coo at the busboys when we went to the diner, and bat her eyelashes at our pediatrician during her check ups. When she started her gymnastics class at 18 months, she almost immediately threw herself into the lap of our attractive male instructor. And because of that early love affair, I made a great effort to keep Jayda involved in the gymnastics program, semester after semester after semester—partly because it was a great class, but more importantly because I wanted Jayda to have a weekly connection with a charismatic male teacher who aimed to improve her confidence. But when I mentioned this to one of my married friends—who had lost her own father at a young age—she laughed at me, and told me to relax and not try so hard. She said her own mother had made absolutely no effort to surround her with any positive male role models after her father had passed away, and she'd turned out fine...and you know what? She's right. She’s a strong, successful, well-adjusted woman—and a great mom, herself.

As it turns out, Jayda's uncle, who'd pledged his early devotion to her...well, he's never around. Yes, he does love Jayda in his own way, but physically, he’s more devoted to his job and his friends and his own life, and barely manages to see Jayda more than five times a year. And my once-cherished male friends? I barely speak to them anymore, myself—let alone rely on them for teaching Jayda about what good men should say or do to a woman.

I've always prided myself on having male friends. Just friends. True...maybe sometimes there was a flirty dynamic between me and a few of those guys, but in the grand scheme of things, we really were JUST friends. However, lately, I've felt let down by just about all of them. And it's not that I expected them to all be there for Jayda (though, that would have been nice)...I just expected them to always be there for me. Because while it's nice for a woman to have her girl friends—and good gal pals are certainly irreplaceable—male friends have their significance, too. Especially for strong, independent women—who, let’s face it, are the type of women who generally become SMCs. Because while I often acted a little tough around my guy friends, I was also able to let my guard down and be a little girlie-girl when necessary. And best of all, my guy friends were great about helping me with things. Fixing stuff for me. Giving me advice about things a woman like me knows nothing about: Car engines, mutual funds, hard drives, and a zillion other random-but-important issues and objects. And they did so in ways that are different than when a girl friend helps me out. I’m not saying I’m good at playing the part of a damsel in distress (far from it!), but sometimes a woman needs to have a guy take care of her…even if it’s just a guy friend. And I miss that. But most of all, I simply miss my guy friends.

But I guess not every man wants to hang out with a single mom. And, of course, it’s true, many of my former male friends and I don’t have all that much in common any more. Some of them used to love swapping dating stories with me—and since I’m not the serial dater I used to be, my stories aren’t as plentiful or exciting as they once were. Another former male friend used to drag me to see bands with him every week; I rarely have the time (or the babysitter) to do that, these days. But I wouldn’t mind seeing a show every now and then…if he’d actually ever invite me now! But what disappoints me more than missing the guys, themselves, is that these guys are missing out on the best thing that’s ever happened to me—Jayda. Oddly enough, instead of me needing these men as “good male role models” for my daughter—who I believe is thriving and doing just fine without them, thank you very much!—I feel like they’re the ones missing out on something. They’re missing out on the warm, witty, amazing daughter I’ve been blessed with…and the remarkable mother I’ve blossomed into because of her. And that’s a shame.

As Jayda’s mother, I can see a lot of myself in my daughter. And, similarly, we both like men a lot: We often turn our heads to take a second look at them, find many of them attractive and charming, and we certainly like to flirt with them. We know there are some good ones out there, and, unfortunately, some not-so-good ones. And all I can do is continue to encourage Jayda to become a strong, confident, intelligent woman—and hope she’ll make the right choices in the men she befriends. But as for “surrounding her with positive male role models,” I’m not going to force the issue. Jayda has plenty of people around her who love her—and it doesn’t matter whether they’re women or men—as long as she can count on them. And she can always count on me. That’s enough.

Dear Motherhood Later -- by Robin

I receive quite a number of letters from Later Moms who hear about MotherhoodLater.com and reach out to me via email. I have decided to periodically share select letters, with the permission of the moms. Some truly touch my heart, and I feel might resonate with others who became a mom at 35+.

This is a letter I received earlier this week...and my response to it will be at the end......and if you would like to respond as well, I invite you to post a comment to the blog.

Hi,

Do you have any information for women over the age of 45 that have had babies? I am having a problem finding anyone to talk with. Everyone my age is a grandparent and don't really want to spend time with me because of having my son who is now 15 months old. Talking with the younger crowd doesn't help me out either.... Let me tell you about myself.

My name is Susan Homan. I am a mother of two sons. I have been married for almost 27 years. My first son is 24, married with a 3 year old and one the way... Yes I am a Grandmother! I am a Fire Inspector and Arson Investigator and work a fifty-six hour work week with one night over staying at the fire station, this has been this way for almost 20 years. Then, at the age of 46, I found myself pregnant with my second son... Yes, twenty-three years apart. All my friends said we were crazy for having another child. My husband and I had talked about it very hard and said that if all the tests came back normal and there was nothing wrong, we would have him. Everything worked out as well as it could, and we have a healthy normal little boy, Chase.

The problems that I have been having are not finding anyone to talk to who has some sort of the same situation. My friends don't call any more because they don't want to deal with my son when going to a dinner or luncheons or even a small get together. And the younger crowds don't want a grandmother hanging around their groups.

Let me tell you, it is very hard trying to find a friend when you are a grandmother and a mother. Not many people want to even deal with you. It has been kind of lonely, but trying to deal with it is all I can do.

I was just wondering if there was any one else out there that is in the same situation? Can you direct me to any outlet if there is one?

Thanks for reading,
Susan Homan
Age 47
Son: Ryan 24
Son: Chase 15 months
Married: 26 years
Live in San Diego, CA


Dear Susan -

I applaud you for standing by your convictions and doing what felt right for your family. Chase is a blessing!

I have come to believe that sometimes certain friends will come 'n go in our lives as we transition. It can be hurtful when that happens. I totally understand and can relate. But, it also opens the door for new people to enter.

It is for this very reason that I launched Motherhood Later...Than Sooner. It's a wonderful way for women like yourself to connect, and I hope that you'll join some of our online communities and have a chance to chat with other later moms.

I have to believe that there are women like you in the same mom/grandmom boat.

Perhaps you'd like to consider helping to launch a San Diego chapter of Motherhood Later?

If there are any San Diego moms or grandmom/moms reading this blog, please do drop a comment with your email, so Susan may connect with you.

Warm regards,
Robin
founder
www.MotherhoodLater.com

PS -- If you're in NY, your child might enjoy The Little Gym of Port Washington. Enter to win a Free Birthday Bash. Winners selected February 22nd and notified by email. Visit -- http://www.tlgportwashington.com/birthday.html

Conscience Talking -- by Cara

My blog today is somewhat of an addendum to Robin’s blog from last Friday. In summary (for those who may have missed it), Robin had guests over her house, including a slightly younger boy of one of her friends. Not only did Robin’s son and her friend’s little boy run amok, they locked the adults in Robin’s newly finished basement...twice! Then the lock had to be removed from the door.

Robin posed a question to all of us Moms: When does your child realize right from wrong and if they know they are doing something wrong, when and how do you teach them to do what is right?

I decided to bring this up in today’s blog because shortly after I read Robin’s blog, I was in the kitchen with my son, making dinner, and my son was watching one of those Disney shows geared more towards the teenage crowd. But what caught both of our attention was that one of the “cool” characters evidently did not do something very nice to one of his friends, so the “cool” character’s “nerdy” friend took upon the role of “cool kid’s” conscience.

Because this was the theme of the show, and the word “conscience” was used very frequently, my son asked, “Mommy? What IS conscience?” This was a perfect opportunity to at least instill a grain of what Robin was looking to do with her own son. I waited until a commercial came on, turned the television off, and sat down with my son to try to explain what “conscience” was. I asked, “Have you ever been on the playground or playing with friends and all of a sudden one kid starts calling another kid names?” And he nodded yes. So I continued, “And I’m sure it made you feel confused inside because you didn’t want to be the only one NOT calling the kid names.” And he nodded his head. But because I know what a good person you are, when you actually did call the kid names, it didn’t make you feel very good about yourself...am I right?” And he said, “Yes.” So I explained, that is what “conscience” is. When you do or say something that you know deep down inside isn’t right. But sometimes you end up doing it anyway so that you don’t get picked on either. You end up feeling not so good about yourself. That’s what conscience is...realizing what is good and not good and trying to choose to do what is good because it will make you feel much prouder inside! You will know you chose the right thing to do! And there will be times when you know you should do the right thing, but the feeling to choose the wrong thing will be so strong that you will have a hard time NOT doing it. Then you will not feel good and proud inside. That feeling is called guilt. And guilt helps us to make the right choice the next time even though we made a wrong choice this time.”

Because in the show, the “nerdy” friend was portrayed as the “cool kid’s” conscience, my son asked, “So I have to pick a friend to be my conscience?” And I smiled and said, “No honey, the TV show is using friends as a way to show the “cool kid” how he really should be behaving. Can you see how the “cool kid” is having a hard time trying to decide if he should do the right thing or not? His “conscience” friend is really a friend we all have in our minds...in our heads. Conscience is not outside you, it is inside you and it helps to make you think about what you do before you do it. It helps you decide to do what is good so that it makes you feel good.” My son seemed to at least grasp that conscience was something in your head that controlled “good” and “bad” behavior.

Now, do I think that most of this explanation will have blown by my son like the wind? Of course. But he was asking appropriate questions, so SOME of my dissertation must have stuck with him. And he will remember at least a fraction of our conversation of “right versus wrong.” And knowing my son, out of the blue, he will remember bits and pieces of our conversation and will want me to explain again. And I will be more than willing to do so. I opened up a dialog that I hope will be ongoing. I’m certain that my son will at least REMEMBER that we had SOME kind of conversation when he is faced with a right versus wrong situation. And I would hope that he would come to me and share what happened to discuss whether he chose the correct behavior. And if he is too wracked with guilt over something he did that he REALLY regrets, I hope he comes to me so that I can explain to him that he is feeling very guilty, very sorry about what he did, and also discuss how we can make the situation right again. And that maybe next time, he should be listening a little more closely to his “conscience”.

Worried Sick -- by Jamie

Lately, all of Jayda’s dolls have been throwing up. The other night, as Jayda was munching on a snack bag of animal crackers, she asked me if Big Baby (her favorite doll) could have one of her cookies. “Sure,” I said, and proudly praised her for sharing her snack. Just moments later, Jayda shrieked, “Big Baby is throwing up!” I then had to stop everything I was doing to help Jayda climb up on a step stool so she could hold Big Baby over the kitchen sink, just as I had held my daughter several weeks before, when Jayda had suffered from the stomach flu and couldn’t make it into the bathroom in time. While Jayda was ill, I also showed her how to throw up into the toilet, and now she sometimes takes her dolls to the bathroom and takes care of them while they “get sick” there. Other times, she lets a doll lie on the couch with her and tells me it’s ok if her baby throws up on her legs, as Jayda did on mine once, when she was in the throes of her sickness.

Jayda is a doting mom to her babies, and I like to think she tries to imitate me. The last, and only other time Jayda had a stomach bug, was when she was an infant, and fortunately, she has no memory of those horrible few days. So I guess her recent discomfort—and my subsequent care of her—has left quite an impression on my daughter. However, I’m getting a bit tired of this puking phase—especially when Jayda uses it as a means of manipulating me. Now, whenever she wants to get my attention, she tells me she’s going to throw up—or, simply, that her belly hurts. Of course I initially play along…rub her tummy, dote on my daughter, and then, I cleverly remind her that junk food is likely to give her a stomach ache, and that if she really has one, she’s going to have to abstain from any treats. Usually, that instantly cures her.

But all of this belly aching makes me wonder: Why does Jayda obsess over some things, and not others? Why have the symptoms of a 24-hour stomach bug carried over into her daily life, while other not-so-wonderful experiences are immediately forgotten? I’m simply amazed by what Jayda chooses to remember…and what she forgets. Before Jayda came down with the stomach flu, we had plans to meet a friend in the city to see “Pinkalicious: The Musical”—a silly, kid-friendly play based on Jayda’s absolute favorite picture book. Jayda was immensely excited about the prospect of seeing the play—and about seeing her friend, too. But once Jayda’s sickness subsided, and I began quietly obsessing over how to explain to Jayda that she was too weak to go to the city, and that we’d have to miss the show, she never even mentioned “Pinkalicious.” It’s been weeks, and Jayda has still never asked about the tickets. It’s like the show never existed.

Maybe it’s a child’s right to have selective memory—just as Jayda seems to have selective hearing when I admonish her for things she’s not supposed to be doing—but it sure makes this mom a bit batty. It seems I’m always worrying about how traumatized Jayda will be by some events that ultimately never seem to even bother her. Like my return to school, for instance. While in theory, it hasn’t changed Jayda’s life much yet (she gets dropped off at day care a bit earlier two days a week—and that’s all), I can’t help but worry what kind of a toll it will take on her in the future, even though the commute, the extra work, and the stress are all mine with which to deal right now. A few times last week when Jayda asked about my day and I told her “I went to school,” she actually got a bit combative and countered, “I go to school, too!” It made me wonder if she thinks she has to compete with me now. I assured her that while we both do go to school now, her school is just as—if not more—important than mine. But of course I wondered if my assurances were enough. Then, the other day, Jayda continued a similar conversation with, “Why you go to school, mommy?” I responded, “I need to make more money for us,” and she countered, combatively, again, “I make us money!” as she grabbed me and two of her dolls in a big embrace. So maybe, yet again, I’m worrying for no reason. In her sweet toddler way, Jayda’s just trying to be a doting mom—and that’s behavior I can definitely learn to stomach.

Happy Birthday, to Me... -- by Jamie

It’s my birthday today. Or, as I like to call it every year, the start of my “birthday month.” I love my birthday, and this year, as I launch a new decade, it seems like more of a reason to celebrate than ever. Weeks ago, as this milestone day was approaching, and Jayda became involved in the party planning and discussions of all the festivities, she asked me, “Are you going to be 2-1/2?” I answered, “No,” and with resounding enthusiasm, informed her, “I’m going to be FORTY!” “Wow!” she responded. But since she can only count up to 20, she really has no idea of the magnitude of this birthday. I have, however, raised her to understand how important birthdays are, in general, thanks to my own upbringing. My parents always made (and continue to make!) a huge fuss over me on my birthday, and I do the same for Jayda. My daughter knows that a birthday equals tons of attention—and is intended to be a perfect day filled with presents, fun activities, and cupcakes, of course (or, in a worse-case scenario, a sheet cake with tons of gooey icing).

When I was a child, on the night before my birthday, after I’d gone to bed, my parents would hang a string of balloons outside our house, from the front door to a tree several feet away, “announcing” my birthday to the whole neighborhood; they did this for my siblings—and for themselves, too—as it was (and still is!) a Levine-family tradition. Every year, when I woke up on the morning of my birthday, I’d look outside my window and see the balloons, and smile. It’s amazing how happy and hopeful those balloons could make a person feel—even a 40 year old.

For children, birthdays are often all about parties, presents, and treats—and who can blame them? Personally, I fondly remember going to ToysRUs with my mother and picking out all kinds of toys for myself as an annual birthday tradition. I also remember my deliciously messy make-your-own sundae parties, Carvel ice cream cakes, candy-filled piñatas, and staying-awake-all-night-long slumber parties with a houseful of giggling girl friends.

But as an adult, birthdays take on new meaning. Some people choose to ignore their birthdays; I like to embrace them. On one level, I think it’s important to acknowledge—and celebrate—having lived another year. And while it’s true this has been an unusually challenging year for me—full of plenty of ups and downs—I do still have so much to be grateful for—namely, my daughter, Jayda. It would have been heartbreaking for me to reach the age of 40 without having become a mother, and I’m so thankful I made the choices I made, and was able to have a child on my own, almost three years ago.

On a more selfish level, I simply love the idea of having one day (or one month?) out of the year that’s focused on celebrating me! Because let’s face it: I like the attention. I don’t need presents. I don’t need expensive dinners out. It’s not about money being spent on me…but really the thought that counts. I simply enjoy having people calling me, sending me cards, and wishing me “Happy Birthday!” Of course, this year, I did want a slightly bigger deal: I wanted my friends and family to “really” celebrate with me. Which is why I decided to have a party. Fortunately, my incredibly generous parents helped me organize it, and I had wonderful friends who were able to eat, drink, and be merry with me. It was a great way to kick off my birthday, which I hope will be filled with all the phone calls, emails, and attention I crave—from loved ones around the country, and the globe. I just want people to remember me—and to continue to celebrate with me—as I turn 40, and beyond. That’s all this birthday girl really needs. Because birthdays—like life—should be filled with loving friends and family, happiness, a little sugar, and a few nice surprises along the way.

Putting Things in Perspective -- by Jamie

Last weekend, the mother of one of Jayda’s day care friends invited us to join them in attending “Disney on Ice.” Jayda was thrilled when I explained to her that “Mickey Mouse and all the Princesses would be ice skating, and she and her friend could sit together and watch them.” Mickey and Minnie introduced the show, and Jayda clapped happily from my lap. But as the characters from “Aladdin” came out for the first act, and a procession of genies skated out across the ice, kicking like Rockettes, Jayda quickly turned around and buried her face into my neck. I suddenly realized that a performance that had appeared magical and impressive to me, seemed ominous and frightening to my little girl.

As the show continued, though Jayda did enjoy it (and woke up the next morning demanding, “I want to go to Disney again!”), she also dragged me out to the lobby for walks at inopportune moments, changed her position (from my lap to her own chair back to my lap) at least a dozen times, constantly fished for snacks from my pocketbook, and often tried to engage me in conversations (“Mommy! Talk about our day!”). While Jayda’s friend, who is several months older than Jayda, sat mesmerized in her seat for the entire show (even through the intermission!), Jayda lacked the focus—just as she doesn’t have the patience to sit through a DVD at home (or even more than 5 or 10 minutes of a TV show, for that matter)—without constantly getting up to play.

Jayda’s in nursery school, and her development over the last six months has been astounding. She goes to the bathroom on her own now—even shuts the door in my face, insisting on her privacy. She also grabs her bedtime books from me and takes a turn “reading” to me almost every night. And when I remind her that something is “for grownups,” she counters, “I a big girl now! I can do it/use it!” So, sometimes I forget that Jayda isn’t even three years old yet. Often she forgets it, too. But our experience at “Disney on Ice” was a much-needed reminder for both of us that Jayda’s still a toddler in many ways: She gets scared of monster-like genies no matter how graceful they are, and she can’t sit still for a show—even if it is vastly entertaining. And that’s just fine. I don’t need to rush her to grow up any faster.

Sometimes we expect too much from people—or even from ourselves. And I think we’ve all been victims of not seeing clearly what’s in front of us. The other day, I met an old friend for lunch in the city. First and foremost, he’s an old friend. But he’s also my former personal trainer. Before I had Jayda, I trained with this friend three times a week for many, many years. And while I still work out and eat healthfully now, I certainly don’t have the physique I’d attained while training with Jim. As he sat across the table from me, Jim told me I looked great, and I scowled at him. While I don’t expect to have the 8% body fat I used to, I would like to be 10 pounds lighter, and I certainly don’t feel like I look fabulous these days. But after our lunch, Jim emailed me that I really DO look great…”much better than I believe.” Reading his email made me smile. And I realized it’s all about keeping things in perspective. Every woman—and every mother—needs to keep things in perspective: Her daughter’s true age. The way she looks. Even the kind of mother she is. And sometimes all we need to do is take a step back and look at things from a different angle (or from another person’s viewpoint) and we’ll better see the truth. It’s a good thing to do once in awhile, and I think we all need to remind ourselves of that.

Mixed Blessings (ie: Be Careful What You Wish For!) -- by Jamie

I think every mother wishes for the day when she can stop buying diapers; I certainly did. And I’m so relieved that after months of potty training, Jayda now wears underwear all the time. Thus, the other day, when I picked Jayda up from daycare, knowing we weren’t heading directly home, I did what I always do these days, and asked Jayda if she needed to use the bathroom before we left. She insisted that she did not, so, we took off on our thirty-minute drive to our play date. When we were half-way there, Jayda mumbled that she was going to use the potty at her friend’s house; however, we weren’t going to her friend’s house, and instead, her friend’s mom and I had planned to meet on a main street of their town to look at the Christmas decorations before dinner. When I explained this to Jayda, she replied, “Uh oh. Whose potty I use? I need to go.” Oy. I frantically looked for a place at which to stop along the road, found a diner, and raced Jayda out of the car and through the snow-filled parking lot. Once inside, Jayda took her time, but eventually did her business. In the midst of my irritation over how late we were becoming for our play date, not to mention the discomfort I was feeling from my now snow-covered shoes, I forced myself to plaster on a big smile, and praised Jayda for letting me know that she’d had to go—and for holding it in until she’d gotten to a bathroom like a “big girl.” She had, indeed, exhibited marvelous behavior for a 2-1/2 year old, but, at the time, it didn’t seem like such a wonderful thing to me and my freezing cold toes.

It reminded me of the time before Jayda turned two, when most of her spoken words were garbled and difficult to understand. My mom used to exclaim, “I can’t wait until Jayda can REALLY talk!” And now? My daughter never shuts up. While it has been amazing to witness her remarkable speech development, hearing Jayda speak 24/7 isn’t a complete joy. Like all curious toddlers, my daughter loves asking, “Why?” She has questions about everything and everyone, and they’re often quite random. Sometimes she’ll ask me what someone whom she hasn’t seen for months is doing right at that moment, or what kind of bed one of her friends sleeps in, when it’s the middle of the day. She wants to know everyone’s name—from the friend whom I’m on my cell phone with to the cashier at the supermarket whom I exchange five words with, and, simply, loves to chatter. Lately, Jayda loves talking about her day with me—what we’ve done already, what we’re going to do, and what our plans are for the next day—over and over and over again. She’ll often ask me to “talk our day” when I have a hundred other things to do—or talk about—at that moment, and gets very upset when I refuse to respond in detail. Another habit Jayda has developed, is repeating everything she hears: She often exclaims “Oh my gawd!” and “Oy!” just like her mother, and I must be very careful about what I say.

Jayda’s a smart little girl, and she’s quite clever with her choice of words. She knows the power of the word “please,” and, at times when I’ve refused her a second cookie or another Barney DVD, she sweetly pleads, “Please!” which is oh-so-difficult to refuse. Similarly, when I’m angry with Jayda about something, and am in the middle of reprimanding her, she’s been known to interrupt me with “I wuv you mommy! I wuv you a bushel and a kleck and a hug around the neck,” which certainly distracts me from my anger. So, while I do appreciate the fact that Jayda is such a good communicator now, it isn’t always a positive experience for me.

Another important characteristic that I’ve always wished for in my child is independence. While I’ll always cherish having a kid who adores me, and who loves being around me, I think most moms, including myself, do not relish the thought of a clingy child. Fortunately, Jayda, who still exhibits an enormous amount of affection for me, has truly started to become her own little person—one who thinks for herself, and, often even takes care of herself. But even that has its downsides, because lately, every thing that needs to be done for Jayda is something that she insists, “I do by myself.” This includes picking out her outfits (which, to my mortification, often don’t match), dressing and undressing herself (even when it means struggling with a zipper for fifteen minutes), and attempting to tie her own shoes (ie: twirling her laces around and around, sometimes forming knots). I can’t even hand Jayda a cookie these days without her throwing a fit about wanting to pick her OWN cookie out of the box. Jayda’s a willful child, and while that is a wonderful quality for her to possess in the long-run, in the short-term it leads to a lot of frustration for both of us. And, for me, a person who thrives on always being on time, it has meant trying to acquire a whole lot of patience when it suddenly takes us twice as long as usual to accomplish a task—and get out the door.

For every milestone Jayda reaches, I am, of course, thankful, and am more than willing to cheer and praise my child. Her development amazes me, and I marvel at what a wonderful “big girl” she’s becoming. Yet I also realize that with every achievement comes new challenges (often just for me!). Growing up isn’t easy—for either of us—but I’m learning to take the bad with the good. My child is thriving, and that’s what matters most.

Interfaith Traditions -- by Cara

This is always an interesting time of year for our family. And a lot of work for me! See, my husband is Jewish, I am not, but we are raising our son to be Jewish. All of this is fine except for one major thing. My son is in love with everything Christmas, especially Santa Claus!

It all started when my father was still alive and my son was 2 and 3 years old. Since my father didn’t have the stamina to put up his own Christmas tree each year, as he became elderly, we would put one up in our home while he watched us decorate it. And my Mother-in-Law never wanted my father’s holiday to be forgotten, so she would cook a big Christmas dinner for all of us.

My son, even at this young age, took all of this in. Besides the fact that there are Christmas displays everywhere you look this time of year. And Christmas cartoons, movies, and songs just about everywhere. My son became completely enamored with the mystery of Christmas.

Every year, I try to instill both the religious meaning and tradition of Hanukkah in him. But it never seems to trump Santa. “Eight crazy nights!,” I exclaim! “Eight nights of gifts!” The lighting of the candles on the beautiful Menorah he made at religious school! Still, he wants to know when Santa is coming. “How many more days, Mommy?,” he’ll ask.

My father is no longer with us, but the tradition of putting up a tree and decorating it still remain. My son moved all of the items away from the fireplace so that Santa can have easy access into our home. I am wondering how many more years he will still be believing in Santa Claus? I was certain that once he started religious school, the mystery of Santa and his reindeer would be exposed. Didn’t happen. He goes to school with predominantly Jewish children and has mostly Jewish friends. But he cannot be swayed. I’ve brought him to Tot Shabbat services, Hanukkah lightings at our Temple, festivities celebrating Hanukkah! Still, he wants to hold on to the belief of Santa.

So, as we do every year, I put up the Hanukkah decorations first. Read him books about celebrating Hanukkah, make Hanukkah crafts and play “Spin the Dreidel” with him. We watch my Mother-in-Law make potato Latkes. We put on Jewish music celebrating Hanukkah. Still, it all doesn’t matter. He anxiously awaits the man in the red suit and the white beard.

I must admit, preparing for two different winter holidays is not easy. Hanukkah is a little easier, but dragging an artificial tree up from the basement, putting it together, decorating it, making cookies for Santa and wrapping presents for BOTH holidays is a chore. I’m secretly hoping that my son comes to the realization that there really isn’t a Santa Claus. My work load would certainly diminish.

But I’m not going to be the one to squelch my son’s fantasy. It will come naturally on it’s own. Then maybe we can all focus on one holiday, light candles, eat latkes, sing songs and be united in the tradition of Hanukkah. In the meantime, I really wish my son didn’t have to announce to his religion teacher what Santa would be bringing him this year!

Learning from a Toddler--and Losing Inhibitions -- by Jamie

While I’ve always been a rather social person—and a very talkative one at that—I’ve never been overly-confrontational. Or even a very outspoken person when I’m in public, or interacting with strangers. And I certainly possess my share of inhibitions. But having a child has brought countless changes to my life, including giving me the guts to say or do many things I wouldn’t have done before I had Jayda.

I adore the fact that my 2-1/2-year-old daughter is completely uninhibited. She loves to take off her clothes in the house and, as she calls it, “be a naked baby.” She struts around with her belly sticking out, and could care less about who’s watching her. As a woman who’s suffered through years of disordered eating in the past, I find it lovely to see someone who has absolutely no body image issues. Jayda does happen to be a beautiful child, but it’s liberating to know that fat or thin, pretty or not, Jayda gives no thought to what she looks like, and certainly doesn’t stress over what she eats. She’s comfortable in her own skin. We should all be so lucky.

Best of all, Jayda loves to belt out the words to songs she knows (even when those words are all garbled and wrong)—whether we’re alone or in public. Personally, even with a couple of martinis in my bloodstream, I’ve never had the guts to sing karaoke, and I marvel at my daughter’s chutzpa. She dances with abandon, says whatever is on her mind, and doesn’t think twice about questioning anything and everything (and anyone and everyone!). True, she’s a toddler and knows no better. But I find her actions quite enviable.

Fortunately, being a mom to Jayda has changed my personality, too. Because I discovered it’s important to talk to your children to foster their speech development, even when Jayda was only an infant, I chatted constantly with her in public. When Jayda was not yet talking, I uttered endless monologues to her, and now, I engage her in complex conversations out loud—sometimes quite loudly—in public places like the supermarket, the doctor’s waiting room, and even the library. And when Jayda asks me to join her in singing a song, I oblige. I’ve also been known to spin around in circles with her—or do a jig with her in the middle of a crowd (and I’m someone who has always had two left feet). Being with a child can definitely bring out the child in you—as well as a child’s lack of inhibitions.

Before I became a mom, there were many times when I felt intimidated by authority figures and didn’t speak up about things that bothered me…or times when I was a bit shy about asking for something I needed. That’s not true anymore—especially when it comes to Jayda. When I need an emergency appointment at the pediatrician’s office, attention given to a problem Jayda’s having at daycare, or am bothered by a myriad of other things whose resolutions are important to my child’s well-being, I’ve developed a very big mouth. I’ll pursue important people, confront troublemakers, and even insist on changes being made where they’ve never been made before, if doing so will improve my daughter’s life. And I’ll do so with absolutely no hesitation. Just as a momma bear is protective of her little cub, so am I: I’ll growl at anyone who puts my child in harm’s way. It’s a gift Jayda’s given me…and I’m doing my best to use it as much as I can.

Mensch-in-the-Baking -- by Robin

We had our parent teacher meeting this week, and I almost got choked up.

They had the nicest things to say about Seth in terms of his character and personality. We talked about how he always wants to help people, and has huge empathy and an unusual level of maturity when it comes to expressing concern for people's well-being.

My husband and I have long known this. I've always been struck by his big-heartedness, coupled with his spunky personality. He'd be the first on the scene to come to someone's aid, and he's the life of the party. We've always joked that he's going to be the "mayor' of our town one day....though Seth aspires to be a fireman.

He is a "little love" in my book.

That said....we also work hard to reinforce in him the need to give back and be grateful.

In an effort to combine this lesson with something he loves, I got the idea from an article I read to take him to our local volunteer firehouse (for one of our many, many visits)...but this time...to bake brownies for the firemen and express our gratitude for all that they do for the community. Seth loved the idea! He couldn't get in the door fast enough. And, he told his class all about our plans to visit the firehouse.

It made me feel good that he valued the experience. And, I gained from it as well.

One of the outings for MotherhoodLater.com that I planned for the NY chapter was a trip to Ronald McDonald House. There, we also baked brownies (notice the brownie theme?!)....this time for the families who are staying there. Ronald McDonald House is an amazing place that houses/feeds families in need whose children are ill and are receiving nearby medical care.

It was in some ways a harder lesson for Seth to take in, but I explained that we have to value our health and not take it for granted. That even children get sick, and we're doing our part by baking for their families so they can enjoy despite all that they are dealing with.

I consider Seth a mensch (decent person)-in-the-making (or should I say baking?), and I'm proud to help mold him in that way. He's already a natural in the caring department, and if I can help provide experiencesthat offer him further opportunity to grow and share what he is so capable of, I consider it a priority.

It's a win-win situation, and touches me as well. It's so easy to get caught up with all that we have to do in our lives. We live in a day 'n age that is quite consuming....be it with technology or other pursuits we endeavor to keep up with.

But, at the end of the day, it's the simple gestures that go far. And, if that means my becoming a brownie baking queen for the purpose of giving back, Julia Child I'm not, but I'll gladly give it a go. And, Seth is always happy to lick the spoon.

On Being Grateful -- by Cara

Gratitude
There is no greater act than giving thanks.
Remember to acknowledge the goodness in your life.
Quiet your mind, listen to your heart
and fill your soul with gratitude.


I wasn’t very grateful this year. As Thanksgiving approached, I began turning into the Turkey Grinch, “Bah, gobble, gobble!!” I had been getting over Strep Throat, which turned into an upper respiratory infection, and two rounds of antibiotics. My son had been sick (which is where I got the Strep to begin with), my husband was a grouch, and one of our elderly dogs was recovering from a very close to death experience.

What gratitude do I have in my life right now?? There is nothing going right in my life right now!! I wanted to boycott Thanksgiving. Practically everyone in my extended family was fighting off one type of illness or another anyway. No one was well enough to cook anything.
I am usually the one who cooks the turkey, but I could hardly get out of bed. I would have preferred just staying in my pajamas all day!

I had been posting, “Bah, gobble, gobble!” messages on Facebook as others were describing their holiday feasts and posting photos of the pies and other goodies they were making for their family gatherings. I was not thankful one bit. Even well meaning friends posted comments of encouragement. But I was steadfast in my ungratefulness of Thanksgiving this year.

Then something changed in me Thanksgiving morning. My grouchy husband was happy and sweet to me. I looked at the front page of the newspaper and saw a picture of a little girl, six years old, hugging her mother, awaiting a bone marrow transplant. I thought, “Thank goodness MY six year old boy doesn’t have to go through something as horrible as that.”
Then I thought of how well my little boy was doing in school, despite that he has learning issues and we were told before school even started that he would most likely be left back. But he won’t. He’s doing fine. And for that I decided I was HUGELY grateful!

Then my elderly dog, who was near death two weeks ago, looked at me with her big eyes! How grateful that her prognosis turned out to be “excellent,” and that she was eating hoards of food! That she gained six pounds in two weeks, and that instead of forcing her to take horse-size pills each day, she now could take very small pills only a couple times per day! For this, of a 15 year old dog, I was EXCEEDINGLY grateful!!!!

My attitude was slowly changing. I was thankful of my washing machine when I knew of someone who couldn’t buy one yet. I was thankful that our family was economically stable in these very unstable times. Although I grumbled when my ancient iBook blew up, I was even thankful that someone in our extended family had an extra Powerbook they didn’t use anymore, so that I could use it until we could buy a newer one for me. And although I still cough as I write this, among the many things I really am grateful for, I am grateful for all that I DO have, so that I can share them with you!

Sweet Mommy & Me Time -- by Robin

I just have to share...Seth lost his two front baby teeth....and it's a precious sight. He would kill me if I posted a current photo of him here...but trust me....his toothless grin is one that I'm trying my best to capture and preserve for posterity. I took a ton of photos when he was in the bath earlier this week. Surprisingly, he cooperated and grinned from ear to ear. He has always, for the most part, embraced the camera and looks great in photos (we've been told he could model), but every now 'n then he gets into a mood and bans picture taking of any kind.

This week was parent teacher meetings, so he had half a day before Thanksgiving. (We meet with his teachers next week.) I didn't make any particular plans for us, other than knowing I planned to take him to buy ice skates. He's been on the ice three times thus far (once for a lesson) in the last two weeks , and is totally in his element there. I must confess, I personally much prefer sitting by the fireplace outside the rink with a good book. So, if my husband and I take him, I dart back 'n forth between the rink and cozy sitting place. I'm torn because I want to watch Seth make skating strides, yet the chill combined with lack of seating isn't my thing.

In the past I have stressed a bit knowing Seth is off from school....feeling the need to make plans to keep him busy. ..whether I schedule a playdate or something else. This time, I just let it go, and the end result was a nice one. Seth was quite content for a long time to play in the house, and he was excited in the skate store to watch the owner sharpen the skate blades. (Seth has always been very mechanical.) After that, we did a couple of errands...and he picked out a cute Hanukkah gift at Rite Aide for one of his cousins. I was very touched that he thought of her. He's a big-hearted kid.

He was happy when I agreed to take him to the local pizza place for dinner. And, afterwards (my husband worked late), we watched a movie on cable together. It was really a pleasant afternoon, and Seth was good company. I treasure times like this.

He wasn't ansi and asking, as he sometimes does over 'n over again, what are we doing? And, I wasn't anxious about needing to respond in a strategic fashion. I'm not a mom who overschedules her child. I think downtime is important...you have to know your child. But, that said, Seth often likes to be on the go, so balance becomes essential. And, I can't always anticipate the mood he'll be in in terms of wanting to be home to play or not.

I'm just grateful that on this given day, we had really nice mommy & me time, and if I can look forward to that on his other upcoming days off, our time together will be all sweeter.

Hope you & your family had a wonderful Thanksgiving and enjoyed the time off together!!

Crafty Mom vs. Super Hero Turkey! by Cara

My son brought home from school this week a project titled, “The Family Turkey Project,” to be completed before Thanksgiving recess. The object of the project was to come up with a “disguise” for a turkey outline cut from poster board paper. The disguise needed to prevent the turkey from being caught for Thanksgiving! The outline suggested using a variety of craft-type materials such as ribbon pieces, buttons, feathers, uncooked pasta, felt, glitter and/or glitter paint, etc, to help with the disguise.

I was excited! I wouldn’t even have to go to the craft store because I usually have a plethora of crafting supplies in the house! In fact, last Thanksgiving, my son and I made “pine cone turkeys” where we used real pine cones and gathered fallen leaves of every brilliant color you can imagine, then washed, dried and glued the leaves into the pine cone slots as the turkey tails! I even had google eyes and felt for making the turkey’s face! So I was ready for the challenge, wheels spinning in my head!

Before my husband and I even had time to finish reading the lengthy project instructions, my ambitious son came running to us with the turkey outline, completely colored in with a green outfit, a brown mask, black boots, and some type of weapon. He declared, enthusiastically, that he was finished! Finished? Finished!! How could he be finished with visions of crafting materials were still dancing in my head?!

My husband and I were so quick to share in the excitement of him taking the initiative to start the project as quickly as he did. But we also pointed out to him that this was supposed to be a family project that we had to work on together. My son wouldn’t budge. His turkey was not only complete, but perfect. Just as it was.

“But how about some buttons for his outfit or his boots, I queried?”

“Mommy! My turkey is a green Power Ranger! Power Rangers don’t wear buttons!”

“What about some material to make a cape for him?!”

“Power Rangers don’t WEAR capes, Mommy!”

“Maybe we could make his outfit sparkle with some green glitter??”

“No Mom! Power Rangers aren’t shiny!!

My excitement was diminishing. I looked at my husband for support. “It looks like a great turkey disguise to me,” he chimed in, silently thankful that he didn’t have to participate in the project.

“Okay, then,” I said, a little dejected, “Your turkey looks perfect just the way it is! You chose quite the clever disguise!” Crafty Mom no longer had a project to work on. On second thought, where are those foam sheets for the Teepees we wanted to make last year??!! Let me check the bottom drawer...

Surprising Discoveries -- by Jamie

A few days ago, my daughter, Jayda, turned 2-1/2, and, just as she did from the start, my willful child continues to keep me on my toes, and surprise me.

On the morning of May 18, 2007, after experiencing a rather easy pregnancy, I found myself at my OB/GYN’s office, because I was a few days past my due date. At the end of the exam, my doctor instructed me to go to the hospital at 6 p.m. that night so he could induce me; he said it was unwise for me to wait any longer, and that it was time for Jayda to come into the world. But, at brunch with my parents just a few hours later, I started to feel cramps. The cramps persisted, and then worsened on the ride home, and later that afternoon, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I agreed to go to the hospital early. There, I discovered I was, indeed, in labor—and there would be no need for an inducement.

After settling into the hospital, and receiving a much-needed epidural, I assumed I could relax for awhile. But shortly after I started to get comfortable, everything went awry. My fetal monitor went off, the attending nurse covered me with an oxygen mask, and before I knew it, my hospital room had turned into an episode of ”ER”—with doctors frantically rushing in and wheeling me out to an OR. I found out later—after Jayda was quickly brought into this world by an emergency C-section—that my monitor had indicated that my daughter had gone into distress, and my swift doctors had jumped into action and saved her. So, what started as a possible induction and continued as a “normal” labor, was resolved with a C-section; even at birth, Jayda was full of surprises.

The morning of Jayda’s 2-1/2 birthday began with my daughter and me cuddling in my bed. As usual, Jayda prodded me to “talk about our day,” and I gave her a preview of her upcoming school day, as well as our afterschool activities, which involved a play date. When I was finished, she gave me a hug and declared, “Mommy, you my best friend!” It was one of those unexpected gems that often comes out of Jayda’s mouth these days—a surprising reminder of what a sweet, articulate little person my daughter is becoming.

When we got out of bed that morning, Jayda insisted on wearing underpants under her leggings. We’d been potty training for awhile, but Jayda usually ran around the house in a pair of pull-ups, or completely nude from the waist down, most mornings before we left for daycare. I relented though, helped her put on her princess undies, and took her with me on a ride to Dunkin Donuts for coffee. Then, we came home for a few hours, and Jayda remained dry the entire time. She even asked to use the potty twice, successfully, before leaving for daycare. But as I went to change her into a pair of pull ups before we left the house, she threw a fit, and refused to take off her underpants. “I a big girl now,” she declared, and, as I looked at the calendar and noticed what day it was, I couldn’t help but agree. Thus, my willful child won this battle, and sported her princess undies at daycare for the very first time.

Later that day, Jayda surprised me again, when I picked her up from daycare and found her in unsoiled clothes, still wearing her treasured underpants. She even requested that she wear her underpants to school the next day, too. My little girl really is a “big girl” now. And while I’m not surprised that Jayda is growing up, I AM surprised by how quickly it’s happening, and how determined my daughter has already become to be “her own little person.” Fortunately, it’s a person who constantly amazes me with her humor, intelligence, and sensitivity—and a person whom I love more and more each day. And while I’m not so sure she’ll think of me as her best friend forever, maybe she’ll surprise me. I sure hope so.

Do I Want to Be a Grandmother at 50? by Cara

Every once in a while I go on to Facebook to catch up with the happenings of friends near and far. Invariably, I get one of those silly quizzes that pop up. What kind of dog are you? What does your name mean in Japanese? Just as invariably I take a quiz or two if I have the inclination and the time. I found out, incidentally, that my name in Japanese means, “Love Child.” Well, okay, whatever. At least it doesn’t mean, “Burning Sword.”

In any event, I received a quiz from a newly aquatinted friend titled,”Questions About Me.” It was a rather lengthy questionnaire, but after reading the questions and responses my friend had put down, I decided to take the time to answer the questions myself and pass the quiz back to her.

Many of the questions were rather benign, however I almost choked when I read one of the questions two-thirds into the questionnaire. “Would you like to be a grandparent at age 50?” AGE 50??!! I’m 46!! My son is 6!! That would mean that my son would have to impregnate some girl at age 10!!!! NO, I don’t want to be a grandparent at age 50!!! But this got me to thinking. When WOULD I want to be a grandparent?

If I had my son at age 40, and statistics and trends are pointing to later in life marriages and births, what age will I reasonably be a grandmother? I have every hope that my son will attend college. And I would be even more grateful should he decide to go to graduate school or go on to get a professional degree. Would he marry at 25? 30? 35?

My father was an “older” parent and had the joy of seeing my son born at age 86. He had three beautiful years watching my son through his baby and toddler years. And for some unknown reason, even though my father was severely hard of hearing, it didn’t matter one lick to my son nor to my father that they didn’t understand one another. They communicated in a higher form called love.

I think my father and my son had a bond that has continued to transcend his demise. And my son continues to reflect on him with fondness and yearnings of love. I would hope that my son might choose to have children at a slightly younger age than me. It would give me great pleasure to see my grandchildren grow for at least a decade! I could do a lot of “spoiling” in a decade!! (And, yes, I know that only food gets spoiled...but you get my drift!)

But, if my son has a child or children later in his life, as I did, perhaps I, too, could capture a bond of love that would transcend the corporeal. That would make me immensely happy too. Side by side with my grandchild, bringing me a leaf or a stone found on the ground and presented as a gift. Through love that is boundless. Sometime the innocence of the young and the old, brought together, can mean more than spending years trying to establish a relationship with a relative you have a difficult time getting along with.

Well, I have a “few” more years before I need to worry about becoming a grandparent. And incidentally, anyone who draws up a questionnaire with a question such as this, must be, oh, say, 20?

The Disillusionment of Halloween -- by Cara

I really love this time of year! I love the changing colors of the leaves; I love the small piles of colorful foliage gathered on the side of the road; I love picking special leaves of different shapes and colors to make Fall crafts with my son. I also love seeing houses dressed up with mums and pumpkins on their walkways or steps. And I love all of this the best on a beautiful, sunny, cloudless day so that you can see the bold colors of Fall against the azure blue of a cloudless sky! Nature in all it’s splendor before the cold, dark winter settles in.

My son loves this time for a different reason, he loves running in the fallen leaves and the collecting of some pretty ones to make a craft project or two. But he especially loves this time of year because of Halloween! He has cartoon Halloween DVDs which we watch together each year. We savor the Halloween television programs that aren’t too scary! I decorate his room with Halloween sheets and ghost throw pillows. Then we make Halloween crafts to decorate his room some more. And we always have to count down the days until Halloween arrives!

Well, today is Halloween. And my son had a splendid day meeting up with friends to go Trick-or-Treating! He met more friends from school along the way! At one point, he was tired and hungry, so my husband offered to take him out to get a meal while I went food shopping.

For many years now, I have put out a stand and a container of candy with a cute note welcoming the Trick-or-Treaters, kindly requesting that they leave some candy for those who come after them. Knowing that Halloween would be falling on a Saturday this year, we stocked up on six giant, Costco-size bags of candy! Three were more expensive bags of candy and three were less expensive, mixed candies. I got in the habit of putting bowls of candy outside because when my son was younger, if he was taking a nap, I didn’t want the doorbell to ring and have the dogs bark, waking up my son. As my son became older, I would still put out candy because we would be out ourselves Trick-or-Treating and visiting with relatives to show off our little goblin in his costume!

Then, a few years ago, I noticed that I would fill up, what used to be, a white wicker basket, lined with a Halloween theme bandana, and place it outside on the stand at night, only to have the doorbell ring twenty minutes later by a sweet teen Hannah Montana noting that there wasn’t any candy left in the basket. So I gave her a generous amount and refilled the basket again with the last of the candy, only to find that again, twenty minutes later, the doorbell would ring again, and the basket was empty. I had to kindly explain that we ran out of candy but once the tweens left, I remembered that I had a couple boxes of granola bars in the cabinet, so I put those out to have at least something for the kids. Well, thirty minutes later, at about 9 PM, I went to check on the basket and found that some angry kid(s), who were not happy with the granola bars, had flung the basket, granola bars, and bandana into the street! The basket was on the side of the road, along with the bandana, but many of the granola bars had been run over by cars. I picked everything up and declared Halloween over for the night.

The next year, again, when we ran out of candy at around 9 PM, my basket, bandana and stand were all thrown onto our front lawn. Last year some kids actually stole the white basket, bandana and all the candy that was left! At least they left the stand!

This year, the night Trick-or-Treaters crossed the line. I used a fifty-cent Halloween bowl I bought from Target to fill with candy. I put the more expensive candy out during the day when I knew younger children, who came with their parents, would be coming. I saved the less expensive candy for the night Trick-or-Treaters who usually emptied much of the bowl of candy into their bags. I ended up running out of six Costco-size bags of candy at around 6 PM! I had to put a sign on the door stating that we literally ran out of candy. A couple hours later, I went out to turn off the tea lights in the pumpkin my son and his Grandfather lovingly carved together and found it smashed to bits! I am hurt, I am angry and I am disillusioned. There was no reason to destroy something because others were not considerate. Next year, Halloween ends at sundown. Lights out. Treasured items will be out of sight. That is it. Halloween will be over.

The Loveliness of "Only" -- by Cara

I recently saw a posting on a mothering website. A question was posed to those who had “only” children. The author of the post wanted to know whether the children were well adjusted and whether the Moms felt “complete” with only one child. The woman who posed this query recently found out that she would be unable to have any more children and was worried that her daughter would grow up feeling “deprived” of the experience of having siblings and whether only child families felt “complete.”

The reason I homed in on this post is because not only do I have an “only” child, I am one. I also pondered and am self-predicting that there are many “older” Moms out there who also have “onlies” and feel perfectly “complete” with this choice. In fact, all of the weekly bloggers for Motherhood Later ...Than Sooner have “only” children!

So why is it that society puts a label and needs an explanation for only children families? In fact, I cannot tell you how many times my own Mother-in-Law has made comments about my son, ending with the phrase, “Well, after all, he’s an only child, so he’s spoiled.” The word “spoiled” refers to food, not children. And it certainly is not a type of behavior, as my Mother-in-Law repeatedly implies. What is so wrong about being an “only?” And conversely, what are the attributes of having an only child?

I would like to start with my own wonderful scenario, which occurred last week. My son lost his first tooth! When I found out, I quickly went to a website that had male as well as female Tooth Fairy selections. I downloaded and printed out the page of Tooth Fairies and showed them to my son so that he could chose which Tooth Fairy he wanted to come and take his tooth. Then we e-mailed this Tooth Fairy (ie. Daddy) because my son had quite a few questions to ask his Tooth Fairy. I also downloaded a certificate that I printed on our color printer, on cardstock, which was waiting for him when he woke up. Throughout all of this, I kept thinking, how wonderful for both of us to totally immerse ourselves in this milestone event and make it as magical and as wonderful as it should be! If I had more than one child, I never would have been able to embrace this event in the same way! And it has nothing to do about money, just time. Incidentally, my best friend's little girl lost her first tooth the same day as my son. She posted something on Facebook that said, "The baby is screaming and I'm out of singles so the Tooth Fairy is bringing glitter glue tonight." When I read that, I thought to myself, how fortunate....how fortunate for us that my son is an only child.

I could list a hundred other examples of how fortunate only children are. And a hundred famous people who were only children, throughout history. I think what it boils down to, though, is the type of parenting a child gets, whether in a ten child household or a household with one, what types of individual temperaments each of the children has and how theirs “fit” within the household “mix.” And also for a child to feel loved, whether number ten or an only.
I anticipate that along with the growing numbers of “older” parents that arise, as time progresses, the number of only child families will grow in number as well. I welcome seeing this societal change as the years pass. Then maybe the labels such as “spoiled” will not only be a misnomer, they will be a thing of the past.

I came upon this fable written by Lokman, an ancient Ethiopian sage:

A hare, upon meeting a lioness one day, said reproachfully: “I have always a great number of children while you have only one now and then.”

The lioness replied, “That is true, but my one child is a lion.”

And, in fact, so is mine.