Category Archives: Parenting

My Love of Pockets

Stuff that grows on docks (not really) part VII

I guess I have a thing for pockets. I was mining my notebook for nuggets of entertainment, humor or trivia (slim, very slim) when I came across this little bit about things I carry in my pockets (Elmo undies, sleep caps, dog poop bags, tissue).

A Pocket for Corduroy was my favorite book as a child (so glad I could solve that little mystery for you).

There are times in life when pocket space is at a particular premium, like when I travel. When Paul and I were on our 8-month, round-the-world honeymoon, my pockets were always stuffed. In hot climates I carried a sweat rag. I carried room keys, luggage locks, bits of paper with addresses and locations, translations for cab drivers, bus tickets. The most valuable tool was the compass that Paul carried. We both have a terrible sense of direction. We got very good at reading maps, retracing our steps and communicating with locals in hand gestures and puppetry when all else failed (little games of charades all over the world!). Anyway, where was I?

Yes, parenthood is another one of those times when pocket space is at a premium. There are snacks to carry and sippy cups, barrettes and beads that are pulled out of hair on long car rides. There are little toys, mini monkeys that little girls get from coin machines at diners where their daddies take them. There is lip balm for the chapped-lip types like myself. There are napkins and used bandages and some unstuck stickers in case a certain little girl uses the potty. You get the idea. There’s a lot of stuff to carry but that’s not my point. There’s another point I’m getting to here…

The most valuable pocket tool of all time: the Environmental Working Group’s list of the “dirtiest” and “cleanest” conventionally grown fruits and vegetables. The top of the list contains produce that, even when grown conventionally, doesn’t carry a heavy load of pesticides. The bottom of the list contains the most pesticide-laden fruits and vegetables. You can lower your pesticide intake by 4/5ths if you avoid the conventionally-grown versions of the 12 most contaminated items on this list.

Take a look. Do you see peaches, apples, strawberries and blueberries at the bottom? Berry season is here and the peaches, the peaches are coming. Print it off. You don’t really have to carry it in your pocket but I would recommend carrying it in your purse, or your wallet, or wherever else you carry things because it’s important.

Murky at Best

It's even brighter in real life.

On Tuesday our tiny, jail cell of a powder room was painted. It’s navy blue stripes with matte and gloss finishes except for an apple green ceiling and accent wall. It’s awesome. I’ve been snickering to myself, like I have a secret, all week. I have an apple green wall. It’s not a big one but it’s bright green. I’m so clever, artistic, daring. I’m so damn pleased with myself.

It’s a good thing my bathroom is making me so happy because every time I turn on the news and listen to the reports of the oil spilling into the gulf, I have to hold back sobs. And this Tylenol recall business… Hey, Johnson & Johnson, what the hell is going on over there?

In April, FDA inspectors stopped by the manufacturing plant for Children’s Tylenol, Motrin, Benadryl and Zyrtec for a routine inspection and found problems with “quality-control methods and manufacturing processes, including a failure to track customer complaints and spot trends that may signal systemic problems, a lack of written procedures and a failure to adequately train employees.” A routine inspection? You’d think they’d get things in order for the inspectors; you know, tidy the place up and make it look real nice. Maybe they did, maybe this was the plant looking its best. 

Also this: “Federal investigators found that raw materials had ‘known contamination’ with unspecified bacteria and ‘were approved for use to manufacture several finished lots of Children’s and Infant’s Tylenol drug products.’”

Apparently they’ve been receiving complaints about a moldy, musty, or mildew-like odor, murkiness and complaints of nausea, stomach pain, vomiting and diarrhea since 2008. “The company said the smell was caused by a chemical called ‘2,4,6-tribromoanisole (TBA),’ which is applied to wooden pallets that are used to transport and store packaging materials.” Super.

Here’s what all this means: (1) throw away all your infant and children’s Motrin, Tylenol, Benadryl and Zyrtec. It’s all been recalled. (2) It’s time to hoard generic children’s pain reliever. Buy some while you can because who knows when J&J will get their act together and start manufacturing again. For more info…

If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my happy place.

The Basics

I'm not always good.

Over Easter weekend, Josie’s grandma sent her a beaded bracelet. I was sitting at Josie’s little table, my knees tucked comfortably under my chin, when Josie decided Mommy should wear the bracelet. I pulled my fingers together and she slid it onto my wrist. Then she took one step back, crossed her arms, tilted her head to one side and then to the other and said, “Oh, cute!”

I don’t know exactly when she saw me do that but it was clearly me. No question. We’ve moved into the mimic phase. Speaking of little mimics, I have a funny story to share: one day when my sister went to pick up her two-and-a-half-year-old from daycare, my niece pulled a baggie of snacks out of her bag, held it up and said, I kid you not, “These aren’t my f*cking goldfish.” Gee, I wonder where she picked up that sentence construction and vocabulary. Ah, I do love that story.

My point: I’ve been trying to be a good girl. I try not to curse… often, I wash my hands frequently, and I try to eat well and get plenty of sleep.

I haven’t always been a good eater. I was on an elimination diet – no gluten, dairy, soy, sugar, egg or nuts – when I was diagnosed with cancer. I had chronic abdominal pain and gi problems and I thought of food as something that made me sick. I ate plain chicken and steamed vegetables. I drank distilled water. That was it. I was all knees and elbows and weighed 30 pounds less than I do now.   

After my cancer diagnosis, a nutritionist pointed out that if I didn’t start eating, and stop losing weight, I wouldn’t be able to get chemo. And then where will you be? Not much later, I saw a naturopath who told me the most important things I could do were eat and sleep.

These two statements revolutionized my approach to health. I had always thought of diet and nutrition as vaguely important, but in my previous healthier days, I ate primarily for pleasure or to fill my stomach. Gradually, I began to think of eating as an opportunity to stay healthy through chemo and to boost my immune system.

Even when I got busy and run-down from treatment, my goals were clear. Meal planning, grocery (and sometimes handbag) shopping, and cooking, activities that used to be conducted on a time available basis, were suddenly worth cancelling plans to accomplish.

Let’s just stop there and think about this: cancelling plans so you can go to the grocery store.

Is there anything more important than your health? Eating and sleeping, these are the skills I want my little mimic to learn.

Now tell me about you. Do you make eating and sleeping priorities? Have I told you how much I love it when you leave me comments? Have I mentioned how cute you look today?

Pockets of Cheese

I bet you’d be super-surprised to hear that I’m a list maker. There are post-its all over the place here covered with chicken scratches about raisins and plant sales and the broken Dustbuster (Maybe I should make that D*stbuster so the search engines don’t find it.) I make notes about blog posts and new stories and dried fruit. Then I transfer these little notes to the bigger corresponding lists – grocery, blog, household.

The other day I found a note that said ‘pockets.’ I have no idea what I meant.  Did I mean pockets or maybe packets or pictures or printers or pintos and windows and leantos and tacos or maybe a pingback or a wingback and cheese, of course, I must have meant cheese. Doesn’t it always come back to cheese? I was supposed to fill my pockets with cheese.

Just like Paul believes that rubber chickens are inherently funny, I think anything that has to do with a block of cheese is funny. Try working a block of cheese into a story; it makes it funnier, doesn’t it? So when I saw this SNL skit about the closet organizer, I’m sure you can imagine my delight.

Anyway, my point is this: I have a hard time remembering things. Also: blocks of cheese are funny.

But you see I have a good excuse. Chemo brain. For reals.

The American Cancer Society classifies chemo brain as including memory lapses, trouble concentrating/focusing. Trouble remembering names and details, trouble multi-tasking, and trouble finishing a sentence. Brains of cancer patients have been monitored and studies found that certain parts of the brain that deal with memory, planning, putting thoughts to action, monitoring thought processes and behavior and inhibition (pretty much everything) show up as smaller after chemo. These changes are still seen on scans five to ten years after treatment.

They recommend making lists and keeping a wall calendar to help keep your memory strong but those things don’t always help. Sometimes I completely lose a word or thought. One of my friends described it as going to the file in your brain that holds that word, opening it and finding it empty. Saucer! That little dish that holds a cup is indeed a saucer.

My memory has not been the same since chemo, but now I have a hard time determining if my lapses are the result of chemo brain, sleep deprivation, or mommy brain. It’s impossible to untangle them. As a friend says, sleep deprivation is key to the mommy experience. Does the well-rested parent exist?

Web MD claims that pregnancy brain and mommy brain subside after the first few years. Is that because children usually start sleeping longer? Is it because pregnancy hormones have leveled out by then? Do adoptive mommies get mommy brain? Clearly, I have a lot of questions and a lot to say on this topic so I’m going to continue to explore these ideas, if I can remember them, in a memory mini-series. I recommend you read it while gnawing on a block of cheese.

The Red-Headed Messiah of African American Haircare

Have I told you about my new favorite site? My new best friend? The red-headed Messiah of African-American haircare? Perhaps Messiah is a bit much, but let me say this: she is the BOMB. Really. Joyful Mom has two African American children, one with kinky, curly hair and one with looser curls. She posts information on haircare tools, products and how to execute different styles. Furthermore, she only uses natural products. Love. Really.

I’ve been kind of obsessed with the site the last few weeks. It’s always up on the computer in the kitchen and every spare minute, I’m reading about a new style or product or bead. Yes, I’ve spent another fortune on supplies, but look!

Little braids

Look what Josie and I did together. They’re cornrows. No kidding.

After her bath and a dinner break, I sat on the couch with her on a pillow on the floor. I laid out my Noah’s ark full of haircare products (2 brushes, 2 combs, 2 tubs of hair goo). I popped in the Poppins, detangled and sectioned her hair, and started cornrowing. The style took about 30-45 minutes to complete (I’m so slow). Josie had to get up and run around a few times. I was sure she was going to refuse to sit back down and that we’d be stuck with half-finished hair for the week, but she came back. She came back! When I really needed her to sit still, I held her head between my knees. When I did the sides I sat on the floor. We make such a good team.

Tough to get her to hold still for the picture

If you have a kid with curly hair or have curly hair yourself go visit Happy Girl Hair. I think you’ll kind of love it too.

She asked for "sumpin with cheese on it" for dinner

In Defense of Alec Baldwin

After my post about being an angry parent versus being a creepy parent, a friend mentioned a segment (or Act) on This American Life where Dan Savage makes the case for yelling at your kids. It’s hilarious. Probably not the best parenting advice but super-entertaining. I highly recommend stopping by for a good Friday afternoon laugh. Dan’s part begins at about 45:40 minutes into the segment and lasts about ten minutes. If the link does not work, it’s episode #341. Enjoy!

How to Talk to Kids

Must We Be Creepy?

We're ALWAYS Happy

While on vacation, we manage to meet up with some friends for a birthday party. My friends’ kids, two boys, are three and almost five and nice, sedate, sorts. Totally foreign.

The party is at my friend’s in-laws’ house, which is filled with white couches and tall free-standing vases… balanced on pedestals… and filled with decorative sticks… Josie loves a good party and runs from one terrifyingly crushable object to another with me trailing behind her whispering in my most compulsive, creepy, mommy voice – these are not our things. These things belong to our hosts. We must respect our hosts and their things.

Oh, sure Mom, I should respect their things, why didn’t you just say so? I’m totally old enough to grasp that concept.

Just as soon as I’m done explaining why bubbles don’t have feelings, I’m going to explain the concept of respect. I’m sure she’s ready. Then we’ll teach her to tend bar. (Yes, sweetie, that’s right, the green jigger. Good work! Now run along and fetch Mommy a slice of lime.)

The next day, still on vacation, while sitting in the sun reading my magazine, I come across a cartoon that has a picture of mother and child on a playground and says Mommy needs to get mad at you in a weird calm voice now. (I wish I could embed it here but I would have to pay the New Yorker $450 for that right.) This was exactly how I felt the night before, and really, how I feel most of the time.

Why is yelling forbidden? Not that I yell often, but isn’t there a time and a place? Dangers, for example? Or instances of extreme frustration? Sometimes it’s the only way to get the point across. Sometimes the kid needs to know how much trouble she is in. Sometimes nothing else works.

Shouldn’t we be free to show the whole range of emotions to our children? Can’t we be loving and happy and nurturing but also sometimes frustrated and angry and just pissed off? Can I write a whole blog post consisting only of questions? Perhaps.

My point is this (I think): why do we have to act all weird? This is how life is. It’s tough, and if we argue and get frustrated and then reconnect and work things out, aren’t we better off for it?

Can I get a hell yes and a fist pump from all the angry mommies in the house?