First of all, let me apologize for being a slacker blogger here at Home/Work for the last month. I love blogging here – about my life as a working mother, among other things – and starting today, look for me to get back on track with my regular blogging schedule of posting at least once a week. Not surprisingly, the reason I’ve been slacking on the Home/Work blogging front is …..that I’ve been so busy being a working mother. What a shocker, huh? Let me quickly catch you up on my latest news before I dive into the topic I want to talk about today.

News from my world update: Obviously, I continue to struggle with the grief over losing my son Henry only 5 months ago. I have good days and not so good days. Sometimes on weekends, I kind of need to just coccoon for whole days at a time – usually this has happened on a Sunday. My mind and body get so overwhelmed from the constant sadness, that wears on me like wearing a led suit, that everything sort of shuts down and I get what feels like “the grief flu.”  When this happens, I legitimately feel like I have the flu – with body aches and exhaustion, etc. My sweetie of a husband, Jon, has been wonderful when these occasional days arise, taking care of everything all day and just letting me sleep and cry in my bed. After one of these mini grief breakdowns, I wake up the next day feeling better able to go forward. I have also been very busy working to get the word out about the incredible TV special (which you can watch online in its entirety) that my good friends at WBIR-TV – where I used to be a producer – created and aired to tell Henry’s story and educate others about the dangers of Rx drug abuse. Also related to Henry’s death, my family and I have been busy with the launch of the 501c3 non profit we’ve created in Henry’s memory – it’s called Henry’s Fund – and I have been working to encourage the authorities to continue to investigate and bring charges against the people involved in my son’s death.

So there’s all of that. And that’s a lot.

 But of course, I have also been busy mothering J, E, C and Baby G. The three oldest (J is now 15, E is 12 and C is 3 years old) have all be reacting to the loss of their big brother in their own ways, and their father, stepparents and I have really tried to honor the unique way each of them needs to grieve. G is 18 weeks old now, and just a complete joy to all of us. She is truly a ray of sunshine during this incredibly painful period for our whole family. Babble recently invited me to blog regularly  about Baby G’s first 12 months over at Babble’s Baby’s First Year blog, so I’ve been doing that. It’s fun to take a few minutes every few days to focus completely on G in my writing. It’s my hope that the BFY blog posts I’m writing will serve as a sort of virtual baby book for her.

Professionally, I made a big, exciting change in mid-September. I transitioned from my previous job as Director of Digital Strategies with an agency to my new role as Social Media Manager with a large media company. I am absolutely LOVING my new job, and the company culture is truly exceptional for working parents (and really, for all of their employees.) I feel very, very grateful that this opportunity presented itself when it did. It was a perfect next step for me.

I could go on and on about everything that’s got me running a million miles an hour, but instead I will go ahead and jump into what I meant for this blog post to be about in the first place…which is the fact that I am always running a million miles an hour. In fact, our whole family is always running here and there – jobs, lacrosse practice, preschool, well baby doctor visits, playdates, orthodontist appointments, Halloween, sunday school… I think you get the picture. Like most families where both parents work full time, we are on the go – a lot. And lately, I have really been feeling more and more and more like I need an extra set of hands to get everything done. I try to prioritize by making my kids’ needs, my marriage and my job always my three “must do a great job” items on my agenda, and I think mostly I do okay in those areas (certainly not always, though). But what that leaves behind is a trail of unwashed/ folded laundry, an empty fridge, leaking pipes in the basement, uncompleted preschool take-home projects, etc, etc…  In other words, our LIVES are running just fine, but our HOME is not. We aren’t eating enough sit down meals, I can’t ever find any clean underwear and the dog hair that’s accumulated under our sofa has reached epic proportions.

 Our domestic disarray has been bothering me a lot lately, even as my career keeps getting more satisfying. I want to figure out how to get a handle on household management while still keeping people (meaning my time and relationships with the kids and Jon, and even my friends)) and career success at the top of my to-do list. I don’t want to be vaccuuming when I could be throwing the lacrosse ball for E, on the floor playing with the baby, doing extra credit stuff for my job or on a date with my husband.

And this is where I am thinking maybe the polygamists may be on to something. (Yes, you read that right)

Wait…wait…just hear me out. What if we had an EXTRA set of hands in our household? What if I had – per that famous Ms. Magazine essay from the early 70s – MY VERY OWN WIFE!  (Let me be clear that I am aware that I am using the term “wife” in the traditional, iconically sexist sense. I realize that in many two-gender households nowadays – including my own – the husband does as much or more than the wife does with regard to traditionally female tasks like childcare, household cleaning, grocery shopping, etc. But indulge me in my plan to use “wife” as the word to make my point here) If Jon and I had one extra adult living with us - a sister wife who could be the third leg – the domestic leg – to balance out the other areas in which Jon and I are managing pretty well (jobs, kid-time, etc), just think what a well-oiled machine our family could become. What if we brought a third person into the marriage, someone who actually ENJOYS all the traditionally domestic activities that I don’t enjoy, much less have time to do given the demands of my paid employment? That three-adult teamwork could really work to the whole family’s advantage.

I definitely think that family life runs a lot more smoothly when one of the adults in the family is able to make household management a dedicated job – at least much of the time – rather than an afterthought that only gets attention when higher priority items aren’t sucking up all the air. That person can be a stay at home parent, but that’s not possible for us right now given the state of our budget, plus I am the primary wage earner, so if we ever are able to make that happen, that person would be Jon, and he says he could never be happy unless he worked at a job at least part time. That person can also, of course, be a paid nanny or housekeeper – a la Alice on The Brady Bunch –  except we couldn’t possibly afford anyone to handle the scope and scale of the household management oversight I am suggesting. After talking to lost of other busy working mothers I know who find themselves in the same boat – not enough time for domestic duties – I’ve been wondering whether there isn’t some sort of postmodern family structure overhaul that’s time has come. And after perhaps watching one too many episodes of Big Love and now, Sister Wives, I pose the question to you other busy working parents out there: could polygamy work for the needs of today’s families better than the one or two-parent household does currently?

Of course, I don’t really cotton to the idea of sharing my HUSBAND with another wife in the same way I love the idea of sharing the COOKING with another wife. But leaving sex out of it, is it maybe time to open our minds to the idea that in a world where most families have two working parents, either by necessity or choice (in my case, it’s both. I love my job and I also need my job), that a three-adult household might make more sense logistically and functionally? I know this sounds like a totally whack idea, but it wasn’t that long ago that single parent households and certainly two parent/same sex households were considered far out, non mainstream ideas. Now we’ve come around to the idea that families come in all shapes and sizes…as long as that family’s shape and size contains no more than two adults.

How about you, fellow busy working moms (and dads)? Have you ever secretly longed for an extra wife (AKA – stay at home domestic engineer) around the house? Could you ever imagine a cultural shift in which polygamous family configurations become common in the same way gay families and single parent families have gained mainstream acceptance? Could you ever see a three-adult family set-up working for you? 

 Or does it all come down to sex and biology – meaning that most men and women could never become comfortable with a true marital relationship – with all that that implies –  which involved three people instead of two? And what about gender politics – is polygamy inherently sexist and explotative, or could a model exist that would actually support and encourage equality and personal growth?

Discuss my super far-out question of the day in the comments below… Have at it. This should be a fun discussion

 FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON TWITTER OR FACEBOOK

VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG

Ever since I read this tragic story over at Free Range Kids, I’ve been pondering the haphazard ways in which we choose to judge or forgive parents for their failings. Apparently, an Atlanta dad brought his five year old son to the park, and when he briefly crossed a street to chat with friends, the little boy unexpectedly ran after him and was fatally injured when a car hit him. The grieving dad is now IN JAIL, having been charged with some sort of involuntary manslaughter. 

I find this story both horrifying and chilling. Maybe there are facts we aren’t reading, but if the story is as it sounds, it’s truly terrible that this father is being judged so harshly. Don’t you imagine that this guy is already judging himself more harshly than any court of law ever could? As someone who recently lost a child to something that many believe I could have, should have prevented, I have to wonder why THIS dad is in jail, but no one thinks I should be in jail (or at least no one has actually said that to me or about me that I know of). I mean, there is no doubt that there are things I could have done differently or better in raising my son that might have changed the course of his drug abuse and addiction. My divorce from his father, for example, was undeniably painful and upsetting to my son, as was the fact that I had to begin working very demanding hours at a full time job after the divorce when he was used to mostly having me at home. I could go on and on and name other ways in which my choices, failures and lapses of judgment in parenting my son might have impacted his drug use.

In fact, I’ll bet that every parent reading this can recall at least one frightening incident in which a momentary lapse in watchfulness led to an almost-accident for her child, or can tell you about a time when her life decisions were clearly painful or even scarring to her offspring. The only difference in the outcomes, in my opinion, is one of luck. Most parents screw up on a semi regular basis and yet somehow, their children do not die of drug overdoses or run directly into oncoming traffic. Thank God that this is the case. But while we certainly don’t want to simply ignore truly damaging or abusive/neglectful parenting - which does exist and needs to be addressed- we also shouldn’t be criminalizing terrible accidents like the one that happened to this father’s child. We especially shouldn’t make accidents by parents into crimes when we are applying our standards of judgment in such a haphazard way. What I mean is, this father is being prosecuted because some individual DA decided to do it, not because we have a societally accepted standard regarding when fathers can EVER safely walk away from their kindergartener without fear of handcuffs and jail.

There but by the grace of God go every one of us parents. Life is precious and yes, somewhat tenuous. The idea of losing one’s child is frightening beyond words, but judging other parents who DO have the unthinkable happen to them really doesn’t provide you with any sort of karmic protection from the same or another terrible thing happening to your own family, no matter what your subconscious is telling you.

What scares you most as a parent? How do you think those fears impact the way you view other parents’ successes and failures? When is it acceptable to judge another parent, and how would you find it appropriate to express that judgment?

Talk about judging other parents in the comments below.

FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON TWITTER OR FACEBOOK

VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG

Last Thursday night, our whole family showed up to watch E – our 7th grader – play his second to last middle school football game of the year. It was a beautiful fall evening – perfect football weather (or so I’m told, having only been to one actual college football game in my life – and at the time I was wearing a sandwich board reading “U.S. Out Of Nicaragua”…).

E is a very gifted athlete; he has excelled at every sport he’s tried, but now that he’s hit middle school, he seems to have narrowed his focus to two favorites: fall football and spring lacrosse. He’s a starter in both sports, so he was on the field at kickoff the other night. Within 60 seconds of the football game starting, however, he was on the ground, writhing in pain. I didn’t see it happen, but apparently he was brought down immediately by a much bigger kid who also stomped on his lower arm (accidentally). We helped him off the field and headed off to Children’s Hospital, with E weeping the whole way. I knew he was in a lot of pain because this is a kid with a VERY high pain tolerance, and I can’t remember the last time I’d seen him cry in pain like that, for that long.

E, waiting for xrays in the emergency room.

I was sure his wrist was broken, but as it turned out, it was just some major soft tissue bruising and possibly some tendon damage. He’s in a splint for the next few days and if he isn’t pretty much receovered by Friday, we are supposed to take him to see an orthopedist.

While this didn’t turn out to be a serious injury, it’s one of several minor to moderate injuries he’s had this football season. Basically, he’s been sore or hurting somewhere on his still rather small body off and on all season. And this concerns me. It especially concerns me in light of all of the new research coming out about the longterm health dangers of football. It’s clearly a somewhat dangerous sport for kids to play. But then again, so are other sports I’ve happily let my kids participate in without all the worry I have about football – sports like hunter jumper competitions (J), cheerleading (J), rockclimbing ( a new one that J is getting into) and lacrosse (E).  Why does football SEEM so much more dangerous to me?

Maybe I worry more because so many other parents – when they hear that E is playing on the middle school team – tell me that football is the one sport they would never, ever let their child play. Also, maybe it’s because the culture of football seems so much more sexist and aggressive than any other youth sport we’ve participated in as a family (although there is a girl kicker on E’s team, which is very cool!) Maybe it’s because I grew up with horses, soccer and lacrosse, but never had any good friends or family members who played football. I don’t know. All I know is that I remain very uncomfortable with my son playing this particular sport. However, his Dad seems really okay with it, so I am trusting him to take the lead on this decision, since he knows more about it than I do. Plus, I have always tried to let my kids follow their interests, even when those interests aren’t ones I would have chosen for them if it were up to me to do the choosing.

But still….I am left with this lingering “Not Good” feeling about the whole football thing. I need to either get over it completely and move on or decide I won’t let him play. I don’t think this wishy-washy football purgatory position I’ve adopted is really the best approach for me, for him, or for the rest of our family. I guess I need to do some more research and talk to more parents before next season (this season ends this week, and he can’t play the last game because of his injured arm). I freely admit that I don’t know as much about the sport as I should if my child is actually going to keep playing. Maybe I need to buy “Football for Dummies” or something.

Why does football scare me so much? Are my fears reasonable or has football just become some kind of yuppie parenting scapegoat – a sport at which we can direct all our pent up, irrational fears when it’s really no more dangerous than other youth sporting activities? On the other hand, I can’t think of any other scenario when we would encourage our boys to bash their still-developing bodies and brains into each other over and over. Can this possibly be a good idea?

Sigh. So many questions for this football ignoramus mom of a sports-loving boy.

So how about you? Did you grow up in a football culture? Did your family members play? Are you a fan now? And most importantly, where do you come down on allowing your son to play football if it’s what he wants to do? Tell me your thoughts on football and parenting in the comments below.

FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON TWITTER OR FACEBOOK

VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG

We’ve had some big happenings around Casa Hickju in the past month. First of all, J turned 15, got her learner’s permit and has started driving (AAAGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!), and the other major development is that C has started preschool two days each week. Finding a preschool that we liked that offered hours for a working parent (meaning, other than 9am til 2 or 3pm each day) was turning into a bit of an ordeal, but happily, the preschool where my three year old niece NC goes – and where E went when he was little – suddenly announced that after 25 or so years of keeping the same schedule, they were adding an extended care option for working parents. AND they even had some openings for these new slots (usually there is a waiting list). So we signed C right up.


At three years old, C really hasn’t yet spent very much time in group settings with other kids. She’s gone to Sunday School semi-regularly, and as long as her cousin NC is in the classroom with her, she’s been fine. Her grandmother also takes her to storytime at the library every week, but she stays with C for the hour. But that’s really about it as far as C’s experience thus far with organized groups of kids. Her grandmother and father have cared for her during the workday every day since I went back to work when she was 8 weeks old. She goes with her Dad each day to the family business where he works as an accountant, and his mother meets him there each day to care for C and now also for Baby G right there in the office, which is located in a really cool old house with a yard.


Of course, C has four siblings and over a dozen cousins, so she spends plenty of time playing with other kids, but it’s almost all been in a family setting. So starting preschool was a pretty big step for her, even for only two days each week. I had wanted her to start last fall when NC enrolled (the girls are exactly the same age), but while the fearless and exceedingly outgoing NC was clearly ready for nursery school at age 2, our shy and somewhat timid C definitely wasn’t. At 2, she was still pretty uncomfortable being left anywhere without a parent, older sibling, grandparent or her Aunt Betsy. I was pretty sure that any attempt at preschool at that point would have been an unmitigated disaster.


So we waited until this fall, and then the great opening became available in her cousin NC’s class and voila!! Suddenly the first day of preschool had arrived. She was super excited that first morning, but also pretty nervous. She got up that morning and helped me decide what to pack in her princess lunchbox, and she proudly carried her nap mat (okay, it’s a yoga mat; I haven’t yet tracked down one of the school-approved nap mats) out to the car. And off we went. She did great that first morning when I dropped her off. It helped that she also had another good friend in the class, my friend JulieApple’s adorable son, B. She also really liked Squeaky, the class guinea pig, and the playground looked pretty enticing. When it was time for me to leave and go to work, her lip quivered a little but she bravely hugged me goodbye and went off to play.


AWESOME! I mentally patted myself on the back for being such a sensitive parent who had obviously waited until my daughter was developmentally ready to start preschool instead of pushing her. Clearly, she was TOTALLY READY for this.

C on her first day of preschool.

As it happens, however, my self-congratulations were shortlived; for the next two preschool class days (she goes Tuesdays and Thursdays), she began wailing about how much she didn’t want to go as soon as she woke up and was still wailing as I left her in her teacher’s arms and headed out the door for work. Of course I checked in when I got to my office, and they told me she was better than fine – she was having a great time. And both days that started so badly ended with her telling me when I picked her up what a fantastic time she’d had at school. But I was still beginning to doubt our decision to start preschool. I didn’t know if I could bear even one more morning where she seemed so unhappy to be left in her classroom.


When the next class day rolled around, I steeled myself for a very unhappy child, and I mentioned to Jon that if she cried again when I left her, maybe we needed to back off of the preschool idea for a while. After all, C has had so many changes in the past few months. Within one three week span this summer, she lost her big brother and gained a new baby sister. Maybe preschool was too much to add to the mix. But wonder of wonders – for the past several class days, she’s been happy as a little clam to get ready for school in the morning, and she runs right into her classroom when we get to the school. She gives me a big hug, waves goodbye and that’s that. It’s awesome. And I love hearing her hilarious renditions of events that happened at school that day.


Sure, she’s probably the only three year old in her class still wearing diapers, but I figure that now that we’ve successfully launched her academic career, we’ll tackle the whole preschooler-in-diapers thing next.


When did you start your child in preschool or group daycare? Was the choice made out of childcare necessity or did you have the option of waiting until you felt like he/she was developmentally ready? How did the transition go for you? Tell me in the comments below.


FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON TWITTER OR FACEBOOK


VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG

But for the first few months, I couldn’t read them. For some reason, I just couldn’t open the envelopes and read them. It was too painful. Somehow, seeing Henry’s name in an actual physical card or letter that talked about his death made it all too real to me. I was absolutely comforted by the incredible outpouring of support and care that the cards and notes represented, but I just didn’t feel strong enough to actually read them. Instead, my husband and other family members tucked them neatly into several large baskets that have now been sitting on our dining room table for three and a half months. They figured I would be ready to dig into them at some point.

Finally, this week I felt like I could finally start looking at all of the messages that arrived in June and July. So I did. One after another, I opened the envelopes and began reading what so many people had taken the time to write and send to me – people I know well, people I don’t know well and people I’ve never met before. The messages were amazing and beautiful and incredibly revelatory. Other mothers told me of children they had lost. People shared their own highly personal struggles with addiction and drug abuse. There were poems and drawings and pressed flowers. Each envelope I opened contained a treasure of some kind. Each one made me feel just a little bit less alone. The many letters and drawings from children that were in the baskets were especially meaningful for me.

A great number of the cards and letters were from Babble readers – readers of this blog. I want to let everyone who sent something to me know that I was incredibly moved by your wise and loving words, and I appreciate your willingness to share your own stories with me. Although I’ve felt pretty guilty about the baskets full of mostly unopened letters and cards sitting on our table since Henry died, I’m now really glad that I waited to read them. So much of those early weeks are a complete blur to me; by waiting to read the messages, I was able to really feel the love and support that emanated from each one as I held it in my hand.

So thank you. Thank you to everyone who has reached out to me in any way in the past few months – whether it was through a card or letter, an email, a Facebook message, or a comment on this blog or my personal blog. There is really no way to convey to you how much your wisdom and compassion have meant to me in facing the worst experience a parent could ever imagine.

Thank you. Y’all are just wonderful.

xoxo – Katie

FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON TWITTER OR FACEBOOK

VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG

The other new thing I have going on is a new blogging gig here at Babble.  I’ll be blogging regularly for the next 12 months about Baby G’s development and milestones at Babble’s brand new Baby’s First Year blog.  If you become a reader, I can promise you lots of supercute baby pix of Baby G…like these I took day before yesterday, for example… Swoon.

 And now on to my desperate plea for advice from other parents – it’s about potty training, You see, C is now 38 months old. She is a big girl, weighing in at 36 pounds. She has an extensive and quite advanced vocabulary, and she’s loving her new two day a week preschool. She no longer drinks from her beloved “boppies” and she sleeps through the night. She’s learning to pedal her trike and she knows her shapes, colors, alphabet, etc, etc. In other words, she has evolved from toddler to delightful preschooler since turning three on July 31. And yet…and yet….my girl shows NO interest whatsoever in getting out of diapers or in using the potty on a regular basis. 

C, age 3

My other children were all potty trained by now. My boys, H and E, both potty trained the month they turned three years old. I let them run around naked in the yard and pee on the bushes and they just sort of figured it out on their own – sort of like a modified “Lord of the Flies” approach to toilet training (hey! It worked!) My oldest daughter, J, announced at 22 months that she wanted “real underwear.” My sister and I took her to Target, where J picked out some princess-themed underpants, and that was that – seriously. She put on the big girl underwear and never wore another diaper. In each of these cases, I did nothing but sort of mention using the toilet now and then, and suggest in a mild, haphazard way that getting beyond diapers was a worthy goal. The kids took it from there. It was low stress – for them and for me.

But Miss C seems determined to remain in diapers. She has a very clear idea of what it is we’d like her to do, and she will randomly choose to use the potty every day or two. But she is also perfectly happy to wear diapers and to sit in wet diapers. She is in cloth diapers much of the time, so it can’t be too pleasant, but she’s definitely dug her heels in on this; she will not budge on this issue. If she senses that I am being persistent or pushy in any way about this issue, she becomes even more adamant that she will NOT sit on the toilet. I have tried bribing her with treats, suggesting that she can’t watch her favorite first-thing-in-the-morning TV show (Powerpuff Girls) until she’s at least tried sitting on the potty for a moment or two, and I’ve tried reasoning with her – all to absolutely no avail. 

I am totally stumped here. And I have no personal experience with a child this old (barring kids I know with special needs) who is still completely in diapers. I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but I’ll ‘fess up – it’s starting to kind of embarrass me. I know it shouldn’t, but it sort of is. I feel guilty about that. So I need to hear from some other parents with late toilet-trainers. This is okay, right? She won’t get her learner’s permit wearing Pampers? Is there something I am doing wrong? Or could be doing differently? Hit me up with your best words of wisdom on this one, fellow parents, because even with FIVE kids under my belt, this particular issue with this particulat kiddo is throwing me for a loop. I’m baffled. And just a wee bit frustrated.

FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON
TWITTER OR FACEBOOK

READ MORE OF KATIE’S BABBLE BLOGGING

VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG

Yes, I am about to judge another parent, and frankly, that feels a little terrifying given the fact that my own child recently died of a drug overdose (Comments I imagine in my head: “Who is she telling anybody anything about raising kids? Look at what happened to HER child!)  Despite my reservations about sounding all judgy mcjudgerson on this, I’m going to jump in the fray anyway with my opinion because I think this obviously very clever and loving dad is SO WRONG on this one. In fact, I think he will look on this essay some years from now – when his cute, cussing 4 year old has become a 12 year old screaming “F-you!” at his sister, and think, “What the HELL was I thinking letting him believe it’s okay to use words like that?”

About a year ago, I blogged about my teenage daughter’s desire to wear what I considered skimpy shorts to school.  I came down on the side of no short-shorts. Here’s what I wrote:

Teenagers are trying to find and express their identities through
their clothing. I get that, and they need some freedom to do play around
with who they are through their sartorial excesses. That shape-shifting
through fashion experimentation can be an important part of the growing
up process, and completely harmless. On the other hand, when the
identity teenegers are expressing through what they are wearing is one
that truly contradicts your values as a parent, or celebrates things
that are dangerous or illegal, or that compromises their reputation
among other kids and adults because it says something about them that
people find negative, well, then, I think parental discretion and
judgment trumps their need or right to have complete freedom of choice
in what they wear. That’s where I am with this these days, but that’s
been an evolution over time.

 

For some teenagers, dressing a certain way is nothing more than play acting, but for other kids, adopting, for example, a Goth fashion sensibility
actually supports and encourages their descent into depression or drug
use or other kinds of self-harm. Dressing like the guys in gangsta rap
videos might be a big nothing for some kids, who just like to play
around with costuming themselves, while for others, it’s part of a very
meaningful and dangerous interest in a criminal lifestyle. And even if
the kids themselves aren’t actually doing any of the things
commonly associated with whatever specific clothing styles they are
sporting, they can be creating an impression in their schools,
neighborhoods and communities that is unhealthy and self-defeating. As
parents, we have to protect our kids’ from their own lack of experience
and underdeveloped judgment unti l they “get” this stuff themselves.

 

I see the way younger children play around with language and words as very similar to the experimentation that teenagers and tweens do with clothing, hair and make-up.  Young children are still learning what language is, and what power it has in the world (which is a lot). As parents, we need to be very cognizant of how new their grasp is on the nuances of language. In short, little kids often have no idea what they are talking about or what the words they are saying actually mean. And even if they understand the LITERAL meaning of a particular word or phrase, they can’t place it in a social context that imbues it with its full impact and color. Thus, as parents we have guide our kids until they can fully understand what words mean and what words can do so that they are better able to discern for themselves. Until that time, WE have to define the contexts for them; that’s how they learn. That’s our job.

For many people, curse words aren’t just rude or unmannerly, they are downright vulgar and insulting to hear. For example, if my elderly grandmother took one of her great grandchildren to the playground and heard this essayist’s four year old shouting Sh%* on his way down the slide, she would be really bothered. It would kind of ruin her time at the park, just as if she’d stepped in something foul. Of course, we usually don’t hear loud cussing in public settings because for courteous adults, the desire not to offend or insult others generally prevents them from cursing in inappropriate settings. In other words, if it’s not a setting where a polite adult would be freely using curse words, why would this guy allow his four year old to mistakenly develop the impression that it’s okay for a little boy to do it?

In his essay, the dad-writer lumps the word “hate” in with the curse word issue. But this is another one where we have to help our kids learn about the power of words and about social context. “Hate” can be a very, very powerful word, and it’s best reserved for expressive situations that are important enough to call out the big guns.In other words, the line with “hate” in it from Harry Potter that the guy was reading to his son might have been part of a scene with intense emotion and a lot at stake, whereas it would be an entirely different and inappropriate use of the word if the little boy began screaming “I hate you!” at adults when they try to get him to eat his lima beans or to take his nap mat out of his preschool cubby. Instead of parents decreeing that a word like hate is wholly allowed or disallowed, why not explain how it could be used and how it shouldn’t be used, and then hold the child to those standards to help him learn.

The same goes for curse words. If this parent really doesn’t mind his kid cussing at home, why not explain that there are words that are appropriate at home and words that are inappropriate in other, more public settings? This is an explanation that reflects the world in which the little boy will actually have to navigate as he grows out of his parents’ reach, a world in which there are times for short shorts and times for a down parka and times for a ballgown. In my view, this idea of context and boundaries and social courtesy with regard to language is something a kid really does need to learn from his parents, dammit.

FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON
TWITTER OR FACEBOOK

READ MORE OF KATIE’S BABBLE BLOGGING

VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG

 Our best friend’s house burned to the ground last night. (No, really)

I am starting a really wonderful new job in a few days.

Jon and I celebrated our anniversary, and he surprised me with pearls. 

J and E are going to a two day grief camp for siblings this weekend.

I am trying to shed the baby weight, and at 10 weeks old, Baby G is starting to sort of smile at us sometimes.

And I smile sometimes too. I laugh. We have friends over. I am productive. I do good work on the job. I write. I publish. I revel in the good health and beauty of our other children. I sometimes now feel a bit of joy at random things like sunshine or flowers or a glass of wine with a good meal.

Really, though, it’s all kind of a sham.Whatever I am doing, it’s just a respite from the everpresent reality that I am the mother of a dead son. 

Mostly all I think about when I’m not required to think of something else is my Henry. My beautiful boy, who died only three months ago.  I know that everyone else is moving on, moving forward. I know it’s unseemly now for me to mention my dead son too frequently, or expect others to think of him all the time, like I do. So I pretend I’m not thinking about him even when I am. I smile and nod and laugh at that funny quip and I do the laundry and drive carpool and try to be present for everyone else who needs me and has expectations of me. Mostly I think I am doing a pretty admirable job.

But I can’t wait for those 15 minute increments during the day when I’m alone and can fully give in to what I really want to do, which is think about Henry – as a toddler, as a first grader, as a whipsmart middle schooler, in rehab, in the hospital, dying in my arms. Last words. Last hug. Last time I ran my hand through his hair. Last time I pressed my cheek to his.

Night time is when I can fully surrender to being with my thoughts of Henry. Everyone else is asleep and I can just sink onto a deep reverie of memories and  almost-encounters with my child. I sometimes replay the simplest things over and over for hours – getting him to sleep with a lullaby atnage 3 or that roadtrip the two of us took alone at age 15. I wish I’d videotaped every second of every single day we had together. But I was lazy and I didn’t even take enough photos.

No, I’m not obsessed – i’m just a grieving mama, only a few months out. And this is what it’s like, when you are a mama, interrupted – in case you ever wondered.

Henry.

FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON
TWITTER OR FACEBOOK

READ MORE OF KATIE’S BABBLE BLOGGING

VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG

Today, instead of telling blogreaders what I think about some topic or another, I come to all of you smart mamas humbly seeking advice on something: colic. You see, Baby G is now 8 weeks old and she is VERY, VERY FUSSY. Starting about 3 weeks ago, she is continually grunting and straining and crying inconsolably. This is not something I’ve experienced with any of my other babies, and it’s so hard to see her so obviously uncomfortable. As I’ve mentioned, G is not being breastfed; she’s being bottlefed. And my hunch that the lack of breastmilk is what’s making her so grunty and gassy and uncomfortable has me feeling even worse about the breastfeeding thing. It’s very hard to see my tiny baby so distressed.

She doesn’t spit up, but instead goes days at a time without a dirty diaper, and her tummy gets SO tight. I am hoping that some of you who have experienced this with your own babies can offer some wisdom as to possible solutions, or at least tell me when it might get better.

Baby G at 7 weeks. Isn’t she a cutiepie? Look at those cheeks!

Just so you know, here’s what I’ve tried so far – three different infant formulas (Similac Advance, Carnation Good Start and now she’s drinking Alimentum). I’ve tried adding Karo Syrup to her bottles (my grandmother suggested this and my pediatrician okayed it), gripe water, Mylicon gas drops, prune juice added to her formula and also glycerin baby suppositories (which seem to work best but you really can’t constantly be sticking stuff up your eensy-weensy baby’s bum. That’s no long-term solution). Nothing has really helped in any big way. 

As for bottles, we’ve tried Dr. Brown’s, Nuk brand, Playtex drop-ins, those Vent-Aire angled ones and now she’s using Avent bottles, which seem to work best because the milk doesn’t gush into her mouth too quickly as with the other bottles we tried. I know people rave about Dr. Brown’s helping with colicky symptoms and tummy troubles in babies, but I didn’t see any difference and she didn’t like the nipples. 

We walk her and carry her in the sling and we swaddle her and un-swaddle her and rock her and sing to her and make shushing noises….nothing helps. She’s miserable.

So what am I missing here? What can I try that might make a difference for her? I’m getting pretty desperate, and other than trying the Alimentum hypo-allergenic formula we’re using now (which, by the way, costs as much as filet mignon encrusted in 24 karat gold leaf), my pediatrician doesn’t have any good suggestions. He says that it’s just old-fashioned newborn fussiness and she’ll grow out of it. But what are your thoughts? Have you had a colicky baby before? What did you try and how did it work out? How many months old was your baby when it stopped?

I eagerly await your wise feedback. 

FOLLOW KATIE’S BLOGGING ON
TWITTER OR FACEBOOK

READ MORE OF KATIE’S BABBLE BLOGGING

VISIT KATIE’S PERSONAL BLOG