TheMommyBlog

Sunday, October 12, 2008 Site of the Day, Role Models

You may have noticed that I’ve had the Site of the Day up there pointing to the Gal-to-Gal Foundation’s Virtual Walk for Breast Cancer for almost a week now. Normally I stick to the time allotted, but for some reason I couldn’t let that one stay for just a day before going to archives. Also, I goofed on the link, and promised Jeanne Fitzgerald, Founder and CEO of Design-her Gals that I would give it some extra time.

Well, just tonight, Jeanne wrote again with very sad news, sadder still that it came during this year’s Walk:

“I am sad to post that this afternoon Dorit Shapiro - our President of the Foundation lost her brave battle to Stage IV. It was her only wish that we meet our goal of $250,000. Please… go and join now! We must make it for Dorit. Watch her speech only 6 days ago!”

Dorit left two daughters, four and eight years old.

Saturday, October 11, 2008 Bad Mood Dude

I had to bear the ultimate humiliation when I asked my ten-year-old if I could borrow his AC/DC CDs to put on my iTunes. I still can’t get over it. This is not right. I had my first kiss while listening to “Back in Black.”

Just now, as I punched up the volume and let ‘er rip, Logan glanced up from his game and asked, “And who do you have to thank?”

I replied, “Hopefully the same person I’ll thank for picking up the wet towels in the bathroom.”

What’s that? Can’t hear. Music’s too loud. Plus, I’m old.

Tuesday, October 07, 2008 Family

Tuck-ins are a BIG deal in our home. Like, a VIP deal. I know that it’s my own doing; I made an informed decision long ago to start only what I was willing to continue. I keep telling myself that this is better than placing a cloth diaper over my head to keep it warm while nursing the baby to sleep and then timing my rise out of the glider to slip into the walking rocking motion, which was timed with the leaning forward, dipping my head to let the warm cloth fall into the crib to be smoothed as I rocked my baby into position on top so as not to be shocked awake by the cool sheets.

I know. But how many times do you want to do this whole placing-in-crib thing? It’s like swapping that bag of sand out for the priceless gem in Raiders of the Lost Ark. You have to get it right the first time or things will get hairy, and fast.

Ten years on, it’s still the final nail in the day’s coffin—and I mean that in the most loving way—that has to be secured before I can go out to the kitchen and survey the wreckage that has to be sorted before I can go to sleep. Usually I make a pit stop at the fridge for a glass of wine to keep me company.

It’s important to have just enough substance in the tuck-in ritual to keep ‘em interested, but not so complicated that you want to plunge safety scissors into your temple. On top of the straightening of the covers, placing of the pillows, kiss and hug, and promise to snuggle in the morning, we’ve got a new wrinkle.

Until about a year ago, Daphne had never really slept in her bed. Alone. You see, my ex stayed home with the children, starting with her birth. His job went away in the downturn just as mine was revving up, and it happened that I started to earn enough to support us and keep us in good benefits (Ahahahahaha, can you imagine? Me? With good benefits? Good times, as my daughter would say.), so we decided to leave it that way for a few years.

Wait—did I mention that we intended to stop at two children? And that we’d converted the nursery into a home office? Um, we did. And then we had Daphne. For whom we bought pretty, pink bedding to go with the grass-green office armoire. Only, it was hard to work in that room with a baby sleeping three feet away. Or make business calls. So, heck, my ex thought, why not just put her down for naps in the master bed? And since she was so used to that, why not let her sleep there too? Eventually, we took the crib out and put a double bed in that room, and for simplicity’s sake my ex took up residency there. You see, we were still living together for over a year after the divorce ball got rolling.

So basically, my daughter thought that she lived with me, and had a fabulous, extra room for her big-girl bed and treasures. Gil slept on pink sheets covered with thistles (printed, not real) in the brass bed in the pink room, next to the green armoire.

Fast forward through a lot of stuff I can’t think about without getting the rest of that bottle. Years went by while times got tougher, and after a few years of dating, Phil and I figured we needed to get her out of that bed and into her own.

Easier said than done.

So. I modified the routine. With the kids spending half their time at Dad’s, I always let her sleep with me the first night back, and the last night before she leaves again. Soon I’ll cut that in half, but for now it’s stable. Dylan’s no fool, and very sweetly asks from time to time to have the second night with me, because he can’t sleep when it’s hot and there’s a fan over my bed. I could tell him to stop wearing flannel pjs but that would be calling his bluff.

Fortunately, Logan hasn’t asked to be part of the Musical Beds. He loves his bed. He’s a den animal. No, really—he used to spend most of his time in a burrow he made out of the couch cushions, with his head poking out just enough to watch David Attenborough’s Life of Mammals three thousand times a week. He’s cut that down to just a few times a year, but his bed is definitely his den.

Just now he was totally burrowed in when I made a pretense of shuffling and pulling up his covers and he stopped me, saying, “No! Do it through the speaking hole!” Oh dear Barbara. I pulled the covers back a little and he said again, “No! Here, there’s a little breathing hole right here.” And so he kissed me goodnight through the bedding. Alrighty then!

He was cracking himself up, and I could hear him moving things around. “Mom. Wanna come see my little lookout hole?”

“Um, not really, I already saw the show, but thanks.”

”But it’s going to be really, really cute, like a little baby bear…” His voice dropped a register. “…chewing the flesh off a deer that its mother caught it.”

P.S. Awww, I just noticed that Dylan fell asleep on the couch, waiting for me.

Saturday, October 04, 2008 Fun, Family

Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say.

When David Oskardmay, founder of BitWorksMusic.com, wrote to ask if I felt like checking out some new music that rocks for kids AND their parents, I gotta say, I really didn’t. I’ve done my time with The Wiggles, Barney, Dora, The Babies Einstein, Van Gogh, Bach, and Beethoven, not to mention Hap Palmer, crooner of unforgettable tunes such as “Today I took My Diapers Off” and “My Mommy Comes Back.”

Pop quiz: what will make you cry harder than leaving a child in daycare? “My Mommy Comes Back” by Hap Palmer.

David gave a nice pitch about Hank and I could tell that he took the time to read my contact page because he volunteered to forgo breaking my kneecaps if there was a lesser appendage that would do just as well. People get major points for reading before writing. I can’t tell you how many people go to the Contact tab, skip the bits describing how to advertise on this site, and jump right into the contact form to ask me if I take advertising and how one might go about it. I don’t even want to respond. It makes me wonder if I really need the money. Which, incidentally, is another thing I never thought I’d hear myself say.

Hank Hooper is a musician and multimedia artist who creates great original music and art for kids. Collaborating with Hank, we have released the multimedia album download edition of his latest work, “Playground Fortune Teller”, 17 awesome songs and a narrated eBook by Hank, all presented in an interactive, easy-to-use, downloadable format.

Yeah, yeah. I was still iffy until I got to this line:

Please give the free single a listen!

”That’s My Chicken”

Whoa. Back up the golf cart. That’s your what? There are all sorts of places we can go with that one, not all of them good. Now I had to check it out. I couldn’t go to bed without knowing exactly what kind of inflection the question carries. Is it asked with a leer? In surprise and alarm? Anger? Tenderness with a dangerous hint of jealousy? Or is the singer slapping the listener on the head and saying, “NO, doofus, that’s my CHICKEN.” The possibilities, they stagger.

He gave me the link to post, along with one to the publicity page, so I clicked and waited as the song buffered.

First thought: did I just click on my They Might Be Giants album in iTunes? Second thought: Heyyyy, that’s my chicken!

I listened and agreed that I could indeed have used songs like this one instead of “Daddy be a Horsie” and “Baby’s Good Doggy.” Hell, I could have used an icepick to the temple in hindsight, though at the time I thought they were cute and they did entertain the babies. I could sing the “Rolling” song and they’d immediately clam up and stare at me, wide-eyed, until I finished, and then they’d pick up screaming right where they left off.

Phil walked in the door as I sat down to write this, and I said, “Hoooo boy, Phil, have you got to hear this. I’m going to listen to it again.” About halfway through, he came over and asked if I could please turn it off before it got stuck in his head and he couldn’t get it out. It’s catchy. I’m sitting here, humming, “Mmmm mmm mmmm that’s my chicken!”

Which reminds me: time for dinner.

Go check it out. I definitely want to hear the rest of the album based on the single. Everyone needs a break from Amy Winehouse now and then.

Friday, October 03, 2008 Me, Me, Me

So I hear we’re going to have anywhere from one-half to two inches of rain today. I can’t even remember the last time it rained. The problem is that I’ve got half the contents of my garage out on the patio while the inside’s being painted.

This morning the skies were looking mighty pissed and ready to roll, so I hustled out there in my jammies and clogs to lug all cardboard boxes, pictures, leftover broken-down boxes from mom’s move that are still here because I had a place to store them and could feed them to recycling over the next couple months, chandelier, pool towels & luggage, and finally the boxed Christmas tree back into the garage and left them on the tarps that are still down because the painter can’t finish until Saturday.

Lastly, I pulled one of his massive plastic tarps off the stuff in the garage (sorry, Jon) and put it over the rest of the stuff I couldn’t budge off the patio. I’ve got a six-foot tower made up of all kinds of treasure stuffed into a baker’s rack right next to the teak table, all wrapped in plastic that I hope will repel rain as well as it repelled about twelve gallons of primer and paint. It doesn’t look very promising, but luckily it’s right in front of my face outside the window where I sit so I can get out there if the wind picks it up and decides to run with it.

Other than that, I’ll be hunkered down under a blanket on the couch, drinking coffee, watching Lost, and being happy about being called back for a second interview at a very nice job.

Wednesday, October 01, 2008 Family

Emails from home:

For those who have followed news of Chicago Policeman Mike Mette, the Appellant Court and Iowa has overturned his felony conviction citing that the judge was wrong to not allowing a plea of self defense in the trail. This is all good news. Iowa still has options but none compared to a felony conviction.

Thank you for your support for my friend and his family!

You may or not remember my posting about Mike before. I used to babysit Mike and his siblings in Chicago before he grew up and became an honorable policemen, like his father. Essentially, he was at a party over the border in Iowa and attacked repeatedly by a drunk who kept following him and taunting him. Finally, Mike defended himself, and the drunk went down with one punch. He was off duty, this guy had provoked him, punched him, threatened him, and followed him after Mike tried to walk away. An Iowa judge would not allow a self defense plea, and said that Mike should never have hit the person attacking him. His duty as a police officer apparently meant that he had to run away from an attack. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the influence of the drunk’s wealthy and connected father. ANYWAY…

People have rallied in the year that Mike has been incarcerated and separated from his family (and NO, you do NOT want to be a cop in prison), from his brothers and sisters in blue to celebrity Dennis Farina, who used to be a Chicago policeman at the Foster city station about six block from where I grew up.

Appeal from the Iowa District Court for Dubuque County, Monica L. Ackley, Judge.  REVERSED AND REMANDED.  Heard by Huitink, P.J., and Vogel and Eisenhauer, JJ.  Opinion by Per Curiam

Michael Mette appeals from his conviction of assault causing bodily injury.  He asserts that the district court erred in rejecting his self defense claim and in finding his victim suffered serious injury.

OPINION HOLDS:  The district court’s finding that Mette had a duty to retreat is not supported by substantial evidence; thus, we conclude the district court erred in rejecting Mette’s defense of justification.  We need not consider Mette’s serious injury argument.  We therefore reverse and remand for entry of judgment of acquittal.

The state now has 20 days to review the decision, not sure what that means.....

Keep the prayers coming that he is home soon…

Wednesday, October 01, 2008 Bad Mood Dude

I’ve just been sealed into my house so the painter can coat the garage walls and rafters with ammonia-based primer, ‘cause ain’t no way that shit’s getting covered any other way. My doors are literally wrapped and taped shut, so I can only go out the front. My car is blocked, so I’m very grateful that this is not my day to pick up the kids.

The best part? Receiving the call yesterday saying that the painter could finally squeeze me in, and had I moved all the stuff in the garage out of the garage? Whahuahfua? Um, no. Will moving some of the things out be okay? Because I am not hauling six industrial shelving units full of accumulated crap onto my delicate slate patio. Also, am not throwing out my back, mmkay?

So of course I needed before pictures so I have something to compare the next few days against. Even if it gets noxious enough in here to knock me flat, and if my appliances are permanently covered with this primer, I’ll at least be happy I don’t have to look at the stained rafters where the rats used to sit, mocking me.

Wednesday, October 01, 2008 Politics

Well, thank God we got that cleared up.

BY JAMES GORDON MEEK
DAILY NEWS WASHINGTON BUREAU

Tuesday, September 30th 2008, 5:21 PM
WASHINGTON - When Russian bombers approach American airspace and U.S. Air Force fighters are scrambled, Sarah Palin’s phone doesn’t ring.

The Alaska governor has no command authority over the guardians of U.S. airspace despite her recent suggestion otherwise.

“She doesn’t have any role in that process,” Air Force Maj. Allen Herritage, spokesman for the Alaska North American Aerospace Defense Command, told the Daily News.

“The authority to launch and respond to a Russian incursion lies with the Alaska NORAD Region commander” - Air Force Lt. Gen. Dana Atkins, he said.

Palin said last week that her foreign policy experience includes facing the Russians.

“It’s very important when you consider even national security issues with Russia, as Putin rears his head and comes into the airspace of the United States of America - where do they go? It’s Alaska,” Palin told CBS’ Katie Couric.

“It is from Alaska that we send those out to make sure that an eye is being kept on this very powerful nation,” she said.

Moscow’s bombers have skirted Alaskan airspace 20 times, thugh they have not violated it, during Palin’s governorship, officials said.

When F-15 and F-22 interceptors scrambled from Elmendorf Air Force Base in Anchorage in response, John McCain’s running mate was not speed-dialed with the news.

“The commander does not call the governor,” Herritage said.

Monday, September 29, 2008 Family

From the back yard, I heard my ten-year-old say to my six-year-old, “And that is how you do the hammer throw in the Olympics.”

I paused before asking, “Do I want to see this hammer throw?”

Logan replied, “It’s not really a hammer throw; it’s The Death Throw.”

“Okay, I’m going to go back to reading, mmmkay?”

See? No heart attack.

And then, “Mom! I threw the tennis ball into the other yard!” All three children were thirteen feet up in the air, sitting on top of the fort.

“Too bad, hon, you’ve lost it.”

“Wait! There’s our neighbor! Hey, we threw a tether ball over there!”

“You threw a tether ball over the fence? The one with no air in it?” The neighbor has a pool, and a dog. A young dog. A coon dog.

I climbed up with them and called to my neighbor, “Don’t go to too much trouble getting that back from the dog. They threw it over there, let Jake have his turn with it.”

I went back inside, and three minutes later, my daughter ran in shouting, “Mama! They’re smashing the blue plastic bin to pieces—”

“Stop! I don’t need to hear it. It will make my frown lines deepen. Just pick everything up and come to dinner. And NO, I don’t want to hear who did it, I just want… come inside, okay?” I put out fish sticks for them and a glass of wine for me.

And now, it’s forty minutes to bedtime.

Monday, September 29, 2008 Family, Politics

I went to my kids’ school on Friday to watch the Student Council candidate speeches in the cafeteria just before elections took place in the classrooms. There were about sixty kids up there, and nearly half of them were campaign managers, I kid you not. Maybe three of them had to fly solo, but everyone else had a manager to warm up the crowd, hold placards, shout slogans, and make introductions.

My third grader was stumping for a VP candidate. He filed into the cafeteria looking like Forrest Gump, wearing a blue checked button-down shirt with the top button done and the front of his hair slicked down with Daddy’s gel. He definitely took his job seriously. His candidate wore sweats, but hey, I’ve seen more surprising things in an election. He gave a concise speech, stressing that his candidate was not running just for the sake of running; he was running because there were four things he wanted to accomplish. “One, blah, blah, Two, blah, blah...” and so on. I don’t remember what the four things were, but I liked him immediately for his confident and organized delivery. Of course, he can pull anything off so long there are numbered parts to it. “Mom, there were at least eight things that went wrong today.” “I don’t like sharing a room with my brother for three reasons. Well, probably more, but here are the three main ones.” He always responds to the counting threat. “One… TWO…” Boom. Compliance. Maybe he should have run for VP. His candidate said he wanted a cleaner school, and said it in about four different ways, but I didn’t buy it.

There was every type of candidate you could imagine, and it only confirmed for me that children are largely formed by the age of six, and if you squint, you’ll catch a glimpse of the grownups they’ll become. I was proud of everyone who got up there and made pitches, clutching scraps of paper for reference. They faced down the entire third, fourth, and fifth grade classes, plus a couple dozen parents with cameras, video cameras, and a quiet sense of awe. And a few giggles.

Of course, it didn’t help that I was sitting directly behind one of my favorite dads, who was sitting behind my oldest son. As soon as our third grader finished his introduction speech, our fifth grader turned around and whispered, “I wrote that!” Not surprised, but impressed that he knew to number things to help his brother succeed. There were no teleprompters—though some of the kids could have used one—which was appropriate given that I just coughed up a four hundred dollar check for three “Classroom donations.” I would have written a strongly worded letter to the PTA about fiscal priorities.

For the most part, they stayed on topic and stuck to the basics. The Treasurer candidates all loved math. One or two said they were GOOD at math, which I though was a clever distinction. All of them said they were trustworthy, according to the first law of politics: never advertise your criminal predilections. That’s what the press is for. And tattletales.

The VP and Presidential candidates cared deeply about our school. They wanted to go green. They wanted to go greener than green. Because green is good. Someone must have read them the principal’s message in this month’s newsletter, in which she proclaimed her support for green projects. I think she will get her green.

One candidate promised better lunches. Another promised longer recesses. Two or three others promised cleaner grounds, admonishing everyone to pick up after themselves so that our school could be clean. And green. There was a little girl who lost the mom vote with her determination to make every parent turn off car engines during pickups and drop offs, and send healthy lunches that come in completely recyclable packaging. One campaign manager, in a brilliant move during her candidate’s speech, quietly walked over to a plastic water bottle on the floor in front of another kid’s chair, picked it up, and carried it to the recycling bin before resuming her post behind her candidate. I wanted to stand up and applaud. Savvvvy.

There were a few candidates with female managers, and I’m usually not one to point out gender differences in school, but there was an awful lot of “Vote for my candidate because she’s nice, and fun, and loves the school.” One pointed out that her candidate was pretty AND popular. I don’t think she won, but it was nice to know that grade school elections aren’t so different than the national ones, though they are a lot more innocent. 

Friday, September 26, 2008 Family

It has no connection whatever with Disney. Sarah Palin did not approve this message.

Friday, September 26, 2008 Family

Please do not ask her anymore questions. I need to think!
—ebanks84

Friday, September 26, 2008 Bad Mood Dude, Current Affairs

I’ve always been proud of the states which passed laws providing safe harbor for children to protect newborns from abandonment. Nebraska was determined to pass a safe harbor law for their constituents, but decided to compromise on the scope in order to get the bill passed. Turns out, you have to be very, very specific or you have a bunch of jackasses who dump their school-age children in the ER and bolt.

Nebraska ‘safe haven’ law for kids has unintended results
(September 26, 2008, USA Today)

Between 5 p.m. and 9 p.m. on Wednesday, three fathers walked into two hospitals in Omaha and abandoned their children. One left nine siblings, ages 1 to 17.

The men, unless proven to have abused the kids, won’t face prosecution under a new Nebraska law that is unique in the nation. The law allows parents to leave a child at a licensed hospital without explaining why.

Other parents have also used the law to leave their children. Last week, a 13-year-old girl was left. The week before that, two boys ages 11 and 15. In all, fathers, mothers and caregivers in six families — some single parents — have bailed on 14 kids, including seven teens, since the law took effect in July.

“They were tired of their parenting role,” says Todd Landry of Nebraska’s Department of Health and Human Services.

My favorite part? They separated the oldest children from their younger siblings, who were sent to foster homes. Because as long as they’re abandoned by parents, why not just rip the Band-Aid off and take away the next best thing? The law states that the parents cannot be charged unless they had been abusing the children, so odds are that these are not abused children, right? Wouldn’t you rather have Big Sister and Big Brother around to help comfort and stabilize the younger ones?

None of the kids was in immediate danger, Landry says. He says the four oldest of the nine siblings were placed together in an emergency shelter and the others in a foster home. “They’re struggling to varying degrees with what’s happened to them.”

Landry says the courts will decide whether to require the parents to pay child support or to try to reunite them with their children.

“This was never the intent of the bill,” says Republican state Sen. Arnie Stuthman. He says he co-wrote it to protect newborns from abandonment, but to get enough support for passage, it was changed to cover all children.

“We really opened a can of worms,” he says. “We have a mess.” He says the law needs to be fixed.

All 50 states have “safe haven” laws, but the others apply only to infants less than 1 year old.

The Nebraska law is the “worst-case scenario of unintended consequences,” says Adam Pertman, executive director of the Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute, a research group. He says it allows parents to walk out on troublesome teens.

“We don’t endorse the way it was done,” says Tracey Johnson of the National Safe Haven Alliance.

Ya think? My kid, whom we call The Loophole, would have been all over this one. “Mom, watch out or Grandma will leave you at the hospital.”

Makes me wonder if any of them had siblings over nineteen, who would be ineligible for dumping. What do you do with them? Send them a strongly worded letter?

Thursday, September 25, 2008 Family

Finally, finally, I can see again. I broke my glasses on the way to the Pampers Institute and have been wearing spares that are two prescriptions old. (Also? I need to do a WAY better job of dusting around here.)