Rage Against the Minivan

is valentine's day the new halloween? (holiday candy management)

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 00:44:00 +0000

All of my kids had parties at school for Valentine's Day, and all of them came home with some serious bags of candy. Apparently it is no longer acceptable to just send a small note of affection? I thought I was over-achieving by sending a lollipop, but about half of the bounty collected by the preschoolers involved bags with multiple snacks and assorted trinkets. This happened at Halloween, too. Gift bags . . . really? Is this a new thing or just an Orange County Montesseri tiger-mom thing? This is Pinterest's fault, isn't it?

Anyways, I thought I'd share how we manage the influx of candy that comes in from various school parties and birthday celebrations, because I'm not a fan of unlimited candy binging or the fighting that ensues when one kid ends up with more candy than the other. I usually let the kids eat a couple pieces of their choice, and then all candy is dumped into a community "candy bin" that is kept high out of reach. We have always done this so they know the drill and don't protest all that much. The candy bin is off limits except for once a day, when they get a chance to earn a piece after dinner if they've eaten everything on their plate. This works well for us because it minimizes bickering and bartering over candy, and it also is a really good incentive for them to finish off their veggies. When we don't have Halloween or other candy we are working off of, I keep a stash of jellybeans that they can earn.

Did your kids come home with copious amounts of candy? What is your candy management strategy? Do you let them just go for it, or do you have a way of rationing it out? And has anyone come up with a way to avoid so much candy coming home? It seems like we have a constant stream of it and I'm not sure how to stop it at the source without a mutiny.

family friendly gluten-free and diary-free meal planning: breakfast

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 06:28:00 +0000

After I shared about Jafta and I giving up gluten and dairy I had a lot of requests to share what GFDF foods we eat. It’s funny, because since we’ve been eating this way for about six months, it seems really easy and basic now . . . but I remember it being really overwhelming in the beginning. I thought I would break it down by our meals, and start with some ideas for breakfast foods.

Most mornings we are running out the door, so we do a lot of what we call “cookie-style” gluten-free waffles. This means the kids eat the waffle with a smear of peanut butter and agave instead of syrup, so they can grab it and eat it in the car on the way to school. We also do a lot of smoothies. On weekends, we eat eggs along with gluten-free toast, or breakfast tacos with corn tortillas. There are many mainstream cereals that are gluten-free, which is nice in a pinch, too. My preference for breakfast is steel-cut oats, which I like to make in the crockpot. On occasion, I’ll do a “muesli” style breakfast with soaked oats or quinoa along with almond milk, tart apples and cranberries.

Next week, I’ll share some ideas for packing school lunches that are GFDF. Packed lunch has been my biggest challenge so far, but we’ve figured out a couple options that work well for us.

what I want you to know: getting involved in cybersex as a teen

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 07:23:00 +0000

What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions. It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. (In case you noticed – this series has been switched to Tuesdays). If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here. This guest post is by an anonymous reader.

There are things I wish I never had to know.

I want you to know that I'm not a bad person. I'm actually a pretty good person. I love people, I pray when I remember to, I thank God for the things He's given me. I am a full time student and get decent grades, I work as a children's minister and love the kids I work with every Sunday, and I like investing time and energy and love into my friends. It's recently been brought to my attention that I'm a really good friend to my friends because I will drop everything to help someone with anything they need help with.

I'm a good person.

But I've done terrible things.

When I was in middle school, I stumbled onto websites and into chat rooms. What I saw attracted me to no end, and the people I talked to spoke of such adult-like things, I wanted more. It quickly turned into an addiction, these websites and chat rooms. I went from innocent little girl to professional online seductress in a matter of months. Somewhere along the line, I went from talking about everyday things to talking about what I wanted to do with whoever was at the other end of the computer connection.

These things, pornography and "cybersex" (I absolutely hate that term), continued on through high school, and more embarrassingly into my college years.

What I want you to know is this: I'm probably partly responsible for a few broken men, and too many broken relationships. My ignorant inattention to deeper issues as a child bloomed into a blatant disregard for all things holy and sacred as a young adult.

It wasn't too long ago that I would spend sleepless nights sitting in front of a computer screen, fixed on a chat room, hunting and waiting for my next fix.

And wouldn't you believe, that's exactly what all of this was. Just a fix. A fix that would carry me over for a few days, possibly weeks, or months, and then dissolve back into a need that had to be met.

I want you to know that 98% of the time, I'm not this person. I don't look at porn anymore, and I don't venture into chat rooms. I don't look at porn because it breaks me and breaks any chance at healthy relationships that I may have. I don't venture into chat rooms because, now, instead of only being aware of my need for satisfaction, I am painfully aware of the toll that will be taken on the relationships that the other person is a part of.

I want you to know that 2% of the time, I throw those reasons out the window and do what I want to do. When this happens, I usually end up laying face down on the floor crying and begging God for mercy.

What I want you to know is that I know the seriousness of my sins. I know the brokenness that stems from seducing men online, from enticing them with flirty wink-faces and letting them know that I'm an attractive young woman. I know that some of the men I mess with are married, because they say so. Their admittance to being married has rarely stopped either one of us, though.

I want you to know that the last time I wandered into the 2% was last week. I want you to know that I am one thousand times more angry and disappointed with myself than any of you are combined. Being aware of your own sin is painful, and it eats at you, and it breaks you down harder than anyone else ever could. There's a reason why it's called "trapped" in sin. It's difficult to get out. It's hard to walk away and to change your ways and to rely fully on Christ.

I want you to know that I'm sorry. That no one could be more sorry about this than I am. I want you to know that while I know I'm not the sole reason for the brokenness of other people, I know that I have played an important role in it. I want you to know that while I've hurt people in my actions, other people have hurt me too.

Why do I want you to know this? Because I am a generally good person. I'm kind and caring, I strive to do my best in school, work, and in relationships.

I am your neighbor, your sister, your best friend, your niece, your favorite girl in youth group, and your favorite small group leader.

I am just as broken as the next person, possibly a little more because of my awareness of my brokenness.

I want you to know that I hate my past, but know that there is beauty in the broken and that my part of the story can be turned around and used for the good.

I want you to know that I'm getting help. I'm seeing a counselor, and I'm opening up to friends. I have restrictions on my computer, and I have rules for myself regarding when I can and cannot use it.

I want you to know that I'm beginning to see myself as Christ sees me: Someone in need of love, correction, and guidance.

I want you to know that He makes all things new. I know this because the bible tells me so, and all the hope I've seen in the world points to the dead being brought into new life.

I'm being made new, I'm being brought back to life.

"And He who sits on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." And He said, "Write, for these words are faithful and true.""
Revelation 21:5 (NASB)

operation “get rid of half of our belongings” underway

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 14:02:00 +0000

For the last couple months, I’ve been in a bit of a funk about our house. It seems like my level of contentment about our house ebbs and flows, and every so often I find myself feeling very claustrophobic and ready to move to a prairie in Idaho or something. As the kids are getting bigger, the house is feeling smaller . . . and it wasn’t exactly big to begin with. Our mid-century house is just over 1300 square feet, and I apologize in advance if that seems huge to anyone else, but for me, it feels a little cramped for six people. The living area is actually decent, but the bedrooms are tiny and crowded, and the closets are the same size as the cabinet that houses our water-heater. The kids share bedrooms and we are in a constant state of overflowing closets and drawers. Karis’s habit of upending drawers doesn’t help, but it had gotten to the point where even I was struggling to get everything picked up on a regular basis. I was starting to dread doing laundry just because I knew that it would end with me searching for space to put things, and shoving things into drawers that were already barely closing. This Saturday, I decided I had just about had enough, and needed to rid ourselves of half our junk. Immediately.

I would love to say this shot represents the chaos of the project, but that’s pretty much what the girl’s room usually looked like. This is how it looked after removing about six trash bags of toys and clothing, now on their way to Goodwill.

Do you ever get that bug where you just have to complete a task RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE? That was me this weekend. We were coming off of two weeks of illness . . . a week of me having a sinus infection (again) followed by a week of Karis staying home with a miserable viral fever. Saturday was the first day where I wasn’t sick, or holding someone who was sick, and I was motivated to complete something. After going through both rooms and making some serious edits in our belongings, I got even more ambitious. I decided to swap the kids’ rooms. The boys’ room had way more closet space, but the girls have way more clothes. (Typical). It made much more sense to move the girls into the bigger room . . . especially now that Karis is old enough to share the bunk bed with India. So, Kembe moved into Karis’s room, Karis moved into the bunk bed in the former boys’ room where India has been sleeping all along, and Jafta took possession of the loft (which is really a glorified bunk bed in the crawl space above our closet). It’s musical beds at our house.

Don’t let the fish eye lens deceive you – this room is sooo tiny. A single bed and a dresser is all this room can hold. As it stands, the drawers bang into the keyboard when you open them.

The swap was good timing, because the new tenant in our backhouse didn’t want to use an old credenza we had stored back there. We decided to move it into the (new) boy’s room and it gave them a lot more drawer space.

I think the credenza needs a little paint love. I’ve seen some really nice refurbished furniture at Design Sponge where people have used contrasting colors. Paint recommendations for me?

If it’s a little quiet on the blog, you know where I’ll be. Next purge stop: my desk.

India reviews The Secret World of Arrietty

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 19:50:00 +0000

I mentioned last week that we got to attend an advance screening of The Secret World of Arrietty, but we had to hold of on our reviews of the movie. Well – I can finally talk about it, and I am here to report that it was a really, really good movie. The movie was originally released by Studio Ghibli in Japan, the studio behind Ponyo and Spirited Away. If you’ve seen those movies, you know how beautiful and thoughtful their films are. The Secret World of Arrietty had a similar feel. The gorgeous animation gave an amazing humanity to the movie. It was a quite film – a nice departure from the over-stimulation of most children’s movies. But it was also very engaging – the characters and plot had India engrossed throughout the whole movie. Kids will love the movie for the fantasy and heroism, but it is equally appealing to adults, with a very existential plot that had me in tears more than once. “Human beings are rich in material things, but our hearts have fallen into poverty”< the director says of the movie. This thread is woven throughout the film. Parents will appreciate the movie’s strong heroine . . . she is independent and brave, and she has a close and respectful relationship with her parents.

Here is India’s take on the movie. We both give it two thumbs up!

The Secret World of Arrietty opens in theaters on February 17th.

that’s what SHE said: white people telling minority stories, asking God WTF, the new motto for OC, the inner critic, post-partum bellies, and more . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 05:44:00 +0000

Free Pass | The Extraordinary Ordinary

He loves me despite how I can’t keep it together at all and how my insides don’t match the outside and how I can’t hide my pain so much of the time. He is a little God reflection. He doesn’t wait to love me until I’m doing it all right. Kids don’t expect the impossible in their mothers. He just wants me.

Giving the baby back | Adventures in Paradise

On the other hand, when parents are completely disconnected from the child, when they act as though there is no rush to get their act together, as though the child is a toy to be played with and then put away, when they continue to abuse drugs, when they have no idea what their child weighs, or how to put on a diaper even after 7 weeks of visits, when extended family is offered custody and they suggest that maybe they could "just visit the baby instead".......at those times I am not worried about them regaining custody. Instead, I become the mama bear. The gate closes. The smiles and friendly chit chat at visits fades. And I hold the baby closer. Because someone has to. Someone has to hold this baby, put him first, get up with him each night and greet him each morning. Someone has to want to be his mother all the time - not just for 90 minutes a few times a week.

Every child deserves to be someone's priority. Being a foster parent is being the one person in the world who puts this child first.

A Response to Timothy Douglas by Winter Miller | HowlRound

Let us not simply say, write, direct, play, teach what you know, but instead ask, what if we look collectively and individually at all “others” and explore? By the rationale of experience, we might find ourselves confined to creating only what others assume we know, and what would that encompass given the complexity of humanity? We would be expected to dream within our own lived experience, which as Mr. Douglas illustrates, has professionally often tethered him to direct the “ethnic” play in a whitewashed season. (Is the “ethnic” play defined by the writer, the story, the protagonist or elements of each?) Can Mr. Douglas or I live inside the mind of a Korean man? A Palestinian woman? An adult with a second grade education, with few hopes and dreams? If not, what should any of us do—abdicate or seek to understand and be willing to make mistakes in the process?

Thank you, Susan | The Happiest Mom

On Monday, Susan died. To say she “lost” her fight with cancer doesn’t seem quite accurate; it’s hard to imagine Susan losing a battle, though of course I know she would have done anything to stay here with her boys (who are now 4 and 6). It’s just that, right up until the end – even as she told readers what was happening to her body, hinting that her time was near – Susan made it not so scary to read about cancer, to think about death. She didn’t sugar-coat her pain or fear, but she always reached for a higher truth, gave her words a deeper purpose. I can only imagine that she left her children as well-prepared as any little boys ever could be for such a loss.

A lot of people die of cancer, and everyone dies eventually. But in her blog, Susan demonstrated what it was like to live, and live well, no matter what obstacles she faced. So while I acknowledge her death, I’d like to celebrate Susan’s life – particularly her life as a mother, and the ways she has inspired me to be more present, more thankful, more gracious and kind. Here are just a few of Susan’s posts:

Oh honey, you crocheted your man some shorts? You shouldn’t have. Seriously. You shouldn’t have done this. | Pinterest, You Are Drunk

Source: ugly-sweater.blogspot.com via Barbara on Pinterest

The Racialized Classroom | JaeRan Kim

This is yet another example of systemic racism, the assumption that the White students will be the social work practitioners, that people of color are not social work practitioners; that bias and prejudice and cultural differences are not areas social workers of color need to think about or examine, that as a person of color we do not also carry privileges that we need to be aware of, for example assuming that I, as a Korean American who might be working with a Korean American client, will not need to factor in the power differentials I carry by virtue of my profession.

Hello, Plague. Goodbye, Martyr. | Pop Discourse

And then I had a realization. I was a key player in this annoying dynamic –- unfortunately, in the role of enabler and martyr. I wondered whether men are more realistic about self-preservation and simply take care of themselves when needed because that seems the quickest route to repair. I wondered whether women –- in their wiring as caregivers –- are primed to be martyrs, to put themselves second (or third, or fourth…) and not ask for or state what they need. I mean, admittedly, part of me still would rather have Jon read my mind and offer instead of my having to ask, but that is not his job. I am a strong, competent, and vocal person and if my needs are not being met I need to say something about it. Furthermore, from a pragmatic standpoint, my income matters in our household so I am justified in feeling protective of my work hours.

When the Critic Speaks | Chatting at the Sky

There is a critical voice that speaks to you, maybe even right now. You may not notice because you’re so used to it, but most of us can pin it down if we pay attention. Sometimes it’s a voice that sounds eerily like our own. Other times we are blessed to have our critics speak out loud and in our face. Oh look, she’s being sarcastic – said those of us with critics are blessed. No sarcasm here, friend. Because something happens when the critic speaks up, something that perhaps can’t happen any other way.

Why I hate the party system | welcome to my brain

I speak from experience. I battle it every single day. We all look for connection ... our tribe ... our peeps. It isn't just Republicans and Democrats. It is one football team against another. It is those who live in the country against those who live in town. It is the Drama Department against the Athletic Department. It is one side of the street against the other. It is the boys against the girls.

Here is what I hate about divisiveness, and what I see in our party system. Here is why I want to say, "I hate the party system":

It functions best (in our favor) when we despise the other side. Period.

Extremely Long, Completely Scattered, and Containing Curse Words | Momastery

I’ve sat with a friend whose son just drowned in a river. I’ve stood in a room with two families whose children just died of cancer. I’ve felt two adoptions – two babies – slip through my hands like sand. I’ve sat on a hard floor with my Sister’s head in my lap while her marriage fell apart. I’ve held a best friend’s hand minutes after she discovered that her husband was cheating and leaving. In none of these situations did I feel like the appropriate reaction was to give thanks, to assure a suffering person that everything happens for a reason. Jesus. We get to gratitude, eventually. Slowly, slowly, impossibly slowly. But we’ve gotta get through the WTF? Stage first. Kind of like how Jesus, on the cross…said, “My God, WHY have you forsaken me?” If Jesus is allowed to feel abandoned, than I think it’s okay that we occasionally do too, and that we tell the truth about how that feels.

Seven Things On My Mind | Whoorl

One of my guilty pleasures is watching the Real Housewives. I love Beverly Hills and New York, and have tried to barrel through Orange County during the last few seasons, but YOU ALL, I saw the Orange County preview last week, and I have to say, as much as I love the Housewives franchise, I CAN NOT watch Orange County this season. The plastic surgery, the 17 layers of foundation on the women’s faces, the utter lack of ANY class whatsoever…I literally can not watch it. It’s absolutely mortifying. Let me just state for the record that YES, there are obviously lots of people like this in Orange County, but there is SO much more here. Style, class, and charm do reside here too, you just have to filter through the fake boobs, Ed Hardy, and Hummers to find it. (I think that should be Orange County’s new motto.)

November | Fostercare in NYC

The food line splits; it is me, A and L on one side. and for the life of me I can’t remember the straw-that-breaks-back final question. where were they found? something equally persistent and intrusive.

Me: Why do you ask?

A: I’m just curious.

Me: So were your kids born vaginally or by cesarean? (accompanied by cortisol-induced blood rush)

A (looking wounded and shocked): Vaginally. (see, he still answers for his wife’s vagina!!!)…i, uh i didn’t mean to be offensive..

Young People Are Watching, but Less Often on TV | NYTimes.com

The divide along a demographic line reveals the effect of Internet videos, social networks, mobile phones and video games — in short, all the alternatives to the television set that are taking up growing slices of the American attention span. Young people are still watching the same shows, but they are streaming them on computers and phones to a greater degree than their parents or grandparents do.

What Postpartum Bellies Really Look Like | Babys First Year Blog#slideshow

Take a look at these real women and their postpartum bellies and know that most of the bellies walking around everyday look more like these and far less like the ones on magazine covers.

On Self-Googling, Online Anonymity, & Simply Being Nice | Mama Pundit

The one good thing that has come out of my experience of living through what I have lived through with regard to online conversation since Henry died is that it’s been very humbling. And everyone can use more humble in their lives. I now realize that there are things that I, myself have published online in years past that I wish very much I could take back and make go away. But I can’t, so I am now FAR more careful about every single keystroke when I am publishing anything at all on the internet – whether that’s in a blog post, a comment on a blog post, on Facebook, Twitter, a message board or anywhere else. Words matter, and in the world we now live in, those words are pretty much eternal. So they matter even more than they used to.

how to do simple edits and easy youtube uploads using windows movie maker

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 09:21:00 +0000

I’ve mentioned before I’m a part of the Windows Champions team, which means from time to time I get to share tutorials on some of the features that come (free) on Windows computers. I wanted to share a little bit about Windows Live Movie Maker. I’ve always felt daunted at the process of getting my videos uploaded to YouTube, but Movie Maker allows you to do quick and easy edits and then save to YouTube without leaving the program. It’s made it much easier for me to add easy titles and captions to my videos. If you are a techie, this is probably not news to you, but if you are like me and get overwhelmed at just the idea of getting your videos to YouTube, then hopefully this will be helpful. In the video, I’m showing how India makes a home movie by herself, and how, in a couple seconds, I can add a title frame to the movie she’s made and then upload it to YouTube. Movie Maker is also great for making edits if say, for example, you realize after filming that your child picked her nose in the shot, or if you refer to the camera as “your phone” and are too lazy to reshoot.

In the video, India is using the HP TouchSmart 600 computer along with a Microsoft LifeCam HD-5000 ($25 at Amazon right now) that makes movie making really easy for kids. I’m filming her with a Sony HDR-CX160 Handycam, and then I edited the video of her making a video with Movie Maker as well. So meta! If you have a PC, your computer should already be loaded with this program, but if it’s not you can download it for free right here.

[disclosure]

I think I just figured out what to get Mark for Valentine’s Day . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 22:42:00 +0000

Free printable Breaking Bad paper dolls from Kyle Hilton.

Or should I stick with a classic and go Arrested Development?

You can see the whole line (including It’s Always Sunny, Parks and Rec, and The Office) at Kyle Hilton’s website.

it okay to ask if someone’s kids are adopted?

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 05:43:00 +0000

I recently had someone ask me the following on facebook, and I thought it was a good question that I would share here as well:

Is it ok to ask if someone adopted, if it appears to be the case? ( example: redhead, fair skinned mom with a black little boy at the dentist the other day.) If so, is it ok to ask questions like where they are from?

I am a total question asker by nature.. I love to ask questions. AND I'm interested in adoption personally. So there are times that I'd like to ask these questions. But I don't want to be that person that asks an annoying or even rude question.

So, are there questions that it is ok even welcomed to ask, or is it more considerate to not bring it up at all?

I think this is a really good question. I regularly hear adoptive parents, especially from transracial families, complain about the questions they have to field on a daily basis, and I think that sometimes leaves people wondering what they are allowed to say at all. I will answering for myself, but maybe some other adoptive parents can chime in down in the comment section.

For me, the answer would be that it's fine, but not in front of the kids. Let me repeat:

Do not ask me if my kids are adopted in front of them.

It’s a personal question, and I think it puts kids on the spot unnecessarily. I think some kids may not mind, but other children are more sensitive, and may not want their parents talking about their personal narrative to a stranger. I guess I would compare that question to seeing someone with children, who is alone and not wearing a wedding ring, if they are divorced. A fine question for someone you know, but perhaps not passing chatter for the checkout line in Target. It’s important to bear in mind that adoption stories are often complex, so what may seem like a benign questions could be digging in to serious and traumatic territory very quickly. I especially don’t appreciate questions like, “Where are they from?” in front of my children. They are from foster care and a Haitian orphanage. One had both his parents die, the other was removed from their care by social services. That is not a conversation for a stop-and-chat with a stranger. Especially in front of them. When I am asked that question in front of them, I usually say that our family is from Orange County, with a look that lets them know I’d like the line of conversation to end.

If you can somehow isolate the adult, I think it’s acceptable to ask a mom if her children are adopted. I know other adoptive parents don't care for it but it never bothers me away from the kids. I think it also helps if you articulate why you want to know. If you preface it by saying, "I'm personally interested in adoption, so I was wondering if your child is adopted?", that frames it as a personal interest. I've had people ask where I can tell it was coming from interest, and then there have been others who I just feel like are prying (or think we are some cultural curiosity). The context helps. Just last week, I literally had an adult male ask me loudly as I was browsing for pajamas with Jafta, “So what’s the deal, they’re adopted?” So not cool.

Also, a word of advice? One really nice way of acknowledging or affirming a transracial family’s adoption status without gushing about adoption in front of the kids is to simply say, “you have a really beautiful family.” When people say that to me, I usually get a sense that they are trying to acknowledge the way our family was formed without blurting it out. This is also a good way to satisfy your own curiosity, because if they let you know that half the kids are friends from school, you no longer need to ask if their children are all “theirs”. If they say thank you, you’ve confirmed that the kids were likely adopted, and it can be a catalyst for them to share more if they want to.

I also think this will vary by personality. I’m an introvert, which means I have an internal subconscious rulebook that says you don’t speak to people you don’t know unless their hair is on fire, and even then, only if you are the only person available. Mark, on the other hand, strikes up a conversation with anyone and everyone. He is on a first-name basis with every sandwich artist at our local Subway. He’s a fan of the stop-and-chat. I am not. So while I think the question is okay, if the children are not within earshot, sometimes I just don’t feel like divulging the whole story with a stranger. In that case, I try to change the subject.

I will admit that whenever I see other transracial families, I have a huge urge to go up and meet them, that is at violent odds with my introverted nature. If the kids are with me, we might give each other the ~~secret handshake~~ silent nod of acknowledgement, but if they aren’t I might say something like, “Your family looks similar to mine” as a way to strike up a conversation without putting the kids on the spot. But I do think it is important for adults to be sensitive to adopted children, and to understand that fielding questions from strangers (or hearing their mother field questions from strangers) may make them feel self-conscious and “othered”. I don’t think satisfying a curiosity is ever worth making a child feel uncomfortable.

how we successfully treated Jafta’s sensory processing disorder (SPD)

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 08:54:00 +0000

I haven’t talked much publicly about it, but my oldest child has Sensory Processing Disorder (also known as Sensory Integration Disorder). I blogged about our road to diagnosis in this post, and shared the full story in this book. SPD is a neurological condition that effects how children process sensory input. For some kids, it means that are extremely averse to sensory input . . . they have difficulty tolerating touch, noise, sounds, and new tastes. For other children, it manifests in sensory seeking – these kids crave more sensory input than typical kids, and their behaviors look very similar to ADHD. Most children with autism have sensory processing issues (“stimming” is a sensory seeking behavior), and some consider SPD to be on the spectrum of autism. Children with SPD often have difficulty with balance, coordination, and fine motor tasks like writing, tying shoes, or buttoning shirts.

Jafta’s SPD manifests with a lot of extra movement. He has a hard time sitting still. He has poor body boundaries – often falling out of his chair without noticing, or running into others. I don’t know what it’s like to live in his body, but he often seems like he’s dizzy and trying to get his bearings. He talks too close, and often too loud, and he’s overly touchy. This gets mixed reviews from other children – some don’t notice, while others (who are more on the sensory-averse side) are really annoyed by it. He’s been lucky to make friends with several boys with a similar preference for physicality, but SPD has caused some social problems in the past. It also resulted in several meetings with the kindergarten teacher last year in regards to the accommodations for his constant movement.

Last year, we sought out a psychiatrist (again) after the meeting with the teacher. I never wanted to explore medication for him while he was still at home, but I always said we would give it a try if there were issues at school. I firmly believe that medical intervention can make a huge difference for kids who are truly struggling with ADHD. In my practice, I’ve literally seen stimulant meds turn a child who hates school into a child excited to go to school. While I completely agree that our country is overmedicated (in fact, the only medical paper I’ve ever published was on that very subject), I also think there are many who vilify psychotropic drugs as a “crutch” even in legitimate circumstances. ADHD is an issue of faulty neurochemistry of the brain. Why shouldn’t medications be used that can help balance the brain? I don’t think parents who choose to medicate a child with diabetes or asthma get the same amount of judgment from the general public. For me, I was perfectly willing to do a medication trial, and to see if it improved his focus at school.

While SPD and ADHD look very similar, they have difference neurological causes, and stimulants have not been shown to be as effective for kids with SPD. For Jafta, the stimulant didn’t result in any behavior change. We suspected this going in, so it wasn’t a huge surprise, but I’m glad we ruled it out. It helped confirm that his behaviors were a result of SPD and not ADHD.

Over the summer, I decided to finally try taking Jafta off of gluten and dairy. There is a lot of evidence that a GFDF diet can help symptoms of autism, but not as much in regards to SPD. Still, I figured it was worth a shot. We spent a couple weeks tapering off wheat and dairy, and within a month, we saw changes.

HUGE CHANGES.

I would even categorize it as a nearly-full recovery from SPD.

It seems like taking him off of gluten and dairy cleared the fog in his brain. He is more mindful of his body and has a better time focusing. He is more considerate of the space of others. Most of all, he just seems calmer. Less keyed up, compulsive, and on-edge.

When Jafta started first grade this year, I was really curious to see how things would play out in the classroom on the new diet. I didn’t mention the SPD to the teacher until the first parent-teacher conference, and when I did, she seemed surprised.

She hadn’t noticed any SPD symptoms. At all.

I really do credit the diet, because we seeing a regression in behaviors any time we “cheat” A morning of pancakes can lead to an afternoon of hyperactivity. After a couple times of being lenient with the diet and seeing immediate regression, we got pretty serious about restricting. He’s been GFDF since August.

It has been a challenge, but it has been so worth it. I’m hoping to write a bit more about how this plays out on a practical level, and give some ideas for how to cook GFDF for a large family. I am actually GFDF now as well. I’ve struggled with migraines for a few years and they’ve been reduced, but it also makes it easier for Jafta to have someone else in the family on the same diet.

I know I have a lot of adoptive families reading here, and I know that many adopted children struggle with SPD as a result of the neurological effects of early neglect, trauma, or prenatal drug exposure. If your child is struggling, I would definitely encourage a trial of the diet. We are really thrilled to feel like we’ve conquered SPD, and it’s been pretty incredible to see the confidence and peace that Jafta has gained from being symptom-free.

india’s first hollywood press junket

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 00:38:00 +0000

India and I had a little overnighter in Hollywood this weekend. We were invited by Disney to take part in a press junket for the new animated film The Secret World of Arrietty. Several bloggers and their daughters were invited to interview the actress Bridgit Mendler, the voice of Arrietty. Bridgit also stars in Good Luck Charlie, one of India’s favorite shows, so she was really excited.

There was a screening of the film on Friday night, and since the interview was the next day I decided we would just get a hotel and make a trip out of it. India talked about our trip all week in anticipation. All day she would look at me with a squinty smile and say “CAN’T WAIT!” I’m not allowed to talk about the movie yet, but next week I will have India share her review of the movie. (Spoiler alert: WE LOVED IT).

We didn’t make it to our hotel until 10pm. All the excitement was exhausting, apparently.

The next morning, we decided to get some Starbucks and a mani-pedi before our big meeting with the celebrity. We were feeling very Hollywood. Look! We even had a celebrity spotting at the nail salon. That’s Adam Shankman in the back corner. I showed excellent restraint by not being a crazed, gushing fangirl when I saw him because, hello? Hairspray and So You Think You Can Dance are a few of my favorite things. And yes, India and I were the only women getting our nails done. We were in West Hollywood, after all.

After our nails were sufficiently sparkled, we made our way to the Four Seasons where the interview was talking place. There was an impressive spread for us, with some cute sugarcubes and chocolate shavings inspired by the movie.

India and four other girls got to chat with Bridgit. India was excited but didn’t seem nervous Bridgit was really sweet with the girls, especially when some of the younger ones didn’t quite understand the interview format and instead decided to retell the entire plot of the movie back to Bridgit. It was actually quite adorable, and Bridgit was a great sport. The moms got to sit in on the conversation, and it was fun to hear about how they make animated movies. Did you know the actors aren’t in the room with other actors when they record their parts? That blows my mind.

Here’s a little segment of the interview:

What would you tell girls, a suggestion related to pursuing careers or whatever?

I think a great thing about Arrietty is she has a really pure curiosity for the world? You know? She just- she- she wants to see things and she wants to meet people. But she all- she has really great intentions, and she, you know, she meets this boy, Shawn who is kind of having a rough time. And she’s able to be a really good friend for him. And so I think it's a great message of friendship and adventure. And I think it's good. I think all girls should feel empowered like they can go out and conquer the world. I think it's important.

When you were younger, what other careers did you want?

You know, I was a kid who wanted to do everything. I wanted to be a chef, a gymnast, the President, a lawyer, I wanted to be everything. So through my job, I can do a lot of different things.

Is your schedule really rigorous?

I usually shoot on Thursdays and Fridays and then Monday through Wednesday I'm rehearsing for the show. Um, this week has been a special episode, I'm not sure if you're following the show. But we just filmed the episode where they have the, the, the next baby. Um, so it was, it was a big episode. Um, so they have all sorts of publicity in there for that. But, um, it's been a, it's been a very busy past two weeks filming that. But besides that- it's, it's really not that bad. I mean, you know, they- the nice thing about our show is, it's really an ensemble cast, so they have a bunch of different, um, story lines with a bunch of different characters.

What did you do to prepare for the role?

You know, actually I just, I watched the movie and, um, it, it was really visual and, and I thought that it was, it was pretty captivating as a story too. And I think, um, I was pretty familiar with the Studio Jubilee movies and, and, um, Japanese films in general from watching, um, Spirited Away and Ponyo and then there was, uh, what was it, the Kiki’s Delivery Service. And so I, I loved all those movies growing up. And so I was kind of I felt like I was familiar with that aspect. Um, and I think the - kind of the cool thing about this movie is like you're taking a Japanese film and you're putting an American spin on it. And so I think it was kind of fun actually to be able to just kind of act like a normal girl. Um, who happens to be [LAUGHING] this big through the movie.

Did you enjoy recording with the other cast members?

Actually I just met two of the cast members today. I didn't even know them before today. I, I, yeah I didn't record with anybody else. Just myself.

What was your favorite part of playing Arrietty?

I think she’s a fun character. I think she’s pretty spunky, she’s pretty cool. And, uh, yeah. I, uh, I, I like that she has her heart in the right place. So, felt like she was giving some good messages.

Can you relate to her?

I, yeah I, I think I was pretty adventurous when I was younger. And I, I love liked exploring outside and I was- I was into climbing trees and rocks and all that stuff. And, um, you know, I think I'm still pretty, uh, youthful. And so- I, I felt like I could relate to her.

After the interview (and an Amy Poehler spotting in the elevator) we decided to take a little dip in the pool.

Fun fact: if you order from the kid’s menu poolside, your food comes in a monkey bowl.

Fun fact: India is a hot tub surrounded by talent agents in this photo. It was like a scene from Entourage, only with a small child splashing water into everyone’s cocktails.

Fun fact: My drink was made of cucumbers, pomegranate juice, basil, and vodka.

Fun fact: We live just close enough to LA for it to be a fun destination spot, but I’m always thankful to head home.

I will have India share her take on The Secret World of Arrietty later, but in the meaning, you can check out the trailer below.

would open borders help solve the problem of global poverty?

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 08:07:00 +0000

Today I was reading an article in the Mennonite Review that quoted a post of mine about the orphan crisis in Haiti. The author suggested that more people should consider moving to impoverished countries to serve. It was a great piece, but I was really fascinated with a comment to the post, and thought I would share it here for discussion.

What you are pointing out, though not intentionally, is a fascinating economic truth. I've advocated open borders for (at least) oppressed and distressed peoples. There are many in Haiti whose lives would instantly be 10 times better simply by stepping foot on American soil. And America can easily absorb them (despite what many might say). This is because there is a disparity in human capital, or education, across borders. This is no fault of the Haitians, nor merit of Americans, simply a fact generated by history, whatever injustices contributed to that fact. But Americans flowing into Haiti can provide resources which are more scarce in Haiti than in America. In fact, Americans might flourish in Haiti, and Haitians around Americans might flourish with them!

All of this points to the fact that freedom of mobility provides opportunities to everyone, and should be the leveling instrument across and within cultures.

- Nathanael Snow

I think the question of international transition is a good one, and one that is rarely discussed (at least in my opinion) in circles that are aiming to aid the world’s poor. I think we’ve been engrained to think of our country as an impenetrable fortress, and I think most conversations revolve around keeping people out rather than offering them shelter. We may feel sad for the folks living in poverty in other parts of the world, but I don’t know if we’d be willing to invite them here if it meant giving up a part of our own share of privilege. It’s interesting to think of what is engraved on the Statue of Liberty, and how far our national ideology has veered from that now:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

I’m not saying that I would advocate for a free-for-all across the borders. But at the same time, I have seen instances where our government has offered asylum to select groups where it has been extremely beneficial (the Sudanese refugees come to mind). My overwhelming thought upon leaving Haiti after the earthquake was that I wished that ALL of the survivors could have been airlifted out of the wreckage. (Or at least those who wanted to leave). In my time at the American embassy post-earthquake, there were so many Haitians there who would have given anything for the chance to take a flight to the US to start over. Being evacuated on a military jet just by way of my nationality was a hard pill to swallow, as I thought of what was in store for those left behind. I talked about some of that survivor guilt in this post, and it still troubles me.

Let me point out, I do realize that people can come into our country – but I think our government makes it unduly difficult, if not impossible, for impoverished people from other countries to come here seeking work. I mean, Kembe is our legally adopted son, who entered the country legally and who has every technical right to citizenship, and we are STILL waiting for the government to grant it to him. So I’m operating under the premise that there is not a realistic path for people with few resources to enter our country legally.

What do you think about Nathanae'l’s comment? Could freedom of mobility give better opportunities for everyone?

what I want you to know: the hard realities of foster care

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 13:36:00 +0000

There are things I wish I never had to know.

When I went into foster care I learned all sorts of things. We learned about the kid's possible histories, abusive homes and biological family visits. We learned about putting away our medicines, our chemicals and our jewelry. We learned about restraints and rages. We learned about "the honeymoon period". We learned about triangulation. We thought we were shocked at the things we heard, we had no idea what shocking was. The problem is that no matter what you are told and what you learn, you are sorely unprepared for children who have attachment issues to be in your home. It is on the job training. It is baptism by fire.

When a child comes into your home who has early trauma, in our case it was Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, schizophrenia, and severe physical abuse, you have no idea what you are getting. I had no idea that we would be locking up not only our medicine but our snack foods. I did not know that I would be the target of his rages at home and in public. I did not know I would have to physically restrain him in McDonald's parking lot when he was 6. I did not know that certain places, sounds and even smells would trigger his abuse and cause violent flashbacks. I had no idea that he would place the person he was with at the present time in those flashbacks playing in his head and make accusations. I had no idea I would be the subject of CPS investigations because he truly thought I had hurt him. I had no idea that he could come across as so truthful and so charming to others. I had no idea that at such a young age he would know how to manipulate people to get what he wanted.

So many things that I wish I had never known. I wish I had never known that my child was capable of not only hurting, but wishing to kill animals. I wish I had never known that my child would attempt to steal other, younger children's innocence. I wish I never had to explain to him that his penis is not meant to go certain places. I wish I never had known the fear of seeing your 12 year old child standing behind you with a knife raised in the air and a scary smile saying, "What I was just putting it away." I wish I had never ever had the feeling that I had done the wrong thing in welcoming him into my "forever family". I wish I had never had teach my younger children how to get away from him if he tried to hurt them.

I long for the days when locks, door alarms and video surveillance was not a part of my daily routine. I long for days when I don't have to be on constant high alert. I long for the time that I didn't have to be constantly supervising my child.

Most of all I wish I didn't hate the mother who did this to child. I wish I didn't hate myself or feel guilty for wishing my life was different. I wish I could go to bed at night and feel like a loving, successful mother. That will never happen.

I hear people clamoring all the time about families being unprepared to parent children like mine. They fault the agencies and the foster care system for not providing enough training. I don't think there is anything you can do to prepare them short of throwing them in the situation. No amount of words can prepare you for what you have to do and how you will feel with a child like this. There is nothing that will make you understand what the hourly struggles will be like with a child like this. There is nothing that you can do to prepare for what you will endure. Let's face it, even our extended families don't get it. They have us telling them, explaining, teaching, offering information and they still don't get it. They don't live with it .

Blogging has saved my life and the life of my child. Without women who understand where we have been, where we are, and where we will go from here I would not have survived. Some healing has taken place, it is not as bad as it once was. I think I have healed more than he has. Women who have been willing to share and be completely open about their journey have taught me more than anything thus far. We are not alone. I want you to know YOU are not alone. Those of us who have been there understand. We understand the deepest, darkest, ugliest thoughts you have had. The feelings of dread at the thought of your child waking, we've been there. The fear that your child will harm you or your other children, we get it. The shame that you feel when your child's hug turns your stomach, unfortunately we understand. I want you to know that it's okay. It is not shameful, it is healthy to recognize it and embrace it and move forward. It's okay to fake it until you make it.

Healing will come when you both face your demons and get past them together.

Healing will come when you realize you are not alone.

when the girls are away, the boys will play.

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 07:49:00 +0000

While India and I were off for our big weekend, Mark and the boys got to go to Knott’s Berry Farm to check out their new Valentine’s shows (and of course, ride a few rides). We had Karis spend the night at grandma’s so that Mark and the boys could be unfettered by toddler drama and height restrictions. Karis loves going to grandma’s, so each of my kids had an epic weekend of their own kind.

If you aren’t familiar with Knott’s, it’s a local theme park that does lots of fun seasonal shows with the cast of Peanuts. I tried to get the plot of the Valentine’s show out of Jafta, but he just got really embarrassed. He’s in a stage where he is equally fascinated and mortified by all things romantic.

There was also a “shotgun wedding” cowboy show, which the boys appreciated because there were guns. And also because, apparently, their father was picked out of the crowd to get married to a cross-dressing cowboy. The boys think this is the funniest thing that ever happened. “Remember when daddy got married to a man dressed like a girl?” And then they collapse into a heap of laughter while I pretend to be outraged. Whatevs. I’m way hotter than her.

Kembe was just tall enough to ride all of the big-kid rides this time around. He was thrilled. My boys are some serious adrenaline junkies, and they went on most of the adult roller coasters. Mark also reports that they went on the Dragon Swing ten times in a row, until he finally insisted they move on. Better Mark than me . . . my breakfast would have been long gone.

This is them, scowling at our girls’ weekend and our manicures when there are coasters to ride!

that’s what SHE said: dogs for RAD kids, finger wagging at the president, finding black friends, ignoring advice, tweeting politics, and more . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 07:24:00 +0000

Wonder Dog : A Golden Retriever Reaches a Raging Boy | NYTimes.com

The science behind Iyal’s cognitive leaps is still in its infancy. Alan M. Beck, the director of the Center for the Human-Animal Bond at Purdue University’s College of Veterinary Medicine, is among those intrigued by it. “There is a real bond between children and animals,” he told me. “The younger the child, the greater the suspension of disbelief about what an animal understands or doesn’t understand.” According to Beck, more than 70 percent of children confide in their dogs, and 48 percent of adults do. “The absolutely nonjudgmental responses from animals are especially important to children,” he says. “If your child with F.A.S.D. starts to misbehave, your face may show disapproval, but the dog doesn’t show disapproval. The performance anxiety this child may feel all the time is absent when he’s with his dog. Suddenly he’s relaxed, he’s with a peer who doesn’t criticize him.”

I Hugged a Man in His Underwear – And I am Proud | Elemental Project

Watching people recognize our apology brought me to tears many times. It was reconciliation personified. My favorite though was a gentleman dancing on a float. He was dressed only in white underwear and had a pack of abs like no one else. As he was dancing he noticed us and jokingly yelled, “What are you sorry for? It’s pride!” I pointed to our signs and watched him read them. Then it clicked. Then he got it. He stopped dancing, became very serious, and jumped off of the float to run towards us. He and his beautiful sweat drenched abs hugged me and whispered, “thank you.”

Looking For True Repentance at Mars Hill Church? Sign on the Dotted Line | Jesus Needs New PR

The things he noticed weren’t exactly subtle differences either. There was something about their tones, a certain change from being serious and kind toward him to always coming across intentionally serious and sometimes harsh. He’d also noticed a difference in the words they used, a switch from words and phrases that depicted gentle care and concern to words/phrases that sometimes caused him to feel like a criminal on trial, certainly not a longtime member of a loving, forgiving church environment.

How finger wagging is like hair touching: Lessons in privilege | What Tami Said

Adults do not behave this way with each other (unless they happen to be Real Housewives cast members). Adults certainly do not behave this way when dealing with people of authority or people they respect as equals. Chances are, you would never approach your boss in this way nor even colleagues without being reprimanded at best. (Yes, Rep. Rohrabacher, even in the land of the free and home of the brave.) Outside of the workplace, few in healthy, functional relationships indulge in these sorts of physical displays.

Gay white moms of two black daughters seek person of color for meaningful relationship. | Be gay about it.

We hate that we don’t have any black friends. I feel ashamed, especially, because my friendship circle in high school resembled a Benetton ad. We know a few black women, but only as acquaintances. We don’t socialize with any black men.

Are we living in the wrong place? Giving off the wrong vibe? Why are our only non-white friends Asian ladies married to white guys?

Should we join an African immersion group? That feels forced (and our girls aren’t African, they’re black middle class being raised by white parents — read Disintegration by Eugene Robinson).

Do we take out a personal ad?

The Santorum Effect: What Rick's Showing The World About Special Needs Parenting | Love That Max:

Rick Santorum feels that the right thing for him to do is campaign for the presidency. While I don't agree with his politics, I respect his decision. Santorum is showing the world that parents of kids with special needs are like any parents: We don't always sacrifice our work lives for the sake of our children, nor should we be expected to. Contrary to popular belief, we are not saints. Holding us to a higher standard of morality only makes us more likely to be denounced for making real-world choices.

Tweeting Politics | Nish Happens

I have a lot of friends who do the “duck and cover” thing when it comes to politics. I respect their decision not to discuss it, particularly in a public forum. But, the idea that talking about politics (or religion, or whatever the hot topic is) is rude, is something I’ve never understood. Are we all completely incapable of having civilized discussion about issues that matter most? I think this idea that “politics is personal” only further entrenches us in our hyper-individualism.

Please Play With Me? | Shaun Groves

This kid, like all kids, is a gift. A “present” packed with presents. But, like the rest of us, there’s some stuff missing too — lost in an institution, perhaps, where he was given food,clothing, shelter, and lots of love but little alone time. Few opportunities to learn self-guidance.

Connectivity | The Accidental Expert with Asha Dornfest

One of the things I’ve always loved about blogging is the community — the remarkable connection between the people who write and read online. But as my writing work got busier, my dips into the community grew less frequent. Blog comments, which I loved reading throughout the day, would sometimes wait several days for a response. Weeks, then months would go by between feed readings. My daily social media habit scratched my conversational itch, but it doesn’t replace speaking directly with writers and readers on blogs. My joy and satisfaction as a blogger is directly connected to how much I participate in our community, both as a talker and as a listener.

The last word: He said he was leaving. She ignored him. | The Week

When life’s knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: It’s not a spouse, or land, or a job, or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal. My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out.

Paula Deen: Glass Houses | Six Until Me

On the other hand, what I also know is that she, like me, is a person living with diabetes. Paula has type 2 diabetes, while I have type 1 diabetes, but the fact remains that she is part of the diabetes community. And just like everyone else, she has her right to disclose whatever she'd like, whenever and however she'd like. Not all of us talk about our weight. Or our A1Cs. Some of us in this community only disclose anonymously online, never whispering a word about our diabetes to our "real life" friends. We all share at a level that we alone have the right to dictate. So Paula Deen and her decision to "come out" as a type 2 diabetic is her call.

Let Sleeping Babies Lie... On their Bellies? | Girls Gone Child

So here's me admitting that no, I didn't breastfeed past the twins' first month of life and yes my babies sleep in their bumpered cribs on their bellies and yes, we're all okay. We're better than okay. We're thriving and happy and sleeping (mostly) through the night. And a lot of that has to do with breaking rules, forgoing statistics, ignoring advice, and doing what feels right in the moment. THIS moment right now this very second.

Sex, Lies & Mommy-Blogging | Elizabeth Esther

The main problem I have with these ideas are that they seek to define Motherhood–indeed, your entire identity as a person–by the way you bake your bread, decorate your house or educate your children.

should kids be punished at home for bad behavior at school?

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 08:13:00 +0000

We’re dealing with a bit of a predicament right now . . . we’re trying to decide how to respond as parents when one of our kids is in trouble at school. One child, who shall remain nameless though I’m sure it will be obvious who, is a bit of a class clown. On occasion, his teacher will pull me aside at pickup to let me know when he’s had a particularly bad day. This usually involves him being too loud, laughing obnoxiously, being silly for laughs, and other various forms of distracting and attention seeking in the classroom. None of this is all that surprising to us, but we really value our kids being respectful, so in that aspect we do take it seriously. In the midst of this behavior he is ignoring requests from his teacher to calm down. We’ve all talked about it, and he understands that when he acts this way, the teacher will let us know. When it happens, we also have a rule that when we get home from preschool he “takes a nap” (lies down in his room) until Mark comes home. Having to take a nap while the other kids play is a pretty hefty consequence for him, to the point that he has begged his teacher not to disclose his behavior on days that he has been inappropriate at school.

Recently, we were talking about this with a friend who is a teacher, and she suggested that it wasn’t a good idea to give a consequence at home for something that happened at school. She felt like we were undermining the classroom consequence and the student-teacher trust, and that whatever punishment was received at school should be sufficient. I guess our point of view is that whatever the school’s consequence has been has not motivated behavioral change . . . but also that we want him to understand that our family rules for respect towards adults are still in place even when he’s away from us. I frequently notice that he tries to see what he can get away with in front of each new caregiver. (I realize this behavior is common for most kids, but it is especially so for him. Testing boundaries is almost a hobby.) I want to set it up so he realizes that even when we aren’t around, THE RULE ABIDES . . . that we are communicating with the adults in his life and that he has to be accountable for his behavior no matter where he is.

What do you guys think? Should kids have consequences for bad behavior at school, or should we let it be dealt with at school and have them come home to a fresh slate?

does love require work?

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 09:06:00 +0000

My friend Tracey wrote an interesting post about love today (you can read her post about making love work here). It spurred some interesting discussion in the comment section, and one commenter theorized that if love feels like work, it’s probably not going to work. I think this is an interesting question : is it really “love'” if it feels like work?

I will confess, I have some strong opinions on this one, but I think it really depends on each person’s end goal. If the end goal is to be in a relationship where you perpetually feel the ease of love and infatuation that one experiences at the beginning of a relationship, then that philosophy of love is probably adverse to feeling like the relationship might involve work. I would speculate, from my years as a marriage and family therapist, that couples who hold these work-free expectations for relationships do not tend to have long-term marriages, but rather tend to seek a new person when the feelings of initial infatuation fade away with their current partner. And, you know? That’s a lifestyle a lot of people choose. We can all think of celebrities (or politicans *cough*) who appear to me on this plan. I had a professor in grad school who had a seven-year deal with his wife. Every seven years, they renegotiated if they still felt like continuing. They aren’t married anymore.

If, on the other hand, your end goal is to be holding your spouse’s hand in the nursing home some day, I think you have your work cut out for you.

One of the most common laments I heard from divorcing couples was “marriage shouldn’t feel this hard.” And while I definitely think there are times when “hard” translates to “time to leave”, I also think that many couples are genuinely shocked to learn that, several years in, marriage requires some sacrifice, some compromise of self, and yes . . . some work.

While I think that marital relationships can and should maintain those warm feelings of love in the long-term, I also think that there are some seasons where that love is going to me more above loving behavior and less about loving feelings. It’s trite but it’s true: love is a verb. It’s a feeling, too, yes . . . but feelings are temperamental little buggers, and shouldn’t be followed at every whim. Some seasons are not as conducive to loving feelings, and it’s in those moments that we have to “fake it till we make it” and work at loving behaviors with confidence that the loving feelings will follow.

Mark and I have certainly had seasons where our relationship felt like work. In our first year of marriage, as two selfish and immature 20somethings, it felt like A LOT of work. We hit our stride for a while . . . and then Mark was in a horrible accident that left him dependent on others for pretty much every function of daily living. During that season, our life was about hospitals and wheelchairs, wound dressings and physical therapy appointments. It wasn’t romantic. It felt like work. Later, after we’d hit our stride again, we dealt with recurrent pregnancy loss. . . a season in which our nightly routine involved Mark giving me progesterone injections – not exactly the kind of physical contact that leads to feelings of passion. Dealing with each subsequent miscarriage made for a dark time for me personally, and our relationship suffered but survived because we worked at it. Then we dealt with the stress of being foster parents, two stressful pregnancies, and the fallout of my PTSD after the Haiti earthquake. Like married couples are prone to do, sometimes we were each other’s buffer in the stress, but other times we took it out on each other.

While it would be nice to say that it’s all smooth sailing right now, we continue to be in a season where our marriage requires a lot of work. We have four small kids . . . WE’RE EXHAUSTED. Sometimes we are short with each other. Date nights are few and far between, and it would often be so much easier to maintain a parallel existence than to continue to push towards emotional intimacy. But there is a statement that Mark and I say constantly when we are making decisions about the kids: pay now or pay later. Parenting children well is a lot of hard work, but we continue to dig in and be present, even when it would be easier to slack off, tune out, or abdicate to screen-time, because we get that the work we do now will contribute to our kid’s well-being in the long-term. I feel the same way about my marriage. The work of our relationship, like so many other things in life, is something I’m willing to do because the payoff is so great.

Edited to add: Tracey followed up about the comments to her original post, and wrote a response from her perspective. Again, a really interesting conversation in the comment section. Check it out.

january photo-a-day challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 06:40:00 +0000

At the beginning of January, I noticed several friends on instagram taking part in a little photo challenge. It seemed like a fun thing to take part in , so I joined in. Each day there was a different prompt for a photo, which really got me thinking outside of the box. (The box being hundreds of snapshots of my children).

I ended up really enjoying the challenge. In this stage of life where I feel like I can get so little accomplished, it was really nice to feel like each day, I had this little thing I could tick off my list within a couple seconds. It gave me a little push to be creative each day . . . without feeling overwhelmed. I also loved seeing what other people posted – the things you learn looking in one another’s fridge! Anyways, here are my photos from January. If you want to join in on the fun, check out the #febphotoaday challenge that starts tomorrow. You can find me on instagram as kristenhowerton!

how to get beachy, relaxed waves (a hair tutorial)

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 00:38:00 +0000

Whenever I go in to get my roots touched up, my stylist always gives me these really loose, natural waves that I can never seem to replicate on my own.

She uses a flat-iron to do it, and she has made a considerable effort in trying to teach me how to do it myself. Yet no matter how much we go over it, I go home and I am all thumbs with that flat iron. I’ve also watched friends giving tutorials on the matter. My friend Sarah just posted a great video on How To Create Loose Waves, where she makes this technique look “easy” and “reasonable”. But then I try, and it’s like I lose all sense of eye-hand coordination. I just end up making my hair look weirdly bent – like Farah Fawcett after a long meth bender.

Well, I am happy to announce that I have finally figured out the secret. Today, much to my surprise, I woke up with perfect, beachy waves . . . and I’m going to share my secrets with you.

Step 1: Get a really nasty cold. If you don’t have some preschoolers regularly infecting you with the germs of other small children, you can also consider rubbing some ragweed on your face, or living in a city where the Santa Ana winds turn your head into a giant cesspool of phlegm. This part may sound challenging, but trust me . . . you can do it. I’ve managed to maintain a state of sinusitis since mid-October!

Step 2: Don’t wash your hair for three days in a row.

Step 3: Before you go to bed, slather your chest with Vicks vapo rub. Really get it on there thick – this part is important, because ultimately it will become the product your hair adheres to while you sleep.

Step 4: Put a humidifier by the bed – an old-school one that turns your room into a sauna and forces your husband to kick off the covers and threaten divorce if that thing is by the bed one more night.

Step 5: Toss and turn all night The head cold will help with this, but to really go big, consider accidentally swallowing a capsule of your son’s Ritalin that you mistake for Benadryl in the groggy wee hours of the morning. This will ENSURE a horrible night’s sleep.

And voila!.

Beachy waves.

You’re welcome. You can pin that if you want to.

Pin It

iphone photo dump, mid-january 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 01:06:00 +0000

One of the things I love about my kids is that they love to dress up. The girls spend most of their days at home in one costume or another. (And if not in a costume, Karis is usually in a diaper).

Every day they find new and more creative ways to give me anxiety. Lately they’ve taken to using our headboard as a diving board. How we’ve never been to the ER is a question for the ages.

New Year’s goal: go to the beach more. I’m really trying.

This is India’s favorite outfit.

I’ve said it before and I;’ll say it again. I will keep these kids in footie pj’s until they are physically old enough to prevent me from doing so. Or until they are old enough to buy their own pajamas.

I bought these mystery Mexican chips from a street vendor. What are they made of? I don’t want to know, do I?

This January has been really warm! Great for my beach goals. Not so great for my seasonal allergies.

I cleaned out the garage this weekend, and got rid of all our CD cases that were uselessly taking up space. I’ll let you guess which ones belonged to Mark and which ones belonged to me. (HINT: Mark’s are the lame ones).

Another day, another costume.

The whole family is addicted to Pinterest. Really.

India is reading now! She really likes to read to her siblings. Works for me.

The gym I belong to lets parents drop off the kids and then go hiking. So much more appealing than a spin class.

And the hiking is doing wonders for my legs! Heh.

I don’t really know what is going on here, but it probably ended in tears.

Jafta’s favorite after-school snack is sheets of seaweed. Such a weirdo, that one.

The kids and I got to see a special preview for the MosterJam monster truck show at Angels Stadium. Jafta and Kembe could not be bothered to look at the camera for a photo. MUST TOUCH.

The twins think it is hilarious to stuff their cheeks full of grapes.

Karis likes to ask for grandma whenever she doesn’t get her way. This is her face after I pretend-called grandma to see if she agreed with Karis that she should be able to sleep with the ipad in her bed. Sadly, grandma was on our side. Sorry, Karis! (And sorry, Nancy!)

Tueesday and Thursday mornings it’s just us girls. I’m a little sad that India will be in kindergarten every day next year. She’s already reading . . . I can just keep her home one more year and skip kindergarten . . . right? (I’m halfway serious about that question).

that’s what SHE said: the work of marriage, the problem with outsourcing, life after motherhood, inequity in schools, the legacy of Joe Pa, and more…

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 14:20:00 +0000

Scenes From A Marriage: January Kill | Flux Capacitor

I want the bedroom to still. I want my sons to move quietly and my daughter to stop talking and asking and claiming and my baby to stop begging for breast every half hour and I want to lay on the mattress and feel adored and adoring. I want the mean slow freeze of January to release my husband. January is hard for him. Which makes it hard for me. I watch his angry, frustrated face, tired of being exhausted and struggling against himself. Sometimes I want to throw something at him, at his arm, where it would hurt but not kill, hard enough to make him furious, to break the ice and bring the entire river to a boil and release us from winter. During a quietly furious ten minute argument I am horrified to find myself thinking I hate you I hate you I hate you. I want to run away. I want to say something so final and so hurtful we could never recover from it. I want to so badly my arms are trembling.

Apple, America and How America is Losing | Blurbomat

There is no place on earth at this moment with the culture, supplier proximity and a seemingly endless supply of workers willing to work like hell, sleep in cramped dormitory quarters and expose themselves to harmful chemicals for what we consider to be a pittance except China. The kicker for me from the NYTimes piece is that it wouldn’t cost Apple that much more per iPhone to make it in the United States. Cost isn’t the problem. The problem is one of infrastructure. We don’t have enough people with the right knowledge and/or skill sets necessary to compete. We don’t have the supplier chain scale or companies who can make things like screws or other machined parts and make them quickly. Systemic failure to adapt. This failure starts with education and reaches deep into the pysche of this nation starving for jobs and wanting to build things at home.

I Blame Post-Feminism | My Fascinating Life

I hope that I will look back and see, through memory's soft-focused, gilded lens, how incredibly privileged I was to mother these two beautiful human beings through their infancy. But I also hope that, as I am looking back, I will still be mothering these two beautiful human beings. They might not need me to choose their clothes and cut up their toast any more (and please, oh please let them take care of their own bathroom needs eventually) but this, here, isn't the only way to be a mother. And being a mother isn't the only thing worth doing, either. My life didn't start when I became a mother. It won't end when they leave home. If we had never had children at all, I would still be a person. I love my children, but they aren't what makes me worthy of my space on the planet.

Penetrable Happiness — The Exceptional Man

At the end, the meetings accomplished, the children put to bed, the time for the two of you. The twilight hours for rest, or romance. But usually rest. The day has stolen your energy, your will to make an effort. Decision fatigue has left you incapable of doing the right thing. Or of doing anything.

Closer To Fine | Momastery

My first instinct is to freak out. My first instinct is to remember that yes, this chaos is proof that I have ruined my life and the lives of everyone in my home and that we are a disaster of a family and that no mother, in the entire history of mothers, has ever been forced to endure the drama, decibels and general suffering of this moment. My instinct is to tear my clothes and throw myself on the floor and bawl and cry out worthless declarations like “I can’t TAKE this anymore!” My first instinct is to allow my anxiety and angst to pour out like gasoline on a raging fire and indulge in a full-on mommy meltdown.

New year's day | Laurie Writes

When Mary Oliver asked what I was to do with my one wild and precious life, I doubt that this pattern of behavior would make it into the desired multiple choice options from A to ZZ. This is some nonsense right here. This is self-torture of an outstanding degree, my own personal lunatic fringe. If you were doing this, I would take you out for beers and tell you to run, run, run in the opposite direction from the insanity. I would tell you to go, consequences be damned, because wasting one more day on this was not advisable. I give excellent advice to other people.

Other People’s Children | Sam Chaltain

In this way, the events in Garfield Heights are a poignant window into a larger issue about what we value, and don’t value, in modern American society. And the reality is that despite our historic commitments to both liberty and equality, American education policy reflects our willingness to honor liberty at the expense of equality.

On being an object, and then not being an object | Finslippy

There were other incidents, too; so many incidents. Every one underscored the message that I wasn't safe, that I deserved whatever was coming to me, because I was young and a woman and that was how it was and also I should appreciate it. I tried to look unapproachable, but I don't think my face works that way; I just looked sad and then men barked at me to cheer up, to give them a smile. I wanted to look hard and angry. Lord knows I wanted to be intimidating. It just didn't work.

Joe Paterno and what legacies are made of | Elizabeth Esther

Lastly, I also read Shaun King’s tribute (honestly, what ELSE am I supposed to call these articles?) to Joe Paterno on Relevant Magazine’s website wherein he actually claims that Paterno was “so great that I think the ultimate story about him will eventually outshine the awful ugliness of a child molestation scandal.” Yes, Paterno was SO great! Except for that one thing. But hey, no worries! That one thing will be easily outshone.

And Finally, A Post | Meg Miller

Speaking for myself, I probably watched one too many “gotcha-day videos” when I should have had a few more cups of coffee with adoptive moms in my community and asked, “So, tell me what it’s really like.” The pictures of happy multi-racial families, like the one at the top of this post, don’t tell the whole story. But the stories need to be told—the hard ones and the happy ones.

what I want you to know: life with an auto-immune disease

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 12:12:00 +0000

What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions. It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here. Today’s post is by an anonymous reader.

Life with an autoimmune disease is different everyday. Some days I look "sick" and no you don't need to tell me that I already know. On the days when my "color" looks so great and radiant I am not amazingly cured and able to jump right in I am probably running a fever and would rather you didn't hug me. I sit in the back of the church now when I actually attend so I can make a quick escape after service. If you see me or think of me call my cell phone I do miss hanging out but in our mega church there are mega germs and seriously wash you hands!

Being sick does not make me a bad Christian. I have not lost my faith nor is my faith so little that I can't overcome this illness. I win, every. day. No I will no be at the next healing service like a groupie. I may be there to prune back the self righteous pride issues that rise up from the daily victories of say digesting food, not breaking potty training,and not losing my temper. I really am not kidding about that.

The one of the harder things about this chronic progression is that I am no longer reliable. I may need to cancel at the last minute as systemic inflammation is an anytime anywhere anybody part kind of beyotch. I do still want to be invited or rather, included.

Lastly, this is disconcerting for me. I know you are freaked out - so am I! You can laugh with me or at me, (chances are I will find it funny too) or ignore the big it altogether (waterfront property owner on the river of denial here), but keep your doom, gloom, and voodoo to yourself.

putting myself to bed (the night owl’s lament)

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 17:20:00 +0000

I have always been a late-night kind of person.

My mother was, too. I remember growing up, watching my mom get a burst of energy right around the time we were all going to bed. It seemed like this was the time when she always got absorbed in a project. It wasn’t unusual for us to hear the sewing machine start to hum at 1am. It’s still not unusual to get a phone call from her at midnight. And she’s three hours ahead living in Florida.

It’s hard to say if it’s nature or nurture, but I’ve always been the same way. As a child, I loved laying in bed and reading in a quiet house in the wee hours. In high school, that was the time when I would make a collage from my Seventeen magazine or lay out photos into my overflowing scrapbook. I’ve always relished the time between 10 and 2am as the best part of the day. Obviously, in high school, my schedule was at odds, and I spent many tired days dragging myself from class to class. Then I went to college and majored in theater, where my nocturnal habits were completely acceptable. I found a whole community of people who were energized late at night. Classes were scheduled around the assumption that our shows would keep us up late, and I was able to exult in a lifestyle of staying up late and sleeping in every day.

The problem is, I never really broke this habit. For years, I was able to arrange my life to support my night-owl preferences. My graduate school classes were at night. When I went into private practice, I set my own schedule, and most of my clients preferred to come in the afternoon. This meant that sleeping until 10am each day was a luxury I could afford, even with a professional job. Sure, I had the occasional moments of shame about my lifestyle- the mailman catching me in my pj’s at noon . . . explaining to neighbors why I didn’t open the door at 10am. But by and large, it worked for me. When I added my current gig as a part-time professor fit in perfectly, because those classes are held at night as well.

I think you know where this story is headed, though. . . . right?

It was all fun and games until the kids came along. And actually . . . . I managed to get a few good years in even then. When our kids were young, we kept them up late, and they slept late as well, assisted by blackout curtains and a mother bent on shaping their body clocks to match her own. Sure, I had to reconcile that I’d probably be woken up at 9am instead of my preferred 10, but that wasn’t so bad. But as the years ticked by and the family size grew, that wake-up time bumped up incrementally, and starting them in school all but busted any illusions I had that I could maintain this schedule.

This is the first year that I have a couple days a week where each kid needs to be at school by 8am, which means our wake-up time has shifted to 7am. Now, I know to many that doesn’t sound like a big deal, but to me, 7am is HELLA EARLY. Now one might think that the simple solution would be for me to just go to bed earlier. In theory, this sounds easy enough. In practice, though, I’m finding it really difficult to get myself to bed at a reasonable hour, despite the fact that my late-night revelry means I am exhausted pretty much every day.

This is the cycle of insanity I go through every day:

7am – wake, exhausted and grumpy, curse myself for staying up too late

8am-9pm – exist in a state of pure exhaustion, vow to myself on an hourly basis that tonight I will go to bed at a reasonable hour.

10pm – get burst of energy, begin rationalizations for staying up

11pm – MINE! MINE! This time is MINE! I feel great right now. Best I’ve felt all day. I deserve this time. I NEED IT! I want to write and return emails and just sit in the still quiet of this beautiful, blessed hour. I can pull myself together tomorrow. This is MY TIME!

and repeat.

I’ve spent the last year doing this, with varying levels of shame and frustration at my lack of self-control about going to bed. Gee, what was I just telling my students the other night about the definition of addiction? ENGAGING IN REPETITIVE BEHAVIOR DESPITE NEGATIVE CONSEQUENCES. That would be me . . . every night.

Hi, my name is Kristen and I’m addicted to staying up late.

I will be honest . . . there are times with I think about the prospect of having children who need to be shuttled out the door by 8 for the next 16 years and it truly depresses me. I need to get a handle on it. I don’t like being a tired mom all the time.

Lately I’ve tried all manner of techniques for forcing myself into an earlier bedtime. I put a program on my computer than shuts it down at 11, but then I end up reading a book into the wee hours. I have had some improvement this month – I’m in bed most nights by 12:30 which is obviously much better than my preferred 2am. But 12:30 is still not gonna cut it with a 7am wake-up call. I wish I was one of those people who can function well on less than eight hours sleep, but I’m just not.

So, my goal for this season: put myself to bed. A seemingly simple task that continues to elude me.

the slacker mom’s guide to homemade photo cards for valentine’s day

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 18:48:00 +0000

I’m not really a “handmade card” kind of mom. I think it’s lovely that other moms are, but at this stage in our family there is usually just not enough time in the day for me to indulge in my creative side . . . beyond staring at the things other people are doing on Pinterest. With Valentine’s Day approaching, though, I did decide to make some homemade cards, inspired in part by cards like this one. But, if I’m to be totally honest, it was also inspired by my desire to not have to supervise four kids signing their name to 20+ cards. We are barely recovered from “thank-you-gate” over here.

(For those waiting in anticipation, we did manage to write and deliver the thank-you cards for the twins’ birthday, after I was adequately ~~shamed~~ advised in the comment section of this post.)

Anyways, after seeing a few cute photo cards on Pinterest, I decided to make photo cards using the chalkboard wall in the boys’ room. We are in the process of rearranging India’s closet so I just happened to have a closet rod hanging around the house – but I’ve seen other people use a white plastic pipe from Home Depot for these purposes. I wrote a little note on the chalkboard and snapped a picture of each child holding what would become the lollipop stick.

I took the pics on my phone, and then uploaded them to Shutterfly with their iphone app. I hunted around for Shutterfly promo codes on a few coupon sites, and my photo order total for 25 prints per kid came out to $3 plus shipping. Not bad.

The most difficult aspect of the photo shoot was that my kids could NOT understand where the giant lollipop was. I kept trying to explain perspective to them . . . that I would print the photos and then the stick would be for a regular lollipop. They didn’t get it, and are still quite disappointed that a lollipop the size of their head never materialized.

Next, I grabbed a bag of heart-shaped lollipops at Target, along with some pink flat cards that were slightly larger than the photo to use as backing. I glued the picture onto the flat card, made a hole, inserted a lollipop, and taped it to the back. As it turns out, the hole punch wouldn’t reach the right place on the photo, so I ended up making a small hole in the picture with a steak knife.

I think they turned out really cute. The kids LOVE them.

I made a candy-less version for Karis’s class, with a puffy sticker instead of a lollipop.

Then we made a few cards with all of the kids in the picture, for family members.

Between the photo printing, flat cards, and lollipops, I spent about $15 on this project . . . for 100 valentines between all of their classes. I think I would have spent more on store-bought cards. Plus, I think the assembly is less time-consuming than folding and signing all of the store-bought cards, since my kids inevitably beg for the cards that require affixing a pencil or a temporary tattoo to each microscopic card. This feels more personal, and will be a fun memento for them to keep as well. Hopefully they can look back on it positively . . . once they are done grieving the giant lollipop that never was.

goodbye to the double stroller

noreply@blogger.com (Kristen {RAGE against the MINIVAN}) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 06:27:00 +0000

I sold my double stroller on Craig’s List over the weekend.

It’s hard to explain the freedom I feel about this particular milestone. It’s been a long time coming – I’ve kept it around for the occasion big outing but finally I decided it was time for us to part ways. I’ve been schlepping a double stroller around for six years now –six years of pulling that monster in and out of my trunk. Six years of not fitting through doorways . . . of strategizing stairwells . . . of retrieving objects thrown or dropped from the children, of forcing the two walking children to hold on to a side while crossing the street, of stuffing a diaper bag under the seats, of strapping arched backs into the restraints, of cleaning Goldfish out of the crevices, of tipping the entire rig when kids exit before I’ve pulled off a heavy bag, of leaning against it as I walk the mile back to the car from the Disney exit, of having two preschoolers fight over the second seat, of stacking three kids into a double stroller in desperate moments . . . six years of this thing as a very present accessory in our family. And you know what? GOOD RIDDANCE. I hated that thing.

There is just no dignity when you are pushing a double stroller. The kind gestures and open doors you get when you are pregnant? Those completely disappear when you are trying to squeeze this monstrosity through a swinging door, with two other children in tow. I always felt as though I could exchange that thing for a shopping cart of my belongings in trashbags and the level of disdain from the general public would be about the same. The world is not kind to the double stroller dependent. Being untethered from this thing feels like a new level of freedom. I’m walking a little taller now. Literally.

There are many milestones in this parenting gig that have been bittersweet. I bawled when I packed up Karis’s newborn clothes. I was devastated at the end of our nursing relationship. But there is no love lost for the stroller. And I’m guessing I’m going to feel the same way about diapers.

Now, if I can just figure out how to offload this minivan . . .