Dear Daughter, Here's Why I Work

Dear Daughter, Here’s Why I Work

By Sasha Emmons • April 26, 2013

Dear Chloe,

Not long ago you asked me if I love work more than I love you and your brother.The question breaks my heart, and as you are almost eight, I’m pretty sure it was designed to. Don’t worry; I don’t hold it against you. Daughters are meant to know and agitate their mother’s vulnerable spots—it’s part of the special intimacy we share. I did the same thing to my mom, giving her the business for going back to work part-time when I was even older than you, after she’d spent years at home raising me, my brother and sister.

I’ll be sure bring our conversation up over and over again when you’re an adult and facing the same kinds of comments from your own daughter, like my mom does to me. (P.S. Mom, really sorry—again!)You’ve never really known a time when I stayed home. I went back to work when you were three months old, and save for the eights months I was at home when your brother was born, it’s always been that way for you.

Although it felt surreal to walk out the door and leave you behind the day my maternity leave ended, and I couldn’t quite believe I was doing it until I was, it was also a relief to relax into some normalcy after the wondrous upheaval you brought to my life.Some people work to earn a living, and some people are lucky to get paid to do what they love. I am lucky to be one of the latter.

I knew what I wanted to do the day my eighth grade teacher read my story to the class and told me I was a writer. I still get flushed cheeks and fluttery insides when I’ve managed to wrestle the words to outline the shape of my thoughts. I think I recognize the same blissed out look on your face when you’re painting, but maybe there’s an even bigger passion in you waiting to be discovered.

What if I told you it was your art… or me? Sure, you’d choose me (I hope) if you had to, but wouldn’t that feel like an unfair choice to make? Right now you say you don’t want kids thanks to the most annoying brother in the whole wide world. Maybe you’ll change your mind. And if you do, I hope your love of creating doesn’t get sacrificed for the people you love, whether you make money from it or not. I hope you choose a partner that wants that for you too.

But back to your original question. There are many reasons mommies work—and they might not be what you think they are. These are mine.

I work because I love it.

I work because scratching the itch to create makes me happy, and that happiness bleeds over into every other area, including how patient and engaged and creative a mother I am.

I work because this nice house and those gymnastics lessons and those sneakers you need to have are all made possible by two incomes.

I work because I want you and your brother to be proud of me.

I work because I did this before you were born, and I’ll still want it to be there after you go off to college.

I work because—despite my being the parent who’s almost always the one walking through the door at 6pm, the one who rarely travels for work, the one who’s keeping track of the fact that the permission slip for the field trip is due tomorrow­—you’d never ask your father why he works. His love is a given that long hours at work do nothing to diminish.

I work because even at your young age you’ve absorbed the subtle message that women’s work is less important and valuable—and that the moms who really love their kids don’t do it.

I work because by the time you have your own daughter, I cross my fingers this will not be so.

So, to answer your question: I do love work, but of course I love you and your brother much, much more. If I had to choose, I would choose you guys.But I’m so happy I don’t have to. And I hope you never do either.

Love,Mom

So, Do You "Love" Being A Mom?

July 30, 2013

by Miranda of "Sweet Mother of Blog"

http://www.mamapedia.com/voices/so-do-you-love-being-a-mom

“So do you just love being a mum?”
It seems that shop assistants, in particular, think this is a good question to pop, as I drag my disheveled-self to the register after trawling shelves and aisles in great haste with a toddler and wee baby in tow.

“Aw do you just love being a mum?” they coo, all gooey and lovey.

“Er……” how do you respond to that? What a ludicrous question. And it is not, of course, confined to shop assistants. They, after all, are just making polite small talk and the fact that I am a mother is abundantly clear so why think further than the obvious question, right?
I have also been asked this by old family friends who haven’t seen me in years, and suddenly encounter me with my tribe: “So Miranda dear, do you just love being a mummy?”

“Er… do you really want to know how I feel about this or are you expecting me to sing ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! I adore it. My life had no meaning until now! I am entirely fulfilled. I could die tomorrow a happy woman… oh, wait… no I couldn’t because I’d be leaving two children without a mum. Mum mum mum. Um…”

They don’t have time for the real answer. I just say something like… ”Mmmm… ‘love’ is not the word I’d go for. Ha ha ha! (laugh to keep it light) It’s a challenge isn’t it?"

Do you love going to work every day? Do you love catching the train? Do you secretly love picking your nose? Do you love sitting in traffic? Do you love waxing your bikini line? Do you love lobster? Do you love sex? Do you love learning Spanish? What did you eat for breakfast this morning? How many times did your baby wake last night? Now these are easy to answer. Easy.

But there is no cut and dried to loving motherhood. I do not love being a mum per se. There, I said it. I do not easily fall into the mum role. I have to work at it and I have to work at it hard. I have no choice but to work at it hard because my children push me there. But if you ask me if I love being a mum, then I feel some sort of pressure to respond positively, to keep a good mood, to make you feel comfortable and so on. No one really asks that question, hoping to be dragged into my messed-up little head.

Because for me, frankly, it is a personal question and none of their cotton-pickin’ business!

Do you love your children? Now there’s a question. And a silly one for a different reason, because the answer is clear. Yes, of course. To the moon and back and then some. So much that it literally hurts at times. I cry with love. I laugh with love. I ache with love for my children. But my love for my children and my family does not, of itself, mean I love being a mum. Not necessarily. Sometimes. Sometimes not.

I love the joys and rewards which motherhood has thrown my way. I realise I am incredibly lucky. I don’t take my family for granted. I have beautiful, healthy, vibrant, dynamic, challenging, affectionate, wonderful children. Yes I’m so lucky; lucky to be able to conceive, lucky to be able to snuggle these incredible characters, lucky to hear and see them grow, lucky to commune with them, to be surprised by them, to be enlivened by them, to give to them. Lucky. I think my partner and my children are extraordinary and I have moments of intense elation and triumph and hope and accomplishment.

But I also have a lot of moments when I wonder how I got here. I’m tired. Through and through. I have never known exhaustion like it. New lines sit beneath my eyes and I feel weathered and worn. I feel all of my age and then some. Sometimes I feel desperate that this is all there is, and this will define me forever. I was never a baby person, or a kid person. Never. In fact I vividly recall a time in my life when I would happily have foregone the whole having children thing. Admittedly, I had a juvenile and foolishly selfish head on my shoulders at the time.

Eventually, I grew up and realised that children were an essential part of the bigger picture. It took some getting my head around. It took a little longer than I had expected to conceive my first bub, and with each month that went by, my desire, my need to have a baby grew and grew and became a wee obsession. These children are wanted. There is no doubt about that.

But I cannot deny that sometimes I feel entrapped by this new role. I sometimes feel that the light, the eccentricity, the vibrancy, the creativity, the humour and the spontaneity have been sapped out of me. Have I become dull? Do I have anything to say? Where am I going? Will I ever create music again? What interests me beyond this baby bubble?

I crave the freedom I had before motherhood. My life as a singer/songwriter. My life as a traveler. I allowed myself to dream because there was nothing tying me down.

I know it is in my nature, for good or for bad, to always have a wee toe in the past. I cling to memories, experiences, places, feelings and I wallow far too readily in what-ifs and if-onlys. A total waste of time of course. I need to find the space to stick my nose into tomorrow and take a big, dirty sniff and own it. Take it on. I need to dream again so that I can be an inspiration for my kids. But there always seem to be more work to do.

I’m not naïve. I am not deaf to the voices saying “oh come now, you can be anything you want to be, children need never hold you back; they are possibility itself, they will soon be less dependent upon you and you will be able to claw back some time of your own to redefine yourself again in this life.” I know. I can be rational as well as hugely hormonal! I am also utterly sleep-deprived and unmotivated and I know it will pass.

Being a mum is hard work. And just get over it Miranda. You’re lucky. Yes. I know. But it’s way more complicated than that. So if you ask that question (I need not repeat it), I’m certain you don’t have the time for the answer, so save it.

10 Ways To Be a Happier Parent

July 24, 2013

by Shannon Lell

http://www.mamapedia.com/voices/10-ways-to-be-a-happier-parent 

1. Stop measuring your successes and failures through your children. If your little Joe Jr. or Suzy Q. melts to the ground screaming like a maimed hyena because he/she refuses to take turns on the swing while all the Moms in your Tuesday playgroup cross their arms and wrinkle their foreheads at you: Then stop. Take a deep breath. Acknowledge your kid is being a jerk and don’t draw the imaginary connection in your head where you think everyone believes you’re a jerk too. Conversely, when little Joe Jr. or Suzy Q. scores the highest grade in math class, or wins 1st place in their dance competition, this does not mean you have won at parenting. You’re allowed to be proud… of them, not yourself.

2. Stop measuring other Moms’ successes and failures through their children. Number one will become a whole lot easier when you stop doing this to other Moms, too. Promise.

3. Make a list of five priorities and make sure you’re one of them. In the busiest phase of life — raising a family — you must learn to prioritize. You simply cannot do everything you want to do. Priorities should be things that when they are missing from your life, the quality of your life goes down. And at least one of the things on the list has to be something for you. Whether it’s a career, cooking, crafting or drinking wine with friends, you must be on the list. If exercise isn’t a priority, stop beating yourself up for not doing it. If it is, then stop making excuses. Relax into the idea that no one can do it all and everyone must pick and choose what’s important and dump the rest. Particularly in this phase of life. My five (in order of importance) are: God, husband, kids, writing and exercise. Now, doesn’t this give you an idea what my toilets looks like?

4. Make your partner one of those priorities. I’m not good at this one. I’m not. I’m a little selfish and I am physically drained each day from taking care of small children, my job and just plain life. I want to put me first. But the wisest parts of my brain tell me that my marriage is part of the foundation for all those other things I want, and therefore, it is near the top of my list. Forever. Because I’ve learned that this list is base for everything else in my life – My faith holds it up, makes it all worth doing, while my partner puts the shine on it.

5. Learn to use “bad” words. If you’re being asked to do something that will take away from something on your list of priorities, you must learn to say that little dirty word. The one that’s so hard to say in the face of a pleading co-worker, neighbor or parent – it’s particularly hard for women. That word is… no. Yes, people will be upset with you. They may yell and scream and make your life uncomfortable for a little while; but not as uncomfortable as if you drop one of your priorities. Say yes to yourself, by saying no to them. It’s not selfish, it’s survival.

6. Stop thinking about what your kids aren’t, and start focusing on what they are. Maybe your kid has a happy demeanor most days, but is hopeless at school. Maybe she is tender and kind with animals, but can’t remember to brush her hair. Maybe all your kid can do is tie his shoelaces by himself. Focus on the shoelaces, forget the rest. Your kid will thank you someday. This is a conscious, mental exercise. One that can have either devastating consequences, or abundant rewards because the plain truth about life is that what you focus on expands. If you’re always making a mental list of all the things your kids is NOT, then the list will become endless. If you make a conscious effort to praise and feed all the things your kid already is, (and this list is probably small and harder to define), then that too, will get larger and your child’s sense of self-worth will too. Same goes for you.

7. Take notes from your toddlers and develop amnesia. Small children are amazing in their abilities to live in the moment. Watching them play and dance and sing with wild abandon makes even the coldest of hearts, thaw. Young children do not lament over the milk they spilled on the kitchen floor an hour ago. They do not care what the world thinks about their mismatched socks. They’re over it before it even began. So in other words, stop letting the past control your life. If you’re living in a state of regret over yesterday, you’re stunting your future growth. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone fails. Everyone is paying a price for poor decisions they made decades ago. (I’ll show you my ridiculous tramp stamp if you show me yours?) The fact is that many of us re-live the past in our heads trying to rewrite history. It’s impossible and a waste of precious time you could be playing or dancing or singing with wild abandon. As long as you’re living in the past, you’re not moving forward. You’re not growing as a person and you’re certainly not happy. So act like a toddler and follow their rules: if it happened more than an hour ago and there’s nothing you can do to fix it, then forget it. Replace it with another thought or action. Preferably dancing.

8. Learn to say I’m sorry and mean it. Everyone has bad days when they snap at their kids for getting out of bed for the 14th time. We’re human. We make mistakes. So we must learn to say we’re sorry. This is not just to model good behavior or repair hurt feelings. (Although apologies can do that too.) But learning how to give a heartfelt apology is also an acknowledgement to ourselves that what we said or did, hurt someone. It’s a reminder that your words have consequences. Saying I’m sorry teaches us to be more thoughtful of feelings and less selfish with our venting of frustrations and self-awareness is always a good thing. So tell your kids you’re sorry. Tell your spouse you’re sorry. And mean it. It will not only help repair the damage and model kind behavior, it will also teach you to pull back the dragon next time before you spit fire.

9. Learn to Forgive. Forgive your children for their ungratefulness. Forgive your spouse for their carelessness. Forgive your in-laws and the teenager next door for running over your flower bed… again. Oh, this isn’t easy and you may be MORE than justified in your anger and resentment. I often am. But it doesn’t make you or me happier people. Quite the opposite really. Anger is a poison that kills from the inside. Learning to forgive takes practice, diligence and patience. But learning to forgive others is the practice you need to know how to forgive yourself. And that is where the true healing begins.

10. Practice Gratitude. Not be grateful. Practice it. We are not born knowing how to do this and yet there is no real joy without it. Gratitude is not an attitude, it is a skill, and like any other skill, you must practice it faithfully if you’re going to be any good at it. If it’s raining today, the cat puked on your bed last night and your two-year-old just drew shapes on your couch with permanent maker – then be grateful that your garden is getting watered, your cat is no longer struggling with a hairball and our child has the inklings for creativity. Because when you practice seeing the good, you will start to see mostly good. When you see mostly good, life becomes mostly good. When life becomes mostly good, then you no longer need a list of things to make you happy. You just are.

How to Talk to your Children about Gay Parents

http://www.scarymommy.com/how-to-talk-to-your-children-about-gay-parents/

The mother who says having these two children is the biggest regret of her life!

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2303588/The-mother-says-having-children-biggest-regret-life.html#ixzz2PuPJefdS

Wow! Talk about being honest about your feelings. Even after reading this article though I don't get it....I feel sad for her children and mostly I feel sad for her. Don't get me wrong I respect everyone's decision but some of her statements contradict themselves. If you don't want to be a parent then don't be simple! Parenting isn't for everyone there's nothing wrong with that. 

I speak honestly when I've had moments or even days where my children have driven me crazy and I've wanted to be alone on an island somewhere (don't we all) but it's just that a quick thought......

She says she fulfilled her job and did it well.  Honestly I think she failed! 

This one is a sure must read for all!

Tired of Mommy Wars?

http://www.mamapedia.com/voices/tired-of-mommy-wars

I haven’t had a lot of ‘free’ time on the Internet for far too long, thanks to my job at ‘The Firm,’ with it’s long hours, daily commute, and decision to block/monitor the Internet.
It’s totally their prerogative, and I didn’t abuse the Internet like others did, but I used to use my lunch hours to get some freelance stuff done, reply to emails, or read/comment on posts.
I have no desire for them to know how I spend my free time, so I’ve stayed offline until the evenings, which means that I’m trying to meet deadlines between putting my kids to bed and taking my husband to bed. Ahem.

When I do sit down to read, it seems that the same debates that were out there when I started blogging seven years ago are still going strong.

I know that everyone’s trying to drive traffic and I know that these may be new topics for first-time moms, but all of the judgment being flung in the name of page views makes me sigh. And roll my eyes.

The working mom/SAHM/WAHM debate. Dudes. Parenting is THE HARDEST JOB ON THE PLANET. Your work situation is just a peripheral issue. I have been all of the above and you know what? You throw little beings into your life who rely on you to KEEP THEM ALIVE, and we’re all hanging on for dear life.

The “picky eaters” vs. those who are smug about how there kids eat ALL THE THINGS. My kids fall on the picky side of the spectrum, but get all of the food groups during the day. I get them to try the less ‘mainstream’ dishes that I make, but I don’t push it. I was picky until I was in my twenties, but the fact that I’m sitting here typing this at the ripe old age of 37 is a testament to the fact that, 1) I DIDN’T DIE, and 2) PREFERENCES CHANGE. Also, 2b) My oldest (age 9) tries new stuff all of the time and likes it. There is hope!

Breast vs. Bottle. SO MUCH RAGE from either side. Full disclosure: I was strictly formula fed, and have no allergies or any other possible side effects from formula. Full disclosure, part two: I was the smug mother-to-be during my first pregnancy; my kids would be strictly breastfed and never have formula.

My first child was great breast-feeder, but at about six weeks old, I was planning for a hair appointment and he WOULD NOT take a bottle. We tried about ten different bottle nipples until he would take one. My personal belied that the spiel of “nipple confusion” is BS…unless you’re referring to my first-born. With babies number two and three, Daddy took one feeding in the night to give me a longer stretch of sleep. My kids had formula for their supplemental feeding and, hey. They’re perfectly FINE.

Co-sleeping vs. babies sleeping in their own bed. People shout statistics from either side. Side one: Co-sleeping is better! Side two: Sleeping on their own is better! Me: DO WHAT WORKS FOR YOU!

When my babies were itty-bitty newborns, they would spend the first few weeks in a bassinet in our room. Or sleeping on my or my husband’s chest. Then they went to their own room, right next to ours. My firstborn was a great back sleeper; the other two got to about eight weeks old, and would wake up out of a dead sleep and WAIL if I put them on their backs. So I (gasp!) let them sleep on their tummies. Many of my friends did the same. It’s like a secret club. (whisper) My baby sleeps on her stomach.

(Related: When our kids are sick/have bad dreams/etc., we will let them sleep with us. And they will wedge toes in my ribs, smack me in the face ten times and keep inching over so that I am somehow ‘sleeping’ in a space five inches wide, while holding onto the edge for dear life so that I don’t fall to the floor. Kudos to those of you who co-sleep every night. It’s not for me.)

Dad on Duty: Home Alone with the Kids

http://www.mamapedia.com/voices/dad-on-duty-home-alone-with-the-kids-part-v

The Wife is back home and all has returned to ‘normal’ around here. Last week’s solo parenting adventure went pretty well. Of course, what would any installment of Daddy on Duty be without a climactic ending?

After a couple days without Mom, we were actually on cruise control. I was feeling confident, cocky even, so I took the kids outside for a cookout and dinner on the porch. No problem. I even managed to get the kids to eat a few mouthfuls of vegetables. I started to think, Have some, doubters! I’ve got this down.

That’s when my hubris bit me in the ass, and everything came unraveled like a Greek tragedy.
It started when my 17-month-old daughter, who we’ve affectionately dubbed Godzilla for very good reason, unloaded a diaper-bulging deuce while finishing up her dinner. She just dropped it like nobody’s bidniz, right there at the table. A little rude? Yes, but I was willing to make allowances because she’s on the cute side.

Godzilla was immediately upset by the act of sitting in her own filth, as any reasonable human being should be, so I picked her up and started heading inside to change her. Before entering, I asked my two-year-old son, a.k.a. Lil’ O, if he wanted to come with us or stay outside and play. As he does with every single question he’s asked, he pondered for about a minute and a half, carefully weighing the options, and then responded, “I will stay outside and play with trucks.” There were no trucks outside, so his response was a little concerning, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I had a changing pad and diapers stashed in the family room, just on the other side of some large windows that would allow me to supervise him, so I ducked into the house.

This is where things started to get ugly. As soon as I put Godzilla down on the changing pad, she started screaming and kicking, because throwing random temper tantrums when people are trying to help you is sooooo cool these days in the toddler community. She was flailing about, grabbing at anything within reach, kicking me in the family jewels —basically, all the behavior that makes you happy to be a parent of a toddler.

I got her diaper off and was trying to clean her up when she caught hold of the dirty diaper and – that’s right! – flung it across the room. I won’t say that the sh*t hit the fan, only because there isn’t a fan in that room. Otherwise, it would have, because it hit everything else.

At that exact moment, my son started pounding on the back door and howling, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” I could see him through the glass, and he appeared to be in one piece and not bleeding profusely, so I told him to hang on a minute. I was literally elbow-deep in poo at this time, and Godzilla was trying desperately to wipe her filthy cheeks all over the furniture, so my options were limited.

The pounding and howling continued.

“Hang on!”

More pounding and screaming.

“Be patient!”

I got Godzilla reasonably clean and reassembled, and stormed over to the back door.

“WHAT?” I growled as I opened the door.

“I have to go poo-poo.”

I took one look at the way he was standing, and I could tell that I was too late. Now I felt like a big pile of the stuff that was starting to ooze out of my son’s shorts. I took him to the bathroom and stripped off his soiled shorts, as well as his shirt, just for good measure. I tried cleaning him up with some diaper wipes, which I’d carried with me from the Godzilla diaper change debacle. It wasn’t working. I sacrificed a hand towel in an effort to mop up the poo. No luck. There was So. Much. Crap. It was like trying to clean out an industrial pig farm with a handful of wet Kleenex. I was just pushing around the mess.

So back outside we went. It was a warm evening, so I didn’t feel too bad about spraying him down with the garden hose. It was really the only option. Plus, he loved it. He danced around and made such giddy noises that I didn’t even notice Godzilla charging into the scene until it was too late. As I was spraying off Lil’ O (with the gentle “shower” setting, mind you), she just came zipping right in front of the hose; fully clothed, giggling hysterically. Okay, not ideal, but this would save me the trouble of trying to bathe both kids by myself – which in this house, is like trying to wrestle two overgrown salamanders covered in hydrogenated vegetable oil. So I pulled off Godzilla’s drenched jumper and proceeded to spray down both kids as they ran around the yard screaming with joy.
Now I had two soaked kids, and just as I noticed my neighbors peering at the scene suspiciously from their window, I realized I had no towels. So I grabbed both wet kids and carried them, dripping, into the house. That’s when Godzilla decided it would be a perfect time to pee. All over my shirt. Are you kidding me? Why does stuff only happen when I’m alone?

Off went the shirt, back outside to repeat the previous hosing off exercise, only this time with a shirtless dad thrown into the mix. The neighbors were starting to dial Social Services now, for sure, so I packed up the entire operation and brought the whole sodden mess inside to ruin a few more towels.

By the time I finally got everyone dried and dressed, it was time for the kids to hit the sack. My son was so exhausted from the excitement that he actually put himself to bed. That never happens, and I made a mental note to repeat the entire ridiculous ordeal the next time he was being a pill at bedtime. Then I carried Godzilla into her room to lay her down. As I was putting her in her crib, she looked up at me, eyes fluttering with fatigue, and just said, “Happy.”

I sighed.

“Me, too, baby girl. Me, too.”

But I can’t wait for mommy to get home.

Too busy to teach your child to ride a bike? Outsource it!

"So, are we really that busy people that we need to outsource someone to teach our child to ride a bike? I mean really, is this what this world is coming to, come on!"  Oh well enjoy I guess!


http://moms.today.com/_news/2012/08/31/13571962-too-busy-to-teach-your-child-to-ride-a-bike-outsource-it?lite

Teaching your child to ride a bike is so passé. You may think it’s your job to teach balancing, pedaling, and braking, but busy parents now have options.

Canadian writer Rebecca Eckler recently confessed to hiring a professional bike-riding counselor to school her daughter in the ways of training wheels and banana seats. Oh, the horror, right? What’s next — a professional Tooth Fairy and an after-school nurse to kiss boo-boos?

The future of parenting is outsourcing!

Nick Pavlakis from Vancouver, B.C.-based Pedalheads says the bicycle instruction business is booming because parents don’t have time and they lack skills. “A lot of parents come to us and they’ve tried on their own and found it to be quite a struggle.”

 

In Eckler’s case, squeamishness drove her to seek help. She couldn’t stand the thought of watching her kid fall, and argues in a post on Mommyish that hiring someone to teach bike riding is no different than doing the same for swimming or music. “At the end of the day, she knows how to ride a bike. End of story,” she told TODAY Moms. But her post sparked mommy judgment. Why? “I think it’s just because a lot of people don’t know something like this is available,” she said.

Bike New York offers free bike-riding programs in city parks, summer camps, and after-school programsin New York City. No one seems to be outraged about that. Communications Manager Dan Suraci says demand for instruction is huge. Their weekend classes — and the waitlist — are always full.

“Our instructors teach every weekend so they know the common problems and can easily teach to overcome those,” Suraci said. He also credits the group dynamic. “Kids have a way of relating to other kids. When they get something and are energized about it, they share with each other.”

Bike riding and big moments

Rhonda Franz of Parenting Squad is a mother of three and holds a Master's Degree in Education, specializing in early childhood development. She doesn’t think it matters who teaches a child the actual skill of riding a bike. She agrees with Pavlakis and Suraci that it's often easier for children to learn together with their peers than it is for mom or dad to teach a skill.

“We teach them so much, and they're just tired of us,” says Franz. “If another person can more effectively teach a child a skill rather than a parent, who can argue with that?”

Still, she said, it does matter who's present for that major milestone in a child's life.

“The experience creates a memory for parents and children — something they'll miss out on if it is outsourced,” Franz said. She encourages moms and dads to consider that before handing off the responsibility to someone else. 

Diane Mizota told TODAY Moms she might have hired out if she’d known she had the option, but is happy that she didn’t. As a single working mom in Los Angeles, Mizota always thought her ex-husband would be the one to teach their son to ride a bike. When that didn’t happen, she questioned whether she was up for the challenge. 

Remembering the moment she finally let go of that seat, she writes, “I'm still claiming a major mommy victory. I overcame my mental block and earned the bragging rights  and discovery that there is no feeling in the world like watching your kid ride a bike for the first time.”

Parenting is not as easy as riding a bike

Parents know that teaching a child to ride a bike can be difficult. Maybe that’s because you can’t really teach them. All we can do is support them while they learn. As in all things parenting, we are powerless over what happens after we let go. Sometimes we have to watch them fall. We can’t outsource that.

But what do I know? I subcontracted the whole thing to my husband.

Should Parents and Teachers be Friends on Facebook?

http://moms.today.com/_news/2012/08/30/13528920-should-parents-and-teachers-be-friends-on-facebook

By Jacoba Urist

Back-to-school is in full swing, and with more than 50 percent of the U.S. population currently on Facebook, many parents and teachers are wondering: is it appropriate to be friends with each other on social media sites?

Jill Schulman-Riemer has taught nursery through third grade, and is currently a private tutor and educational consultant in New York City. She says teachers and parents should keep their distance outside of the classroom, particularly online. 

The trouble goes both ways, she warns. “Parents friending teachers and teachers friending parents can be a slippery slope. You put a lot of  trust in your children’s teachers. We all need to stay in our professional roles with each other, and Facebook just isn’t a place for that.”

So what should a teacher do if a parent’s friend request pops up in their inbox?

 “Talk to them off line,” Schulman-Riemer advises. “Don’t use email or Facebook messenger. Try an actual face-to-face conversation. Explain that, of course, you’re always happy to talk to a parent about their child or anything school-related, but your policy is that you don’t friend parents on Facebook, and you prefer in-person conversations.”

Sure, friending your kid’s teacher may sound like a nice way to have a more personal connection with someone who’s an important part of your family’s daily life. But information on people’s Facebook pages can easily be misread or blown out of proportion. And while teachers recognize that they’re being judged on student performance and how they present themselves in the classroom, they shouldn’t be held accountable for old college pictures, or late-night comments posted on their timeline after someone’s bachelorette party.

If you go out and friend a teacher on Facebook, or accept their friend request, you do so at your own risk, says Carrie Mize, who’s been on both sides of the fence, as a parent of three young children, and a teacher of pre-school and elementary grades in Michigan, Virginia, and Connecticut. 

“If you choose to open up the personal side of things, you have to understand that it’s their personal life and you may see things you don’t like,” She says. “A teacher’s Facebook page doesn’t have anything to do with your child. The teacher doesn’t have their teacher hat on, and if you see something inappropriate, you just have to let it go.”

Aaron Goldschmidt, a teacher in New York City for more than ten years, says, he hopes parents don’t use Facebook to spy on him. “If you friend me,” he explains, “then you need to be prepared to see it all…I’m an excellent teacher because of who I am and my lifestyle, not in spite of it.”

Of course, you always have the option of defriending them if you don’t like the pictures or statuses they post— or if you generally find yourself losing respect for your child’s teacher because of some of the stuff they’re tagged in. 

Psychotherapist and Parenting Coach, Andrea Nair , tells clients in her practice to defriend a teacher if they discover a post or picture that makes them uncomfortable.

“Tempting as it might be to call another parent to tell them, just ignore it,” she says.

But she warns parents: do not discount any post that leaves you feeling uncertain about a teacher’s well-being, or that shows a teacher venting about a student (yours or someone else’s). “If a teacher posts something like, ‘I’d like to knock some sense into [him or her]’— making any reference on that level about a student is not okay even in general terms. Either thinking about or talking about actual harm to a child is never appropriate on Facebook or anywhere else,” Nair explains.  In this case, she tells parents: print out the post and share it with a school administrator.

But it’s not just parents who are concerned about what teachers post on Facebook.  Teachers, too, might be uncomfortable with some of the things they see about a student’s family online. And a teacher could face the same dilemma about when to say something if they ever thought a parent was venting inappropriately about their child or engaging in unsafe behavior. 

While it’s tough to formally restrict Facebook friendships between two consenting adults, some states have started regulating how students and teachers interact on social media sites.

Starting this school year, Missouri’s new “Facebook Law” requires every school district to have a formal policy in place about online interactions between students and school employees. (The original bill prevented teachers from using social media to interact with students at all, unless parents and administrators also had access, but was thought to be overly restrictive, and portions of the law were partially repealed.)

Similarly, last spring, the New York City Department of Education issued social media guidelines to provide “guidance regarding recommended practices for professional social media communication between [Department of Education employees] and students.”

Lisa Corrigan, PhD, a professor in the department of communication at the University of Arkansas, agrees that a consistent policy at the beginning of the school year is the way to go. 

“If I were a K-12 teacher, I would send home a note at the beginning of [the] semester praising parents for getting involved in their kids’ education,” she emailed. “But [I would] politely indicate that Facebooking is not the most productive avenue for the parent-teacher relationship. I would reiterate that face-to-face conferences and phone calls remain the best ways for parents and teachers to work in tandem to meet the needs of each student.”

With all the potential pitfalls of teachers and parents friending each other online, it’s easy to forget what a great tool Facebook can be for families and teachers to stay in touch long after a student has graduated. Sarah Rinaldi, who teaches art and preschool in New York, uses Facebook to keep up with the teachers she had when she was a kid. Now as a teacher herself, she says, “I love seeing [parents] post pictures of my past students and watching them grow.”    

Parents, offering your kids sips of booze may backfire

Parents, offering your kids sips of booze may backfire

Sometimes, being Mummy ain’t all that

http://www.mamapedia.com/voices/sometimes-being-a-mummy-aint-all-that

Sometimes, being Mummy ain’t all that.

When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to be a mum. Not a pilot, a scientist, a doctor. Not a farmer, a dancer, a teacher. A mum. Yes, I studied and built an extremely successful career as a copywriter, and yes, I loved it. I’d be lying, however, if I told you I was devastated to drop it all and become a stay-at-home mum when Little Miss was born.

Fast forward 9 years. Now I am mum to Little Miss (9), Little Man (7) and Baby G (3). I am still a stay-at-home mum, while running my (tiny) one-man business on the side. Here’s the thing: this stay-at-home mum thing is killing me. There, I said it.

What’s more, I suck at it.

A few weeks ago, I had a total breakdown. I looked around me at the piles of laundry (clean and dirty), the dirty dishes, the unmade beds, the crusty toothpaste stuck to the sink (and mirrors and walls), the empty pantry, the fridge that needed to be cleaned out (for fear of growing a new strain of penicillin) and began to cry. And cry. And cry. The ugly cry. I simply couldn’t face it any more. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. This domestic life of cooking, cleaning, taxiing, wiping…*_why on earth had I ever signed up for this?_* I realised, in that moment, that even if I managed to somehow dig myself out of this rut and get all this mind-numbing housework done, I would still feel as unstimulated, unsatisfied and invisible.

I realised I was lost. Michelle–the vibrant, intelligent, productive person I was pre-babies, was nowhere to be found.

I realised this Martha Stewart persona I’d been trying to squeeze into was simply the wrong size.

I realised that, in my quest to live up to my childhood dream of the Perfect Mummy (devised in my childhood and clearly as real as a fairy tale), I had buried myself completely.

Not only had I sacrificed my “Michelle-ness” to the cause, I hadn’t even managed to make it worth it. I was failing the Perfect Mummy Test in every area. My resentment at having to be the maid/cook/taxi-driver was making me mean. I was short tempered and impatient with my kids (for being kids, no more no less), resentful towards my husband (for having a life outside the four walls of our house) and hateful towards myself for not being the wonderful mummy I had always dreamed I would be. I was perpetually tired, unenthusiastic and bitter. In short, I don’t think I was particularly fun to be around.

By becoming a martyr-mother and defining myself as 100% Mum, I had not only thrown my very identity under the bus, I had sacrificed my husband and children too.

That night, after an Everest-like quest to get the children to bed, I sobbed and howled (impressively and with dramatic flair) and discussed with my (amazing, understanding, empathetic) husband how I was feeling. He agreed wholeheartedly that I needed to rediscover who I am and what makes me happy. Despite the fact that he works insanely hard and under immense pressure, he made a promise to me that he would do everything in his power to allow me to fix this mess.

I contacted my work colleagues and let them know I am available to take on more work, and boy, did it flood in. I began to write the children’s books that had been brewing in my head. I started a Zen Do Kai class one evening a week (yes, one evening a week Hubby gives the kids dinner, showers them and readies them for bed and yes, I acknowledge just how ridiculously lucky I am to have this kind of support) and I started this blog.

I now go to sleep after midnight most nights because I am up working late on a million things. I still have to face the same amount of housework and childcare. The difference? I am happy. I am smiling. I feel liberated. I fold laundry and think up radio ads. I cook dinner and brainstorm blog posts. I do Zen Do Kai, release the stress and can’t get home quickly enough to cuddle my beautiful children and marvel at the miraculous little people they are. Last night I sat and coloured in cupcakes with Little Miss and instead of wishing she would just.go.to.sleep, I relished in our ‘special girl time’. I listened to Little Man reading and wasn’t silently willing the stupid ice-cream book to be finished already. Quite the opposite, I was overcome with pride at his achievements and watched as he sounded out each word with wonder. I cuddled Baby G and wished I could pause time just to make her babyhood last a little longer. It was the first bedtime in a very long time that I felt that neither my children or I were short-changed.

And when they were asleep, I looked at the man I married and wondered how I got so lucky? He has never once judged me. When I needed a hand, he didn’t hesitate to help me. He gets it.

Just taking the time to stop, realise that I am Michelle–not just Mummy–made a world of difference. That hideous resentment that had been filling my days has melted away, Angry Mummy has disappeared (Okay, mostly. I’m working on it, but why won’t they put their clothes in the hamper?! ) and I am satisfied that, after much searching, I found that part of myself I had so carelessly tossed aside nine years ago. She was suffocating under a pile of mismatched, dirty socks.

It turns out that all I needed to enjoy being a mum was to not be one every once in a while.

When embarking on a long journey, they tell you to always put your own oxygen mask first, before you help your kids. Wise words, indeed.

My Kids Have Never Been to Church, and I’m Not Ever Going to Take Them

 A bit controversial but hear it goes:

Posted by dadcamp (blogs.babble.com)

My dad almost became a seminarian.

Around the same time he met my mom, he was seriously considering becoming a priest. He reconsidered, and, well, the rest is history.

I was raised in a Catholic home. I was an altar boy. I went to Catholic elementary and high school. My mom and dad were active in our church growing up. But somewhere in my mid/late teens they stopped forcing me to go. Yes, I say force.

I would feign being asleep as the time to leave for mass drew closer, and eventually they would just leave without me.

Mommyfriend crafted a great post about her return to church with her kids last week, and you should really read it.

This quote stands out:
“I’d never sit behind my computer and tell anyone what they should or shouldn’t be doing for their families. All I can do is share what I’m doing for mine, and church is now one of those things.”

I’m about to go fire and brimstone about why I don’t go to church. Many of you will not agree. I’m not telling you how to live your life, I’m telling you the reasons I use to explain how I live mine. Your mileage may vary, but I’m never going to take my kids to church. Ever.


I stopped going to church before I stopped believing in god. It was around the time my best friend told me he was gay. We had both attended the same Catholic high school, and I just couldn’t support an organization that openly challenged his rights as a person. There is so much moral fine print in church when it comes to equality, that I just couldn’t give it an hour of my week.

I’ve only accepted my atheism in the past 5 years. People like Christopher Hitchens (oh the irony of having Christ in his name), and Ricky Gervais best summing up how I feel about the existence of a higher power.

Ricky Gervais @rickygervais

A Christian telling an atheist he is going to Hell is about as scary as a small child telling an adult they wont get any presents from Santa

As I’ve grown into an adult and now parent, I’ve come to the conclusion there is no god. Personal spirituality is what matters. If you want to love everyone, be charitable, and do good in the world, you don’t need to believe in unicorns, or saviors, or mythical omniscience to do it. You just do it.
I appreciate that churches do create community, and are a place for people to gather together and socialize and make friends, and that is all wonderful. It’s when they start talking of religion that things go sideways and create problems. The preaching of hate and intolerance. The discounting of science. The general backwardsness that takes allegorical stories and makes them historically relevant documents.

If religion is so wonderful, why does it make so many people hate other people because the holy figurine on their mantle is different? I’m sure many of you are hating me right now because I’m telling you the existence of god is about as real as the existence of unicorns, bigfoot, and elves.

Ricky Gervais @rickygervais

“@Zx6r82: what makes you believe that god does not exist?” The same things that make you think Thor doesn't.

To be frank, religion comes from an era of ignorance. People didn’t know how the seasons changed, or how weather patterns evolved. They invented the existence of higher powers as the ultimate explainer as to why it got cold in the winter, eclipses made the world disappear, or why volcanoes exploded.
The world is explainable, I will explain it to my sons without the pretense of fables.

My sons will find community from their community. We will be active in their school, in their sports, in their arts. They will meet friends, and understand different cultures by being open and active to new things. We will travel.

They will learn about charity from their family.

They will learn spirituality from within themselves. The only moral compass that matters is the one in your head. I will teach my kids right from wrong, and I will teach them to choose love over hate.
So, remind me … why is it you think should I take them to church again?

Ricky Gervais @rickygervais

A few tweets saying I should keep my atheism to myself. Just like people of faith keep their beliefs secret I guess. Haha.

Dear Kids

by Amanda of "Werdyab" (Mamapedia.com)

-I really couldn't have said this better myself!

Dear Kids,

To my daughter:

Wait as long as you can to shave your legs, pluck your eyebrows or color your hair. Because once you start, you’re signing on for a lifelong commitment.

Don’t flip through the pages of Cosmo or Vogue to compare your beauty to because those photos have been airbrushed. Go to Walmart instead. No airbrushing there.

Every photo that is taken of you, and every email that you write, is forever. Sure, it’s funny now, but do you want that crap plastered across the Washington Post when you run for President?

Give the nerd a chance. See that hot jock over there? One day he’s going to be fat, bald and working at a Blimpie. And when you’re 40, you’re not going to care how many push-ups your husband can do. You’re going to want a sweet, supportive partner who is intelligent and a good conversationalist. And maybe a trip to the Bahamas.

Find an exercise that you can do for a majority of your life like golf or yoga. You only have so many years that your body can handle sliding into 3rd base or doing a roundoff back handspring.
Everything can hurt you: sharp scissors, fast cars, loaded guns, roller coasters, boat rides, carving knives, snakes, spiders, partially cooked chicken, pedophiles, street drugs, snowboarding, scuba diving, roller blading, boys, illness, disease, pointy objects, wild animals, Red #5. It’s my responsibility to make sure that you don’t die – not that you have a good time – but just that you live to see another day.

Don’t hate me for getting you braces in your teens. Look around – 70% of your friends have braces and their parents are paying for them. One day you’ll want straight teeth, but then only 1% of your peers will have braces and you’ll have to deliver pizzas at night to pay the $5,000 orthodontist bill.
I would buy you the world if I could. So my prayer is that I have just enough money to buy you most of what you want, but not enough to buy you everything you want because it will only set you up for future disappointment. And I’m not supporting this Abercrombie habit forever.

When we don’t have internet access or provide you with a laptop computer, iPod Touch, iPhone or webcam, it’s not because we’re poor. It’s because the internet is a scary place. You might visit some disgusting website, or even worse, your boyfriend might want to FaceTime with you after midnight.
Never let boys talk you into sitting in the back row of a movie theater. There’s only one reason that they want to sit there and it’s not to show off their superhuman eyesight.

Don’t let boys talk you into doing anything that you’re not ready to do because, let’s be honest, you’re the one who will face the consequences, and they’ll just high-five their buddies in the locker room at your expense.

In summary, boys can be bad. Try to avoid them until your twenties.

Yes, I know that so-in-so’s mother let her stay out later. And yes, I also know that so-in-so’s mother is letting her go to the party. I don’t care. I’ll give you the same response that’s been used for generations: I’m not her mother.

Go to college. I know that when you’re 18-years-old all you want to do is earn your own money and buy your own stuff, but your college years will be the best years of your life. It’s the small window of time when you’re old enough to have no curfew but young enough to have no mortgage.
Believe in yourself and others will believe in you, too.

When you are at a party and you turn down cocaine, I promise not to be mad at you for drinking a couple of beers. Probably.

Don’t get a tattoo. I don’t care how symbolic you think it is now, because when you’re 87-years-old, they all look ridiculous.

Tequila shots are never ever a good idea.

Don’t ever dance on a speaker box in a nightclub. Those girls are desperately seeking attention. They usually get it, but it’s the wrong type. And sometimes you can see their underwear.

If you go anywhere without hair done, make-up on or wearing some old sweats, you will see at least one person you know. I’m not trying to deter you, I’m just letting you know the facts.

Don’t be the girl who drinks until you puke or pass out. Not only will people make fun of you the next day, they’ll remember it forever. And 20 years later while shopping with your mother-in-law, the last thing you want to do is bump into an old sorority sister and relive the infamous hunch punch party.

I’m not your friend. There are 6 billion people in this world who can be your friend, and only one person who can be your mother. I’m just trying to do my job.

To my son:

Please don’t knock up some bimbo.

Love, Mom

3 Things You Should Never Do for Your Kids

3 Things You Should Never Do for Your Kids | Parenting | Moms | MyDailyMoment

New Mommy Cliff Notes...

by Brooke of "Crazy Mama Drama" (Mamapedia.com)

Look, I may be very far from a June Cleaver-esque mama, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love being a mom. There is nothing in the world better than the feeling I get when I am the one my daughter looks to for comfort, when she holds me tight. It makes me feel complete. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that being a mom is the hardest job I have ever had.

I think part of my difficulty in adjusting to mommyhood is that I had no idea what to expect. I wish someone had given me a head’s up, but they didn’t. I have been learning ‘the hard way’ for the last sixteen months. Here are just some of the things I’ve learned…

• People aren’t lying when they say you better learn to live on a few hours sleep. Invest in some white strips because you have no chance of surviving without coffee.
• You will not be able to wear white until your kid is 12 years old.
• The bathroom-a place you used to brush your teeth and pee-will now become your favorite place to get away for “me time.” It will become the only place where you can get a moment of peace; a place that will shelter you from the storm going on downstairs when your husband tells your little angel, “No more “Yo Gabba Gabba, it’s bedtime.” Trust me, you will grow to seek solace in your bathroom.
• Dogs are totally effective as vacuum cleaners for after dinner messes on the floor
• Remember that place you and your husband used to go all the time on those wonderful little things called ‘dates?’ That place where you sit in the dark eating popcorn and watch movies on a big screen? Oh yeah, a movie theater. Yep, you’re not going there again for a LONG time.
• Rock, Paper, Scissors is the only logical way to choose who deals with baby diarrhea.
• You will learn that toys strewn on the floor are little minefields, and you will become an expert at avoiding them. Just know that the second you let your guard down, you will surely step on a princess building block, Barbie accessory or a plastic chunk of cheese from the play kitchen. And let me tell you, those plastic little suckers hurt!
• No matter how many hours you spend childproofing your home, your toddler’s built-in Dangerous Object Detector will lead her to a pen cap that you dropped behind the couch three years ago.
• One of the worst feelings in the world is when you are changing a poop filled diaper and you reach over and find out that you are out of wipes. Nothing quite matches that sinking feeling when you realize you have to pick up that baby and wander the house in search of a substitute wipe.
• At some point you’re bound to find yourself agreeing with Sponge Bob, DJ Lance or Ming Ming.
• Remember that thing I said about no chance of surviving without coffee? Ditto for wine.
• Being a mom to a toddler is pretty similar to working in a psych ward. It’s not out of the ordinary to look over at your kid and watch them crack up while staring at a blank wall. You become completely immune to the sound of screaming. Objects are thrown at you on a daily basis.
• No matter how much it sucks to have a kid sometimes, all the aggravation gets erased with one drooly, goofy smile.

I’m sure I left something out. What would you add to this list? Looking forward to seeing all your tips!

The Mother's Promise

http://www.mamapedia.com/voices/the-mother-tick-s-promise 

 THE MOTHER’S PROMISE:

I, _________________, do solemnly swear to fulfill to the best of my sleep-depraved (yes, depraved) ability this covenant between me and my child(ren) 24/7, 365 days a year.
I will strive to create days that are filled with laughter, bonding, play, new experiences, learning, nutritious meals and snacks and on-schedule rest for all. I will make playdates with other mamas and babes, for they keep us all sane.

Yet if there be a day filled with crying, sibling rivalry, boredom, junk food and failed naps, I will accept this, and work for a better tomorrow. I will not consume an entire bag of M&Ms/chips/gummy bears to erase my pain, as that will merely expand my a$%. I will rely via text on the comfort of my friends, and get the kids out of doors immediately. And if there be rain and we cannot go outside, I will not feel persecuted by the universe. I will devise another plan, even if that plan consists only of a visit to Target.

I will endeavor to be frugal, in the hallowed halls of Target as well as in other stores. I will not be led into temptation by an $8 box of organic cookies at Whole Paycheck. I will employ the aid of the Internet, magazines and word-of-mouth for free or low cost things to do.

I will avoid the Land of No, turning instead to the land of positive requests. I will demonstrate the wisdom to empathize, not chastise, to tell, not yell, to supervise, not patronize and to breathe, not seethe. Thank you, Jesse Jackson.

I will schedule myself time to exercise so as to avoid bitchiness and the 4-months-pregnant belly that necessitates a new wardrobe. I will have the sense to schedule personal time for myself at regular intervals. And if this personal time come not soon enough, and I feel desperation creeping in, I will make a plan, enlist childcare, don exercise wear or cocktail wear and leave my residence.

In case of meltdowns, I will remain calm and firm. I will not get sucked into the tornado into which my child has morphed. I will give him/her time alone or hold him/her as the situation merits. I will keep him/her from breaking bones by stealthily placing a blanket or towel nearby as he thrashes like a junkie with the DTs.

I will, come Sunday, organize a list of dinners for the upcoming week so that I am not a stressed out mess every day at 5:00 p.m.

I will get as much sleep as possible. If I plan to rest, I will take this rest, AS SOON AS THE CHILDREN GO DOWN FOR THEIR NAP. I will not clean, write, make phone calls, answer e-mails, search the Web, or go astray on the pages of Facebook, only to find that my unpredictable napper has awoken earlier than estimated and stolen my sleep. I will set an alarm if need be, so that I can putter about or prep dinner(!) after some power zzz’s.

I will realize that potty training is a process and that, long though it may take, my children will not cast their first presidential election ballot in diapers.

I will enlist the power of the elephant-in-the-armoire, the TV, in moderation. And I will not be afraid to do so, for PBS is good.

I will endeavor to devote some energy to my relationship with my husband so that we might enjoy our co-existence as husband and wife, and not only mother and father.

I will remain educated and up–to-date on the latest scholarship and ideas in parenting. I will strive to be more June Cleaver than Roseanne. I will refuse to, however, beat myself up for the forgot to do’s, could not do under the circumstances and cannot do’s. I will remember that though I may fail, though I may yell, though my kids might watch over an hour of Caillou daily, I am still a good mother.

Bow. exit stage left.

Like Daughter, Like Mother?

by By Carolyn of "Mama on the fly" (www.mamapedia.com)

Being the mom of a girl is tough. I knew it was going to be. Boys are different than girls in so many ways. My oldest daughter, MK, seems to have developed opinions earlier than my sons did about—well—pretty much everything! From what she wears, to what I wear, she doesn’t hold back. God forbid I don a black t-shirt two days in a row…

“Mommy, you wore that yesterday. You should wear a rainbow shirt. Rainbows are pretty. Your shirt is ugly.”

She’s a born fashion critic, which is somewhat humbling, but not my greatest concern. My biggest worry lies with the future—specifically, early adolescence and the social pitfalls that can accompany those years. How do I equip my daughters to face hurtful situations with resilience?

My fears are born out of two places—my own painful moments as a child and my professional experiences. As a former elementary school principal and teacher, I’ve had a front row seat to the ugliness that can unfold between girls. I know the issues of cattiness and cliques can begin as early as the first grade and are usually in full swing by the end of the primary years, but my daughter’s only four. I thought I had a few more years. Turns out, I was wrong.

The other day, while attending a program at MK’s preschool, I witnessed an episode that provoked a visceral reaction in me. We were just arriving as two of MK’s classmates—girls—were posing for a picture together. Not realizing that she was interrupting, when MK ran over to say hello, one of the girls shoved her away.

“This picture is only for us. We’re best friends. You aren’t.”

While I was busy picking my jaw up off the floor, MK turned away from the girls towards a mirrored wall. I could see her reflection. Her sweet smile was gone, and her eyes welled up with tears.
She was hurt—I was crushed.

I’m not proud of my initial instincts in that moment. Not only did I feel helpless, but I was instantly catapulted back to my own hurtful girlhood experiences. Memories of a wickedly mean classmate crashed into me like a ton of bricks, causing my stomach to lurch into my throat. I was angry and my mind was racing.

How dare this child treat my girl like that! Why didn’t the mother taking the picture reprimand her? Who the heck do these people think they are? If they think I’m going to just stand here and allow someone to hurt my daughter, they’ve got another thing coming!

Wait—get a hold of yourself.

There I stood—crazy thoughts flying through my mind—when I realized my daughter had already shaken it off and moved on to another group of friends. Thank goodness I was able to suppress my mama-bear desire to unleash in a tirade of fury.

Reflecting upon that incident makes me realize how difficult it will be to watch my daughters navigate hurtful situations. One might think I’d have more of a ‘been there, done that’ kind of attitude. I’ve already gone through this with my two now-teenage sons, but the girls are different for me. I’ve noticed that I’m quicker to relate my daughter’s experiences with my own simply because we share the common link of being female.

So, I’m bracing myself. Getting my three daughters through the pitfalls of girlhood is going to be challenging. I know the hurts are inevitable, but hopefully they’ll give way to lessons about the importance of moving past bruised feelings to happier places. That’s what breeds resilience and resilience is an important life skill—one, apparently, I’m still learning.

What do you think is the best way to react when you see your daughter being hurt by a classmate?
 

Would you let your 9 year old on Facebook?

Just this week, Facebook leaked that they are considering allowing kids under 13 onto the site, albeit it with parental supervision.

There's been lots of speculation as to why (stocks down, need new readers for page views), so it makes sense to target the group of people who marketers are trying desperately to reach--although we've also heard that the under 13 section will be ad free.

While the current rules state that users must be 13 or older, let's be honest here; there are an estimated 7.5 million underaged kids already on Facebook, many of whom did so with their parents' help. Actually, more than 1/3 of them, according to a Microsoft study reported in AdAge.  Even so, this is serious issue--whether they're 10 or 14, quite frankly--and one that bears discussion from parents. So here are our concerns about kids on Facebook, and where we stand on the issue. Of course, we'd love to hear your thoughts too.
Concern #1: Safety 

No matter how private you think your kid's settings are, you can't entirely control what they're seeing and responding to on Facebook unless you're sitting next to them the entire time. This is feasible at home, but not if they're accessing the site from a mobile device or the library.

It can be nearly impossible for a parent to think of every possible scenario where someone might ask them for personal information, or request a photo.

While Facebook has discussed linking underage accounts directly to the parents (and we recommend that even for older teens), we're not quite sure how effective this would be. If kids know that all their actions are being monitored by their parents, will they even want to use the site? Will they set up a second "real" account by typing in a fake birthdate?

Concern #2: Parental Supervision 

Supervision takes some serious education on the part of parents, many of whom aren't even aware of the implications of posting photos and updates on Facebook, let alone the ever-changing privacy settings. While we're seeing more parents take an active role in their kid's technology consumption, it's not something that all parents are thinking about as much as we are. Or something they may not have the time to do, considering how often kids use social media.

On the flip side, required supervision could actually make Facebook safer for older kids as well, because let's face it: the difference between a 12 and a 13 year old isn't that huge. We can't say it often enough: Parents should be monitoring their kids on Facebook whether they're 13, 15, or 17. 

Concern #3: Cyber bullyingObviously all parents are concerned about cyberbullying these days, which can take the form of texting or "hate" blogs. Facebook makes it easier for immature kids to harass their peers. Especially considering photos (doctored or not) and words can live indefinitely in the cache. If your younger child is going to be on Facebook, it's extra important that you have frank bullying talks frequently, so that if your child is a victim (or a perpetrator) you can stop it before it has a chance to blow up.

Concern #4 Social media interactions affect one's future

Photos and posts are forever on the internet. Enough said?

Concern #5: Marketing and data mining

I've had to give my 7-year old daughter a full education about spam and pop-up ads just to play her little Webkinz game, so I can only imagine how much parents are going to have to talk to kids about Facebook ads. Especially ones that don't seem like ads, like a game invitation. (Companies like McDonalds currently have Farmville integration.)  I'm also wondering what the guidelines for advertising to tweens and children will be.

While parents are rallying for an ad-free experience to the under-13 accounts, there's still the issue or Facebook --and their advertisers--mining the data and usage habits of children in order to profit.


On the positive side, so many people are using Facebook outside of the socializing aspect that we might expect. More classrooms utilizing it as a way to connect student; families use it as a way to share photos and stay in touch; and so it could be that the benefits for our kids will outweigh some of the scary downsides--most of which will just require more effort on our parts.

Heck, this could be the way for us to actually keep up with ours kids better and find out what they're up to without having to grill them every night. Of course it won't (and shouldn't) replace actual conversation, but for those with elusive teens, maybe Facebook will bring you closer together. -Kristen

When Men Become Fathers:How his brain chemistry changes after kids

http://www.babble.com/dad/fatherhood/psychology-father-child-bond/?utm_campaign=babbleancillary&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_content=post

Last week at preschool drop off, my four-year-old son and husband were doing their usual morning swing routine before saying goodbye. My son had decided to kick off his shoes and jump off from an extra-high push. He landed hard on his bare feet and started to cry. My husband went to him, lifted him in the air, and wrapped him in his broad arms. He stroked his back and told him a story about how once, when he was a kid, he too landed hard and it hurt. He cradled his small feet and moved them around, making squeaking noises as if fixing a rusty joint, and slowly my son cracked a smile. Another dad looked over with a judgmental you’re-coddling-him glance and piped in: “Walk it off! Go rub your feet in the dirt!”

I silently fumed at this fellow parent’s toughen-up-kid mentality, and wondered if it were me doing the comforting, or if it were a girl who’d been hurt, would he feel the need to interject? Wiping his tears, holding him close until he is calm — I don’t see this as coddling. In fact, quite the opposite. I think (and research backs me up here) that my husband’s empathy and nurturing will go far towards raising our son as a strong, confident boy.

Moms typically get the distinction of being the more empathetic parent. But, as I’ve written about before, men are clearly wired for nurturing as well. It’s established science that fatherhood changes a man’s chemistry in ways that draw him closer to the family unit and orient him towards caretaking. For example, dads experience a rise in prolactin levels, a hormone involved in bonding and nurturing, that begins when mom is pregnant. Testosterone levels fall after birth, which scientists believe may direct a father’s attention away from mating and towards childrearing. Studies of dads also show a shift in brain processing with the arrival of children. For example, although women are wired to respond more strongly to infant cries, when men become parents, this difference fades. Men who are fathers show dramatically different brain responses (heightened activation in regions, like the amygdala, that are involved in attention and emotional processing) than nonparents of both sexes.

The dad transformation can be seen in other primates as well. For example, male marmoset monkeys — devoted fathers who carry, protect, and feed their babies — grow more brain cell connections in the prefrontal cortex after their mate gives birth, most likely to stimulate their caretaking abilities (amazingly, they carry their infants up to 70 percent of the time). As new dads, they also have a boost in prolactin and develop more receptors for the bonding chemical vasopressin.

My husband has always been kind, but I see how fatherhood has made him even more generous and empathetic, especially when it comes to family. And his tenderness isn’t just a feel-good bonus, it’s a huge advantage to my son. Current psychological thinking tells us that kids whose parents help them identify and process emotions are happier and more successful. Talking about feelings with our kids is not just touchy feely stuff, it helps to shape them neurologically. It’s both mom and dad’s job to be that kind of “emotion coach.”

Mind you, my husband is far from being a 24/7 mush-ball. The two roughhouse constantly, and I’ll hear dad — a muscular 6’4’’, trained in mixed martial arts — shouting things like “ground-and-pound!” and “rear naked choke!” as he teaches my little guy wrestling moves. They play soccer together, they take epic two-hour hikes, they blast hip-hop in the car. The tenderness is more in their subtle, day-to-day interactions. When my son talks, dad listens intently. He’s enthusiastic about my son’s passions (right now, mainly superheros and bees). And when my son feels nervous about something, say, picking up worms to put in the garden or scaling to the top of the climbing wall, he talks him through it and challenges him gently. I can tell that my son feels comfortable being vulnerable in his presence, and I know that’s going a long way towards building his little self-esteem.

When I asked my husband about the recent swing incident, he agreed that as a father, there’s sometimes pressure to nudge your child, especially a boy, towards being tough. But he remembers being a gentle kid and his father always encouraging his sensitive side — if anything that made him a more self-assured person later on.

“It’s not my job to make him tough — it’s not like we’re coal miners here,” he said. “If he wants to be tough, he will be. But in that moment, when he’s hurt or upset, that’s not the time to be tough, that’s the time to turn to your dad.”