Playground for Parents

New Year, New Food

I don't make New Year's resolutions because I think they are an evil trap, designed to set you up for failure and add to your "I Feel Guilty" list (which is already too damn long).  But one thing I promised to myself this year was to try new restaurants with my husband.  There are simply WAY too many places to eat in Los Angeles county, for us to keep going to the same familiar places week after week just because it's the first spot we think of.  The ladies in my mommy group are constantly recommending restaurants that don't have cheese pizza on the menu.  And a quick Google search will bring up dozens of choices. 

 

Finally, we need to branch out!  Our taste buds are screaming for more! How do I remind myself of this new goal when it's not something I normally do?  With the arrival of the paycheck, a bit of dough is set aside for this tasty night.  We vow to go at least once per month. It's promptly put on my calendar, his calendar, the office wall calendar, and even a random post-it note (my memory ain't that good).  The added bonus to sharing these new restaurant experiences is reconnecting with my husband with some much needed alone time;  time that doesn't involve a constant barrage of "eat your vegetables," "elbows off the table," "sit up straight," "don't throw your food."  Actually, that does sound like my meals with my husband.

 

This month's designated spot: a fondue restaurant that I've been wanting to check out for a long time.  I can barely contain myself.  Afterall, everything taste better with cheese. And chocolate.  

 

In the spirit of the new year and the upcoming Valentine's Day, what are you doing to enrich your relationship with your partner?  When we think about the work it takes to "keep the fires going" in marriage, it almost makes this mothering thing seem easy.

 

 

A Lesson In Her Death

I've always said that the more people I meet and befriend, the more opportunities I have to enrich my life - to learn, to laugh, to relate to another woman and mom. But there's also a flip side to that too. The more people I meet, the more I am exposed to other's pain, heartache...even death.  The death of their child, their parent...and in this TRAGIC case, their own death.

 

I know of Karissa only through the blog world. Never chatted with her directly. I can't claim to be an avid reader of her's. But I knew of her presence in social media, and that her blog, Prissy Green, was a good one. I know that she provided useful information on living green and organic, and finding joy and practicality in the things around you. I also know that she was someone who other bloggers admired, for her humor, her honesty, and her constant willingness to be helpful and resourceful, with enthusiasm and genuine concern.

 

Today I learned that she killed herself. 

 

The last post on her blog was about taking a "small break".  She wrote it on Jan 2nd.  She  indicated that she'd be back soon, back to her usual posts and giveaways. And she wished all of her readers their "best year yet."

 

As a psychologist, I have witnessed the depths of despair.  As a friend, wife, daughter, sister, and mom I have seen tragedy and hopelessness experienced by those I love.  Karissa was someone's daughter, in her 30's.  I can't imagine the unbearable pain of her family right now, let alone the unbearable pain she must have felt to leave them by ending her life. Whether or not we knew her personally, we realize that she has finally found her peace, but we wish that she had somehow found it while still living. 

 

Her suicide is a wake up call to all of us:  to reserve a little less judgement; to take a little more time; to express a little more love and compassion; and to PLEASE seek help if you are feeling lost and alone.

 

 

I Heard Nothing

This afternoon I was in the middle of packing up the outdoor Christmas decorations, disassembling the lighted trees and complicated reindeer (hoping that I remember next year how to re-assemble them), cramming oversized bows and wreaths into new overpriced plastic storage bins...and, I kid you not, while doing this I received a Fed-Ex delivery of MORE Christmas decor for next year (I told you that I'm determined to have my house seen from space next holiday). 

Suddenly, I noticed something. It was quiet. Like really, really quiet. Even the annoying yap-crazy Chihuahuas next door weren't incessantly barking. And I stood still. It was just a moment, but I stood there in my living room and listened...to nothing.  In that moment there was such peace.  I was calm.  So, I did it again a bit later.

The two hours prior to that moment was spent doing what I normally do. What YOU normally do. Dropped the two kids off at two different places, dropped the bills off at the postoffice, then went to Trader Joe's, the pharmacy, drove by the accountant's office to find out what I need to prepare the taxes, came home to unload groceries, throw the baby's wet sheets in the washer (WHY don't those damn overnight diapers work?!), respond to email, pack Christmas boxes...We're always asking for peace and quiet, but what do we do when we have it?

It's a bit challenging to notice the quiet when trying to get as much done as you can before your noon appointment at the beauty salon. It's challenging to stand still when the kids are out of school, and under your feet.

It's challenging to enjoy the moment. Reminds me of my daughter, when she was 2 or 3 years old, and I had her enrolled in a piano class (gotta start 'em young, right, like Tiger Woods -uhhh, guess I can't use that example for a while).  The radio was turned on to a classical music station (gotta build those brain cells, right?), and my daughter simply said, "I hear the violin, mommy."  She was in the moment. I was not. I was distracted and "busy." But, she brought me there.

We can learn a lot from our kids. And we can learn a lot by standing still.

Next time you're home alone, try it. Sshh. 

ThanksGIVING

That's Munchkin in her Halloween costume.  She was the cutest turkey ever.  Good thing she can wear that sucker again on Thursday, huh?  Nothing like getting double duty out of those Halloween costumes. 

 

Ok, so that post I wrote on Saturday, the one where I'm rambling discussing what I'm thankful for - that was not at all what I had intended. The post was actually supposed to be a quick suggestion, something I came across that I thought was a grand idea.  And, as usual, I wanted to share it with my grand readers.  In the process, perhaps we'd help make the world a better place.  So, let's try this again, shall we...

 

On Thanksgiving, ask your guests to bring blankets, socks, toothbrushes, toiletries and nonperishable food.  Get the kids involved and have them organize the donations into bags.  Then as a family, deliver your donations to your local shelter the next day. 

 

What the heck, go all out and make this part of your annual tradition.

 

This will be a lot cheaper, and easier on your feet, than getting caught in the whirlwind of Black Friday.  And I bet your spirit will feel a lot brighter too.

 

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, EVERYONE!

 

 

She Wears White to Daycare

Munchkin is...14 months old now (takes a minute for me to do the math. It was so much easier when I could just say "she's one").  That's her in the photo above, before we headed out to daycare the other morning.  No, I didn't just take a crappy picture and cut off her head. I had to at least partially conceal her identity...and my messy bedroom.  Munchkin is goofy, animated, boisterous, brilliant, and a great source of entertainment. Better than tv.  We often just sit back and watch the Munchkin show.  She's feeding herself, but hasn't quite gotten the concept of putting only a single piece of food in her mouth at a time. Apparently, she's determined to discover just how many toddler puffs she can cram in at once, as if it's forbidden and she wants to eat it all before she's caught (or maybe that's just me when I'm eating my Lorna Doone's). 

 

As you already know, she's in daycare, because mama has to "bring home the bacon," though my husband is the one that cooks it. So, she's surrounded by other snotty-nosed toddlers, who will grab at her after they've immersed their hand in a bowl of applesauce. And she's had the occasional diaper leakage, greeting me in her extra set of clothes when I arrive to pick her up.  Yet, despite the potential messes, and playing on the floor all day, there's not an outfit I won't put on her because it's too expensive or saved for something special.  Granted, I'm probably not going to dress her in a poofy taffeta holiday dress, to play in (not that she has a poofy taffeta dress anyway). But, most everything else is free game. And Munchkin wears white to daycare.

 

My point is this:  my younger brother died several years ago, when I was pregnant with my first child.  I always think of him even more around the holidays, so I guess that's what inspired this post.  When he died, without ever meeting his first niece, I got a sudden, heart-wrenching, life-altering lesson in how very fleeting our moments are. Quite often, it takes the serious illness or death of a loved one to put things into perspective, remind you "not to sweat the small stuff" or take this existence for granted....and that you really should use your wedding china.  

 

I don't usually save an outfit for a special occasion, because the fact that I'm breathing is special enough.  I wear my favorite perfume just to pick up my spirits and run to the store.  I use my wedding china for monthly family dinners.  I allow guests to eat in my living room.  And Munchkin wears white to daycare, because everything can be cleaned. 

 

We're not promised more opportunities, even for the little things.  Live it up, mama.  Just maybe not the white shoes after Labor Day.

 

 

Things I Will Never Understand, Part II

I thought twice about publishing this post. I didn't want to be a "Debbie Downer."  Afterall, my last post was about the death of my daughter's coach.  That's enough drama and trauma for the week.

 

And then life reminded me that we don't get to control many of the things that happen to us; that good news and bad news will continue to unfold with each passing day, whether you're ready for it or not. Yep, that's what I was reminded of when I received an email from a friend last night.  And I felt compelled to share it with you, my other mama friends and readers.  Because in it lies not only a safety lesson, but a reminder about what's truly important.  I promise that the next post will be something bright and cheery, maybe a giveaway.  But in the meantime, that email has wrapped itself heavily around my heart, and I thought about it off and on all day today.  I'm sure it was much worse for my friend.

 

We've all done it, including me. Lay the baby on our bed to sleep, because it's cooler, quieter, or just more convenient.  Or we're at a friend's house and that's the only place to put him down for a nap.  And there's no way we're going to let him skip that nap.  We place some pillows around him so he won't roll off.  We check on him periodically. We're aware of the risks of doing so, pushed to the back of our mind.  But, we move on to worry about other safety concerns, like reactions to vaccines, or new daycares, or the stupid swine flu.  We've all done it, and we were lucky.  My friend's co-worker was not.

 

Like I said, I received an email from this friend last night.  She had titled it, "Terrible, terrible day."  That's an understatement.  She told a group of us moms about the experience she personally just had with a co-worker, whose baby had been put down on a bed for a nap.  With her permission, I've posted her story below.  If you're moved to comment on this post, feel free to also comment directly to my friend, Stacy, who witnessed the mother's trauma.  She's a loyal reader, and she'll see it. As much as I won't even let myself imagine being the co-worker that this happened to, I also can't imagine being in Stacy's shoes, the person standing next to her while the drama unfolds. 

 

And when you're done,  give your baby an extra kiss and hug today, so thankful for that moment.  

 

This morning, shortly after I arrived at work, I chit chatted with a few co-workers and settled in to my work.  Just before 10 a.m., I could hear my co-worker on the phone in her office.  I initially thought that she was having a fun and lively conversation with someone, until I heard her say "Just tell me what happened to my baby".  I went in to her office to find out if everything was okay and I could see that she was shaken up.  She received a call from someone (I'm not sure if it was her grandmother or her neighbor) informing her that something had happened to the baby and that she needed to come home right away.  They wouldn't tell her what happened but they said they would come to pick her up.  I volunteered to drive her home instead.  She was in no condition to drive.

 

As we drove, she tried again to find out what happened to her son, but was only told that he was taken away in an ambulance and that we should go directly to the hospital. As we are driving from Century City to Sun Valley, I'm rolling through stop signs in Beverly Hills and tailgating people on the Canyon, trying to get her to her baby.  She called the hospital and they wouldn't tell her anything, they just asked how long it would take her to get there.    She called home one more time and realized that her mom and grandmother were both still at the house, so who went to the hospital with the baby?  Oh, and there are police officers at the house.  The whole time, I'm trying to reassure her that everything is going to be alright, and I believe that it will.

 

When we arrive to the hospital, I drop her off outside of the ER, where her neighbors are waiting to take her in.  I asked her if she wanted me to stay and she said yes.  I found a parking space right away and by the time I got into the ER, she was in a room that I couldn't go in.  I couldn't go in the room, but I could hear her and I knew what happened.  The anguish in her voice was clear.  Her baby was gone.  She was (understandably) hysterical.  Her five month old son, her only child had died.  Her neighbor stepped out and explained to me what happened:  Her mom keeps the baby everyday.  This morning, she went into the room where the baby was sleeping on the bed and couldn't find the baby.  She panicked and thought that the baby had been taken.  The screams from her and the grandmother brought the neighbors over and they searched for the baby.  At some point the paramedics were called, when they arrived, they found the baby under the bed.  Apparently the baby must have rolled and slipped down between the bed and the wall.  He suffocated.  The neighbor said that they had been looking for the baby for about 20 minutes and he was already blue when they found him.  Though the paramedics tried CPR and took him the hospital (where they also tried to resucitate), the doctor later informed her that he was probably gone long before he reached the hospital. 

 

I was eventually able to get into the room with her, and just sit with her and hold her and listen to her.  Only her neighbors were at the hospital because the mother and grandmother had to stay at the "crime scene" and be questioned by the police.  She wanted to see her baby, but because she was so emotional, they wanted to wait for a family member to arrive.  We convinced her to calm down so that she could see her baby and she did.  We entered the room where her baby lay.  In the room was a priest and a police officer and the body of her lifeless, five month old son.  If he didn't have the tube in his mouth, I would have thought he was just sleeping.  In fact, I was hoping with all of my might that it was just a mistake and that he was sleeping...but he wasn't. 

 

How do you comfort a mother that has just lost her only child???  He was only five months old.  We were in the office yesterday talking about what his Halloween costume was going to be.  This is unimaginable, but of course I'm thinking as I'm standing there, what if that were me?  What if my child's lifeless body were laying on that table?  How can you not think that?  He was five months old!!!  It's not fair!  Not only has she lost her child, but her mother was responsible for him at the time.  How is that going to affect their relationship?  In the car on the way, when she only had part of the story, she was asking why her mom didn't have the baby in the playpen?  When she was at the hospital, she apologized to her baby for not being there.  It was so heartbreaking and emotionally draining for me, so I cannot even begin to imagine her pain. 

 

So, I stayed with her for a couple of hours, until the baby's father and grandparents (from the father's side) arrived.  I left with such a heavy heart and am still feeling pain for her loss.  It's just not fair. 

 

 

 

Here's a great resource that another friend recommended, should you or someone you know need it:  http://www.blogher.com/how-be-there-when-someones-child-dies-part-i-first-days

 

 

Homework for Mom

They drove my daughter to school all last year because I had a new baby. They picked her up for playdates and birthday parties, so I didn't have to take the baby out. They've called me if they've seen her on campus and she looked upset. They give me a heads-up if something is going down at the school with a particular kid, or with the administration (otherwise known as gossip, but the necessary kind). They greet my daughter with a hug and smile when they volunteer in the lunch line, and cover her cost if she didn't bring enough change for a pizza bagel. They are my spies in the classroom and on the playground, at a time when kids need to be protected more than ever. 

 

Who knew that the friends WE make at our kid's school, are about as significant as the friends our kids make?! Um, (raising hand frantically) I knew. My friendships with the moms at my daughter's school have proven invaluable, time and time again. From preschool to grade school, they have had my back. I was reminded of its importance on the first day of school, as we all hovered outside the classroom, greeting, laughing, kissing cheeks (is that an LA thing?). It feels comfortable. It feels safe. And it feels a whole lot better than the alternative - a lack of connection, the feeling that you don't belong or don't relate, that you have no one to talk to about your shared experiences at that school. Like that mom who walks by a group of parents who are smiling and laughing, and doesn't speak or look their way. I feel for that mom.

 

The moms' efforts have not gone unreciprocated. I am the mom that's called when a homework assignment isn't understood. I will run to their kid's aid if I see them hurt, or intervene if I see them treated unfairly. I plan group playdates just so the girls can hangout outside of school, and the moms can gab. And yes, I will cover the cost for that bag of Cheez-Its when I volunteer at snack time, but I will stop them before they order a hot chocolate AND a chocolate muffin simultaneously ("would your mom want you to have that much chocolate at 10am?").

 

So, why would you not make a point of building a relationship with the other school parents? Maybe you have few female friends, on purpose. Maybe you work full-time and have fewer opportunities to get acquainted with other parents. Maybe you're really shy, super busy, or simply don't care. Afterall, school is about their social development. You have all the friends you need, and even some you don't.

 

Here's a homework assignment for you, mom: make a point this school year of getting to know the mom of your child's friend. You can be choosey. Stay away from the one who acts like she needs to increase her Prozac dosage - you already have enough drama without sharing in hers. Befriend some school moms, and there's a good chance that you will improve the quality of your experience at the school, as well as your child's. Who knows, you may even create a friend for life.

 

What I Learned On My Summer Vacation

 

We FINALLY managed to squeeeeeze in a vacation before summer ended. It may have been just a weekend trip to Carlsbad and Legoland, and not the all-inclusive resort in Tahiti that I dreamed of. But, it's always revitalizing to escape the mayhem and hum-drum of everyday life, pig out non-stop, and play tourist for the day (the cool kind of tourist, of course, not the Hawaiian print and knee socks kind). I even learned a few things along the way...

 

1. We invited my daughter's best friend to join us. Bringing your child's friend along with you on vacation doubles your responsibility and quadruples your expense. But, the cost of having someone ELSE sit with them on the nausea-inducing rollercoasters, play endless rounds of Bop-It, and stay up until midnight watching Harry Potter on the hotel's cable? Priceless.

 

2.  Hotel rooms are quite relaxing, except when the room is located next to the elevator, vending machines, laundry room, or is overlooking the kiddie pool. Rooms on the first floor aren't so peaceful either. The suites we stayed in were ideal - the kids had their own bedroom and their own tv, which meant no need to tip-toe around them once they'd finally fallen asleep. Nothing is more frightening than the risk of waking up a sleeping baby when you have your mind set to chill out and relax. Oh, and room service is hands-down the greatest invention ever. I seriously need my own personal cook and live-in maid. Until then, guess I'll just use the ones at the hotels.

 

3.  Fantastic things happen when you least expect it. We have NEVER gone to an amusement park on a weekend, because mama doesn't have the patience for standing in a 30 minute line, for a 1 minute ride. At Legoland, we decided to invest in Fast-Passes for the girls, allowing them to go straight on the rides without waiting in line. Of course, this is an additional charge, and a hefty one at that - VIP treatment does not come cheap, honey. But, that's how much I hate lines. So, we go over to guest services, tell the clerk we need passes so we can go to the head of the line, and attempt to give the clerk the credit card. Hand extended, credit card visible, let's close this deal and feel like celebrities with our special wristbands. "You guys are good. Have fun." I felt like that woman on the Ikea commercial: "Start the car! Start the car!"  Don't know why he wouldn't take the card, but I wasn't stupid enough to stand there and ask questions. Passes to the front of the line are certainly an unexpected gift from the vacation gods.

 

4.  My husband and all of his 200+ pounds, stepped directly on my toe as we were walking to the aquarium. I screamed. It bled. And everyone thought I was overreacting, probably because I started limping severely and using the stroller as a crutch. Well, four days later, my toe was still swollen, throbbing, and bubbling when I poured on the hydrogen-peroxide. So there, I WASN'T exaggerating. I probably should've gone to the hospital and gotten an IV or surgery or something. I have now committed myself to only wearing closed-toe shoes when going to an amusement park. Especially when walking close to clumsy people who shall remain nameless. Oops, I guess I already identified him.

 

5.  The baby slept most of the drive back home. In fact, the entire car slept on the ride home. The perfect ending to the vacation. I now vow to only take road trips during the baby's nap time. A quiet car makes for a happy, sane mother. Maybe singing the off-key version of "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" is your idea of fun driving time, but I would rather walk the 200 miles than be stuck in that moving torture chamber. Plus, the song is probably not age-appropriate. And I don't want to play "who can spot the most fire hydrants" either.

 

6.  There's just nothing like sleeping in your own bed, with the bug mites that you know and love (please remind me to turn the channel the next time "20/20" airs an investigation of hotel bed bugs), and not having to squat over a toilet. Vacations are necessary for your sanity and rejuvenating to your spirit and your marriage. But, there truly is "no place like home." Thanks Dorothy and Toto, for the reminder.

 

 

99 Balloons

Best watched alone. In a quite moment. With a lot of tissue.

 

When I first viewed this video on Oprah, I wasn't just moved to tears - it was more like one of those really unattractive, red-faced, can't catch your breath, howls from the soul. Even Oprah was rendered speechless, and you know how that woman can talk. But, at the conclusion of the video, I was able to smile.

A parents' video tribute to their baby boy, narrated and recorded by his daddy. I urge you to take just six minutes to watch it from beginning to end. Did you have a crummy week, and the weekend isn't improving it much? Have your kids frayed your very last nerve? This may help bring things into perspective, if only temporarily.  A message of strength and spirituality and hope. Fortunately, sometimes it's all you need to get you through a crisis, or bout of sadness. And we've all been there.

Thank you, Baby Eliot, for giving us the gift of perspective, for reminding us to be grateful, to be present, to "live in the moment." And thank you to your mommy and daddy, for having the courage to create this video of your life, and for their generosity and compassion in sharing it with the world. We are better because of your gift.

Check out more on Baby Eliot's family (including his new baby sister!) at www.theatypicallife.com and www.ninetynineballoons.com. 

  

 

"We watch our children too closely...

 

 

until the one time you don't..."  Those are the words of Paul Kruyer. And that one time for the devastated Kruyer family was just two days ago. Their two year old daughter, Iysha, is now dead, having drowned in the family's backyard swimming pool on Wednesday. Her tragic death, and her father's words in a letter to a local tv station, remind us all that we can never be too vigilant about water safety.

 

We have lived in a house with a pool for three years. When we had the pool renovated, I actually had the depth decreased, from over 9 feet, to now about 5 feet. My husband and I are not avid swimmers, and I wanted to be able to stand up in that pool at each and every point. If I needed to jump in to save my child, I needed to know I could also save myself. You may think that was a bit extreme. My peace of mind was worth more than whatever I did to affect the resale value of the house.

 

When we have a friend or two over for a swim, the house rule is one adult per child. If the adult needs to leave the pool temporarily, their kid needs to get out too. Sorry if your participation in a game of marco-polo was abruptly interrupted. I have yet to host a swim party because of my concern about pool safety, but I am finally planning one for next month. Added to the party budget is the expense of a lifeguard, maybe even two. Because I know how easily we as parents can get distracted once we are engaged in conversation, laughing it up with our girlfriends, or taking a "quick" call on our Blackberry.

 

I've seen kids dropped off at pool parties. I've seen parents retreat from the sun to go inside, leaving their child in the pool with the expectation that she'll be fine because "she swims like a dolphin." I've been asked to watch someone else's child at a swimming pool, and I apologetically refuse. I can't closely watch my child in the shallow end, and simultaneously watch your child in the deep end. And I wouldn't ask you to do it for me, because your eyes can't look in two directions either.

 

The doors to the house are alarmed. The pool is gated. And yet I am still highly cautious, praying that we never have to bury one of our children, or their friend.

 

Read the Kruyer story, watch the video. Have fun in the pool, but please be careful. And be vigilant.