Don't Worry Be Happy?

When a reader forwarded me this article, entitled "Were 1950s Moms Happier?", I felt like she had been reading my mind--just the week before I had been talking with a group of women about the "curse of too many choices," and about a conversation I had with my mom in which she told me that the idea of finding "fulfillment" in her work would never have occurred to her--back in the 70s, when she was a recent immigrant and looking for a job, finding something that paid the bills was the end in and of itself.

According to the article, and the NYTimes article it references, we are a bunch of melancholy mommas. And while there has been much commentary poking holes in this conclusion (the one that resonates most with me is that women in the 1950s might not have honestly reported their unhappiness--think "The Hours"), it is telling that many of the "reasons" people give for this sort of malaise center around an an over-involvement in the lives of our kids, and the constant navel-gazing about "the perfect work-life-family" balance that, let's face it, we all engage in.

Could it be? Could it be that, in trying to craft a delicate system of balance in our lives, we are actually engaging in self-sabotage? I can remember when, in a moment of postpartum haze, I asked my mom if she was "happy" working full time, raising two daughters, putting dinner on the table every night...her answer was this: "It never occurred to me to ask that question." Now, that may seem less than ideal from our oh-so modern and over-analytical vantage point--but, according to this article, perhaps not over-thinking happiness is a precursor for actually being happy.

When I really think about it, I know that more choices and more opportunities are a good thing. Just because I am realizing at this point that there will never be a perfect harmony of everything I want in my life doesn't mean that striving for such a situation shouldn't yield happiness. Bottom line? Sometimes you have to decide to be happy.

Mother Of The Year

Surely you know some moms who deserve this, and who deserve a laugh:

Click here to customize a "Mother of the Year" video award (complete with celebrity endorsement from Heidi Klum and Seal) for all the great moms you are lucky to have in your life.

I Am a Horrilbe Mom, No Seriously, I Mean it!

I got an interesting email from a reader last week, asking for my take on this article, entitled "Bad Parents and Proud of It." I read the whole piece with interest, as it dovetails with something I have been thinking more and more: We live in an age of confessional parenting. Even before I read the article I was starting to notice that more moms were writing essays about their "dirty little secret" that they give their kids sugar/are anti-extra curricular activities/use their children as child labor...! According to the article, traffic on certain sites increased exponentially when content involved "mommy confessions." Why is that? Is it simply that we want to hear what other people in our situation are saying and doing? Perhaps. But part of me thinks we like to read these things because it makes us feel better about ourselves. Jerry Springer for the mommy-set.

Somewhere along the way, it has become cool and almost necessary to downplay the things we do for our children. I am as guilty of this as anybody else. Whenever anybody gives me anything resembling a compliment about my children, I find some way to undermine it or give some apropos of nothing example of how I'm a "disaster" as a mom. And maybe I am a disaster. But that's not the point. At least not of this particular post...!

When did it become uncool to take pride in our parenting?

I am all for breaking down the walls of parental judgment. Your kid isn't sleep trained and is 4? So what. That wouldn't work for me, but hopefully it works for you. Your 3 year old isn't potty-trained? Guess what, mine either. But this article indicates a trend that goes deeper than this. It indicates a sort of badge of honor that parents are starting to desire for doing things like pushing over their toddlers and letting their kids watch 6 hours of tv a day. Now, can't lie, there have been days when D has watched so much tv his eyes are glazed over. But I am ashamed of this. I want to fix it. I don't want a plaque, or a slap on the back with the corresponding "we all do that" speech.

Like most thing, there is a thin line at play here. I happen to own every "mommy book" that references cocktails. "Sippy Cups are not for Chardonnay," "I laughed I cried I drank a Margarita"--all that stuff. So clearly I am firmly in the camp of people who never will be and never want to be Miss Perfect Mom. Playdates are better with a little champagne. That being said, I do feel proud about some of my parenting, some of the little ways I am raising my kids. And I hope to accumulate more little nuggets of pride as they grow older and need more guidance. Will we be living in a world where, even to my friends, I won't be allowed to express that pride? And, as the article points out, what will it feel like if and when our children hear or read the way we are talking about them?

**Thanks to Atul for the link to the article!

The Newest Euphemism: "Consensual Living"

Last night, once again, I attempted to feed my kids dinner. Key word, of course: "Attempted". The younger one is easy enough, but with D., it's the 5:00pm epic battle that confronts me every day. Shields were worn, fighting words were had and, in the end, there were no victors. After much back and forth, and 2+ years of pretty much forcing D. to eat dinner, which entailed sitting with him for hour upon hour as he squirmed and did anything but eat, we are finally trying the "they're not going to starve themselves" model. A part of me calls this failure on my part. But others, apparently, are calling it consensual living:

Founded in 2006 by some North Carolina families, consensual living is an alternative parenting model in which kids are equal partners in family life. In these non-hierarchical families, it is all about understanding each other's feelings and finding mutually agreeable solutions where everyone's wants and needs are addressed. In a consensual family, the smallest child's desires are equal to those of the parents and, unless it involves safety, nobody makes anybody do anything they don't want to.

Hmmm. Lets learn more...

Per the Consensual Living website (warning: there is annoying music when you click the link): There is no such thing as "have to" in the consensual living world. If your kid hits somebody on the playground, you can discuss with him what you would do but he does not "have to" apologize. Rewards and punishment for good and bad behavior are considered "tools of manipulation." And there are testimonials and sound bites about about how much more free and pleasant the family dynamic is once the parents give up traditional notions and structures of authority.

Wow. It's like some sort of Walden Pond utopia movie writ small to fit into a household. Communism for the suburbs? One the one hand, the idea that my 3 year old has the "self-determination" (a consensual living buzz word) to decide whether he wants to eat his broccoli does dovetail with the current approach we are taking to the horrible eating habits we have let him develop. We are now presenting him with food at proper times and letting him decide if he is going to eat, as opposed to trying every trick in the book to get him to take one measly bite of food. Is this a "consensual living" approach? We are done telling D. he "has to" eat his dinner. Consensual living?

But let's go further. There are certainly things that D. does "have to" do. While we are probably on the lax side of the parent-strictness-spectrum, I truly cannot imagine how certain events (e.g., D. going to bed) would happen unless there was an axiomatic line in the sand, an authoritative mandate that This Has To Happen Now. Haven't we all heard time and time again that children need boundaries? I accept that as true primaly--do we need to re-examine that idea?

No, I don't think so. I mean, seriously? I am 31 years old and I still do things out of deference to my parents. At this point I think it's the way it should be--as my dad would say, "Love the young, Respect the Old."

It's interesting and almost novel to think about a family model that involves respecting the opinions of everyone equally. It seems very p.c., like discussing with you child his view on toilet paper ("pro? con?"). But, here it is... I am going to hold out till D. can do things like wipe his own butt before I give equal play to his ideas of how the world should work. Cue the violins, here comes the Czarina...!

Food for Thought

If you haven't heard--Hanna Rosin's "The Case Against Breastfeeding" has every sort of mommy brigade in some sort of a tizzy. I have very little new to add to the raging debate elsewhere (is breastfeeding the new vacuum cleaner?), but the whole panic and uproar fed into something else I think about all the time: Feeding our kids.

With nursing you are the sole food source for your little guy which obviously leads to some of the pressure moms feel about the whole thing. Like Rosin points out, it is impossible to have an "equal marriage" when one of you is the only person capable of feeding your kid (and yes the author knows that you can pump and feed from a bottle but what couple do you know who does or did that in an equal way so that the father knows just as much about the baby's schedule and how much the baby eats as the mother?)

As our kids grow up though, it's obviously different. Which means there is ample opportunity for both the mother and the father to feel stress and mess up our kids. Ah equality.

I don't know one set of parents who has not thought about the sort of "eater" they want to raise (I am not sure I knew "eater" was a noun before kids). Even Top Chefs wring their hands over their kids' eating habits. Which is why this article gave me so much pause. In a nutshell, a growing number of specialists believe that we are raising a generation of children to have a "moralistic, restrictive and unhappy relationship with eating," which is "making kids nutty [and] sucking the life out of our relationship with food.” Apparently, our well-intentioned desires to have our kids eat organic and know their high-fructose corn syrup from their agave nectar are causing kids to be hyper-aware of food and--maybe--causing an unhealthy obsession with related body issues. The message? Calm down already.

The article has trainwreck stories about 8 year olds worrying about sodium intake and a girl whose mother would not let her eat white rice. But overall it seems a little over the top--instilling healthy eating habits in our kids is probably not going to make them anorexic, as the article dubiously seems to imply by way of anecdote. It would be like saying that raising them with a tolerance for all religions is going to make them close-minded zealots, right?

That being said: I know I obsess about my kids' eating and aspire for them to be "healthy eaters" (aka like my husband with his kale chips and not like me with my carb-laden diet and proclivity towards foods with misspellings--think Cheez It). It doesn't matter how many times I read or am told that "children will not starve themselves"--my heart hurts when I see my kid lethargic and sullen because he won't put some good food in his mouth. But it does resonate on an intrinsic, basic level that obsessing about things is not ideal for children...

So what's a mother to do, aside from hooking her kids up to IVs of spinach and calling it a day (and banishing the "bad foods" from her Midwestern upbringing from her home--sigh...!)? How should we somehow teach our kids to eat well without being overly serious and focused on eating at the same time? According to this study, to combat picky eaters, we should try to call healthy foods "cool names." Sounds retarded right? Well, file it under one of the many things you never thought you would do, but you do for your kids. With our sugar-loving toddler we are ready to try anything. Bring on the "Dinosaur Trees" (broccoli) with "rocket fuel" (tomatoes) please.

Die Mommy Die?

A couple people have forwarded me this article from this month's Elle. Called "Die Mommy Die," the article has been much-maligned for being particularly harsh to moms who discuss their children at work.

In a nutshell: The article is the author's anti-Valentine to motherhood. Her black heart haiku. Sure she loves her child, she says. But she does not understand, and she resents, this new baby-love culture that mandates constant conversation about said baby, especially in the workplace. It especially irks her when she is repeatedly asked whether having a baby is "the best thing she has ever done" and she chafes at viewing motherhood as an "accomplishment."

Some of the sentiments the author voices are ones I thought I believed. They are certainly things I have said, especially when I pretend (as I often do) that I am the "same person" I was before children. When the author--a mother herself--grits her teeth as a co-worker and fellow-mom wants to discuss the minutia of toddlers instead of the latest trends in their industry--I find myself nodding my head in agreement. I have returned to work twice after maternity leaves and plan to return again after this one. I am dreading having to once again navigate from the mommy-ghetto back to the realm of the regular work-force. I have distinct memories of former supervisors who previously would ask me my opinion on strategy giving me busy-work and asking me "what cute things is D. doing these days." It's infuriating.

But--at the same time--is it that bad for people to ask us about our kids? And, is it so wrong for us to want to discuss our kids with our co-workers? The author of this piece paints the picture of mothers on the job who discuss their children as some sort of blathering idiots, shells of their former selves reduced to bromide and cliche. I can remember many conversations with co-workers about a new handbag pre-children. As best as I can tell, a new child merits as much discussion as a new accessory (or a sports game, or the newest CW show for that matter--both prime subjects of office conversation everywhere).

With these tart words, the author of the Elle piece began to lose me:

Why do so many accomplished women, even in the most rarefied professional environments, feel compelled to treat their children as something to be celebrated publicly in minute, often embarrassingly scatological, detail? Why do they assume that tales of their offspring’s quotidian doings will envelop everyone else in a cloak of bliss?

Her harshness only gets deeper as the article goes on--and my sympathy continued to dwindle. Fine, she doesn't want to discuss her children at work. Sure, she doesn't want to discuss other peoples' either. But what skin is it off her back if others choose differently? We are all adults. If you don't like the conversation, choose new conversation partners.

Which is not to say I haven't had my moments of wondering whywhywhy so much discussion--at work and outside of work--has come to revolve around children. What did we talk about before and aren't those subjects still around? But I can also recognize that--whether or not I view motherhood as an "accomplishment"-- having my children is the most important thing I have done in my life. Who doesn't want to discuss the most important thing in life? Moreover, the "Die Mommy Die" author seems to be advocating a sort of false reality in which mothers in the workplace shed parts of their identity. It wreaks of so many horrible things: "Don't ask don't tell" and "passing" come to mind. Aren't we beyond that?

I feel badly for the author of the piece. When people rub me the wrong way in the way they ask about my kids or when people talk about their own children in ways I find comical, I look forwarding to calling or emailing one of a number of friends to have a quick laugh. I wonder if this author has the same outlet.

Plus, the title? "Die Mommy Die"? You would think the author of a piece condemning the magnification and hyperbole of modern day motherhood could have come up with a title a little bit less...hyperbolic.

One Indian Woman's Wish List

New Year, new wishes. All moms dream of things that would make life easier ("A robot that cooks and cleans...and breast-feeds"). Here, some of my wishes, specific to being an Indian mom. Somebody please look into these--many would be a post-it-note "why didn't I think of that!" moment I am sure...!

Beyond "Identity" Fiction

We get it. We, as Indians, sometimes feel torn between the east and the west. If we were born here, we are intrinsically "American" but, at the same time, we have values rooted in a decidedly un-American heritage. Thank you to all the literary trail-blazers who put "identity" fiction--and literature about South Asians in general--on the map. But let's get on with it already. How many times do we want to read about one foot in New York and one in Delhi? Eighteen times pretty much sufficed. Onward and upwards, let's see what else the glorious Indian women who roam the pages of fiction can do.

Netflix for Indian Clothes

I have learned the rules but they still don't make sense. That $1000 lengha? With the hand-done embroidery and gold spun by hand? You should wear it once and carry around a spotlight so everyone can see how gorgeous it is...but then you can never be caught dead in it again. Okay. I'll play by the rules. But why not let friends reap the rewards of that spun-gold and Swarovki glory. Or forget my friends, let a stranger wear it, why does it have to hang in sad confinement in my closet (read: lay in a sad pile under my bed). Somebody has got to get on this. Bindi Borrow or Steal. Or something.

A Turmeric-Sensitive Cleaner

Members of my family believe that turmeric is a magical panacea. When my kids are coughing up lungs and their noses are perpetually leaking, I would try voodoo so turmeric is completely fine with me. But it is a disater on my home. The faint yellow residue has left impressions on high chairs and fabric long after the colds have passed. There's got to be something to get this out and even my magical Folex has failed me.

While we're at it: How about something to get that "I just came back from india" smell out of your clothes. Don't even tell me you don't know what I mean. Febreeze doesn't cut it, it just makes it seem like you were hugged by an Indian airport that had a Febreeze free sample kiosk.

Luxe Lipsticks for Brown Ladies

I have found foundations, blushes, skincare and eye makeup that I think looks great on Indian women but, for some reason, most lipsticks still manage to make me look like a clown. It's not that hard is it? Listen up Chanel: We have money to spend (sometimes): Give us a reason to.

A Short Primer On Important Traditions


I need to be able to sift through which traditions are really important to my extended family and which ones are really just filler on the calendar. I am a mutt--half Gujarati, half South Indian--and my husband is Punjabi. In terms of tradition and culture, we may as well be from different countries, it seems at times. I need some Cliffs notes. AND, I would LOVE to know what the ritual and pomp and circumstance surrounding the many traditions I've never heard of actually mean. I am still trying to get to the bottom of the significance of the strainer at karva chauth. And are we allowed to steal shoes at all auspicious occasions? And is eating panjiri THAT important?? I wish the people behind these books would get on this.

More South Indian restaurants

Just saying the word "dosa" makes my mouth water. There's more to Indian cuisine than Tandoori chicken and yet, many people have no idea.

"Petticoats" that don't suck. And lenghas that don't attack you.

I have war-wounds from some of the Indian garb I have worn. Cat-claw-like scratches under my arms from bronze adornment on lengha blouses. Near-rug-burn on my waist from "petticoats" that need to be "so tight they hurt--if it doesn't hurt it isn't tight enough." And the "petticoats" (love writing such a silly word!) are often of this horrible synthetic, satiny material that feels horrible against my skin. I'm thinking it doesn't have to be like this. Somebody please show me the way.

Non-cheesy Indian-inspirted housewares

I don't need Ganesha on my plates and I would prefer not to have Lord Shiva on my accent pillows. But it would be great to be able to showcase Indian art in my home. We keep hearing about how thriving the Indian art scene is but it remains difficult to gain access to it from here. I would much rather throw some money at a modern Indian art emporium than Design Within Reach--if I knew how.

Got Any Indian-Inspired Wishes on Your Wish-List?

I Need A Hero

February's Glamour Magazine profiles Supriya Jindal--wife of Louisiana Governor and former VP-short-listed "Bobby" Jindal--as a "fiesty" woman who also happens to be "our only Indian American First Lady."

Images of Clarence Thomas race through my head. He must have a wife. I wonder if she is like Supriya. It sounds harsh I know but let's review the facts: Bobby's real name? Piyush. He "adopted" his current moniker in homage to Bobby Brady. Presently-Catholic Piyush's born religion? Hinduism. He converted in high school. And of course there is his famous New Oxford Review essay--"Beating the Demon, Physical Dimensions of Physical Warfare"--which details his belief in exorcism. All this and we haven't even gotten started on the Governor's views on church and state, stem cell research, gay marriage--but I am getting off topic...

Bottom-line, the guy seems decidedly anti-Indian and while I suppose it isn't fair to assume his wife holds the same views, when she is paraded around as our only Indian American First Lady and she doesn't say anything to distance herself from her husband's whitewash, what is anybody supposed to think? She gives us a little glimpse into her views in a local New Orleans newspaper interview:

Although she has visited India several times -- including once with Bobby, when he was sent as a congressman on a trade mission -- she says she doesn't feel any particular attachment to the country of her ancestors or any particular sense of comfort when she's there. Nor does she follow the news from India with any particular regularity.

Okay, fine. There it is. Be who you want to be right? Be American, be yourself, be cool. And, in all honesty, Supriya seems cool enough. By all accounts, she is a whip-smart, considerate powerhouse, juggling three kids and a career. According to the Glamour piece, she is getting ready to launch the Supriya Jindal Foundation for Louisiana Children, a nonprofit aimed at fixing the state's lagging math and science scores. What's not to like about improving education? Plus I have a soft-spot for the woman since her son's name is Shaan, as is mine.

But the Jindals constitute token representation of Indians, at best. Is there any disputing that? And I can't help but wish that Glamour had picked somebody else to represent us. Someone who, perhaps, rose in her own right. A South Asian woman who stands up proudly, or at least not in shame or ignorance, of where she (and her husband) come from, geographically, culturally, philosophically. Someone like...

Like...

Like who? Who are our South Asian female role models? Help me out here...

Monday Musings: Do Kids Know Their Ethnicity?

The other day, as I was picking up my son D from preschool, one of his teachers approached me with a furrowed brow and a solemn look on her face.

Uh-oh, I thought. D has obviously hit another child. Or peed in the birdcage. Again. Game face game face.

"Hi!" I said, with so much eagerness I sounded like I was trying out for the cheerleading squad.

"Hi," Miss M. said, as she put her hand on my shoulder with concern that was palpable.

"How are you?" I shrieked.

"I'm good," she replied, all hushed-tones. "D told us what's going on, it must be really hard for you with the 2 kids, and being pregnant and all," she said.

I laughed nervously in that way you do when you are going through the rolodex of possible puzzle pieces in your head. D told her what happened? Wait, something happened? Something that D could communicate? D can communicate? Beyond "I want Mamma Bear Pappa Bear" (which is what he calls The Berenstein Bears, his new favorite tv show, replacing Cailou--thank god for small miracles--but still driving me crazy)?

Miss M. charitably took the panicky smile on my face as a cue to further explain.

"About your husband?" she said, looking around the room as the other parents were coming to pick up their kids. "And how he left yesterday and moved to India?"

WHAT?

My first thought--I have to admit--was whether I was so tired that I had forgotten this had happened. (Like the time I told my husband about this "crazy dream" I had involving our kids spewing every bodily fluid on us in the course of one day, and he informed me that it wasn't a dream, it was last Sunday.) Then, I just laughed--in a more natural, non-stage-fright way--and told Miss M. that my husband was at home and had no plans to move, to India or anywhere else.

It was then Miss M's turn to laugh and look slightly puzzled: "D is non-stop," she said, as things like "natural comic" and other attributes that seem bizarre to pin to a 3 year old rolled off her tongue. Apparently in "circle" that morning, D had told his class and all his teachers, and I quote: "My daddy moved to India yesterday and my mommy and I are very sad but my brother is too baby he isn't sad."

After we exchanged a few more laughs and a bit of necessary awkward conversation, I collected my crazy D and all his stuff and drove us home. On the drive, my thoughts quickly turned from whether D was super imaginative or a pathological liar (I decided on the former) to something decidedly different: How did D make up that his daddy moved to India?

It still baffles me, really. Our race and ethnicity are not the usual stuff of conversation at our house (yet?) D hasn't been to India yet. In fact, I'm not sure if the word "India" has been used around D any more often than many other words. So how did he pick India as the backdrop for his daddy's imaginary furlough? How do we learn where we're from? Does D know he is Indian? He barely understands that "home" is a place, could he possibly understand that India is one? It's heady stuff, the way a child's mind works, and the way a child learns about race.

As is the natural corollary. If D somehow, implicitly, knows what "Indian" is, does he also know what other races are? And does he know that race makes people "different"? I'm reminded of my friend's 3 year old daughter who, when asked who was going to be the next President, responded "Obama! The black man!" My friend was somewhat aghast--especially as her daughter repeated the whole thing numerous times--and went out of her way to explain that she did not teach that particular qualifier to her daughter. So how did she pick it up?

I don't think racial identity and, by extension, prejudice are hard-wired. I am pretty sure you have to learn to hate. It's cool to see D play at his preschool amongst his "it's a small world" cadre of friends--Diego, Joaquin, Johnny (how cool is that? That Johnny is the one with the "weird" name...!) And yet: D's first friend at school was another little Indian boy, and D somehow selected him himself.

I can't tell you what that means but I'm pretty sure it means something. (Maybe I need some time in "circle" to figure it all out...!)

Advice From Your 50-something Self

I loved this post by Risa Green at MommyTrack'd so much I am going to re-print it in its entirety. It's the best New Year's resolution I've heard in a long time:

Happy Freakin' New Year

I am so glad that the holidays are over. I swear, if I have to look at one more ribbon or bow, I’ll hang myself with it. Now we can move on to bigger and better things, like the New Year, and what my resolution will be. I put a lot of thought into my New Year's resolutions. I don’t do lame ones that are destined to fail, like eat less sugar or clean out my closet. Instead, I try to find some behavior that is bringing me down somehow, and I resolve to change it. This year I’ve got a doozy. My resolution for 2009 is to pretend that I am twenty years older, and that I have been given a chance to go back in time and relive this period of my life. It’s a mouthful, I know. Eat less sugar would have been so much simpler. Obviously, I’m not doing so well with my 2007 New Years resolution, which was to try not to make things more complicated than they need to be.

But really, I think I’m on to something with this one. In twenty years, I’ll be fifty-five. My kids will be twenty-two and twenty-four. My husband will be fifty-four. If fifty-five year old me could go back and be thirty-five year old me again, I think that fifty-five year old me would a) be really psyched to not have so many wrinkles, and b) do some things a little differently. For example: my son is two years old. He whines a lot, and he’s going through a super clingy phase. He always wants me to pick him up, he’ll only let me put him to bed, and I can’t escape his room without a minimum of forty hugs before he’ll lie down in his crib. Now, this stuff drives me insane, especially when I’m starving and want to eat dinner and he’s yelling for me to come back into his room to give him his forty seventh hug, or when I’m trying to talk on the phone to my editor and he’s crying and screaming, “Uppy, mommy, uppy,” at the top of his lungs. But then I think about fifty-five year old me.

Fifty-five year old me would probably kill for the chance to pick up her son (who, let’s not forget, is now twenty-two), and have him wrap his arms around her neck and squeeze her so hard that she very nearly loses consciousness. Hell, with the way my back feels these days, fifty-five year old me would probably just be thrilled to not be an invalid anymore. And you see, when you think about it that way, you can’t help but be less annoyed by the kid, and more appreciative of just how sweet it is to have a little person love you so much that he just wants to be close to your face, even if it is at a particularly inconvenient time.

It works with other stuff, too. Sex, for example. When I think about fifty-five year old me – all menopausal and hot-flashy and saggy – not to mention her fifty-four year old husband – ahem – it makes me want to muster up the energy more often. Fifty-five year old me must long for the days when the only barrier to sex was being too tired. It works with my mother – she might be crazy now, but God only knows what she’ll be like in twenty years, if she’s even here at all. It even works with work. When I’m stressed out over a deadline, or late for a meeting because my daughter insisted on buttoning her sweater all by herself, I conjure fifty-five year old me, and she tells me to relax. One day, she whispers, when you’re an empty nester and your life is predictable, quiet and completely your own, you’ll miss this chaos. You’ll miss it terribly. I look at her, my eyebrow cocked with skepticism, and I ask her if she really means that. But she just smiles back, with her wrinkles and her grey hair that’s been colored blonde. Absolutely, she answers. Now have a happy freakin’ New Year, drink some champagne, and go have sex with your hot husband, because he’s not gonna’ look like this forever. And for God’s sake, don’t forget to wear sunscreen. Collagen doesn’t grow on trees, you know.

Monday Musings: 2008 CHEERS and JEERS

I am still relatively new at this blogging thing and was having a hard time figuring out how to treat this week--such a liminal period, the end of one year (a tumultuous one at that), the beginning of a new one, affording, at the risk of sounding cheesy (like you don't know I'm cheesy by now), hope, opportunity, promise. How do you sum it up, especially through the lense of motherhood?

Luckily enough, 30 Rock provided some inspiration. I was slow on the uptake with this show which I am now obsessed with. In one of the early episodes, the sinewy 20 year old receptionist/eye-candy girl (who explains that she and her betrothed will have been dating "2 months in about 3 weeks") tells Liz Lemon: "We want to have kids when it's still cool."

Spot on, just like so much in the show: Parenthood, parenting, motherhood, babies--it's all ubiquitous right now. Whether it's the international press corp following Brangelina, special editions of popular magazines devoted solely to children, politicians being forced into the work-life balance debate, or the ever-ranging back and forth on nursing: The narrative of parenthood is hot. We're lucky, in a sense, to have kids when it's so au current. At the same time, it's difficult, sometimes, to navigate all the "noise" and just be a mom, isn't it? It's enough to mother and feed and caretake without reading about J Lo's parenting style or what 342 people think about the fact that Facebook has taken down photos of breastfeeding mothers.

So, without (even) further ado: My CHEERS and JEERS for all the news that was fit to be called "parenthood-related" in 2008:

JEERS to Trainwreck Teenage Pregnancies

With Jamie Lynn Spears giving birth at age 16 to Maddie Briann Aldridge, 17 year old Bristol Palin due any second, the ABC family show The Secret Life of the American Teen, and the media hailstorm over the eventually untrue "pregnancy pact" in Manchester, 2008 may be known as the year of the pregnant teen. Although I almost gave the phenomenon a CHEERS since it led to one of my favorite quotes of the year--Tina Fey as Sarah Palin: "Marriage is meant to be a sacred institution between two unwilling teenagers"--it's just horrific. Not to mention in-a-bad-way retro (remember the old Sally Jesse shows devoted to "Babies having babies"? Haven't we gotten past this?) . The most saddening part of this is when the teenagers in question claim to want our lives because of the "unconditional love."

My goodness, get a puppy.

CHEERS to Iphone Apps for Parents

I constantly make fun of my husband for his love-affair with his mistress, the Iphone. But when a reader sent in this article about applications specifically tailored to parents I had to admit that the Iphone can do some pretty remarkable things. Whether you need a nursing tracker, a portable baby monitor, a recipe-maker, or a white-noise provider the Iphone has you covered. Next up it will nurse for you, watch the baby, and cook the food.

JEERS to the Man Who Gives Birth

The image and story of "the pregnant man" caused visceral reactions in almost everyone. First, there was the fact that a man, Thomas Beatie, was with child. It turned out he was born a woman, and when he went through the process of becoming a man, he did not have his ovaries removed, which made the pregnancy less of a scientific wonder and more an issue of gender politics. The LGBT community was torn on whether this man should have told his story so publicaly, concerned it could cause more damage than good and the jury is still out on whether telling the story to Oprah hurt or helped.

I'm happy for the happy couple, but the public fascination warrants the JEERS. Enough already! And, if Beatie really wanted to just have a family like "regular people" as he claims--why is he now writing a book about it. Just goes to show you how timelessly sensationalist pregnancy is.

CHEERS AND JEERS to Monster families

Two big families were in the media's eye this year, and they illustrate two completely different ways to have kids. The Duggars--Michelle and Jim and their 18 children--follow the controversial, conservative "Quiverfull" movement, which in general opposes using either birth control or infertility treatments, and is unequivocally opposed to "feminism"--hence my JEERS. The most recent addition to the family was Jordyn-Grace, born December 19 of this year. The rest range in age from 17 months to 21 years old and, cloyingly, also have names starting with "J": John-David, Jana, Jill, Jessa, Jinger, Joseph, Josiah, Joy-Anna, Jeremiah, Jedidiah, Jason, James, Justin, Jackson, Johannah Jennifer, and Joshua. The family's life is now being chronicled in a reality show on TLC called 17 Kids & Counting.

"Jon & Kate Plus 8" also shows the daily life of a family that went from Jon & Kate and their twin girls, to Jon & Kate, the twins, and a new set of sextuplets. Unlike the Duggars, this family was the product of modern fertility science. Everything they do happens in sextuplicate (is that a word?) and--this is why this garners a CHEERS-- it really makes having one or two kids seem cake-walk easy...!

Though not as publicized as with the Duggars: J&K+8 are also highly religious. It makes you wonder if you need to believe in God to be able to sustain a life with more than one of these little monsters...!

CHEERS AND JEERS to the "Momification" of Michelle Obama

Not surprisingly, with the election of Barack Obama as the 44th president, quite a bit of attention has been paid to his accomplished wife, Michelle. Michelle has a distinguished career in law and a history of working on behalf of the underpriveleged, and, in an early NPR interview, many of the Harvard professors that taught both Barack and Michelle almost sheepishly admitted that they would have pegged M to go onto a life in the national political spotlight. Perhaps relatedly--as part of the campaign, there was an effort to make Michelle more "palatable" to more conservative America, giving her a fashion make-over, even advice to speak more quietly so she would not seem so "militant." Hillary redux. On top of that, a great deal of attention has been paid to what role she will have as First Lady, something she herself has defined as "mom-in-chief." Debate now rages on the internet about whether she has been too "mom-ified," transforming a formidable working woman into a docile stay-at-home mom. Some argue that she is "throwing away her achievements" by not keeping a paying job, others say she is "reinventing stay-at-home motherhood." No doubt this debate will rage on for the next four (or eight??) years while Michelle is in the White House--and after that as well. CHEERS to having such a role model of a woman and her young kids in the national spotlight, JEERS to a culture of questioning and judging everything she does in the name of "motherhood."

CHEERS to finding the silver-lining of this recession.

According to this article, the recession may be good for marriage. The argument is "elegantly simple" (I for some reason always remember that bio text books described the double-helix like that--we remember the oddest things): Since money is the root of most marital problems, the lack of money reduces fighting. Hmmm...many missing links for sure...but according to the article, the strongest marriages were born during the Great Depression and it is nice to read something about the recession that doesn't make me want to jump off a bridge.

JEERS to "Twilight Moms"

This seems to be an example of people LOOKING to be cultish. There is an actual movement of crazy moms who are obsessed--and I mean obsessed--with the teeny-bopper "Twilight" books that this year's blockbuster movie was based on. Although the general assumption was that the movie would draw only teens and tweens, it turned out that women over the age of 25 made up 45% of the audiene for this film, and many of these people were mothers, either attending with their daughters, or going on their own with other moms. At first blush, this seems fine--moms reclaiming a bit of their youth and bonding with their daughters. But look a bit closer and see that these moms have websites, online communities and travel plans devoted to "Twilight." Debate rages amongst the moms about which 17 year old character they would rather date; they are booking trips en masse to visit the town where the books are set; one mother tried to buy the cheerleading outfit of a girl in the town--while the girl was in it. My interal crazy meter is going off. Plus if we have learned everything from after-school specials (can you believe our kids won't know what "after school specials" are??) it's this: We aren't really supposed to be our kids' friend, we're supposed to be their parents. A natural corrolary? We probably shouldn't be lusting after the same 17 year old who is on the poster in their rooms.

JEERS to SARAH PALIN:

Was she a saintlike role model for working mothers, a privileged, book-banning control freak, or a pregnancy-faking cue-card-reading huckster? Probably none of the above, but every description seemed fitting at one point or another during the last couple months of the U.S. election. While Obama urged us to stick to the issues, Sarah Palin drove the electorate into a frenzy of half-truths and hearsay — and no one took her candidacy more personally than the mothers of America. With some distance on the election--and with the election ending how I wanted it to--I am starting to feel a bit sorry for Sarah, having been thrown into such a shark tank of media and national vitriol. But you know what? She was an idiot, she has made a mockery of intelligent women everywhere, and she has made it so I can never use the word "maverick" every agin. She never should have been thursted into the VP spotlight to begin with.

CHEERS to the Brangelina twins

You probably were expecting JEERS? A comment about the media's fascination with two people simply having babies and getting to do it with a small army of help in the form of nannies, cooks, trainers, more nannies? Perhaps a tie-back to the "monster family" topic above?

But you know what? I love Brangelina. I love that Angelina was a blood-wearing sociopath who has become a smiling mom in the park by day, a U.N. ambassador by afternoon, a red-carpet fixture by night.

I love that the trainwreck has transformed because she became a mom. It's inspiring. Plus she's just hot and wears tons of black and I might have bought aviator sunglasses beause she looks like such a badass in them.

Oh yea, and the twins are cute.

JEERS to Josef Fritzl, the Most evil parent of the year

The discovery of the family locked in seventy-three-year-old Austrian man Joseph Fritzl's basement — including his forty-two-year-old daughter and three grandchildren by incest, none of whom had ever seen the light of day — was one of the year's most gut-wrenching parenting news story. Fritzl is currently facing charges of rape, incest, false imprisonment and slavery, all of which should result in a nice long jail sentence before he rots in hell or whatever bad place you happen to believe in.

JEERS to the Most enviable toddler wardrobe of 2008: Suri Cruise

Suri is rarely photographed wearing the same thing twice (except her metallic shoes, which are de rigeur). She has a penchant for dresses, and the last year has seen her wearing high-end threads from Burberry, Juicy Couture, Phillip Lim, Bonpoint, Helena, and Splendid Little.

JEERS...yes, because it is excessive to dress a child like this and because there has got to be something wrong about the amount of time this child spends in the shoe section of Barney. But really? JEERS because I am jealous of the wardrobe of a 3 year old...!

JEERS to Bisphenoal A, Melamine, and other scary things

Last year it was lead in toys; this year, the toxic chemical BPA emanating from plastic containers and water bottles. There's nothing scarier than finding out that something as innocuous as toys and baby bottles may be causing your family harm. Then, the melamine scare. It came from China when, starting in July, alarming reports began emerging that the industrial chemical melamine had been found in Chinese-produced infant formula, leading to kidney stones in thousands of infants. Just this past month, though, the story took a turn for the local when news leaked that even U.S.-made infant formula contained the dangerous chemical, prompting the FDA to release new guidelines for what it considered a "safe amount." The substance, used to make plastics, apparently turns up in a lot of products whose manufacturers are hoping to boost protein levels of dairy and powdered-dairy products. Far from being a mere accident, this was the kind of contamination that makes you wonder whether you can eat anything you don't grow yourself.

JEERS AND CHEERS to Vaccinations and Autism

If you want to immediately spur eye-rolls, utter "Jenny McCarthy," "vaccinations" or "autism" to a bunch of moms, but be prepared for some vehement reactions. This year, Amanda Peet got reamed on the internet for calling non-vaccinating parents "parasites," while Dennis Leary's jokes about autistic kids' parents backfired bigtime, and singer Kimya Dawson (of Juno fame) provoked the ire of commenters with an off-hand comment about not vaccinating her daughter. CHEERS for promoting conversation, JEERS for celebrities undermining accepted medical science. (Go ahead, send me the hatemail, I am ready).

JEERS to the Loss of a Father: Heath Ledger

The passing of any young man is a tragedy. The passing of a young man just as he is beginning to really get noticed for his craft, even more so. The passing of a young father just as his child begins blossoming into her young life--the biggerst tragedy of all.

The images of little Matilda being hugged by her devastated mom brought home an obvious truth: It doesn't matter how much money or fame you have...you can still drop dead at any time.

Hug your kids.


JEERS to the Most well-intentioned legislation that utterly backfired: the Nebraska Safe Haven law

Nebraska legislators thought they'd make life easier on desperate parents when they passed a blanket safe haven law. Little did they know how desperate some parents were. Parents traveled hours--to abandon their teens. One dad dropped of nine kids before the law was amended. What started out as a way to decriminalize parents who were responsible enough to take steps to ensure the safety of their newborn children, even when they couldn't take care of them themselves, turned into a "get out of child-jail free card," making regular parents everywhere scratch their heads in amazement.

CHEERS to the Best Sesame Street guest star ever: Feist

It's not easy to find something or somebody who transfixes parents and toddlers alike, but Feist did the trick.

Finally, CHEERS to TINA FEY.

If you can't tell yet, I am obsessed with Tina Fey.

A mom who is witty and self-deprecating, accomplished and humble.

Her interview in Vanity Fair, full of tidbits about how a "regular" girl achieved the sort of confidence and comfort in her own skin to serve as a moral compass through life, has informed my thoughts on how to raise children--and especially girls--more than anything else I have read this year.

And she just seems so normal. CHEERS to normal moms...!

Happy New Year! Look out tomorrow for fun ways to ring in 2009 with your kids...

Barbies and Bikini Waxes

I was second in line for a bikini wax this weekend. Behind an 8 year old girl. I know she was 8 because her mother (who looked like she had had every possible stray hair on her body waxed and then lasered and then plucked, just for good measure) who was there with her told me. When a clumsily formed question about whether her daughter was a swimmer--because I could not fathom any reason for an 8 year old to be getting waxed-- rolled out of my mouth, she looked at me like I was speaking in tongues and said no.

Sure, it's easy to sit here in mommy-blog-land and talk about the "dangerousness" of 8 year old girls getting bikini waxes. "Girls are growing up too fast." "Girls are too interested in their looks." We all know these things. "Constant pressure to look good is "dangerous" for a girl's self-esteem and sense of self." That's true for "girls" of 8 to 92, isn't it? The first thing that struck me, though, wasn't the dangerousness--that came later. I just felt sorry for the little girl. I often bemoan the amount of "maintenance" I engage in these days. Eyebrow threading, manicures, pedicures, the occasional facial--it's a part-time job for sure--the quest for a merely presentable image...! Why start at 8?? I was fourteen before my mom let me wax my legs. I didn't own a lipstick until I was a junior in college, I didn't touch my eyebrows until law school and waxing down there? Please.

I'm reminded of my friend Eloise's mom, who on the day of our law school graduation told us that we have a duty in life--a duty to be interesting. It's always stuck with me. How interesting can you be if you spend the summer after 5th grade at spa camp? (Yes. There is such a thing). If you grow up prioritizing image over imagination?

As I have mentioned, I am pregnant with my third child--a girl to add to my two crazy boys. And I definitely am noticing things I didn't notice the first two times. On our trip to Mexico, I kept staring at the pre-pubescent girls at the pool in little bikinis. There was something horrific about it. Like those Puritanical paintings of children-as-miniature-adults. And even the most cursory look at the "parenthood" shelf at the bookstore yields titles like "Stressed Out Girls: Helping Them Thrive in the Age of Pressure" and "Girlology: A Girl's Guide to Stuff that Matters." Obviously it's too easy to indict tv and movies for the phenomenon but: Did you know that chick on Gossip Girl--the one wearing the Elizabeth and James blazer and carrying the Fendi bag--is fifteen years old?

Girls love beauty, girls love makeup, girls love to shop. There is no need to try to debunk these things--they aren't myths they are statistical facts. I am looking forward to giving my daughter my handbags one day and--yes--going to the spa with her. But a beauty maintenance routine at 8? Spa camp? My First Facial? Please God I hope not.

This goes deeper than the intrinsic ick factor of imagining a child on a facialist's table instead of outside playing in the grass. There's something fundamentally disturbing about little girls thinking about "fixing" things about themselves and their looks. When little boys are throwing balls around, nobody thinks they are "practicing" to be better--they are just playing. But a girl getting waxed? That is an improvement being made. I'm sorry for the rhetorical brimstone and firebrand but it just is dangerous. Sure, I probably have a bit of Indian prudishness running through my blood. But is there any possible reason an 8 year old should be getting her bikini line waxed? Can it be anything other than sexual? For any reason other than pleasing a man?

Monday Musings: Long Live the Sap

My friend L and I are masochists. This past weekend we hosted a Holiday Kids Party for 15 moms and 19 children at my house, complete with cookies to decorate, a silver star to bedazzle, and a skinny Indian Santa (my husband--who, to his horror, was called "Santa Uncle" by one of the older kids) to ogle. There were juice boxes for the kids, champagne for the mommas, and enough high-pitched shrieking to have qualified as a zoo. It was great. A few years ago it would have been unimaginable and, in fact, many of the moms in attendance admitted to furrowed brows upon getting the evite from me--you're hosting a what? But among the many thoughts that count as epiphany these days ("I am going to have to drive my children to school for the next 18 years") is this one: Motherhood has made me into an unmitigated sappy mess. Coupled with the general dose of sentimentality provided by the holidays--it's over, done, I am a cooked sappy goose.

The thing is, I have always been a sap. More "crying at Life is Beautiful" than "crying at Hallmark commercials"; more emailing my kids random thoughts than scrapbooking about their first steps, but a sap nonetheless. And this time of year forces reflection doesn't it? It's sort of the silver lining of the frantic-ness of the end of the year: You get to (albeit somewhat forcedly by the end of the calendar) take stock of things, try to get perspective on your year, think about the people who are important to you. That was the impetus for the Holiday Crack-y Kids Party, really. We wanted to take a moment to get all of these amazing women together. To see all of the kids who are going to grow up side by side. To mark the fact that life right now is absolute craziness, punctuated by tantrums, spilled juice, melt-downs--but aren't we lucky that we're all in it together? Like Tina Fey said, "I don't care how many covers you're on. When you're chasing a three-year-old around with a pull-up [diaper] hoping she won't poop on the floor, you're just like every other mom on the planet."

My sappy-chip got to go into overdrive since, immediately after the party, we had our annual family dinner--my husband and I; our sisters; my sister's fiance; my husband's sister's husband. Sitting around the table, I found myself realizing that I was surrounded by 5 of my absolute favorite people in the entire world. 5 of the people who can make me laugh louder than anybody else. Who can read my expressions. Who I let myself call when I need help (and who get how weird I am about asking for help). I was so overcome by my sappiness that I had to bite my tongue at one point so as not to proclaim--as an absolute non-sequitur--how much I love my brother-in-law. Any control I may have once had over my reckless sappiness was absolutely absent.

And I suppose it's time to get used to it, because life is going to continue to throw us for many loop-de-loops. At our family dinner, when we were talking about 2008 and its myriad ups and downs, I found myself thinking about how different each event would have been without the cocoon of the people I love. The birth of two babies, the death of a father; fear over a newborn and fear over an elder; new motherhood and pregnancy; a blissfully happy engagement; layoffs and health scares, birthdays at the beach and on the drums in a courtyard; fellowships; imminent moves across the country; and everything in between. Events, for sure, like so many other peoples', but they just happen, collectively, to be ours. Our little story, our piece of the world. We share it together and I thought about how I would not be the same person if I didn't share every single moment of my life with the people I am so fortunate to have in it. I don't remember having these sort of bone-deep moments of sappy contemplation before. Another byproduct of motherhood, like the not-quite flat stomach and the inability to watch sad news stories about kids. Moms definitely have a heightened sense of sappiness... but if the pay-off is gratitude then I suppose some good comes from it? I'm not going to go emblazoning "Carpe sappiness" on any tshirts soon...but I might as well...

Because why not risk being sappy if it means showing gratitude. Why not take a moment to appreciate people, and the other moms we know, especially the ones who have gotten us this far. The ones who come over the night before the party to decorate with you, even though they are averaging 5 hours sleep a night and have multiple deadlines. The ones who you call and email for everything from advice on cold medicine for your toddler to borrowing bathing suits. The ones who have never forgotten your birthday, who you let bring food to your parties, who drive you to airports, who pick up your children from school when you are in a pinch, who ask you what your kids are up to and actually want to know, who appreciate how hard we work and how hard we try. The people who show up--for weddings and wakes alike. The people with whom we are all in this together.

Sappiness isn't always so bad. And even it if is, I am betting we're kind of stuck with it.

Christmas Penis Issues

You likely have a bunch of things you are worried about this holiday season. The still-gloomy economy. Traveling with children. What to wear to the "festive ethnic chic attire requested" cocktail party. Unfortunately, I am here to tell you that you need to add one more concern to your list: Your toddler son harming his penis with a toilet seat.

That's right.

According to this recent report, injuries by toilet seats are on the rise and--ready for it?--"[a]s Christmas approaches many families will be visiting relatives and friends and their recently toilet-trained toddlers will be keen to show how grown up they are by going to the toilet on their own...It is important that parents check out the toilet seats in advance, not to mention the ones they have in their own homes, and accompany their children if necessary."

The doctors who authored this report suggest tips to parents to prevent penis-injury-by-toilet-seat, including banning "heavier" toilet seats and "leaving the toilet up after use, even though it contradicts the social norm of putting it down." They earnestly tell the reader that: "We are concerned that the growing trend of heavy toilet seats poses a risk not only to [toddlers'] health, but to their confidence."

Um. Come on. Where do I even begin? First of all, I can't stop laughing over the fact that this article somehow makes the issue of toilet-seat issues a Christmas topic. Really? Beware of people posing as Santa, bad eggnogg, and particularly heavy toilet seats out to get your toddler sons?

But, more importantly, how far are we going to go in our never-ending pursuit to protect our children? The verbotin peanuts, the agonizing over PBS Sprout's "educational content," the horror and guilt over standard-issue scraped knees or bruised elbows. I think Indian moms are hard-wired to be overprotective and reports like this don't help matters at all. I'm reminded of an article my friend Anu sent around a while ago about a mom who--purposely--left her 9 year old at Bloomingdales, armed with a MetroCard and a subway map, believing it was time for him to learn to use the subway on his own. She was accused of everything from being a bad mother to being a criminal but she stood by her decision and said that "the problem with this everything-is-dangerous outlook is that over-protectiveness is a danger in and of itself."

It's true. I really believe it...and I really don't want to have to leave the toilet seats in my house up. I've just taught my husband to put them down.

(Thank you Meghana for alerting me to this penis report...!)

The Oh-So Friendly Skies

Remember when the toughest part of airline travel was figuring out what magazine to read and getting over the fact that you would have to make do with red wine that is cold (because apparently airplanes only have cold red wine? Why is that?)? I am assuming times have changed for you as they have for me. The only thing worse than facing airport lines, smaller and smaller airplane seats, taking off and taking on your shoes over and over again in the name of "security" is, in fact, doing so with a baby. Or two or three.

But it's Christmastime, when many of us will be embarking on various adventures in air travel. Gives the phrase "it's not the destination, it's the journey" a whole new meaning, eh? Here, at the request of several readers, are some of the best tips I've heard and used on traveling with kids:

Before You Leave

• Less crowds means less stress. If you have the option, book your flights for non-peak travel times: Mondays - Wednesdays, at midday, or in the evening.
• Pack more food, snacks, diapers, and wipes than you think you will need. Something about planes bring on messes of unprecedented proportions. Plus, you never know if you'll be delayed.
• As for activities: Pack books, activity/coloring books, travel-sized board games, playing cards, and, if you let your child use a portable video game system or LeapPad®, you will never appreciate it more. (Be sure to charge it the night before.) And remember Colorforms? Those plastic sticky things that peel on or off every surface? They are particularly useful on planes, where your kids can stick and unstick them over and over again to the windows and the tray tables. And each other.
  
• If your child is old enough: Prepare your child for the trip. Tell him what to expect at the airport and on the plane, and give him tips for how to behave. (When checking or screening baggage, reassure your child he will get his belongings back — something many kids worry about.)
• Remind your child that it's illegal to make any kind of jokes about bombs. My friend learned this the hard way--and her family in London was not amused when she wasn't there for Christmas dinner. According to the FAA, even a child's jest can result in fines, delays, and revocation of your tickets.
• Save room and pack your checked luggage lightly. Okay--lighter. Check out this site and this one to find places near your destination to rent cribs, strollers and any other baby/child necessities you may need.
  

In the Airport

• Allow extra time at the airport. As you know, everything takes looooongerrrrr when traveling with kids.
• Give your child safety rules, such as what to do if you become separated. Should she stay where she is and wait for you?
• If you are traveling with a carseat, I cannot sing enough praise for the GoGoKidz contraption that turns your carseat into a stroller. If only I had a dollar for every envious stare I get as I wheel this baby through airports...
  

On the Plane

• Take-offs and landings can be painful for little ears. For young babies, bring a pacifier or a bottle to use during these times. For older children, bring along ear filters, which buffer eardrums against rapidly changing air pressure. Encourage your child to swallow by offering beverages, gum, or hard candy.
• For maximum entertainment valve, bring toys out one at a time, and put one away before introducing the next. One odd thing that has worked for me: Individually wrapping a bunch of small toys and presenting them to my kids through the course of the flight--especially when they are getting antsy. Kids love presents.
  
• Seat your child by the window. Most kids find the view fascinating. It's also safer than sitting on the aisle, where little arms and legs could get bumped.
  
• Remember, not all passengers appreciate the joys of children...even a perfect, genius, wonderful one like yours...! Plan to keep your child entertained and know your kid--some parents of noisy kids, for instance, deliberately choose seats in the back of the plane, where engine noise can muffle piping voices. My friend Suzanne told me two tips to immediately ingratiate yourself to your fellow-passengers, which I still use today: (1) Enter the plane bearing a bag of ear plugs and hand them out (with self-mockery) to the people next to you; and (2) Buy everyone around you a drink.
  

Congrats to some new Devis with Babies...

Two very different women are joining our ranks as Devis with Babies.


First, congrats to Parminder Nagra, who is expecting her first child this summer.


And also--in case you missed it--congratulations to Rajo Devi (heh), who yesterday became the oldest woman in the world to give birth. She is 70 years old.

Can you imagine? Running after a newborn when you are 70?? What do you think the story is here?

Monday Musings: Kids Say the Darndest Things

Have you talked with your kids about the Mumbai terror attacks?

At a holiday party this weekend, my friend, who has a 6 year old, was telling me about how her daughter was fixated on the news they watched all Thanksgiving weekend. My friend was in unfamiliar territory. Like all of us, she attempts to control the media her daughter sees. She balances telling the truth at all times with safeguarding her child's innocence. She weighs the pros and cons of each PBS Sprout program before allowing her children to watch it. But current events throw our carefully orchestrated systems of parenting out the window sometimes. Incapable of turning off the coverage of the Taj, my friend wondered whether she should let her daughter see the graphic footage of carnage and death, how she should explain it, and now, over a week later, she is dealing with how to field the constant and myriad questions the images provoked in her daughter.

Why are the men smiling Mommy?

Is that a baby?

What is happening in that hotel now?

Who cleaned all of that up?

My friend is at a loss. Having seen more disaster and terrorism than she hopes her daughter ever will, she continues to read the news about Mumbai but, for the most part, goes on with her life as usual. Not so for her 6 year old. Every day, little R has a new question that comes from her 6 year old attempts at trying to make sense of the nonsensical. Everyday, often apropos of nothing, R asks her mother to explain to her what happened again. And everyday my friend comes face to face with the fact that, sometime soon--maybe even now--she will stop being able to provide all the answers to her children.

"When she asked me if the terrorists' moms are mad at them, I had to leave the room so that she didn't see me cry," my friend told me.

We were at a Christmas party at a tiki bar. It was a pretty surreal setting for the unsettling conversation, and "Guns and Roses" was playing in the background. We both took sips of our drinks and I felt grateful for the small fact that, when my 3 year old asked me about the coverage of the attacks, I was able to tell him that it was a bad movie and that Fireman Sam was coming to save everyone and that the good guys win in the end.

My kids don't understand these things. Yet.

Take Two Shots and Call Me in the Morning

These are tough times ladies. This weekend's events in Bombay are the most recent example of this and the last months have been dire. So, devis, why not pour yourself a drink. Especially if you're pregnant.

A recent University College of London study on a subject near and dear to my heart--occasional drinking during pregnancy--has concluded that not only is a couple of drinks a week absolutely fine for your unborn child but also--wait for it--it may be BETTER than absolute abstinence. In particular, the children of mothers who were characerized as "light drinkers" were less likely to have conduct and hyperactivity problems, and they also scored higher on cognitive ability assessments, than the children of the moms who didn't drink at all.

Is it my birthday??

I am pregnant with my third little monster right now--my other two are almost 3 and 1, respectively so, do the math--I have been pregnant for as much of the last 4 years (or nursing I suppose) as my sleep-deprived mind can remember. That's quite a few birthdays, anniversaries, New Years, and other assorted occasions of wide-spread merriment where I "get" to be the sober observer. I am glad that, ahem, this new study has confirmed the course of action I have already taken for my pregnancies...that glass of wine really helps when everyone you know at the party is acting, well, like a happily drunk idiot...!

In terms of the details: The scientists studied over 18,000 pregnancies (that's a nice sample size for you people who were waiting to poke statistical holes in this magical study!) and followed the mothers and children from childbirth through age 3. They measured behavioral and cognitive functions of the children at age 9 months and then again at 3 years. And before we all get too excited, "light drinking" was defined as up to 2 alcoholic drinks a week.

While OBGYNs aren't likely to start prescribing Pimms cups with our prenatals anytime soon, hopefully this study can be a harbinger of less extreme pregnancy mentalities...and less extreme motherhood mentalities, natch. We all have stories at this point of the friend or relative who went completely aggro the second she got pregnant. No "soft" cheeses, couldn't even be in the vicinity of a sushi restaurant, wore gloves when using a thermometer. (I know people who did all three of these things--and one who did all three herself...!) While I truly strive to become less of a judgmental person (isn't motherhood difficult enough without us stabbing each other in the backs?), I would be lying if I didn't think these extreme preggos were setting the stage for an extremely unbalanced life. We all read Aristotle, right? We know about the golden mean, and moderation. Most of us lived our pre-pregnancy lives relatively normally I am assuming. So what is it about a sperm and egg uniting in our uterus that makes us so intensely excessive? Is the piece of brie really gonna attack you?

Devis with child: Obviously don't drink if you don't want to! But if you feel the urge, have that glass of champagne on New Years. There are obviously more important things to worry about right now and, besides, it looks like it will do your baby good...!

By the way, many thanks to good-samaritan Josh who told me about this study...while my friend L and I were having champagne at a local bar...!