A few weeks ago, I came home to find Redbook magazine’s Mom’s Survival Guide on my doorstep.   I’d been having “one of those days” as a mom and the Mom’s Survival Guide seemed like it could be the answer to my prayers.  Below are a few of my favorite segments from the book:

• on bullying
• “Maybe you have a pet theory as to how this woman [mom of a bully] has managed to raise that big bully of hers.  Forget all that.   “If you go into the conversation with a negative opinion of her–and the attitude that you’re a better parent than she is–she’ll smell it a and won’t want to help you,” cautions Rosalind Wiseman, author of Queen Bee Moms and Kingpin Dads: Dealing with Difficult Parents in Your Child’s Life . . . Try, “I’ve got a problem that I hope you can help me with . . . I’m a little uncomfortable talking to you like this, but I feel it’s important.”  When you describe the situation, leave out words like “bullying and “mean.” Thank her for her time and add, “I hope you’ll tell me if my child ever does something you think I’d want to know about.”  This conveys a feeling of goodwill and makes her kid less of a villain by acknowledging that all children need adult guidance at times.

• on healthy eating for kids
• It’s no secret that a healthy diet helps kids grow strong and improves their mood and brain function.  But how do you actually get kids to eat well?  Think small.  ”You can make little changes to how, what, and when your child eats for big nutritional payoffs, ” says pediatric dietician Marilyn Tanner-Balsiar, a spokesperson for the American Dietetic Association.
• and “Real Advice from Real Moms”:
• “Everyone at our table gets at least 5 minutes to talk about their day.  The kids know they will have this chance, and they wait for it anxiously without getting up, in our family, once conversation gets started, it’s hard to stop it!”

• on learning to let go
• We all want to keep our children safe from harm–it’s arguably our number one job as parents.  But it’s easy to go overboard because those precoius bundles are so vulnerable.  After 9/11, Sue Donas was convinced that someone was going to pipe bomb her daughter’s day care near Hillsdale, NJ, because it was housed in a Jewish Community Center.  She used to circle the building looking for suspicious characters.  Once she even had an abandoned car towed away  . . . “You can raise your child in a bubble but you can get reassurance that she’s in responsible, protective hands.”  For example, instead of patrolling the day care grounds, Donas could inquire about the school’s security policy–and it might just set her mind at ease.

• on helping your child deal with fears
• Don’t brush off your child’s emotions.  ”I often hear parents say, ‘Why is my child acting so afraid? It doesn’t make sense,’ says Fred Penzel, PhD . . . “They try to minimize the situation by telling the child that his fear is nothing to worry about. That strategy usually backfires,”  he says.  But do use a matter-of-fact tone.  ”Acknowledging fear is important, but ‘you don’t want to go in the opposite direction and excessively reassure your child . . . That sends the message that there is something to be afraid of.”

*******

Redbook magazine’s Mom’s Survival Guide is jam pack full of information that could benefit all kinds of moms on topics ranging from behavior and emotional health to education and getting involved in enrichment and community programs.  Written in a style quite similar to Redbook magazine with many experts in fields of child development, diet and nutrition, psychology, and more, including quotes and advice from real parents, the book is a quick read and great for reading from topic to topic as opposed to cover to cover.  As with any parenting book, I found that some advice resonated with my intuitive parenting style while other tidbits did not.  That said, over all, I found it to be a pretty helpful book especially since everyday I am facing parenting challenges where I know that I do not have the answers.

I am giving away a copy of Redbook magazine’s Mom’s Survival Guide.  Simply leave a comment on this post sharing why you think this book could help you and your family.  I’ll put the book in the mail, though I will ask that the winner cover postage costs.

So, what kinds of parenting issues have you been dealing with lately?

For a week now, we’ve spent the better parts of our days outside; the weather warmed up (and then cooled down a bit), the bulbs popped up, and kids and grownups alike have been outside living it up. As the saying goes, “Spring has sprung.”

Which means that sitting down inside, in front of my computer, doing that tap dance across my keyboard where I blog and read your blogs too has been put on hold. Inside games can wait too; why put together puzzles when there’s dirt to dig and seeds to plant? Every kid I know has been outside, running around barefoot, scooting, biking, and making afternoon picnics too. We’re loving it up.

And there was other stuff too . . .

like watching Annabelle perform at her final class for princess ballet

and sitting outside under our umbrellas on the days it rained outside (warm baths and hot cocoa to follow)

we ate healthy meals, cooked on the stovetop and not prepared with a microwave (I’m currently researching whether or not using a microwave is a safe way to heat up our foods); thank you Rebecca for all the info!

and each night, after dinner, my husband and I sipped wine and ate chocolate together, the perfect end to our days

I toughed up and got my tetanus shot (the doctor said I needed one and I know Annabelle gets some satisfaction knowing that kids are not the only ones who get vaccinated)

oh, and for the first time in a while, the hubby and I got dressed up for a night out (more like 5 to 7 p.m., but that’s about as late as we two old fogies can handle these days)

we attended an egg hunt, I photographed this little girl

(so adorable),

and last, but certainly not least, I read this book and this book and this book. Thumbs up to them all, especially Rose’s Garden. Inspiring.

How was your week?

It all started under the dome shaped dryer at Bubbles.  I was there getting my hair highlighted.  My stylist had just finished foiling my hair and had lead me over to the row of dryers where I’d spend some ten or fifteen minutes waiting.  Since I currently do not like to be alone with my thoughts (I think I’ve mentioned this here before . . . inactivity makes me uncomfortable) and because I am a chatterbox, I made a few phone calls.  Yes, I made phone calls from under the dryer.  I scheduled a physical, called my husband, and even left a message for my mother.  When these calls were done, alone with my thoughts, I picked up a magazine.  I flipped the pages of Vanity Fair reading about beauty treatments, fashion, health, and then stumbled upon an article by Suze Orman.  I have to be honest, I’m not sure why I read the article.  I don’t much care for thinking about money; in fact, my family’s finances are handled almost entirely by my husband.  Anyway, Suze wrote about taking control of my finances in 2010, or 2009, I can’t remember if it was an old or new copy.  Again, I don’t usually like to think, talk about, or reflect on money.  My role in our family tends to be that of “investor.”  I invest in kids’ toys, chocolate milk, home ware, cleaning products, beauty products, health products, music, food, and if possible, camera equipment.

I wasn’t always like this.  Ten years ago, I remember saving every dollar and penny I earned from my multiple jobs for a rainy day.  I didn’t know what my rainy day would involve, but I just wanted to make sure that should I need it, I’d have a few dollars saved up.  When it came to clothes, I shopped at second hand shops, wore my sister and mother’s hand-me-downs, and waited until holidays for new items.  I often refer to this stage in my life as “my ascetism.”   I wasn’t exactly the happiest person during this time in my life; I felt disconnected, in a way, from other people.  At least where I grew up (here in the United States), materialism is a way of life.  By barring myself of having things, I noticed that I felt “different.”   Even my father, who I remember as being, let’s say, attentive to our family’s finances, asked me to to lighten up and enjoy life a little bit.  He said I needed to live my life.  I was in my early twenties, feeling philosophical, doubtful, and worried.  I didn’t know what “live” meant.

I won’t say that I miraculously changed overnight.  There was a period, probably early in my relationship with my husband, when I would allow myself to have things here and there. I remember getting a pedicure, trying to enjoy the experience, feeling riddled with guilt the entire time.  A few months before we were engaged, my husband invited me to attend a vacation wedding with him at a resort in Jamaica.  The entire time we were there, I complained that I didn’t like having people wait on me.  I didn’t want someone to bring me a glass of champagne.  If I wanted champagne, I would get a glass for myself.  He says I nearly ruined that trip.  While I regret being unappreciative of the great gift he was giving me (a chance to see a new place, meet new people, observe wildlife, and spend time with him), I suspect that my inability to enjoy the gift had something to do with my family background: I grew up in a working class family.  Both my parents worked long and hard hours; if either my sister and I wanted something, we worked for it.   Accepting gifts somehow seemed wrong.

When I became a mother and became environmentally concerned (conscious), I returned, on some levels, to the a life style I’d known  years earlier: the life of making do without.   In part, I think I felt incredibly lucky to be at home with my daughter; I knew that being with her for all the small moments was priceless . . . and yet, again, I felt uncomfortable with accepting the gift my husband was giving me, giving my daughter too: the gift of time.   Time for her to have her mother’s attention, time for me to just spend hours staring at my baby.  At the same time, I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t enjoying my time at home too much.  Even now, when I walk through my house picking up toys, socks, and dishes and bowls left here and there, I think to myself, this is how I am serving the world: I am serving my family.

But again, I wonder, do I take it too far?  During my first two years at home with Annabelle, I shopped only at secondhand shops and would only welcome “brand spanking new” items into my life when they were gifts.  I’m not claiming that I was some kind of saint or anything, but I do know that I’d even wait until the holidays for new underwear because I knew that my mother would buy me a few pairs . . .  I wanted to save money, reduce my impact upon our planet, and feel good in that I didn’t “need” anything.

The truth was and is that I do have needs.  We all do.  As you might’ve noticed in recent posts, I have, to some extent, done a 180.  I no longer have an aversion to shopping. My husband might say that that is an understatement.  I accept that I every now and again I want to treat myself to Starbucks and a pair of new earrings.  Many of my therapy sessions in these past six months have dealt with the fact that I have trouble giving to myself.  At one session, I remember my therapist clapping her hands because I told her that on a whim, I walked into Victoria’s Secret and bought myself a bra and underwear.  I even came home with a fragrance.

Over time, though, in these most recent months, I worry that I have become too comfortable with spending money: I’ve become a shopping queen.  To find out just how much I am spending, I tracked all of my expenses for the past 2 weeks.  I really didn’t think it would be so bad, but I’ve got to tell you, I could not believe how much money I’d spent!  Items purchased included a new bedspread, new carmats, childcare, highlights and a haircut (where Suze Orman made me get all financially-aware and everything), lots of chocolate milk and tea (on outings with the kids), Annabelle’s ballet class, books . . . I’d spent a small fortune.  During two weeks time, I’d spent enough to buy a decent lens for my camera.

So I dialed up my best friend and told her.   She too enjoys shopping.  We like to shop together.  We find neat things together.  But lately, even she has commented that shopping can get out of control.  She immediately reminded me of Crunchy Chicken’s Buy Nothing Challenge, which I’d participated in a few summers ago.   During that summer month, I abstained from any non-food purchase.  If I remember correctly, my husband even felt annoyed with me because I was participating in the challenge during one of our family vacations and I made a huge deal about not buying anything.

To get to my point, I am going to once again participate in a month of not buying anything.  While I am not going to set up a challenge like the Crunchy Chicken has done, I will invite you to encourage me, join me, or just leave your 2 cents as I embark on a month long adventure of saying no to stuff.   My plan is to write down all the items that I think that I want to buy and to then evaluate my list at the end of the month.  I’m pretty sure that I won’t have needed nor wanted all that is on the list by the end of the month.

P.S.  I’ve asked my husband to be supportive, and I know, with great certainty, that he’s pretty happy I am challenging myself to reign in my spending.  That said, I do not want to not do for myself . . . know what I’m saying?

Moderation is key.

We’ve been busy. Over these past 4 days, our family has:

1. Celebrated my and my husband’s 5 year wedding anniversary.

2. Welcomed my mom, her fiance Joe, my sister Casey and my nephew Jackson into town. I amazed myself because I didn’t clean . . . this is actually a big deal for uptight, A-personality, “my house must be immaculate”-me.

3. Wished a belated birthday to Annabelle, who turned 3 in December . . . yes, we celebrated her birthday with a cake on her actual birthdate but didn’t actually gather friends and family together until this past Saturday.

4. Shoveled and salted more snow . . .it just keeps coming. More snow tonight!

5. Gone sledding on our neighborhood’s luge. My hubby is busy at work maintaing it.

6. Eaten lots and lots of chocolate. My favorite is dark chocolate, my hubby likes peanut butter cups and Annabelle will eat anything made from sugar. Seriously. My little girl is not picky.

7. Watched the 2010 Winter Olympics. The athletes amaze and inspire me! I just viewed the performance by a Russian skater who gave up her Japanese citizenship for sake of making it to the Olympics. The things people will do to make their dreams come true!

Below is a picture of Levi visiting with his Nanna (my mom). They are so adorable together. I posted more pictures over at my flickr account. So, how was your Valentine’s Day? Chocolate? Love? Celebrating? Or, low key and simple?

I’ve just updated my “Characters” page.  I think it works.  If you wanna check it out, you can just click on it in the menu, or go here.  It’s sort of an interview with me, you know, like if we were dating, :-)

So I’m a bit surprised and very honored that one of my favorite bloggers, Abbie of Farmer’s Daughter, gave me the Sunshine Award.  This award is supposed to be passed along to 12 bloggers who brighten your day when you stop by and visit them.  Being that my last year has been a mix of good vibes and hard moments, I’m feeling pretty good that someone considers my blog, where I speak my heart out, to be uplifting.  Anyway, I turn to other bloggers too when I need a boost, a little ray of sunshine to make me think, make me smile, or inspire me to try something new.  I am passing on the Sunshine Award to the following 12 bloggers:

Erin of bluebirdbaby

Valerie of Frugal Family Fun Blog

Nicole of GardenMama

Beth of I Should Be Folding Laundry

Stacy of Mama-Om

Cyndi of Collecting Leaves

Ruth of Musings of An Everyday Woman

Aisling of Quiet Country House

Wendy of Mother Rising

sunnymama of sunnydaytodaymama

Robin of woowoomama

Regina of Creative Kismet

Thank you ladies for the sunshine, the inspiration, and for simply being there.  You’re awesome!

Right now I am reading Chris Orwig’s Digital Poetry.  It’s part of a home crash course in photography that I’ve designed for myself.  The teacher inside of me is having the time of her life.  To stay organized, I crafted a velcro chart that I titled, “Weekly Personal Goals,” and  included some twelve objectives or so relating to photography and writing that I hope to meet each week.  I reason that as I move along in my photographic education, the objectives on my chart will change, but for now, I have my hands full . . . not to mention it’s hard work toting my camera around with me everywhere I go.

Anyway, I was reading Orwig’s chapter on portraiture.  He writes, “The kind of pictures we make reflects who we are.”  He quotes photographer Chris Rainier, who says, “at some point photography becomes autobiographical.” I keep such wisdom in mind as I attempt to put together a portfolio of my work; each week, I make time to review my photos (I have at least 2 years worth of folders that I think might hold a jewel or two) and I now look at them and wonder how the photograph tells me a little bit more about myself, about my journey as a person.

So, this past weekend, when I photographed my family on Levi’s 5 month birthday, I looked at each frame and wondered, “Where am I in this photo?”  ”What does this portrait say (to me)?”

When I look at the portrait, below, of my husband Matt, what I see is love.  Yes, I see a handsome, happy, complicated guy, but more than that, in his eyes, I almost feel his love pouring through.

When I see this photograph, I think, “Soulmate.”  I believe in soulmates.   But when I first met my husband, it wasn’t all “this is the guy I’m going to marry”; it was more like, “Oh my, this guy is such a pain in the ass.”

Which prompts the following story.

I met my husband in a bar.  I always say this, I said this to the priest who married us, “I’m not the kind of girl who hangs out in bars.”  The priest laughed and told me that he really liked that bar.  Anyway . . . I met my husband in a bar.   I noticed my husband straight away.  Being that I don’t like to be rude, I was dancing with a guy who’d had a few too many and who I didn’t know how to say to, “Uh, why don’t you go dance over there?”  Instead, I waved at a cute preppy looking guy who was walking by.  I know it’s usually a bad idea to label people, but when I saw him, I thought, “He looks smart.”  It was a time in my life when most of the single guys I knew were more concerned about their hair gel and gym membership than whether or not they were improving their minds and the world around them.  I guess I had high expectations of guys.  My husband didn’t disappoint.  We started dancing and talking and learning as much about each other as two people in a very loud, dark bar can learn.  He told me he was an engineer.  I told him I was studying English but that I loved math.  He rolled his eyes. The conversation turned to politics.  I quickly learned that he was, let’s say, a realist, and that I was, in stark contrast to him, an idealist with my head in the clouds (maybe this is why I get so disappointed from time to time?).  As I listened to him talk about his life and his work and his politics, as much as I disagreed with his worldview, his smile and his confidence in himself made me want to hear more.  Even more than that, I understood that he cared about the world we were living . . .  there was more to him than hair gel, :-)  But I did think to myself, “This guy is such a pain in the ass.”  Why was I falling for someone who seemed to be my exact opposite politically?  I was surprised when he asked me to go out with him the next night.

I picked the restaurant. It was a little Japanese restaurant on Maple Avenue. I’d walked by the place a million times and always wished I had someone to go with.  We held hands as we walked down the small staircase into the sushi bar.  The hostess seated us at a table where we were virtually alone except for a very talkative older man who was seated by himself (this made me very curious and so now and again I would glance over to see if I could catch bits and pieces of this gentleman’s very lively conversation with himself).  We ordered sushi, which I’d never had before, and talked a bit more.

Then it was time for pool.  My husband is a pool shark.  I like to move the cue ball around for every shot so that I have half a chance of actually making the shot.  My husband is also a natural teacher.  He didn’t hesitate to show me how to hold the pool stick and position my hands and arms.  You’d think I would be grateful.  I wasn’t.  I was like, “Uh, let me do this myself. I’ll figure it out.”  Very stubborn.  Probably not one of my best qualities, but in any case, I felt myself getting annoyed with all of the help my date was offering in our game of pool.

A few hours later we said goodnight.  The next day he would return to Washington.    I would have to say goodbye to this guy who was a royal pain in the ass but who also could make me double over laughing.  I wanted to see him again.

What was happening to me?  I heard the feminist in me say, “You are so beat.”  Ugh.  I was.

Seven years later, I’m married to this guy.  We’ve been through so much together.  We survived a long distance romance, lost two parents, a brother, gone through job loss and graduate school and me being all over the place professionally, had 2 children, bought a house together, dealt with postpartum depression, and well now, raising our 2 kids.  Through it all, he’s held my hand and reminded me to keep my chin up.  I often wonder how I got so lucky.  Meeting a guy who in every way seemed to challenge me, what I stood for, where I thought my life should go, and the way I saw the world, has opened my heart and eyes to what love is.  It still amazes me.  And he is, and will remain, the greatest pain in my ass and the greatest love in my life.

If only all the photographs I take could evoke so much emotion (for me).  Sigh.

I wake up at 5:30

Levi wants to play

Downstairs I turn on the music

and watch Levi reach and reach and reach for his blocks.

At 6:00, Annabelle peaks her head into the room and says, “Mommy . . . ”

She wants to play too.

She builds a train track around her dad’s pool table using her brother’s puzzle mats.

When 6:30 rolls around, I wake up my hubby.  His turn.

I drive to my yoga class.  Yoga makes me return to me.  I notice myself.  I laugh at my thoughts, swinging like monkeys from branch to branch.  I close my eyes.  I need to let go.

I stay with myself the entire time, opening my eyes only when I do not understand something.  We move into corpse pose, the last pose of the class.  I clench my fist, point my toes, shrug my shoulders; it is oxymoronic perhaps that I tense up with intention because I am learning to relax.

The class ends and I feel as though I am going to weep.  I haven’t felt so full with sadness in so long.  I am taken aback by it.

I drive home.  Annabelle builds a train track with her brother’s mats around our kitchen table.  Levi scoots around in his walker.  My husband hops and dances with Annabelle around her tracks.  I smile.

I wonder where the sadness comes from.  Is it the news in Haiti?  Is it the low dose birth control that makes me feel this way?  Is it still the postpartum depression?  Is it something else?   What am I confronting?

At midmorning, we walk outside into the sun.  Levi gazes at the trees, the cars, the melting snow.  Annabelle runs ahead of us barking orders.  We play red-light-green-light.  I push Levi on the swing for the first time and Annabelle pumps her legs back and forth.  They swing together.

I laugh and Annabelle starts to sing.  We sing made-up songs together for an hour.

I read stories to my babies and tuck them in for nap.  Sadness is gone but  somehow I appreciate its presence earlier in the day.  My days are so full, so long, but so full . . . and I want to feel all of it.

Sometimes I feel like such an airhead.  A good natured, well meaning air head, but nonetheless, an airhead.  Let me tell you about this lobster.

One day I offered to take Levi with me to the grocery store.  It was the week between Christmas and New Years.  As we do, Matt and I made up a list (if you were to see the conveyor belt at the checkout, you’d probably think 2 different families lived under one roof . . . there’s morning star burgers on the belt right next to say ribs or drumsticks).  Anyway, Matt wrote “lobster” on the list.  I didn’t think about it.  I figured I’d just set my vegetarianism aside, as I normally do when grocery shopping, and purchase a lobster for my husband.

I didnt’ realize what that involved.

So, Levi and I made our way to Giant.  Up and down the aisles we went, adding this or that to our cart, me chatting away because I can’t ever shut up.  Well, just as I was about done, I saw that I’d forgotten the lobster.  The seafood department is in the back of the store with a huge tank full of lobsters.  I know this because Annabelle and I will stop over and just watch the lobsters, swimming around.  It’s sort of like a free trip to a mini aquarium (we do this at Nordstrom’s kids department too.  A very nice way to spend a rainy morning).  Anyway, I walked up to the counter and said to the clerk, “I’d like to order a lobster.”  He explained that I could either bring the lobster home “alive” or have him steam the lobster for me.  This meant I had a choice: kill the lobster at the store or bring the lobster home and have my husband kill the lobster in a pot in our kitchen.  I chose the former.   The clerk told me it’d take about 10 minutes and recommended I finish whatever shopping I had left.

Well, I had done the rest of the shopping so I had 10 minutes to putz around the store and think about the lobster and how I had ordered his or her death (do lobsters’ have sex?).  Levi and I circled the aisles again and I tried to think about what bad karma I was generating for myself.  The typewriter lady was having a field day.  Until I walked down the pet food aisle.  There I discovered the bird feeders.  I thought to myself, “Ah, if I feed the birds (it is winter after all), maybe this will off set the murder of the lobster that I am now an accessory to.”

At the checkout, I placed my steamed, dead lobster on the conveyor belt next to the birdfeeder and seed.  I felt a tiny bit better about what I’d done.

Until I returned home.  I told my husband the story of how I’d ordered the death of his lobster and that I didn’t think I could ever do this again.  He looked at me and said, “I just wanted a lobster tail.  They didn’t have one?”  Duh.  ”So, you mean, you didn’t want a whole lobster?”

I realize that in the end, either way I was going to bring home lobster for my husband to eat . . . but can you see why I felt like such a moron and murderer all at the same time?

Later that day I hung my birdfeeder.  Oh Karma, please have mercy on me.  I am such an airhead.

The following dialogue was put together by my husband Matt, whose knowledge and wisdom of Star Wars runs deep.   Let’s just say that we hear Yoda and Vader quoted often in our house.

The photos were taken at a New Years’ Eve get together with our friends; their son, who I’ll refer to here as the Z-man, is a young Jedi who was more than happy to engage in a friendly sword fight with our darling Annabelle.

And so it was . . .

“Give in to your anger.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Indeed you are powerful.”

“I have you now.”

“There is no escape. Don’t make me destroy you.”

“Impressive. Most impressive.”

**************

And when Annabelle and her buddy the Z-man aren’t practicing to be Jedi Knights, they’re well, absolutely adorable.