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Thanks for Sharing

by Julie Davidson

There’s something sweet about the time when kids drift off to sleep. Actually there’s a lot of “somethings.”

When the kids drift to sleep, you know you’re within moments of being able to watch really bad reality TV. Or you can finally have that not quite catty but no quite innocent conversation with your best friend. Or maybe you just want to enjoy a piece of candy from your “mom” stash guilt-free.

But what I like at drift to sleep time is the sweet conversation. The other night there was a full moon shining into my son Miles’s room. I went into his room, sat on the edge of his bed and exclaimed, “Look. That moon was made just for you!” I’m not sure he believed me, but in the light of that moon I could see a big grin on his face.
With Maxon, I’ve stopped in his room to snuggle for a moment. I like to remind him that it’s okay to love and let people love him. The last time I did this he said, “Your breath smells like cold toast. Can you go now?”

I must be a glutton for punishment, because I keep going back at bedtime. Just the other night I tucked Miles in and told him how much I loved him. Before I made it to the doorway he said in a sleepy voice, “I love you too, Mom. Even if you’re not Alicia Keys.”

What? I thought we were past this. The back story is that a few years ago my husband made a comment about Alicia Key as being pretty. To his credit, he added that “Mommy” was prettier than Alicia Keys. So for the longest time, the kids reminded me how pretty Alicia Keys is. I finally had to let them know, “But I’m your mom. Daddy isn’t married to Alicia Keys.”

“No. But if you die, Dad can find a girlfriend,” was the response I got. Let me guess. She’ll look like Alicia Keys.

So I smell like cold toast, and I don’t look like a pop star. So…onto those other things I like about the drifting to sleep time. Somewhere in the kitchen cabinet is a stash of chocolate just for me.

Now You Get It

by Julie Davidson

You might have read about the family that called 911 from a corn maze. They had a newborn and a five year old with them and panicked when they couldn’t find their way out. My first thought was, C’mon how can you get lost in a corn maze?

The next week, we met some other families for an afternoon of fun in a corn maze. Before we ventured into the maze, the staff showed us a video and a map of the corn maze. And they went over the rules. Rule number two was no foul language. That should have been my first clue that this was not for me. I can safely say that after two hours of wandering through a corn maze, with hungry kids, as the cold and darkness settled in, while trying not to use inappropriate language, I can totally see how you can get lost in a corn maze. All you see is corn. Lots and lots of corn.

And how about those parents that accidentally lock their infants in the car? To this day, I can not figure out how I managed that one. But I did. My firstborn was about four months old and sound asleep in his infant carrier. What should have been a quick stop at Goodwill turned into 30 minutes of “Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God” with a steady stream of sweat to accompany it. I got out to hand a bag of donated goods to an employee and when I turned around and went to open the door, it was locked. And the heat was blasting on high. I could not have felt like a worse mother. To make matters worse, I had gotten in a tiff with my husband earlier, and I wasn’t sure he would take my call. He did, and the car was unlocked before the baby was even awake. I will say that is one of the quickest ways to drop five pounds in one day.

Breastfeeding in public ever bother you? I didn’t get it until I had kids. It’s not a peep show. There’s no stripper pole or flashing. The choice is simple: a kid screaming so much he has area dogs covering their ears complete with a frenzied and lactating mom or a happy baby with a Mom who isn’t leaking through her bra. So yeah, who wouldn’t feed on-the-go if she had the chance? Think of it as a mobile, maternal vending machine.

Prior to having kids, I believed that my kids would never eat fast food. I am not proud of the fact that they have frequented a certain fast food chain enough that they practically know the menu by heart! And I’ve even let them eat that fat laden food in front of the television. Which of course some say is using such an electronic device as a baby sitter. I’d rather call it mother’s assistant. You gotta pay a sitter.

Who understood the stern tone moms take while shopping with the kids? Easy in. Easy out. Nope. The kids want to sit in the cart. The one that looks like a real truck. It might as well be registered with the DOT. Those things drive like Mack Trucks, and there is virtually no way to turn them around in the aisle. You have to back them up. All while little arms are reaching out, knocking things off the shelves. Two words: manager’s nightmare.

All the stuff we just didn’t get—until we got it.

That is So Cool

by Julie Davidson

We’ve been very careful in not buying our kids every new gadget that hits the market. Okay, our budget has dictated most of it. But you can’t deny how gratifying it is to see your kid’s eyes light up when they see something cool. It’s like a mini Christmas morning.

So what gave the boys that wide-eyed wonder this time? A coffee maker. I kid you not. The one we got for our wedding but hardly use because Mommy feels more grown up going to Starbucks. Yes. That one.

In doing some fall cleaning, I came across a can of hazelnut flavored coffee. Even without a barista and the fancy, hard-to-pronounce name I decided that coffee was what I needed to get me through a cold morning soccer game.

Maxon almost stopped in his tracks when he saw it on the counter. “What’s that?” he asked.

I explained to him that it was a coffee maker and that instead of going to Starbucks I could make coffee at home. The blank stare on his face told me he still didn’t understand. Or maybe he was disappointed because no Starbucks meant no over-sized cookie for him.

The next morning, the distinct, sweet smell of hazelnut lured him from his room to the kitchen. My husband had started the coffee just minutes before. Maxon couldn’t contain his excitement. “Dad, look, it’s dripping down. It’s making the coffee!”

He ran to the top of the stairs to let his brother in on this new-found piece of technology. He was so flustered he could barley talk. So instead he gave him the hand signal that means, Come quick. You gotta see this.

And there they were: side by side, admiring the coffee maker in all her glory. One drip after another.

They have a Wii. They’ve been on a plane. They went to the Grand Canyon. But still, this single appliance gave them a thrill. Just wait til we get a dishwasher.

That Seems Like a Lot of Work

by Julie Davidson

I used to be a perfectionist. Or tried to be. But honestly, being a perfectionist is hard work and well, that’s not fun. I wouldn’t say I’m a sloth, but my standards of needing to do a good job have changed. I don’t know if it’s age, energy or laziness, but it’s not the same as it used to be. But there are a lot of moms who can do things really well. Whereas I admire them, it kinda sets the bar high for us low achievers.

Case in point. The woman who recently ran the Chicago Marathon and gave birth afterward—as in the same day! Oh, and that marathon was just over 26 miles! She ran half and walked the other half. I walked like 15 minutes a few times a week for the first trimester with my oldest son. Then I convinced myself that why bother. I was big as a house anyway, and treated myself to chili cheese dogs once a week.

There’s more. When her contractions became regular, she stopped for a bite to eat before going to the hospital! I was at the hospital when the contractions weren’t regular. Please please don’t send me home. I like it here. You have cable TV, room service, and a bed that reclines.

I was happy to bring a treat to school for my son’s birthday. I met with his teachers to find out if that was okay and how much I should bring. One teacher almost drooled as she recalled how a mom brought in chocolate covered bananas to share for her child’s birthday. I can only imagine how disappointed she was with my store-bought donut holes. But I bought three different flavors. That’s gotta count for something.

The moms who look flawless really amaze me. Makeup done. Hair done. Stylish outfits. It seems that when I have that entire combo going, someone asks what the special occasion is. And the truth is it’s usually because I actually picked out the outfit the night before, had just been to the salon, and had time to do my whole face…not just eyeliner and blush.

In all honesty, I admire people who can do things and do them well. Moms need to support other moms because we each bring something to the table. Having said that, I wonder if it works both ways. What’s the likelihood one of them is in awe looking at me trying to figure out, How does she pull off that bed head hair look so well?

Raising a Defiant Child

Yes, the defiant child is mine.

by Robyn Swatsburg

Yes. The defiant child is mine. But please understand. He isn’t trying to embarrass you or mock you. He isn’t challenging you because he wants to. He is angry or upset. He may be angry or upset because of something you did or said or because of something else. He will tell you when he is no longer angry or upset. He will explain and apologize and make it better. But right now he is defiant and there is nothing he can do to stop that. He will not lose. He will stop at nothing. One day he will be able to but not today. I know how angry that makes you. I know you think he needs to learn a lesson now. From you. I would like to say that would help but it won’t. As the adult, you need to help him. You need to not challenge him so he can not lose. So he can stop being angry or upset and come back to explain, apologize, and make it better. He will, but you need to break the cycle because right now he cannot. Yes, the defiant child is mine, but I need your help understanding him.

I don’t know how he will end up, but today, at least, I think he will be okay.

Life Smells Good

By Julie Davidson

I knew that it would happen eventually. My oldest son was taking social cues from a girl. “And she said if you don’t wear deodorant, then you stink! Please, Mom. I really, really need deodorant.” Thank you, young lady, for crushing my kid’s spirit and sending me on an hour-long hunt for the perfect deodorant.

My son insisted that we by something by the brand Axe. Um…I recall the commercial. The guy who wore that brand was nearly pawed by several women on an elevator. Nope. I can’t be having my kid go from being called “stinky” to being a stud all in the third grade. Leave something for high school.

After sniffing about 15 deodorants, Miles and I finally found a deodorant that was a good fit. Luckily, I was able to steer him away from the Old Spice. He picked one out that had the “sport” scent. Because, as he said, he’s a sporty kid.

As soon as we got home, Miles raced to the bathroom to put on his armpit armor. Not sure why I never get so excited to do that. For him, it was almost a rite of passage. He was a man. He could sweat and not worry. He could go out in the world and feel confident. He could go back to school and look his classmate in the face and tell her that he does in fact wear deodorant.

Yet not everyone is feeling (or smelling) the love. It turns out our youngest son, Max, was very disappointed that he did not get any deodorant. It didn’t seem fair. He sweats. And he didn’t want to be told he stinks. So my husband took him to the store to pick a scent of his own, He choose “Arctic Edge.” Perhaps this will give him the in with Santa he’s been searching for.

Score. The boys have added to their daily grooming routine, and they spent the better part of the day sharing the benefits of their chosen deodorant. One was invisible and won’t leave streaks. The other stays on for 24 hours. They carried their deodorants around with them. They begged us to let them put on multiple applications.

This morning, I woke up to my seven-year-old whispering in my ear, “Mom, smell my armpits.” I cannot imagine any other time that hearing that request would put a smile on my face.

Anti-Inflammatory Drugs and Miscarriage Risk

Taking Anti-Inflammatory Drugs in Early Pregnancy Doubles the Risk of Miscarriage
By Rallie McAllister, MD, MPH

Pregnancy has its fair share of aches and pains, but taking anti-inflammatory drugs while you’re expecting isn’t the best way to deal with your discomfort. According to a new study* published in the Canadian Medical Association Journal, anti-inflammatory drugs taken in early pregnancy more than doubles the risk of miscarriage. The researchers found that the risk of miscarriage was 2.4 times greater for women who took any type and dosage of non-aspirin, non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs) in early pregnancy.

Non-aspirin NSAIDs comprise a class of drugs that includes naproxen, ibuprofen, diclofenac, and celecoxib, and these are some of the most common medications used during pregnancy. In recent years, physicians have expressed concerns about the use of these drugs by pregnant women, although the results of previous studies examining the risks have been inconsistent.

Canadian and French researchers designed a new study to determine the risk of miscarriage associated with the types and dosages of non-aspirin NSAIDs, examining a total of 4,705 cases of miscarriage up to the 20th week of gestation. Of these miscarriages, 352 (7.5 percent) occurred in women who took non-aspirin NSAIDs. Of the 47,050 women in the control group who did not suffer a miscarriage, 1,213 (2.6 percent) were exposed to non-aspirin NSAIDs. Exposure to non-aspirin NSAIDs was defined as having filled at least one prescription for any type of the drug during the first 20 weeks of pregnancy or in the two weeks prior to the beginning of the pregnancy.

The researchers concluded that the use of non-aspirin NSAIDs during early pregnancy is associated with significant risk (2.4-fold increase) of having a spontaneous abortion. Dosage of non-aspirin NSAIDs did not appear to affect the risk. Earlier studies indicate that the use of non-aspirin NSAIDs during early pregnancy also increases the risk of major congenital malformations in infants. With this in mind, non-aspirin NSAIDs should be used with caution during pregnancy.

If you’re pregnant and you’re suffering from minor aches and pains, talk to your doctor about other ways to deal with your discomfort.

*Hamid Reza Nakhai-Pour, Perrine Broy, Odile Sheehy, and Anick Bérard. Use of nonaspirin nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs during pregnancy and the risk of spontaneous abortion. CMAJ, September 6, 2011 DOI: 10.1503/cmaj.110454

Mom: The Traffic Controller

By Julie Davidson

Many mothers choose to stay home with their children for a few years and then return to working outside the home. The problem is that after staying home for a while, there’s a gap in the resume.

To fill that gap, I suggest moms just need to take a hard look at all they do. The list is endless: launderer, referee, chef, chauffeur, counselor, triage nurse. Where am I going with this? Not sure you even want to know, but since I’m this far into it, I’m adding Traffic Controller to my list of duties and responsibilities. And most often this traffic directing takes place in the bathroom.

Still with me? Great. So six years ago my husband and I bought our current house. We convinced ourselves it was an upgrade from our previous home. First, we no longer have to take a ladder to the outside of the house in spring and fall to change the storm windows. That required more dexterity and physical strength than we signed up for. And there was generally a bit of cussing involved. The second thing we now have is central air. Ahhhhh, cold air right here in our house. We don’t have to sit through awful movies or wander around in circles in department stores to soak up their AC. We’ve got our own.

But what we didn’t think through was the fact that our house is a “one holer.” Yes. A one holer. A house with one bathroom. We probably didn’t give this much thought when we bought the house because our boys weren’t completely potty trained when we moved in. But still, what were we thinking: that they’d stay in diapers into adulthood? I believe it was more. I think we believed on some level that Oh we could totally put a toilet in the basement. No problem.

Here’s the rub. There are 24 hours in a day. We have four toilet-using people in the house. This gives each of each 6 hours of time to use the bathroom. Yet every morning without fail, everyone needs to use the toilet—at the same time!

Here’s how this works.

“I gotta go—bad!”
 
“Sorry, you should have woke up earlier.”
 
“You’ve been in there 20 minutes!”
 
“Have not.”
 
“Have too.”
 
Enter Mom the Traffic Controller.
 
“Okay. Get up. Let your brother go.”
 
“I’m pooping!”
 
“Have you actually pooped yet?”
 
“No, but I’m trying,”
 
“And you. Do you need to go number one or number two?”
 
“Number one.”
 
Okay. Get up for 10 seconds and let your brother pee!”
 
“Not fair!”
 
“No it’s not. But get up because there’s a line.”
 
“That’s okay Mom. Can I just go in the sink?”
 
“WHAT? For the love of, just go while your brother takes a quick break!”
 
“Thanks. You can sit back down.”
 
And just when all should be well…
 
“He peed on the seat!”

They still sell ice cream in those gallon buckets, right? Hmmm. I think I could use one or two of those. Perfect. I can add Problem Solver to my resume too.

Moms Gotta Have Some Fun Too

By Julie Davidson

There are people you connect with. And for different reasons. Usually you have something in common. Maybe you met in college. Or you see each other at the dog park. Or it’s the one person at work that doesn’t make you wish you’d quit your job. When you send the kids off to school, you add to that social network.

And it’s interesting to see those relationships evolve. I look back as a mom of a k5er (no, it’s not a word, but it works) and see how things were. We had difficulty remembering each other’s names. We often just referred to people as, “that one kid’s Mom.” We were nervous parents, worried about if our kids would learn their ABCs and share their toys. Most of our conversations were in passing in the hallways or parking lot. Fast forward five years. Same parents. Same kids. Different dynamics. We used to set up play dates with the kids. We’ve learned it’s just as important to set up dates without the kids.

A couple weeks ago, I went to a birthday party for one of the other moms. Yeah. Just a little different. Instead of rushing to our cars like we do for the morning drop-off, we rushed to give each other those big oh-my-goodness-I can-hardly-breath kinda hugs. We tell our kids to not run around at restaurants. That night we had our own dance floor going! Our kids have been told that alcohol isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. After having my fill of adult beverages, I heard someone say it was time to do shots. Nope, not the kind for the flu.

When we first met our conversations were limited to where to the niceties like how our kids liked school and would we be going to the fall dance. Now we share deeper stuff. Like divorce. Job loss. Frustration with trying to be the best parent possible. It’s grown-up stuff.

It’s ironic that we want our kids to make friends. But along the way, we do too. But remember to be open to invitations and keep your adult “sippy cup” handy. “That one kid’s Mom” could be your lifeline, dance partner, and friend all in one.