Chicago Moms Blog

Haunted By Christmases Past

2009-12-25T02:00:00-08:00

The holidays are a mixed bag for me. I have wonderful memories of going to see The Nutcracker, sharing a bed with my sisters, warm fires, and my grandma’s cookies. However, I also have memories of the anxiety, pain, and destruction my mother’s family brought to every Christmas.

You see, my mom’s family is full of drama. Drama packed so tight, sometimes breathing room is impossible. And I don’t mean the simple kind of drama that can be solved by a good cry, bouquet of flowers, or glass of wine. I mean the kind of spiteful, nasty drama that tears families apart. My poor mom is one of seven kids: five girls and two boys. I only speak to one of my aunts, who like my mom, overcompensates with sweetness for the rest of the family.

Growing up we were surrounded by crying, back stabbing, stealing, and general dysfunction. The holidays were even worse. What is it about weddings and holidays that bring out the best and worst in people? I think back on those days and am riddled with anxiety. Early on I learned that even those closest to you, and in this case, especially those close to you, have the capacity to intentionally hurt you. And ruin Christmas. And they did. Every year.

I made a decision early on in my mom career: Just because someone is technically related to me doesn’t mean they’ll be family to my child. I think this is an altogether healthy and safe way to choose how you want to raise your child and who you want to have influence over them. So, I told my mom that any holiday festivities that might include her siblings would not include us. It’s that simple.

This isn't an original story to my family. Plenty of families are torn apart, dreading the holidays, wishing they could just stay home. Too often we're sucked in by guilt. The "but it's family" line only explains so much and it expired with this family years ago.

I don’t want my son to see his grandma cry on Christmas. I can’t allow my son’s holidays to be overwhelmed by which person isn’t speaking to the other one. Or who won’t show up when they promised they would. Or who might be jealous of someone else’s gift or fabricate a “look” that someone gave them and then not speak to them for years. (I’m serious, it’s that petty.) And when people have a track record of including children in their feuds, I can’t allow them near mine.

To raise a child with a strong moral compass, you need to surround that child with people you respect and trust. I believe it takes a village. And in my tiny village I advocate for keeping the dangerous people far away from the general population.

My mom finally gets it. Her first grandchild has shown her the importance of real family. We all want the next generation of our family to be happier, to fix the tiny cracks in our foundation, right? Well, I'm filling those cracks with the strongest caulk I can find.

I fully intend to make every Christmas a happy, cheerful, thankful affair… without the baggage I carry of Christmases past.

This is an original post to Chicago Moms Blog. Lisa H. blogs at Hannemaniacs.

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Merry Christmas, Abnormal Mom

2009-12-24T02:00:00-08:00

After a long week at work, I finally got a chance to take a close look at the newest presents to pop up under the Christmas tree. I laughed out loud when I saw the tag on one of the carefully-wrapped packages. It read, "To my abnormal mom". Don't worry. I take it as a compliment.

Because I work a very early morning shift, I usually have to be asleep by 8:00 p.m. during the week. I've actually gone to bed long before my children for nearly two decades. They used to tuck me in and my husband would handle their bedtime routine.

Whenever I take time off from work, my daughter is always eager for me to help her with her hair, make her breakfast or drive her to school. I love that she appreciates those opportunities and she's often referred to me being a "normal mom" on those days. But, really, what is "normal"?

I mentioned my daughter's unique gift tag while driving her and a friend to the movies. The friend immediately declared, "No, my mom's abnormal! She always tries to sing along with all the good songs on the radio."

My daughter replied, "But she drives you to and from school almost everyday."

"That makes her normal?", I asked.

Her friend immediately added, "My mom also says 'LOL' and 'OMG' out loud. It's so awkward!"

LOL. Thank goodness I've never said that aloud.

However, my work schedule has always prevented me from serving as a "room mom" or committing to too many classroom activities. When my children were younger, I suppose I baked and crafted away the guilt. For snack day while my son was in elementary school, I once made personalized gingerbread boy and girl cookies for each child in his class. Another time, I spent two days working with my daughter on her undersea diorama. It was one of the few to incorporate a whole school of fish, glitter, fishing line and graphics. Another parent asked if they could either borrow the project or just steal the design for the future.

During my childhood, I felt abnormal since my parents insisted on speaking only Chinese at home and they were always busy working at our family restaurant. I envied kids who had homemade lunches with thoughtful notes from their moms. Restaurants mean long hours and constant customer service. So my parents almost never attended any of my school activities. But I understood because they needed to work. It's what made my college education and career possible.

I've made clear to my daughter that there is no right or wrong mommy track. Mothers make choices and decisions based on what's best for their family situation. I'm certain that every mom has her own unique parenting challenges. Abnormal seems to be the new normal.

This is an original post for Chicago Moms Blog by Nancy Loo, an abnormal mom who works as an Anchor/Reporter in Chicago. She blogs regularly about her adventures in television and parenting at www.nancyloo.net.

P is for Quiet

2009-12-23T03:00:00-08:00

A couple days ago I was searching for a birthday card for my mom, a process which always brings tears to my eyes. I'm a sucker for the endearing cards that get to the heart of how you feel no matter what the sentiment. Big droopy tears just start to flow. My kids asked me how I knew which one was the right one. "Your mom knows things kids." I quickly replied and with that they shrugged, convinced it was true and looked for their own.

Thankfully I found one within a few moments so I didn't completely ruin my mascara. The card was near perfect talking about how time has made me a wiser person. After becoming a mother it slowly dawned on me what a fabulous job my mom did. She didn't have all the answers (but sounded like she did), went without a lot of the time and put her kids first in every sense of the word. Translation- she is a great mom.

That night after dinner and gifts, my mom retrieved a school paper of mine from the mid-70's (who else would have this handy I wonder?). I am guessing she came across the paper and thought my kids would enjoy seeing what I did in school for the holidays all those years ago. My oldest read through each sentence which went a little like, "A is for Angel, B is for Bow, C is for Christmas..." while my youngest commented on how nice my handwriting looked. It was a sweet moment that came screeching to halt after "O is for Ornament."

"Mom!?", her voice became strained like someone who is holding back the punch line a little too long, "What is this?" I scooted across the couch, grabbed the page and read out loud, "P is for Quiet." Her laughter erupted as she repeated it a couple more times. Then my youngest joined in. "What does that mean Mom?" he whispered, as if the joke alluded him. "It means Mommy made a mistake darling. It happens all the time.", I said very matter of fact. His eyes widened as if I'd explained the Christmas miracle instead.

Ever since the holiday lights have popped up around the city, the kids and I have discussed the grading system. Driving down Lake Shore Drive we assign a grade for each holiday light display. The Drake has an A for very even, sparkling lights. A few restaurants got a C for some stringy looking but okay lights. A condo building on the River (which will remain anonymous) got an F, for complete failure. Someone must have stopped midway through the job.

As the laughter died down, my kids searched for the paper to find out what grade I received and noticed it was an A-. Astonished, my daughter commented that she never knew you could make mistakes and still get a good grade. My mom quickly came to my rescue, "It isn't the mistake sweetheart, it is what you learned that matters." And I sat back thinking about my mom's life and her legacy.

An Original Chicago Moms Blog post. Jen Khatchatrian is a freelance writer that spreads the good karma gossip at EcoChicagoStyle.com.

to santa or not to santa?

2009-12-22T03:00:00-08:00

I have a mixed marriage. My husband grew up believing in Santa Claus (I'm pretty sure he knows the truth now, but I still try to be careful about how I speak of Santa around him just in case). I did not.

When we started having kids, I argued long and hard for us not to do Santa Claus with our kids. My argument was that if we lie to them about Santa, won't they think we are lying to them about other things?

Only because my husband must have been a lawyer in a former life, he won the battle. As a result, my three kids all get a gift from Santa each year.

I have been amazed at their ability to close their minds to everything that is illogical about Santa. I'm not just talking about the idea of Santa flying to every child's house on Christmas Eve and eating all those cookies. I'm talking about the fact that they've sat on two different Santa's laps this year and never questioned why he was different. I'm talking about Santa delivering presents on the night of the 22nd because that is when this family will celebrate Christmas Eve.

The English poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge defines imagination as a "willing suspension of disbelief." I think Christmas has afforded my children an incredible opportunity to work hard at suspending their disbelief in order to keep the magic alive.

I know all the arguments to be made against doing Santa Claus, because I've made them myself. But watching my kids' enjoyment of Santa and all he means to Christmas has become so much fun for me that I may just become a convert to the other side. We told my 7-year-old daughter the truth this year with no serious repercussions, philosophically, mentally or spiritually. In fact, she seems just as willing as ever to suspend her disbelief in order to parkate in the Santa festivities with the rest of the family.

I don't think we can make our kids more or less imaginative, but I do think it is possible to foster an environment that encourages creativity and imagination. I hope allowing them to celebrate Christmas by including Santa Claus is one opportunity to do that.

This Christmas I think I will follow the example of my kids and willingly suspend my disbelief for one magical night...

This is an original post to Chicago Moms Blog. You can read more about Melanie's children and their wild imaginations at her personal blog, tales from the crib. She also blogs for Blissfully Domestic.

Peeing in Coke bottles (Or, how to survive a highway snowstorm)

2009-12-20T20:57:00-08:00

Getting stuck in a blizzard, on a highway, in the dark, with a child - that was one of my parenting nightmares. How do you stay warm? How do you keep the child feeling safe - and entertained? What if you have to pee?

Well, thanks to the massive storm that hit the East Coast on Friday, now I know: You turn on the car’s heat every half an hour and pull out layers from the suitcase. You try not to cry. You reenact key moments from favorite PBS Kids shows. You give your 3-year-old son a crash course in the art of peeing in a Coke bottle.

Granted, after about five hours of sitting in West Virginia on a very dark, very un-plowed Interstate 64, we were able to finally make it through the graveyard of stuck trucks and abandoned cars to a hotel. Our experience was nothing compared to the thousands of people stuck on Virginia roads all night.

Still, five hours was as close as I’ll ever want to be to calling my Subaru home.

We drive to Virginia at least one a year to visit family on both sides. Our trip south usually provides a warm winter respite from our frigid Chicago home. We couldn't remember the last time it snowed more than a few inches in Virginia.

So, as experienced travelers and former Virginians, we thought we could beat this looming storm by leaving Chicago at 4:30 a.m. Friday. My husband, son and I made great time, and were in West Virginia by early afternoon.

But the storm came early. By the time we were deep in the mountains, the snow was thick as confectioner’s sugar. Within an hour, my husband was driving through a white-out. Thirty miles from the nearest available hotel, traffic stopped.

My husband stepped out to chat with another driver, came back and announced: “Well, I’m sorry, but there’s a good chance we’re sleeping in here tonight.” (Tip #1: Never say that to your very tired, very afraid partner.)

I burst into tears (Tip #2: Save the tears - you’ll need them by hour four) and my sweet boy offered hugs of consolation. As the snow covered our windows and other cars turned off their headlights to save battery time, I grew claustrophobic in the dark. And, I had to pee.

I went out to squat in front of our car (all sense of decorum gone), and saw a truck driver get out of his cab. I walked up to find he was talking to a state trooper, who was also stuck in the traffic. He told us police were working to move a tractor-trailer that had jackknifed across the road. It should be gone in a half an hour, he assured me.

Actually, it took more like two and a half hours before we could move, but that was enough information to keep me sane. I spread the word to other cars, getting hotel tips from locals in one car and commiserating with another car full of Wisconsinites. We were all in this together, and I felt much less alone by the time I climbed back into our dark little cave.

Our son may have been worried, but he didn’t show it. He munched on Goldfish crackers, sung all the words he knew from “Peter Pan,” and acted out scenes from “Dinosaur Train.” (Anyone remember the episode when Laura the Giganotosuarus saves the train from hitting a fallen log? That remembrance kept him entertained for a good 20 minutes).

Thankfully, our little guy still uses diapers at night, so we were able to dress him in one to poop. Unfortunately, we failed to bring any wipes. (That’s Tip #3).

Finally, police let people with all-wheel drive push ahead. About ten miles later, traffic stopped again. This time, I read books by the light of other headlights. We ate peanut butter and bagels and tried not to lose hope.

After five hours, we pulled off to the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen: the Hampton Inn in Lewisburg, WVa. The lobby was packed with families, truck drivers, and highway crew members. The front desk staff answered phones constantly, apologizing that the hotel was full, and sending stranded travelers to a shelter at a nearby church.

We counted our blessings that night, the three of us tucked inside a warm bed. We were lucky to have called ahead, reserving a room hours before people flocked to find shelter for the night. We were fortunate to have had a sturdy car. Thankful the nearby Wal-Mart was still open and full of frozen dinners.

And then we met our hotel neighbor, Regina. The storm forced her to pull off halfway between her house and the University of Virginia hospital, where her husband had just been placed on life support. She’d left without a map, so we gave her our spare. She was too weak to shovel out her car, so we did it for her.

Our journey ended happily; after two nights in a hotel, we made it safely to my parent’s home outside of Roanoke, Va. Regina’s journey, I imagine, is far from over.

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post.

All My Friends are Pregnant

2009-12-19T03:00:00-08:00

Everyone I know is pregnant. Really. Ok, not really. But it feels that way. Between my real life friends and my bloggy friends and my facebook friends, I know at least 20 preggos right now. Maybe the lackluster economy is forcing people to stay home and find other forms of entertainment (hehe!). And among my close friends who are not pregnant, one is done with kids for sure and one is in the process of adopting and I expect two of the others to announce pregnancies any day now. I know my friends and I are in this stage of life. This "reproduce like mad and grow your family before the eggs become too old or you become too old to chase the little people" stage. But, for me, it is a bit more complicated than that.

I have three boys, one who is in heaven. And while I really love the miracles of being pregnant, it doesn't exactly agree with me. I get really sick at the beginning and then my platelets drop dangerously low causing all kinds of issues and drama. But still, everytime I hear that another someone I know is expecting, my heart drops just a little. I am happy for them. I am. But it brings up some really complex emotions in me that I am not completely sure what to do with. It seems so simple for them. Let's have another kid. Why not? It is the answers to my "why not?" that keeps me from joining the ranks of the preggo.
For my husband and I, pregnancy is risky and stressful. Any future baby I may have has a 50% risk of the same congenital issues that my first son passed away from. But if that were the only reason, I might still be willing to take the plunge. Again, it is complicated.

I always wanted to be a mother. I loved babysitting growing up and was good at it. Kids loved me and I loved them. I knew early on that being a mother was going to be one of the most important things in my life. Today, I love my boys more than anything in this world. And more and more I am realizing that in order to be the kind of mother I want to be for them, I need to prioritize life and the things that fill it. It is a hard pill to swallow, but being a mother is WAY harder for me than I ever imagined. I thought it would come so naturally. And in many ways it does. But, it is also the hardest, most taxing and exhausting thing I have ever done. Motherhood has made me question my character and examine all my personality flaws. Extreme fatigue does not bring out a pretty side of me and neither does constant whining. But with my two boys being 3yrs. and 16months, every day brings us closer to a day when I can reason with them and hopefully manage the days with less yelling and whining. I love being a mother and I love being pregnant. But, I am convinced that I will be able to be a better mother to my boys if I do not add another baby to the mix. I am just starting to get consistent rest and be able to focus a little more on my career. That feels good. And I have an endless list of fun ideas and crafts and learning projects I want to do with my boys. The mother I want to be, the mother I picture myself as, is one that has time to do creative things and take my kids on fun adventures and deal with each situation or tantrum with loving calmness. I want to be intentional in how I raise them, thinking through each parenting decision and able to put nutritious, well-rounded meals on the table. I want to nurture my boys but also my nursing career that worked so hard for. I want to be entrepreneurial and have the resources to give my family all we could hope or dream of. I can do all these things. I am getting there. But add in another baby and I am not so sure. I am not willing to delay being a good mom to these two boys in order to experience the miracle of pregnancy again. As much as I think I want to be pregnant again, I don't think it is the right thing for me or my boys.

Maybe these aren't good reasons to not have any more children. Children are so awesome and such a blessing. I didn't think I wanted anymore after my 3yr old and now I can't imagine life without my littlest guy. I would feel the same about any other children God blessed me with for sure. And yet, maybe they are the best reasons. Either way, they are my reasons... for now at least. I am sure all my pregnant friends are more capable of holding it all together than I am. Or the desire to have a large(r) family makes them more willing to put other things on hold for now. Having lived through the loss of my first son and the rollercoaster of motherhood thus far, I am ready for life to level out a bit and give me the opportunity to be the mom I always pictured myself being. With just these two kids. No more.

So...all my friends are all having more children. I am not. And that makes me a little sad but yet I know it is right for me.

An original Chicago Moms Blog post. Farrah blogs about her life and her boys and all her personality flaws at BabyLove Slings. You can also find her being entrepreneurial and building mommy community at Dupage Mamas.

Yes, there is a Santa

2009-12-18T02:00:00-08:00

Oh Tannenbaum

Well, if you know our crazy December Dilemma clan, you know that we have a traditions: a major Hannukkah party,

and I put up a tree.

An evergreen in the house is an essential tradition. The tree is a memorial to my father who died young, when I was only 13. We call it his yarzheit.

It is also a part of my limnal needs this time of year.

Except this year we are so broke that I could not justify spending money on something we throw out. It's a year of tough decisions. In the end,it was a fond, deep want, but not a need.

I was trying to get the kids signed on to the idea of decorating our avocado tree (grown from seed and now taking up most of a stair landing and well over 6 feet tall) with the ornaments that date from my fourth birthday.
My eldest, emminently practical, was considering the concept. My proposal had merit.

The youngest two weren't buying it.

I kept putting off the tree thing--well we can't really have it in the house for the Latke fest, now could we? All menorahs and dreidels and that would be theologically oxymoronic, right?

We'll get it later.....

My husband was THRILLED. He hates my Tree Habit. He hates finding needles in the carpet in August. He hates the mess when I haul it out in January. He was ecstatic that I was not going to get tree sap all over the front of the house.

I was dealing with my sense of loss by going to tree lots and burying my face in Frazier firs. (My daughter who saw one of these smell tours was ready to have the men in white coats come get me...) I was asking the Home Depot for the trimmed branches they throw out so I would not be completely pine-less this winter.

And then, there, on the front porch, today, a Secret Santa had left the biggest, most loveliest, most wonderfullest tree ever. We are out of this world with happiness.

Even my Scroogey husband loves the magic of a tree silently arriving on the porch. As much fun as the tree is the guessing game of Where Did it Come from??? We each have our theories about who our Mystery Macabee is......

And the best part of all, it is my goofy optimistic belief that there really truly is a Santa Claus. Thank you whoever you are, for bringing the holiday magic to my house!

This is an original Chicago Mom's Post. Thanks to Ana Garza and ThingFamily for the photo. When she is not sniffing her tree, Angela also blogs at Domestic Blitz.

Maybe we could just ban gift-giving altogether

2009-12-17T03:00:00-08:00

Yesterday one of my friends told me that, due to financial concerns, she wasn't buying gifts for anybody this year. Throughout the course of our conversation, however, she revealed that she had been buying some "gifts" for herself this season, which made her feel guilty for telling her relatives that she had no money to buy anything for them.

"Why?" I asked. "It makes more sense to buy for yourself because then you know you'll get something you want."

I know, I know, 'tis better to give than receive and all that. Except, perhaps this old adage only applies to children and charities these days.

I always say the ideal family holiday gift exchange would involve a setup whereupon each adult family member was assigned a set dollar amount, say $50, to spend on him- or herself. People could spend it on anything, from shoes to an oil change. Then on the day of the family holiday gathering, each person would bring in some representation of how he or she spent the money. It could be a picture, a Power Point presentation, or the item itself. Or whatever. And then everybody would take turns sharing, and when the other family members oohed and ahhed about the gift, they would do so honestly knowing that the gift was enjoyed.

I know, I'm being a bit grinchy. Having everybody buy his or her own gift does not constitute a gift exchange. But it does guarantee that everybody comes away happy from the party, and it still helps our ailing economy.

Speaking of our ailing economy, one of the few good things to come out of the recession is that many families have cut back on gift exchanges among adults this year. With my in-laws, we drew names this year, reducing my gift purchases for that family from 15 down to 1. With my mom's family, we made a no-gift pact among the adults, but agreed to exchange stocking stuffers. And several other families I know have scaled back as well.

It's a step in the right direction. But still, I don't think we have gone far enough. In the situation with the name draw at my in-laws', I'm still taking a stab in the dark as to what to get my chosen person, and it's likely she will hate it. Sure, in previous years I have had to make 15 stabs in the dark as to what to get people, so it's definitely an improvement. But I still don't feel like any of this is in the true spirit of gift-giving. It's more in the spirit of "check one more thing off my to-do list so I can get on with all the rest of the excesses of the holidays."

And in the case of the stocking stuffers with my mom's family? Somehow the stocking stuffers have morphed into individually-selected, pricier-than-random-dollar-store-crap items that I'm expected to personally choose for each person's stocking. So, basically, we're just getting gifts and putting them in stockings.

A couple of other gift-giving anecdotes come to mind. One involves my stepmom's family, who for years has done a name-draw wherein each person writes down his or her desired gifts on the paper that is drawn from the grab bag. However, everyone has gotten wise and just started asking for gift cards to avoid any possible misinterpretation of the wish lists. The result is that it's just one big exchange of $30 gift cards. They might as well be exchanging money. Or nothing at all.

Then there is the case of my friend's work. Somebody wanted to do a Yankee swap (everybody brings a wrapped $10 generic item and they are exchanged in the context of a game) at their office holiday party. Apparently it was put to a vote, and people overwhelmingly voted against the Yankee swap, but they still had it. Nobody understood why. Who needs some pointless item that wasn't even personally selected for the recipient?

It's like we just somehow all gravitate toward gift-giving, no matter what efforts are made toward banning gifts. It's like we can't possibly get together for the December holidays without some form of gift exchange, despite the fact that most families, friends, and office groups have plenty of gatherings throughout the year where no gifts are exchanged.

And the result is that we're all making last-minute, late-night trips to Target to pick up some random item, plus a box, giftwrap, and tags. And we're staying up too late baking and wrapping just so we have some token to give every single person we know. Even though none of us wants any more baked goods or scented lotions.

Now, let me say that there are certainly people who you should get gifts for. Your daycare provider, and anybody else who performs a service for you at home or work, deserves to be recognized at the holidays for his/her year of hard work for insufficient pay. And please, please get something for your child's teacher, even if it's homemade or just a thank-you note.

And of course, the holidays should be about children. I'm not suggesting you give up the joys of seeing children's faces light up on Christmas morning, or the joy of reliving your childhood through theirs.

I think it's also nice to give to charities at the holidays. Personally, I don't make an attempt to organize any sort of official "in lieu of gifts" charitable giving campaign among my family, because it just gets too controversial. So I just do my charitable gift-giving on my own. But if your family is enlightened enough to come up with some sort of group charitable plan, more power to you.

But back to the people for whom I feel you should not have to buy gifts. For the adults in our family and friend groups, I feel like we could all stand to make a collective no-gift pact. Most adults can afford to buy themselves things, and if they can't, they don't need the pressure of having to buy unneeded gifts for others.

Am I like the biggest Scrooge ever?

Original Chicago Moms Blog post. Shannon also blogs at Chicagonista and Same Old Shannon.

Dreaming of a Calm Christmas, But Not Expecting to Get It

2009-12-16T03:00:00-08:00

I wanted to spend yesterday evening living out one of my mythical images of holiday bliss: On the couch, carols playing, tree twinkling, eggnog at my side, writing my Christmas cards.

Instead, I spent it like I usually do: Nursing the baby whenever he awoke, looking for something (in this case searching my basement and crawl space for a pair of girls' boots to give to a friend in need), straightening up the house and writing a quick blog post.

My failure to attain holiday nirvana pretty much sums up the schism between the Christmases I want and the Christmases I usually have.

When I think about my Christmas fantasy and Christmas reality, two books come to mind. The first, predictably for me, is Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods: A joyful but calm gathering of loved ones, esthetically pleasing treats prepared with deliberate anticipation, and children who are ecstatically grateful for small handmade gifts.

I know. It's insane to expect a 21st-century child to be thrilled by a pair of mittens and a peppermint stick. Still, I always wish I could replicate some of the simple beauty of that Christmas ideal.

Christmas as I actually experience it has more in common with a scene from Mona Simpson's Anywhere But Here: The mother and daughter in the book are invited to a Christmas party, but they end up staying home scrubbing the insides of closets all Christmas Day because the mother just wants everything to be perfectly clean and pure for the holiday. She says she just can't relax and decorate until the house is clean.

I'm not as bad as that. I do find moments of joy in Christmas. I am able to smile at the girls' excitement in putting the new candy canes on the tree, even though I know I'll soon be picking ground bits of forgotten candy canes out of the rug. I even find the odd moment to peacefully cuddle with my husband and stare into the tree lights, by the evening of Christmas Day at the latest.

But as the years go on and my brood multiplies, I realize that the moments of joy in Christmas are like orgasms. Sometimes you have to work really hard to get there, and the more the kids and your responsibilities wear you down, the less you feel like even trying for those moments. To be honest, as a mom of three I it takes effort this year simply to not shout, "I hate Christmas!"

At least not in front of the kids.

I was chatting about resources to ease the holidays for moms with fellow Chicago Moms Blogger Caitlin Gileson WGN's Chicago Now radio when it hit me how much of this whole holiday extravaganza is put on by moms. In my house, I procure and write and stamp the Christmas cards, I buy the gifts for everyone but myself, and I even end up selecting the gifts for myself and the gifts other people buy my children through Amazon Wish Lists. I set up photo shoots and order prints and put those prints into the Christmas cards and frames. I keep the schedule of holiday events, I see to the holiday-related charity, I will be the one spending all day with the children once school ends on Friday, and yes, it is me who creates our family's Pandora radio station, called Calm Holiday. (Wishful thinking!)

My husband is no slouch. In between working extra hours to meet deadlines at work, he has hauled in a live Christmas tree and helped decorate it, and he will be putting those Christmas lights on the house once I've nagged him enough. He's even spent two football Sundays with a sewing machine in front of the television, creating homemade Snuggies for our daughters.

During all this, there is of course no reduction in the amount of laundry or cooking that needs to be done, snowsuits to be put on and peeled off, snow to be shoveled or writing deadlines to be met.

I am driven in all my frantic activity by the ghosts of Christmases past, Christmases when I was so busy writing last-minute cards or wrapping gifts until the dawn hours of Dec. 25 that I could not find a single moment of thatChristmas peace I so desire. If I don't work double time now, I tell myself, Christmas will pass me by. Hell, it'll run me right over.

The funny thing is, I know few people would care if I skipped any of my Christmas to-do list. I would get a few complaints if I didn't send out pictures of my kids each year, or if I didn't create a custom photo calendar for the grandparents, but I'm sure it wouldn't exactly create a riot. My daughter will enjoy decorating a gingerbread house if we manage to pull it together, but if I don't mention the possibility it's not as if her Christmas will be ruined. No one will say, "I heard you had the chance to use a coupon code to get me an extra little gift for free, and you passed it up!" And the only person who really cares of the windows are clean before little paper snowflakes are taped to them is me.

But I do care. Though I know the path to a calmer Christmas is to cut back and simplify, trying to choose what to cut is one more task on my Santa-length list. Hey, I have cut back, a little. I vowed this year that my kids only needed to see Santa one time -- which I realized is also a good safeguard against them losing their belief, after reading Caitlin's post.

And the more I think on the dilemma, the more I want to go easy on myself in this one way: Stop beating myself up about trying to do too much and wanting everything for the holiday to be perfect. It's just the way I am, and it doesn't matter that much if I scarcely have time to sleep before Dec. 25.

There will be plenty of time for sleep when I'm dead -- or when it's January, which in Chicago is pretty much the same thing.

And if I didn't have the chance to spend all evening in the glow of the tree, relaxing, I at least took a moment to look up from my work and chuckle at the sight of all those ornaments clustered around the bottom 3 feet of a 7-foot tree, where my daughters could reach to hang them. Making memories, it turns out, is a lot less time-consuming than making crafts or gingerbread houses.

Original Chicago Moms Blog post. Photo by Carrie Kirby. When she should really be writing her Christmas cards, Carrie can be found posting hot gift deals at Frugalista, and cute stories about her little elves at My Funny, Funny Family.

When Family Opts Out

2009-12-15T03:00:00-08:00

You know that old saying, "You can choose your friends but you can't choose your family?" No matter what, you are a family member and you can't just decide you don't want to be a part of said family, or can you? I have been very sad for many months now because my brother-in-law and sister-in-law have ceased all communications with my immediate family. My husband and I are not sure exactly what we did wrong. Of course, we can speculate, but no one has come to us and our attempts at speaking to them are met with telephone hang ups and my brother-in-law's request of me to take him off of my email list.

Now, my brother-in-law has made his children, my nieces and Eva and Charlie's first cousins, "off limits" as well. My nieces were not allowed to attend their own grandma's birthday celebration we hosted (I assume they had a separate one for her), and Eva and Charlie were not invited to their first cousin's sixth birthday party. The last straw was yesterday, when my mother-in-law refused to deliver the birthday gift I lovingly purchased for said six-year-old and the Christmas presents for their tree, claiming that she was afraid her son would "kill the messenger." My brother-in-law is trying to push us off the family tree, and he's doing a good job of it so far.

In my mind, I think, "What gives him the right to stop talking to his own brother without even one discussion about what we did or didn't do that was so terrible?" Even more disturbing is his treatment of his own niece and nephew, my children. I didn't know what to tell Eva and Charlie when they asked when their cousin's birthday party was going to be. I don't know what to tell them when they ask for a playdate with their cousins, something we used to do semi-regularly as they live only fifteen minutes away. My mother-in-law, the mother of the feuding brothers, claims she won't "get involved."

Without airing any more of our dirty laundry, the problem I really have is based on the fundamental understanding that we may not like our family members, but we have to live with them because they are family. I suppose that when a family member becomes toxic, it is best to let that person go. However, I simply don't feel like I'm toxic. Perhaps I would understand my toxicity if my brother-in-law cared enough to tell us how we make him feel. Even if I am the toxic one, what about my children? Are they toxic because they are my children? My own mom and dad tell me to just, "let it go." I suppose I should, for my own sake, but letting go of family not only seems wrong, it seems impossible for the very reason I stated at the beginning, "we don't choose our family." I don't know if I will be able to make that "choice" of letting go, but as it turns out, it may not be a choice at all.

This is an original post to Chicago Moms Blog. Sophia Leto (a.k.a. Moody Mommy) also posts about family, food, politics and life with PMDD at www.moodymommy.wordpress.com

Why do adults have to ruin Santa for kids?

2009-12-14T02:45:00-08:00

My five year-old came home from school last week with lots of questions about the existence of Santa. And who can blame her. Only a few weeks into the official holiday season, she has already seen at least three different "Santas" -- and all of them looked and acted very differently.

My daughter has some astute observations about fake beards, absent sleighs, and the practicality of parking a team of reindeer in the city. How can Santa bring presents to kids all over the world all in one night, she wonders?

She may only be five years-old, but she is no dummy.

These sad developments make me realize that I am complicit in destroying the magic of Santa Claus for her. Every time I bring her face to face with another "Santa," I am adding to the confusion surrounding this subject. Why can't Santa just remain a magical idea? Couldn't Santa be something that we talk about and read about rather than encounter in the flesh? Why do we adults insist that Santa appear at every single shopping mall and holiday event in the month of December?

As far as I am concerned, that guy belongs in the North Pole until he swoops down my chimney on Christmas Eve to deliver the presents that his elves have diligently created in their workshop.

An original Chicago Moms Blog post.

Caitlin Murray Giles writes about her merry and bright days with the little people in her life at Wee WIndy City and A Hen and Three Chicks.

Behind Barbed Wire

2009-12-13T02:00:00-08:00

I stood in line with all the others, waiting for my turn to go inside the building. Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I fingered the brass disc with the number 43 on it. I was visitor number forty-three that morning. A young woman stood in front of me, holding a sniffling toddler on her hip while she juggled a clear bag filled with diapers and baby food with her other hand. Another son clung to her leg, crying and begging to be held. With a sigh, the mom put the toddler down and picked up the crying child. In an instant, the other one began to cry.

My eyes drifted to the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the perimeter of the corrections facility. This wasn't the first time I had gone inside a prison. Years ago, I provided advocacy and counseling services to a deaf woman who was convicted of murdering her baby. Once a month, I would go through the usual pat downs and security procedures at the women's prison and settle in for a two-hour session.

This time, the visit was personal. I was heading inside to visit a friend that I hadn't seen in twenty five years. Ron and I were friends in high school. We met on the swimming team and swam endless laps after school. In the hallways, we passed each other notes that we wrote instead of paying attention in our classes. The notes turned into letters when Ron joined the Navy and went off to sea. He shared stories of his travels and sent post cards from various stops around the world.

As the years progressed, we lost touch. I forged a new path with my husband and kids and dove into a deaf life with a new community of friends. American Sign Language became a part of my life and my circle of deaf and hard of hearing friends grew. I didn't forget Ronnie-- there was a little part of me that missed the letters and friendship. He was the friend that always offered encouragement and pushed me to set goals and achieve them. I kept a mug that he gave me in high school and moved it from place to place.

I never forgot him. Buried deep in the basement was a box of every note, every letter that he wrote. My husband was always amused that the letters found a home every time we moved, but he understood that it was a part of my high school memories-- a fun time in my life that I didn't want to forget. Ron and I were never boyfriend/girlfriend, but what we had was a special friendship.

So there I was on a Sunday morning, waiting to greet the high school friend who was spending time in prison for a crime he did not commit. A false accusation out of the blue had suddenly spiraled out of control and before Ron knew it, his freedom was taken away. He was a decorated war veteran whose only prior blemish on his record was simply two speeding tickets. As I went through the pat down procedure and headed to the visiting area, I had a bunch of thoughts racing through my head. Would it be awkward? Would we be able to connect again? Would I be able to lipread him?

The moment I saw Ron, it was as if we never paused our friendship. The four hours flew by and we talked about everything-- from the nightmare of circumstances that put him behind bars and turned his life upsidedown-- to the memories of high school and the fun times. He showed me the American Sign Language he was learning from a fellow inmate's mom who was an interpreter. All too soon, it was time for me to head back home. Back to a life with the complete freedom to design each day. I'm more painfully aware of the loss of freedom that my friend no longer has. I curse the legal system that allows this to happen.

How is it possible that a truly evil man like Phillip Garrido could walk around free and an innocent man is paying with ten years of his life?

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post. Karen Putz blogs at A Deaf Mom Shares Her World.

The Yelling House

2009-12-12T03:00:00-08:00

I grew up in a yelling house. This isn't a pity party for me. My mother is/was a good mother. She is a tall woman, with a loud voice. Her job is teaching college students in large lecture halls. When she talks she does it loudly. When she yells...it's off the charts.

When you grow up in a yelling house (in my experience) you become desensitized to it. I used to switch off when I was being yelled at. My sister is a yeller as well. I see her children turning off the very same way I used to.

I remember the last time my mother yelled at me. As an adult, we took a trip to England. We were lost and driving around the countryside trying to find our way. While I drove on the wrong side of the road and shifted with my left hand, she poured over the map, and yelled directions at me (note to self, never rent a stick shift in England).

I couldn't take it. I pulled over into a field, got out of the car and just started walking. I know I stunned her. After a short walk, I came back to the car, sat down, looked her right in the eye, and said "You can not communicate with me this way, anymore...It just doesn't work." She and I still have a great relationship, and she has not yelled at me since.

Flash forward to me parenting two toddlers. After priding myself in breaking the cycle and not being a yeller, two walking, talking, opinionated toddlers come into my life. I have my moments when it boils over, and I yell.

It hasn't happened often, but when it does, I immediately hate it. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate the way it makes my kids feel. Is it wrong to yell at your kids some times? I don't know the answer to that. I do know that I feel like if I give in and allow myself to yell, it will just keep happening. I don't want to be that person. I don't want to watch my kiddos turn off from Mommy.

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post. While Cynthia controls her yelling, she also blogs at Napwarden.com and designs at NW Designs.

baby's third christmas is best...

2009-12-11T03:00:00-08:00

Any store that sells baby items this time of year is bound to have something printed with "Baby's First Christmas" on it. Ornaments, stuffed toys, stockings, blankets, pajamas, and even fancy dress clothes are all available to commemorate the momentous occasion of baby's first Christmas. After that, I'm pretty sure only Hallmark commemorates the successive Christmases.

This year is my "baby's" third Christmas. And I would like to argue that I think it is the best one yet. At the first Christmas, baby is still too little to do more than look overwhelmed by all the lights and fancy trimmings that go along with Christmas. Depending on your baby's age, there is at least some fascination to be had with the crinkly paper and maybe a box or two. Parents usually have to open the presents for their little one and try to get the baby to show some interest in the toy for the grandparents' sake before the baby melts down and needs to take a nap.

The second Christmas is better. Everything that goes along with Christmas is new and magical, the snow, the tree and especially the presents. Still, after a present or two, it is generally hard to keep the toddler focused on anything much and gift-giving time is generally, again, followed by a meltdown before naptime.

We are only two weeks into Christmas and already my son has made me look at the Christmas world around me in a whole new light. This year, instead of trying to keep his little fingers away from the tree, he has actually been able to help us decorate the tree (albeit with the "soft" ornaments), to his great and utter delight. He joyfully points out every Santa and snowman that we see in people's yards and eagerly anticipates the decorations we see on a regular basis. Some of the displays of Christmas lights that we have come across have left him absolutely speechless. Every car trip, no matter how short, involves keeping a tally of how many homes have lights for us to see.

The last two years my son has forced us to keep a healthy distance from Santa's lap lest Santa get too scared by my son's screams of terror. This year, while he still chose not to seat himself on Santa's lap, he did get close enough to whisper to him that he would like a baseball for Christmas (who knew?!?) and to accept a candy cane from Santa's hand. Speaking of Santa, this is the first year that my son was able to make a specific request of Santa himself. Other years "Santa" has made a best guess, sometimes even recycling a present to save a dime or two.

This morning we woke up to our first accumulated snowfall, and my son sat entranced by the window for a full 20 minutes, enraptured by the sight. Though a lot of it melted, I could hardly get him to come inside from our errands because he was having such a good time kicking the drifts.

We have yet to put any presents under the tree or put anything in the stocking so that magical experience is still ahead for my son. Little does he know the amazing things that are in store for him. Grandparents, daddy and I can hardly wait for him to see the presents under the tree and find the gifts that have his name on them.

The third Christmas has to be the best because everything is new again, yet he now has the awareness to put all the pieces together. Next year will still be fun but I don't think it will be the same. He'll know more what to expect and probably have a lot more focus on the presents he will get than the magic and wonder of everything else that accompanies the gifts.

I plan on treasuring every moment of this season right along with him.

You can learn more about Melanie's family's Christmas celebration at her personal blog, tales from the crib. She also blogs for Blissfully Domestic.

Welcome to the Police State--your child's school

2009-12-10T03:00:00-08:00

My husband has to have a background check to take a group of teenagers on a field trip at our high school. Now, this field trip entails traveling on the CTA to an outdoor market in Daley Plaza, so I am way more concerned about pick pockets than exposure to pedophiles, and I am more afraid that the teens will hurt my husband than the other way around.

We have become paranoid, and there are lots of unintended consequences in a behavior that is chiefly motivated by fear. For example, did you know that if your 17 year old son is stupid and has sex with his 15 year old girlfriend, he can can ruin his life? If the mad mama (or the girl) charges him with a sex crime (I think its criminal sex abuse in our state), he could be forced to live under a bridge in Miami???? Somedays I wonder where common sense went. And I know its harder to be a teen these days--they haven't even finished growing their prefrontal cortexes yet, and a mistake can be so costly.

Anyway, our high school scans our ID and takes a picture (and you can be sure that the company that is contracted to do this is collecting and selling all that information) every time we walk in the door. They have more cameras than the city of London in that building, so I am not sure why they need to run a background check on me when I am dropping off props for a theater project. It's not exactly the warm welcome I expected when I am coming to help out at school!

After having my identity stolen, not once, not twice, but three times, and paying a lot of money to a
consultant to try prevent it from happening again,(which is next to impossible these days) I was told emphatically NEVER GIVE YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER to anyone but a government agency--except government agencies now outsource this service too. We just got visas to travel from some third party that's probably in Nigeria---I have been getting a lot more international spam since applying.

Then I discovered that if I want to help out with anything from the soccer team to the Brownie troop, I have to give away all my personal information to some third party who I don't even know (and half the time neither does the person taking my information) since every single organization is outsourcing these services. Which is why so many of us have had to accept that having your identity stolen is just a normal occurrence these days.

What we really need is a national registry of OK people. I want a little sticker for my ID or on my forehead that says Hey, I am a camp director and I have been screened already. Like three times this year. Having to have my background checked for every volunteer post has made me really reticent to volunteer. And it's not a good idea to have all these private companies collecting our personal information in their more or less secure databases. It will lead to more identity theft, and computer stalkers. And in the end, I am not sure its making my kids any safer. One of my children was hurt this year in a school. By another kid. I am more concerned about the bullies than I am about some pedophile taking my kids on a public trip. And then there are the kids who hurt themselves--in some schools this is more of a problem then being hurt by outsiders. There's no background check for that.

I have found that the best way to keep kids safe (if that is even possible) is to know who they are with, and educate them on street smarts. And validate hunches. I know as a survivor of an assault myself when I was a teen, that as a girl I was conditioned first to be nice, instead of to trust my instincts. I knew I was in danger well before the crime happened---but I was taught not to be rude. No machine could have saved me--following my gut would have.

The more we rely on machines and the less on our humanity, the more dangerous the world becomes.

Photo by fab photographer and blogger Anna Garza

This is an original Chicago Mom's Post. When not worrying about who also has my identity, I also blog at Domestic Blitz

Bedtime Stories

2009-12-09T03:00:00-08:00

Any parent who has laughed with their kids at the comic work of Mo Willems knows that Easy Readers sometimes contain brilliance. The other night during bedtime reading with my girls, I came across a Frog and Toad story that just about blew my mind.

Arnold Lobel's collections of stories about the devoted friends Frog and Toad have been around since the seventies. Lobel's tales even inspired a hit musical on Broadway in 2003, based on his work. However, the story "The Surprise" from the collection Frog and Toad All Year was new to me until last week. It unreels in 12 brief pages, told in typically simple, declarative sentences. The repetition of the phrases becomes nearly a hypnotic chant and I was close to zoning out as I read the words to my girls. Until I came to the story's twist.

"It was October," begins Lobel.

Frog looks out his window and sees leaves all over his yard. He decides to help out his friend. "I will go to Toad's house...I will rake all the leaves that have fallen on his lawn. Toad will be surprised."

Toad, at his house, has the same idea. They both sneak through the woods. Frog rakes Toad's yard and Toad does the same for Frog. Then they both go home, each thinking that his friend will be happily surprised.

As each walks home, the wind picks up and scatters all the leaves back across the yards. Frog sees his own yard and thinks to himself that he will rake it the next day. Toad does the same. And that night "Frog and Toad were both happy when they each turned out the light and went to bed."

That's it. The whole simple story.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" asked my seven year old as I read the last few lines with a tight throat and tears in my eyes. (Not the first time Frog and Toad have done this to me.)

"Oh, I'm just happy because Frog and Toad are such good friends to each other. Can you think of something nice that you have done for your friend?"

Mia started to tell me about drawing a picture for our neighbor girl. Nora chimed in with a story from preschool, talking over her big sister, who yelled in distress at the rude interruption. By the time I intervened so turns were taken and peace was restored, the girls were ready to move on. They may have picked up the tiniest wisp of an idea about compassion and helping others, but I couldn't shake the power of that image from the story - crumpled leaves strewn all over the grass again, all the hard work undone and the amphibians sleeping peacefully.

There's ironic humor in that image, but there's something larger too. Something about how altruism gives back as much as it gives forward. Perhaps it even gives the giver more. Mary Schmich from the Trib wrote a great column last week about how giving itself is an opportunity and a gift for which the giver should be thankful. I think the Jews call this a mitzvah. I think the Christians call it grace.

Have you ever felt burned by a cool reception to a gift you had given? The advice columnists say you may stop giving gifts when thank you notes don't appear; that seems like a formula for etiquetting your way to estrangement. Every holiday season I have my own Scroogey struggles, battling Expectations Too Great and the Specter of Resentments Past and Future. If I let myself get tied up in tallying who has expressed thanks and who left our gift unacknowledged, I can lose the pure pleasure of giving.

With all the open hands we see during the holidays, it's easy to equivocate and rationalize away the urge to help, to question the background and the motivation of the stranger on the street with his handwritten sign telling a tale of woe. Easy to walk by. Easy to think "No good deed goes unpunished."

Lober's story is a great reminder to pull a Nike and just do it. Even when the leaves have all scattered, even when your work is known to no one but you. Because what is left may be invisible, but what remains is love.

Original post to Chicago Moms Blog. Read Cindy Fey at We All Fall Down.

iPhones — New Help for Special Needs Kids

2009-12-08T03:00:00-08:00

Disclaimer — I do not now nor have I ever worked for Apple, and they haven't paid me in goods or dollars for this post (although I'm open to negotiation).

Last month, my twins turned 18. I'm still in deep denial over what is clearly a blip in the time-space continuum. I know for a fact that it was just a few days ago when we were huddled around their isolettes in the NICU, watching in awe as their tiny 24-week bodies struggled to survive. And now … well, I just can't go there yet.

We have been so blessed, so lucky. Their delays, while significant, were just that — delays. They are both fully-functioning, healthy, happy (adult?) human beings, enjoying their senior year in high school and starting to think about the future. My daughter has taken the wheel on her road to life and is well on her way to independence. Her brother, who has had more physical and learning issues, still has a way to go.

For their 18th birthday, we got them each iPhones. During such difficult economic times, it's reasonable to ask why would we spring for such a hot, trendy, extravagant gift as an iPhone. That, I can tell you in two words — assistive technology.

The lingering issues that continue to affect my son as a result of his extreme prematurity are:

low tone/graphomotor issues — he explains it like this: "It's really hard for me to think and write at the same time."
short-term memory deficit — he would explain it to you, if only he could remember. Seriously, one of his teachers once told me: "He seemed to understand. He repeated it back to me exactly." He does understand — he understands everything, he just can't remember once the cue is gone.
sequencing disorder — trouble breaking down tasks into reasonable chunks and completing them in the right order in a reasonable amount of time.

I have long believed that my son was lucky to be born when he was — that technology would be his friend. I still believe that, but there have been some bumps along the way: an addiction to video games and losing three (count them, three) cell phones his freshman year. During the few days he managed to hold on to his cell phone, he never remembered to turn it on, so I couldn't reach him any way.

Then, last year, he used his birthday money to buy himself an iPod Nano. Miracle of miracles, he did not lose it. He kept it turned off during school, but remembered to turn it on after school so he could listen on his way home. About a month ago, we had a meeting with his assistive technology specialist at school. A long-time PC person, she recently got an iPhone and is tremendously excited about the potential it holds for many of her students.

Assistive technology runs the gamut from wheelchairs to customized computers that allow quadriplegics to communicate with eye blinks. The field is exploding, but much of it is hugely expensive. While the initial outlay for the iPhone (about $200 for the middle-range iPhone) isn't too bad, the $30 monthly bite per phone for the data package adds up fast. We learned, however, that unlike computer programs, iPhone apps are pretty inexpensive (often free), and there are new ones every day. While there are many PDAs out there, the iPhone offered some distinct advantages, first and foremost the fact that it would be my son's new iPod, so we were pretty sure he would hold on to it.

It's fairly obvious how the calendar and organizational apps could help someone with short-term memory problems, but the iPhone apps offer much more than simple datebook functionality. For example, there's an app called VoCal that allows my son to record a voice message on his phone, which then translates into a written calendar reminder.

And it works! Our first iPhone success came after a missed orthodontist appointment one Friday. That night, he added the orthodontist's phone number to his contacts and entered a voice reminder into his phone. That entry sent him an alert after school on Monday to call the orthodontist for a new appointment. My son gets out of school at 3:35. By the time I called him at 3:45, he had already made the new appointment and entered it onto the calendar, which automatically sent an email to me so I could put it on the family calendar. That may sound like a small thing, but it was one giant leap toward independence for him and peace of mind for me.

That ability to recognize voice commands is a huge advantage for a kid with graphomotor issues. The sensitive microphone allows him to use his voice in a variety of ways, bypassing the need to write (and even draw). For example, there is an app called Omni Note. Say his horticulture teacher draws a picture of a plant cell on the board and tells the class to copy it for a quiz on Monday. This would be extremely difficult for my son to do, and the end result would not look anything like the original.

With the Omni Note app on the iPhone, my son could take a picture of the diagram, draw directly on that picture, add a typed and/or voice message to the picture and send it immediately to his computer at home so he could study it over the weekend. How cool is that?

His teachers are also on board, allowing him to keep his iPhone out and on throughout the day. He doesn't text and we haven't given out his phone number, so there is no risk of interruption during class. As part of his sequencing disorder, he has trouble organizing his thoughts into a coherent structure in school papers. One of his English teachers had the brilliant idea of having him research new apps and, as an assignment for class, write out the directions on how to use it (a great sequencing and organizational exercise), and include a paragraph or two about how he, personally, is using the app (a good way to practice his analytical skills).

Right now, our district would have provided him with an iPod Touch, which has some, but not nearly all the functions of the iPhone. The integrated microphone of the iPhone is a big part of the functionality my son needs to make this tool work for him, so we opted to make a family investment.

I understand that this is new technology, which is often scary and expensive for schools to contemplate, but I urge educators to jump on this bandwagon early. The potential of the iPhone for special needs students is vast and untapped, and this generation of students is already immersed in technology. This seems to me to represent the best that technology has to offer — a chance for students to overcome (even bypass) their disabilities and get right to the good stuff — the learning.

How did we justify making the same investment for our daughter? We told her it was because it would be a good tool for her at college next year, and it will be, but really, this is just one of those times when she should be darn grateful for her twin brother.

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post. When Susan isn't busy trying to figure out how such a young mom can have such old children, she can be found writing at Two Kinds of People and The Animal Store Blog.

A few things I'd like to bring home from Australia

2009-12-07T02:25:00-08:00

I just returned from a two week visit to Australia, where my sister lives with her Australian husband and their family. As far as foreign countries go, it takes a long, long time to get there, but it is pretty familiar territory once you land. A thoroughly modern, cosmopolitan city, Sydney kind of looks like Southern California, complete with tattooed surfers, texting teenagers, Target, McDonald's, Subway and KFC outlets.

But Australia isn't America Down Under, and they've got a few things I'd like to import.

1. Public Health Care

Yeah, this is a big one. No one in Australia goes uninsured. Everyone has access to the state-run Medicare plan. Yes, you might have to wait a few months to get non-emergency work done, but you won't have to mortgage your house or go bankrupt to pay for it. Once your household reaches a certain income level, you can pay a penalty (I believe it is $2000) to stay in the public plan or you can opt to buy private insurance. In my sister's case, private insurance cost about the same as the penalty but got her access to "fancier" care like a post-partum recovery suite at a local hotel where she had catered meals and 24/7 access to a private maternity nurse.

2. Enforcement of Driving Laws

Obviously regulations vary from place to place in the U.S., but at least in Chicago it takes a lot to get yourself pulled over and a whole lot to lose your license. In Australia traffic fines are high, enforcement is constant (traffic cameras and random roadblocks with breathalyzer tests are common) and it isn't uncommon to meet someone who has lose his or her license for 6 months for accumulating too many points. Yeah, there's a little less freedom on the open road, but I didn't see anyone speeding, talking or texting while driving. In general, drivers were courteous and pedestrians respected.

3. More Natural Foods

I couldn't find a single processed food item in Australia with high fructose corn syrup. Not Heinz ketchup, not Ocean Spray Cranberry Juice Cocktail, not peanut butter, jelly or crackers. The candy Smarties (basically Nestle's answer to M&Ms) was running an outdoor campaign touting "no artificial colors." Even Kraft Singles were a natural shade of white instead of orange. The egg selection at the store was a revelation. Each package described not only whether the eggs were organic or free range, but whether they were raised in a barn or a field. And they were delicious.

4. Dual Flush Toilets

It doesn't take a genius to know that you don't need the same amount of water to wash away number 1 as you do for number 2. In Australia, whether you're at a public restroom or at home, you select your flush. It just makes so much sense. Can someone please explain to me why dual flush toilets haven't taken off in the U.S.?

5. Parents with Prams Parking

I was astonished to find that my sister's local shopping center, an indoor mall with a Target, Big W (Walmart), a bunch of mall-type boutiques and a food court, had an entire section of the parking garage dedicated to "parents with prams" (that's strollers to us Yanks). Those not headed to family parking don't even pass through! Imagine how wonderful it would be to park close to the entrance in a special lot where every other driver is on the lookout for small children on the loose and no one will impatiently tap their steering wheel as they wait for you to fold up your stroller and buckle two wiggly kids into their car seats.

There are lots of other things I'd like to bring home from Australia, like warm weather, sandy beaches, roundabouts, flat white coffees and honeycomb as an ingredient in indulgent treats (ice cream, gelato, chocolate bars and butter). I'll pass on the harsh sun, rampant wildfires, poisonous snakes, enormous spiders and roaches and Vegemite.

Original Chicago Moms Blog post. Visit Alma's personal blog at MarketingMommy.net.

Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind by Phillip Done: A Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Club

2009-12-07T01:00:00-08:00

Who are those people who spend so much time with our kids every day at school? We are often so wrapped up in parenthood, that we take those who engage in teacherhood for granted. Join us as Silicon Valley Moms Group bloggers talk about Phillips Done's latest book Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind.

Michele from Silicon Valley Moms Blog leads us off to the middle of nowhere and the road to everywhere
Bonggamom from Finding Bonggamom asks what do you get your child's teacher for Christmas?
Leticia from Tech Savvy Mama gives us a list of the best gifts for teachers (by a teacher!)
Melanie from Tales from the Crib values those who have been gifted
Stacy from Fabulous Miss S remembers some of her favorite teachers
Heidi from Coast 2 Coast Mom warns what's said at home doesn't stay at home
Julie from Just Precious still has her teacher mode
Jill from Musings from Me says third-grade has been pivotal for her children
Aimee from Smiling Mama talks about amazing teachers
Rebecca from Life With Boys does a tribute to teachers
Chefdruck from Chefdruck Musings moves on to planning for career #12
Max from The French Mommy Born in California gets "a little inspiration"
Jessica from It's My Life remembers visiting a new school
Linsey from Me Too You talks about the messys and the tiddys
Erica from wellthoughtoutspot shares her reflections of a public school newbie
Nicole from Not Just a Working Mom sometimes just has to laugh
Akemi from Chalk and Cheese meets the world in fourth grade
Robyn from Who's the Boss describes what a third grade teacher shouldn't be
Kimberly from Tippy Toes and Tantrums brings her daughter to her first author meet and greet
Shanna from 3 Cute Kids sees the value of a great teacher
Angela from Domestic Blitz sees a thimble full of hope

Mr. Done (rhymes with Phone!) gave us a special treat last week, doing a private reading and book signing with bloggers from Silicon Valley Moms Blog and some of our school-aged kids. He made us laugh, he made us cry. Thank you Mr. Done!

Silicon Valley Moms Blog is hosting the book club discussion this month. Please go here to leave a comment and join in the discussion.

Past Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Clubs have included:

This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Topper
Do One Nice Thing by Debbie Tenzer
Birth Day by Mark Sloan, M.D.
What Happened to the Girl I Married? by Michael Miller
Testimony by Anita Shreve
Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs
Much to Your Chagrin by Suzanne Guilette
It Started with Pop-Tarts by Lori Hanson
Who By Fire by Diana Spechler
The White Trash Moms Handbook by Michelle Lamar
Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues
The Vaccine Book by Dr. Robert W. Sears
The Other Mother by Gwendolen Gross

Click here to read all about the Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Club.

This is not a paid for post. The publisher of this book did provide free copies to Silicon Valley Moms Group bloggers to use for this book club.

Three Cheers for Cheerleading

2009-12-06T02:59:00-08:00

A lot has been said, written and researched about the high rate of injuries in the increasingly challenging sport of cheerleading. But I'm a cheer mom who fully supports my daughter's love and enthusiasm for the sport despite the risks.

I don't think I steered her towards cheerleading too aggressively but I admit to talking it up. I spent an entire decade cheering my way through my school years - junior high, high school and even in college. As a University of Oregon cheerleader (how 'bout them Ducks in the Rose Bowl?), I got to travel the country and visit the campuses of dozens of major schools. The time commitment forced me to handle my schoolwork efficiently. I also remain close to a number of my former teammates. The experience was incredible and why my response often surprises other moms when they ask, "Doesn't it make you nervous to see her thrown up so high?"

Not at all. I tumbled and flew around like that, too. The feeling is exhilarating and there's a sense of pride in having the ability to do so. However, these days, a simple roundoff gives me a head rush!

Sadly, my daughter has never actually cheered for any school team. The world of competitive cheerleading usually involves countless hours of practice with independent programs unaffiliated with school districts. Teams face off against each other in organized competitions all over the country in a wide array of skill levels. Safety is emphasized in so-called "All-Star" programs since the high-flying stunts are how many girls are getting injured. Landing on a carpeted spring floor is a bit safer than falling onto a hard basketball court.

But I hope my daughter will eventually veer towards the school programs. Cheering for your school and your classmates is how the sport came to be!

I sure wouldn't miss having to do cheer curls. Every team is different but the director of my daughter's program loves the look of flying curls. While Irish dancing moms can just securely fasten a hair piece, all the tumbling, twisting and flying in my daughter's cheer routine requires me to set individual curls in rollers the night before and then carefully unwind them ahead of every competition.

Hey, how about some cheering for the cheer moms? But leave me alone during the Rose Bowl. I'll be doing a full-twisting layout onto the couch to watch.

This is an original post for Chicago Moms Blog by Nancy Loo. When she's not setting her daughter's hair into cheer curls and cheering her on at competitions, Nancy works as a TV Anchor/Reporter in Chicago. She blogs regularly about her adventures in parenting and television at www.nancyloo.net.