A few years ago I was with my kids at a community event. A spring carnival or something with rides, ice cream, and a booth with people asking folks if they would sign up to have their cheeks swabbed for the Gift of Life's bone marrow registry. We got our ice cream, and I somehow started talking to a person whose life had been completely transformed by a bone marrow transplant. And another who was alive as a result of a transplant. Usually I wouldn't pay much attention to this type of event with little kids pulling at me to go this way, go that way, but maybe it was the marketing tactic, the hot sun beating down or me or the fact that I was suddenly hit with the idea that I could actually contribute something substantive in my lifetime that made me swab my cheeks with the q-tippy looking sticks and donate the $60 processing fee it would take to actually maybe help someone some day. I went home and honestly hadn't given it another thought until a couple of weeks ago.
In my more existential moments, I sometimes think to myself that we go to work, we try to be good people, we bring up our kids, but what do we really leave behind when we're gone? Some really awesome memories for those we love, maybe a great recipe for chocolate bread pudding, maybe even a legacy of some kind. But we don't leave much of a mark outside of our own families, sad but true.
Recently a 4 year old girl in my community and hometown of Montreal was diagnosed with a scary sounding cancer that essentially means her bone marrow is failing and if she doesn't get a transplant VERY soon, it will progress into an even worse disease that may have no cure. Not good. It got me thinking again about contributing to life in a meaningful way and I reached out to a family member of Jayden (the little girl) to see how I could help from afar.
After all, isn't something happening to our children the worst possible nightmare?
Turns out bone marrow is bone marrow no matter which city, state or country it comes from as long as it matches that of the recipient. So within the last few days, I've joined forces with some other ladies who also want to help find Jayden a match as well as the Gift of Life contact here in Boston, and we're planning, planning, planning.
I will continue to post info about drives being held in Montreal, Boston, NY and other places as they are scheduled. In the meantime, if you're between the ages on 18-60, GET TESTED! And if you can't for whatever reason, consider donating to the cause - it takes $60 to process the test kits and there's just not enough funds available. I can't think of any more rewarding life experience than helping to save a life.
Scheduled drives:
Follow FightForJayden on Twitter and Facebook for details on drives and how you can help. It doesn't matter where you are, please spread the word, copy my post and re-blog, whatever it takes - numbers are paramount and you just never know, you might help save a life.
A few weeks ago I posted about an incident that happened to my daughter, in her first grade classroom. After a good talking to, the girls involved forgot all about her, and according to Alex, they moved on to their next victims - each other! Yep - the "mean girls" are now targeting each other.
Long live teenagers grade-school kids.
Last week in Vancouver, a 15-year-old girl committed suicide by hanging after suffering at the hands of online and schoolyard bullies. Amanda Todd made the mistake of engaging in high-stakes web-chatting and gave in to peer pressure (she showed her boobs online - classic unformed prefrontal cortex mistake), watched as the pic overtook her friends, her school, her town, herSELF - until all that was left was a shell of an otherwise adorable teenager who was, in fact, bullied TO DEATH.
Yesterday I was perusing Facebook when I came across a "friend"'s status update which read - "When did anti-bullying become the new Darfur?"
I paused.
This person has no children. Maybe if he had a child, he would understand how deeply we feel for our childrens' well-being and even without kids, any person with heart gets the concept of what it might feel like to be a target. We discuss health and fitness TO DEATH, but kids becoming the center of what can become a life or death situiation (on the extreme side), or just being apprehensive about going to school or whatever, should be backburnered?
Comments ensued. Some, like mine, were of the "because it's happening everywhere and it's a huge issue in schools. Kids today are not like they were when we were kids." Others were "How is bullying any different now than when we were kids?"
SERIOUSLY?
Uhhh, have you heard about this new trend called computers? Smartphones? Social media? Webcams?
SERIOUSLY?
For the most part I just accept ignorance in a very Forrest Gump'ish kind of way - people are like a box of chocolates you never know what yer gonna get but then I think SERIOUSLY? Not when ignorance in adults is what precipitates ignorance in children and truth be told, we all know education is a huge piece of getting a handle on, well almost any issue.
So here it is - according to this website, when it comes to verbal bullying, school bullying is most prevalent with 77 percent of all students being bullied verbally in some way or another
including mental bullying or even verbal abuse. These types of bullying
can also include spreading rumors, yelling obscenities or other
derogatory terms based on an individual's race, gender, sexual
orientation, religion, etc. Out of the 77 percent of those bullied, 14
percent have a severe or bad reaction to the abuse, according to recent
school bullying statistics. These numbers make up the students that
experience poor self-esteem, depression, anxiety about going to school
and even suicidal thoughts (bullycide) as a result of being bullied by their peers.
Imagine when this shit goes viral and a kid has peers posting on Facebook, Twitter, whatever-else-you-can-post-on, talking trash and just completely destroying a kid? Imagine if it were you? Imagine if it were your kid?
One of the comments on the facebook status included, "bullying is very bad, no question, but I think it's important at home and at school to raise kids to have thicker skin. It's a tough world."
Truth. But that's like saying if you wear a bullet-proof vest every day, you won't suffer from a gun-shot wound. We can arm our kids all we want, but abuse - in any form - is gonna hurt and for kids and teenagers, for whom perception is everything, it's going to hurt A LOT.
So what can we do? We can do as the poster says and toughen up our kids. But not all kids are built to be tough. We can tell them what I told my kid when the mean girls targeted her for a hot minute - those girls are mad at themselves, not at you. Worst thing you can do is walk away because then the mean, angry people lose their audience. But once we reach the "bullying" level, it's a whole different ballgame. Social media, webcams in bedrooms and our "always-on" society has opened us up and made our children more vulnerable than ever.
Check out the video below for ideas on what to teach our kids, because it truly says it better than I ever could:
Every night, I walk through the door at around 6:15 and my little girls run to greet me. Before I have my shoes off, they're often telling me tales from the day; what got painted, who was absent from school, and can we have a playdate with so-and-so on Wednesday?
Last night, my first grader's story was a little different.
"Ava and Alicia were mean to me at lunch. They told me my sandwich smells," she said.
"Well, what were they eating for lunch?," I asked before I could process what she was actually telling me.
"Turkey sandwiches." Hmm... Exactly what Alex had taken that day as well.
Then, it hit me. My gentle, sweet, (typically) good natured 6-year-old was having her first encounter with "mean girls" except these little girls don't know who they're dealing with. And I don't mean Alex.
This being a first for me as a mother, I wasn't sure exactly how to deal with it. I told my delicious girl that if someone is not nice to her, that she should get up and tell them bah-bye. Move to another seat. Talk to someone else. Take away the mean girls' power.
Fine, I might've muttered under my breath that they're messing with the wrong kid cuz I'll kick their asses Mommy-style because this morning, upon opening her eyes and listening to me tell her how I emailed her teacher about the incident, my little girl asked if I was going to come to school and kick asses.
Oops.
At drop-off this morning, she pointed out one of the little terrorists to me. The girl, weighing in at no more than 50 pounds complete with unbrushed hair and no parent with her at drop-off, was seated next to us as we waited for the first grade door to open signaling the beginning of the day.
I couldn't help it.
"Are you Ava?" I asked the child. I wished her mom or dad had been there. I was frothing at the mouth to tattle on her.
"Yup," she said.
"I'm Alex's mom," I told her, very succinctly, making very direct eye-contact. What I wanted to say next was "and I've got my eye on you, ya little shit." But I held back. And after an intense stare-down (which I easily won and yes I know she's 6), the mini mean girl knew I meant business.
I kissed Alex goodbye and felt confident that I'd armed her with the (appropriate) tools to defend herself should the mean girls start with her. That didn't stop me from checking my watch at noon and worrying about how lunch was going.
At precisely 2:25, I checked in. Lunch was fine, she said. She had no problems and had fun with a friend. I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd been thinking about my little girl all day.
Bullying abounds but you never think it'll be your kid. While this was (hopefully) an isolated incident, it really got me thinking - how much control do parents have when their kids suffer at the hand of another kid? The teacher said she'd talk to the kids involved - which did not happen today. I have parents phone numbers, do I call them if it happens again? What's the protocol for this?
I'm not the kind of person who backs down. If you know me then you know that I don't take much shit and I'm not afraid to stand my ground. While I hope my children grow up with a little less steel than I, I have every intention of teaching them to stand-up for themselves and not let anyone push them around, ever.
I first posted this exactly a year ago today after reading an article that supports idea. My views haven't changed, though with my kids being a year older and a year more mature, I might edit the time-out from 6:15 to 7pm. But what works for one dosen't necessarily work for the masses. Read on and 'Like' if you agree!!!
I love my kids. In fact, they are my world. I take them everywhere and have since the day they were born. As a result, they have wonderfully mature palettes (mussels anyone?) and are typically very well-behaved in public places.
Typically.
But not always. And when they melt down in public or talk in outside voices when we're inside a restaurant or (heaven forbid) on an airplane, I may or may not look around and give onlookers that please-pardon-my-kids-they-weren't-raised-in-the-jungle look or the would-you-bear-with-me-while-I-find-a-way-to-shut-these-damn-kids-up eyes. But you know, I don't find myself squirming with embarassment all that often because I'm aware of when it's appropriate to have kids with me and when they need to stay home.
Are you? While you may think you have the world's most fabulous offspring, if you're taking them to dinner after the time they're usually tucked into bed, chances are you're in for a real shitstorm, as are the nice folks at the next table. When I leave my kids at home for an adult night out, I don't really want to hear kids, yours or mine, crying at the next table.
No offense.
When I read this article entitled, The Kids Aren't Alright, in AdWeek today, I almost stood up and gave a standing ovation. Because as much as I love kids, both yours and mine (or whatever), there's a time and a place for everything.
So here's my spiel: restaurants - almost any restaurant on earth, from McDonald's to Morton's, are fair game for kids who can sit still for the amount of time it takes to order, eat, and pay. The caveat? Be out by 6:15pm. If you're craving sushi from Nobu and you're traveling with your mini-me's, be there when they open the doors at 5:45 so you and your noise can be gone by the time the grown-ups arrive to eat $100 sushi. Fair enough, right?
Movie theatres - simple. Kids won't be seen and not heard and you're not seeing Winnie the Pooh? Take off.
Airplanes. Ah, airplanes. I defy you to find me a parent who doesn't dread an upcoming flight with kids. I've been there, I'm sure you have too. Honestly, there's not much you can do about an unruly kid on a plane except this is is one those times when bribery is not only an acceptable parenting method, it's preferable. Parents - bring candy, gum, snacks, DVD's, and as many new toys as you can fit in your carry-on. Anything they're not allowed at home - BRING IT. You might not be doing your kids any favors in the short-term, but think about all the fury you'll be saved from enduring when neighboring passengers don't want to kick your (and your kids) asses right off the plane.
The AdWeek article talks about an airline that has a new "no babies allowed" rule in first-class. My thoughts are why would babies be allowed in first-class like, ever? Why is this a new rule? And adults-only vacation destinations aren't anything new. Sandals Resorts has had a no-kids rule since it opened. Many hotels around the world have adults-only pools. Even as a mom, I found myself seeking them out on my last trip to Vegas. Don't take this the wrong way, but for three days I just didn't want to be around any kids, yours or mine. There are plenty of fabulous vacations to choose from if you want to bring kids. In fact, if you think about it, with all the travel options geared toward families, it really is a kid's world.
My last thought is geared toward those parents of kids who notoriously run around restaurants, can't sit still on a flight any longer than 20 minutes, and who chatter non-stop from previews to credits - in a few years it'll be fair game again and you won't have to deal with dirty looks from strangers. But until then, please, Mom and Dad, leave the kids at home.
On Friday night, I decided I needed a project to sink my teeth into over the weekend. Seeing as my house needed a good clean-up and it is yard sale season, I proceeded to get up with the birds on Saturday morning and go through every bit of clothing that may or may not fit anyone in our house, every piece of electronic crap that no longer had a home in any room in our house, and everything that I could live without - just the idea of downsizing made me feel good.
So I worked most of the day until I could no longer resist the 80 degree sunshiney weather and I hit the outdoors. But Sunday morning, we woke up bright and early and proceeded to set-up for what was dubbed the "Storyland Fund Yard Sale." This monicker made two small - otherwise non-morning - people get up and at 'em with the same kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for "Giiirrrllsss, iiiiccceee ccrrreeaamm!!!!"
We hit the pavement and were ready to go by 8am.
Our first customer arrived and after fingering everything we had, bought all our handbags. She bargained me down to about 75% of what I originally asked (one was Coach, y'all!) but I didn't care. I felt lighter already.
People came in and out throughout the day. I saw cars full of people who were looking for real bargains to send home to wherever they were from. I was a sport, considering I was going to donate all leftovers at the end of the day anyhow.
It's interesting to watch people sift through stuff, MY STUFF, most of which I purchased intentionally at some point. Going through my girls' old stuff brought up some sentiments too, all of which were lost on the lady trying to bargain me down from $2 a piece to .50. Dear lord, what am I engaging in, here?
(For the record, I gave in.)
I had a woman purchase my copy of Lucinda Bassett's From Panic to Power, a book that doubled as my bible doing a different, more turbulent time in my life. As she handed me the buck (I know but it's a yard sale!), I remembered I had a whole Lucinda Bassett "system" comprised of a dozen cassettes (cassettes!!!) that helped shed perspective and give me insight at that time. I ran to my basement to unearth them and I gave them to her.
"You're an angel," she told me. I rolled my eyes - an angel I am not - and she left. And I felt pretty good.
But the best part of the day other than meeting some neighbors I never knew I had and putting enough money in my pocket to almost pay for the hotel part of our Storyland trip came late in the day. It went something like this:
Him (picking up a light thing that seemed to materialize on my lawn magically): "What is this?"
Me: "Actually? I'm not really sure. Looks like some sort of light thing that maybe you hang if you're doing a project? But I don't know."
Him: "I'll take it."
And just like that, I was $3 richer.
Stay tuned for my post on our tales from Storyland!
Every so often, I come across a recipe on the internets that speaks to me. It doesn't happen often, but a few months ago I fell on these crazy looking Carmelita's on Pinterest (courtesy of Lulu the Baker). Everything about them appealed to me. The drippy caramel, the melted chocolate, and the fact that all this was sandwiched inside of an oatmeal crust - just thinking about it makes me... hungry. But one cannot subscribe to healthy eating and to a world where Carmelita's are a regular occurrence so I tucked the recipe into that little spot in my brain that I reserve for naughty stuff and went on my way. Then, the perfect event reared its head - we were invited to a Mother's Day BBQ and I was tasked with dessert! So I cracked open that naughty nook and got to work. And now, I share with you, the sickest dessert in the history of desserts - I even added a little party to the name for affect - the Fiesta Carmelita.
Ingredients:
2 bags of chewy Werthers caramels
1 cup heavy cream
3 sticks of butter (I never said they were healthy!)
1.5 cups brown sugar, packed
2 cups flour
2 cups old-fashioned or rolled oats
2tsp's baking soda
1 bag of chocolate chips
While I amended some of the ingredients a bit, I followed Lulu's instructions to the t:
"Combine caramels and cream in a small saucepan over low heat. Stir until completely smooth; set aside. In a separate bowl, combine melted butter, brown sugar, flour, oats, and baking soda. Pat half of the oatmeal mixture into the bottom of the pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. Remove pan from oven and sprinkle chocolate chips over crust. Pour caramel mixture over chocolate chips. Crumble remaining oatmeal mixture over caramel. Return to oven and bake an additional 15-20 minutes, until the edges are lightly browned. Remove from oven and cool completely before cutting.
*A stint in the fridge will help them cool off if you're pinched for time. They shouldn't be served cold, but all of that molten caramel takes a long time to cool down. They should be stored and served at room temperature."
Time Magazine released their latest issue today and unveiled a provocative cover that features a hot, blond mom standing with her boob exposed and her dumbstruck three-year-old suckling at it.
Without reading the story and based on the headline, you'd think it would be about that beaten-to-death "Mommy Wars" topic that rears its head every 25 minutes (and I've written about more than once). But it's not. It's actually a profile of Dr. Bill Sears, the 72-year-old doctor and author who began writing books 20 years ago that say parents must wear their babies as an appendage at all times, sleep with their babies lest they feel abandoned for 8 hours, breast-feed for at least one year to even be considered a mom, and pretty much arm your children with zero independence, no self-soothing skills and ensure that they need mommy and daddy for ev-er-y-thing until they at least 15. He even warns that that babies who cry too much — even those who are left to "cry it out" for short periods at night as they learn to go to sleep on their own — could suffer permanent brain damage, leading to a lower IQ, behavioral problems and more. No, seriously!
But my own opinions aside, I learned about the Time cover only secondary to a segment that aired on this morning's Morning Joe (below), during which Managing Editor Rick Stengel of Time Magazine appeared, most likely to promote the new issue, but also to be on the receiving end of a host and a guest, both of whom have vaginas, about the potentially gratuitous boob shot it portrays and the message that the headline, "Are you mom enough?" sends. I heard about it from my boss at work who saw the segment and said she thought of me as she is aware that I sometimes struggle with being a good full-time employee and being the type of mom my girls deserve. She too is a mom who works hard, and undoubtedly has stuggled with the same sometime feelings of guilt - both about kids and work - and has encouraged me to work hard but not to miss those moments with my kids that can't be recovered. I think about her advice often as I decide whether I can be spared at work for a few hours to chaperone a field trip or attend a religious service on a friday morning.
The opinion that moms must be all-mom-all-the-time in order to be a successful parent, along with Stengel's smug attitude about the cover, lit me a fire just hot enough to bother writing this post. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of breast-feeding, I'm a fan of bottle feeding, hell, I'm just a fan of feeding your child using whatever method ensures nourishment. I've said it before, I don't judge how other parents parent, so long as a child is not put in harm's way.
What I'm not a fan of, is slinging mud at both sides just to see who screams louder. And you know, this cover, regardless of what's inside of it, will prompt countless conversations, blog posts, tweets, status updates, Pins, etc about who is the mightiest parent of them all. Is it the stay-at-home-mom who wore her baby until her back broke, nursed till baby was enrolled in kindergarten, and snuggled baby and (all previous kids) in the "family bed" forcing daddy to lock himself in the bathroom with nudie magazines and a sock? Or is it the parents who kept baby beside them until they decided it was time for his/her own room, nurse or bottle fed or combined the two till it was time, encouraged their kids to walk, talk, and eat at their own pace, and wore them once in a while just to get dinner on the table in a timely manner?
Really, who cares. That's so not the point for me. If you watch the segment below, the two points that do resonate for me are:
1) According to Stengel, the image on the cover "represents the attachment between mother and child." There is SO MUCH WRONG with this statement that it's crazy. According to Stengel, if you don't have a kid hanging off your boob, you have failed at bonding with your kid.
Loving that this comes from a MAN. I guess to complement this view, Stengel sees no way for dads to bond as strongly with their children, since they have no boobs. I mean, how could they? And if you're a mom who didn't nurse then obviously your bond with your kid is far less than if you had. I mean, obv.
2) The hosts brought up a great point - if you're a dad who leaves work early to go cheer on your kid in little league you are a hero. But if you're a mom who needs to cut out early to take little Junior to the pediatrician? Well, that's coming outta your vacation time. And you can be sure that your promotion just moved a little further south, Mom.
Oh, the double-standards that abound in our modern, post-feminist, tech-savvy, contemporary society continue to astound. Personally, I feel lucky to have found a place of employment filled with managers who are moms and get that even though I'm not at the top of the food chain, my kids sometimes take priority, even between the hours of 8:30am and 5:30pm. Lucky me, but it's cover pieces like this that send a message to women that screams if you don't sell your soul to your children, you are not worthy of having any.
And that, my friends, couldn't be further from the truth.
I don't typically blast out my kids birthdays on my blog because, let's face it, who really cares. But this post isn't so much about a birthday as it is about the fact that there's this crazy thing that happens after your kid turns five and goes to kindergarten and then turns six and you notice all these changes, and some are big and others small, and is this happening at your house too????
Alex was my first child, often lovingly referred to (by me) as my "original" baby. She came just when I needed her most, and we've been a dynamic duo ever since (well, trio if you count her really cute lil sister). She has promised me that that we can live together forever and ever and I've promised her that I have never loved anyone as much as I love her and her sister. My feelings are 100 percent truth, and in all honesty, if things keep going this way, she may actually live up to her promise also.
Bottom line - she's an extraordinary kid and oh-so-loving. Which works out for me.
But in the last year, in between the tulips and butterflies and rainbows, there have been moments of OHMYGODWHOSEKIDISTHAT and I blame kindergarten.
A month or two ago, my not-quite-six-year-old came home and told me that two kids in her class were going on a date.
"A date?" I asked, keeping my voice even even if I was half in shock. "What's a date?"
"It's when a boy and a girl get together at night."
"What do they do on a date? What's the difference between a date and a playdate?" I was scared to hear what was next.
"The kids go out to a restaurant and eat dinner - a boy and a girl." I pressed her for more. "That's all I got," she said (for real). "But at the end you can kiss on the lips."
"Oh, and I forgot - you don't sit next to each other, you sit across from each other so you can look at each other."
I was totally appalled and not at all ready for this but the part of me that appreciates irony entertained the conversation. "They go out to eat? Who drives? Who orders? Neither kid can read! WHO PAYS!!!???"
We laughed. Because seriously, the whole thing was ridiculous.
Then the other day she came home from a playdate (with a girl) and proceeded to define "sexy" for me.
"It means stylish and pretty, mom," she told me like I'm an idiot.
While she wasn't wrong in her description, my heart sank. My sweet little six year old, my Spongebob Squarepants loving daughter who can't sleep unless I cuddle with her and still comes into my bed in the middle of the night several times a month - she was explaining what sexy means.
There's nothing to be done. As proof, we were listening to a popular morning show on the radio a few months ago and the word slut was being tossed around as casually as the forecast and before I could switch it (or even noticed), a little voice from the backseat says to me, "Mommy, what's a slut?"
I wasn't going there.
No matter how hard we try to shield our kids from the overly sexualized, less gentle world than my generation grew up in (and that's not saying much), it's just not possible. And I don't blame those kids who are teaching her these things prematurely. They're good kids who are learning from older siblings who have friends with older siblings.
So now she's six and in a few months she'll go to first grade and the social scene will only become more intense with each year. And each year, I'll lose a little more of the control that I struggle to hold on to due to the simple fact that I let her out into the world. And she'll lose a little more of that beautiful innocence that I wish she could possess forever.
So here's the plan. I'm going to do everything I can to instill decent values in my kids while they're under my roof. So with work and school and stuff, that leaves about two hours a day, plus weekends, to make my mark. I think it's going ok. They don't curse (Mommy! That's a BAAADDDD word!) and they know when they're saying something I won't like. They have nice table manners, say please and thank you, and other parents tell me that my girls are a pleasure to have in their homes. I'm sure they'll be privy to pretty much everything within the next few years, but I'll do whatever I can to protect those little people so they grow up to be big people who can feel proud to be who they are.
Happy sixth birthday to my delicious little girl...
Like most everyone else, weekends are somewhat sacred in our house. Unfortunately, too many of them get eaten up by errands, (other people's) birthday parties, commitment, and some silly thing or another so after spending Saturday doing my own thing, I reserved Sunday - for which the forecast was a warm, sunny day in New England - to do one of my favorite things: hit the beach.
It's getting easier now that my kids are getting older. At four and almost six, they can carry their own snack, (almost) carry their own mini beach chairs, and play together. Where a trip to the beach used to mean a cart load of stuff, eyes in the back of my head times two, and equal parts anxiety and fun, it's not like that anymore.
For me, the beach - especially the New England beach - is a safe place.
It's a place I can think clearly, whether I'm jumping waves or sitting in my chair staring at them. I can breathe deeply - I almost believe the sea air helps me sleep better (bottled beach air! just $19.99!). There's just something about a long beach day that equals luxury, decandence, relaxation. Especially after a long week at school and work. Especially when I'm surrounded by people I love.
We ended the day eating dinner while looking at the ocean in a nearby seaside town. We hit the candy store, walked with the throngs of early toursists, begged for ice cream and finally, fell asleep on the drive home, the sand still attached to our toes.
I read a piece on HuffPo Parents today called 'Apologies To The Parents I Judged Four Years Ago.' Written by blogger Kara Gebhart Uhl, it basically tells the story of 90% of people pre-kids, and then 90% of us, post-kids. The other 10% of parents who can't relate to this piece are full of shit.
Before becoming parents, many of us, myself included, looked at what parents were doing with their kids and scoffed. I can remember coming back from a family member's house and saying, "cheese sandwiches? For DINNER?" like arsenic was being sprinkled between two pieces of (WHITE!!!) bread and being fed to the unknowing children.
Let the record show we eat many grilled cheese sandwiches - for ANY meal.
In short, I don't judge much anymore. Or at least, I keep the judging to a minumum. After all, I don't like feeling judged for my choices. Firstly, you never know what's going on inside of someone else's world and secondly, unless a child is in danger of any sort, it's really not my (or your) business whether their apple is organic or not. To all you Judgey Judgerson's, I'll let you in on a lil secret - being judgmental is not the key to anyone's heart.
I admit, this transformation didn't happen overnight. I had a friend who decided to Ferberize her first child - at four months no less! - thus getting in the way of our New Year's Eve plans (made months in advance since we were both new moms). I hated the idea of "cry-it-out" and no baby of mine was going to be made to feel sad in her crib even if mom and dad hadn't had anything resembling a full night sleep in nine months. However, a week later, she had a four month old who was sleeping, well, like a baby, while we were still being woken up night after night.
Oh, and you child leashers? I still can't wrap my ahead around that but hey, it's not my therapy bill.
That said, I can recall giving a bottle to my almost asleep baby while she lay flat on her back in her crib (midnight feeding, she would eat then sleep. A dream.) I've been known to let my kids watch too much TV after a long day at work, all of us cuddled together enjoying - GASP - Spongebob! before bedtime. There are times when they go to bed a few minutes before their regular bedtime - without the requisite 20 minutes of reading - because the day has kicked Mommy's ass and she needs serenity, like, now. And other days we get to bed too late because I missed my babies more than usual that day. Selfish, I know.
And even after not supporting my friend's choice to let her baby cry, I did it with my second child. After allowing baby #1 to rule the bedtime roost out of sheer desperation, I just could not do it the second time around. So I ate my words, and baby #2 wasn't so lucky - I was more prepared to battle it out this time. So while I wouldn't recommend letting your baby sleep with you, I do get it. And if you choose to take baby in your bed, I'll tell you I'm sorry, but I won't be judging.
For the most part, I think we're doing just fine.
We eat whole grains as much as we can and do lots of art together. We bake, we practice spelling, we dip broccoli in hummus. We have never had to leave a restaurant due to a disruptive child nor are their eyeballs surgically attached to video games to get them to behave so we can eat (though, if this is your thing, cool.)
I work full-time. I sometimes feed my children chicken nuggets or fish sticks for dinner, other times they eat roasted kale and tilapia. Before I was a parent I was a highly judgmental person. Since then, I really care way less about what other people do and more about what I should be doing.
But all around me, I'm aware that judgment abounds. Much like the blogger who wrote that piece, I can sense it. But I don't really care.
As long as I'm ok with what I'm doing, it's all good.
"Judge not Before you judge yourself. Judge not If you're not ready for judgement."
