I’m not a mom, but I play one on the weekdays.  I’m one of those elusive creatures known as a stay-at-home dad: I’m one of those guys who burned out at his job right after his kids were born and his wife’s career started to get really exciting; one of those guys who missed his kids so much while he was working that he decided to quit; one of those guys who cleans the house every day, makes dinner and makes the kids’ lunches and tells them stories and plays with them all day long. I give my wife footrubs when she gets home from the office. If I was better looking, I could probably videotape my life and sell it as pornography to busy career-oriented mothers. 

But no matter how much time I spend painting my daughter’s toenails or changing diapers, I am still very much a dad. And with being a dad comes that sort of unruly competitiveness endemic to my gender: If I’m going to be a stay-at-home dad, I’m going to be the very best stay-at-home dad possible, I say to myself. And that means keeping the house perfectly clean. Somehow my warped brain has turned vacuuming into a macho sport. 

I can handle the messes made by my 4-year-old daughter and my extremely curious 1-year-old son. But I fear that I am starting to lose control of the household because my wife won’t stop buying things. Being the breadwinner gives her this sense of entitlement to buy whatever she wants. Every day, the UPS guy shows up with more packages (usually shoe boxes). “Are you working or shopping all day?” I yell over the phone. Fighting ever-growing piles of toys and high heels and knee-length boots has turned me into a minimalist. The less clutter to begin with, the less mess the kids can make. And I can’t stand the clutter that comes from buying all kinds of unnecessary toys and baby products. My wife, on the other hand, never saw a baby product that she didn’t immediately need. Out of this conflict I devised the Sacajawea Theory. 

Every time she tells me about some new product that just might make our parenting experience .000027% easier, I cough and grumble “Sacajawea.” You see, it’s often forgotten that the Shoshone maiden who led Lewis and Clark to the Pacific started on that journey just a few weeks after giving birth. Believe it or not, that baby, Jean-Baptiste, made it all the way to Oregon’s coast and back without a single ear thermometer or Breathe Easy Sleep Positioner! Sacajawea brought her baby on a journey of many thousands of miles without a “travel system.” She just stuck him in a papoose and led a band of lusty legionnaires through the wilderness. And don’t even get me started about childproofing. How do you childproof the entire Louisiana Purchase?

The Sacajawea Theory, in short, is that all newborn babies really need is boobs. Everything else is just marketing.

Don’t get me wrong: some of all that extra stuff really does make parenting easier. Like diapers. But I rely on the Sacajawea Theory as a necessary opposition to the spendthrift inclinations of my wife. I push for minimalism, she advocates the latest gadgets. Hopefully we meet somewhere in the middle where everything is just right, and I can keep my house clean.

I’ve never gone for the whole “self-sacrificing mother” schtick — I don’t believe that motherhood should subsume one’s identity as an individual. I also believe — in theory, at least — that to be a good caregiver, I must take care of myself. But, though I talk a good game, I neglect myself as much as the next parental martyr. 

It sneaks up on me — I don’t consciously set out to put myself aside. But then someone needs an early pickup from school so I skip the walk I’ve been trying to take for the entire week. Or someone goes to bed late and I find myself doing laundry at midnight (instead of sleeping). I get busy with mundane details and forget to call my friends. Weeks go by before I realize that I haven’t done a single thing to renew myself. (Usually, the realization comes when one of my kids gingerly points out I’m, um, in a grumpy mood.)

So what gives? Why is it, when my work, my family, my husband and I so obviously suffer when I neglect myself, do I continue to do it?

It’s a simple fact that, beyond the basics, a family’s needs expand to fill the space available. Once the love-food-shelter-education bases are covered, there’s always more that can be done. Grocery shopping’s done for the week, but, man — the pantry’s a mess. Kids are doing fine in school, but perhaps I could learn something from this book about childhood brain development. You get the point — no detail is too small or unimportant to compete for your attention. And too often it’s easier to give in than to reserve some time (or money, if you’re a hobbyist) for yourself.

A wise friend recently pointed out that if one of my kids needed something — an hour of quiet time after school every day, or pants that fit — I wouldn’t hesitate to make it happen. We got a dog over the summer, and I faithfully walk him for 20-40 minutes every day…and yet, till now, I’ve “never had time to exercise.” Hm.

Obviously there’s a balance. We want to teach our children generosity and selflessness. But we also want to model the self-worth inherent in prioritizing ourselves along with all of the other demands in life. When a messy pantry becomes more important that your inner peace, something’s out of whack.

I’ll stop belaboring the point: you deserve — you NEED — time and resources to nourish yourself. Steven Covey (of “The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People” fame) calls it “sharpening the saw.” You can cut down many more trees when you pause to maintain your equipment. (We’ll just ignore the deforestation metaphor here.) Make a date right now to do something that renews you. If you’re a reader, pencil (wait, pen!) in an hour of uninterrupted reading. Get a babysitter if necessary. If nature clears the mental cobwebs, bundle up and get out for a hike. Whatever reminds you about who you are…do it. You’re worth it.

Big difference.

Of course we all want to do the best for our kids, but in this economy we sometimes have to make decisions between “the best” and “won’t really kill them, right?” So I started researching which foods make sense to buy organic and which don’t really offer enough improvement to make it worth it. What I found was fascinating.

I checked sites like Consumer Reports, the EPA pages on pesticides in children and the Environmental Working Group and the info was actually really helpful for me.

First off, if you buy anything organic it should be milk, eggs and other dairy products, along with chicken and meat. If animals are eating (excuse me) crap feed, then what you’re going to be eating are crap animals, eggs and milk. Your kids are more vulnerable to the toxins in animals (hello, mad cow?) than we are, so for me, this is the priority.

Next stop? Produce.

EWG created a list of the “dirty dozen” - the produce most likely to be contaminated with pesticides (yikes!). And just my luck, it’s not stuff that my kids don’t eat anyway, but the stuff they do eat. (You can see the testing methods here)

-peaches
-apples
-sweet bell peppers
-celery
-nectarines
-strawberries
-cherries
-lettuce
-imported grapes
-pears
-spinach
-potatoes

In fact, apples, our number one favorite snack around here is the most likely to have the most pesticides on it. Buh-bye apples from the corner deli - we’re all about the farmer’s market from here on in.

The good news is, there are plenty of foods that are pretty much okey dokey the way they are. There seem to be no additional benefits to buying organic seafood. Cereals, breads pastas and chips tend to be so processed, it’s unlikely that organic ingredients will do much for you. Good thing considering the price of cereal these days is in the holy cow range. If it says 100% organic on the label, then go for it if you can afford it. Otherwise, whatever benefit the organic flour offers might be wiped out if the spaghetti is made with non-organic eggs.

You’re also in good shape buying regular old asparagus, broccoli, corn, peas, onions, cabbage and eggplant. Avocado and bananas are also safe (probably because of their thick skins) along with pineapples, mango and kiwi.

But if there’s one more thing you should absolutely spend the extra money on, it’s organic baby food. Your body might be capable of processing DDT, endosulfan and vinclozolin, but your 6 month-old probably isn’t. Or if you make your own baby food, just make sure you’re starting with the best ingredients.

So how do you do this on a budget?

Well, you can save plenty of money if you buy what’s in season. The have an excellent site to help you figure out what’s fresh in your state by month. So for example, in NY where I live, you’re going to save money this time of year eating apples, potatoes and winter squash, and getting celery and lettuce that comes from nearby Pennsylvania or mushrooms from Connecticut. If you find you’re having a hankering for blueberries, expect to pay through the nose for it.

You can also join a local food coop or support a community farm. You can find a local farmer’s market or community supported agriculture program near you through Local Harvest. If there’s something special you want, check out their online store which ships from local farmers. But don’t expect to find figs or persimmons right now - if it’s out of season, it’s not available.

So how do you determine what to feed your family when budgets are tight? Do you look for organic wherever possible or have your own set of standards? Or are you convinced this is all just some big marketing ploy in the first place?

The new year always fills me with a sense of renewal and clarity. With the buzz of the holidays behind me and the cold January days ahead, I feel like there’s extra room in my brain. I’ve been simplifying, reducing, and generally clearing out everything I can. Going through the filing cabinets and the kitchen drawers. Taking stock of my commitments. Streamlining my home routines. Starting fresh.

I’m also using the new year as an opportunity to get the kids into new routines. The chore lists and allowance charts we created a few years ago have worked well enough, but they’ve barely changed despite the kids’ growth and increased capabilities. To use en economic metaphor: they’re not keeping up with inflation.

As one should annually rebalance one’s financial portfolio, one should also annually revisit the division of family responsibility. Can your third grader now pack his own lunch? Can your kindergardener empty the dishwasher silverware drawer? The answer isn’t necessarily “yes” in each case — each kid’s capabilities are different — but it’s worth going through the chore list with fresh eyes. Perhaps your child is now ready to sort the laundry or feed the dog. Or bring in the mail or sweep the kitchen. Or empty the wastebaskets or wipe down the kitchen table.

Adding to your kids’ chore lists may not be the most popular decision around, but as a wise friend once told me: her job is to raise happy adults. Upping kids’ responsibilities sets the stage for an easier transition when they eventually move away. It also tells them you believe in their abilities — the ideal building block for self-confidence.

Can you think of a chore you’re doing that you can safely pass along to your kids?

I think every parent suffers from selective memory to a certain degree. My labor story gets less painful-sounding with every telling – I remember excitement and intensity and awe at what my body was doing; my husband remembers me howling and gasping in pain and shaking from head to toe. Huh. And honestly, if any of us REALLY remembered what newborn sleep deprivation REALLY feels like (HINT: like smashing your sinuses with a brick), would we be so willing to sign up for it all over again?

But even I’m a little surprised at how much I’ve forgotten in the three years since I last had a newborn.

THING #1: YOU NEED TO BURP BABIES.

I know! You totally do. But I forgot. A nurse reminded me about…oh, 12 or 24 or 36 hours into Ezra’s life, when he seemed AWFULLY spit-uppy and she saw me pop him off my breast and then just…sort of…sit there with him.

THING #2: YOU NEED TO CLEAN THEIR BUSINESS.

Both of my babies have been boys, so I have absolutely no excuse for this one. I also don’t think I need to elaborate, except that I got yelled at by the pediatrician.

THING #3: ARM BONES, LADY. ARM BONES!

I don’t know why, but I had the WORST time getting Ezra into his carseat. For months, I couldn’t seem to get his arms through the loopty straps without either bending his arm in some unnatural angle or scraping his poor little skin on one of the clasps or buckles. It was terrible. I tried loosening the straps, I tried different angles of entry, I just…couldn’t seem to get him in there securely without feeling like I was hurting him, and dear GOD, that’s a feeling I’d rather avoid.  (I know, I’m crazy-indulgent like that.)

And then one morning it came back to me. In a flash. I remembered The Carseat Arm Trick. Take baby’s fist gently in your hand. Lay baby’s fist on chest, so the arm lays flat against the body, with the elbow bent. With other hand, pull strap over baby’s shoulder and fist and below the elbow.  When you let go of baby’s hand, his entire arm should now be on the correct side of the strap, no bending and threading and pulling of noodle limbs required.

I wonder: if (and it’s a ginormous IF) I were to have another baby, would I remember all the little details better? Or would I be even worse, and like…put diapers on backwards and go weeks without remembering to scrub the cheese out of his chin?

I won’t lie, though: working independently from home requires massive amounts of self-discipline. There are a zillion distractions and no one but yourself to keep you on task. I’ve never even met a good number of the people I work with now — or even spoken to them on the phone, now that I think about it. I might go six months or more in between face-to-face meetings with my employers. I work hard to maintain a reputation of being reliable and diligent and good at what I do…but…there’s also writer’s block, the Nintendo Wii, another cozy nap with the baby, and what was the name of that guy in the movie about the thing at the place? I should go check that out on IMDB.

I try not to let this sort of thing happen — I have a VERY STRICT rule about no daytime television (no soaps, no talk shows, no Showcase Showdown, alas) for myself, my work generally gets priority over everything (except my kids, of course — I do everything during naps and independent play time and preschool and I will only turn on the TV if I’m truly well behind the eight-ball on something), and I’m very careful about the aimless web surfing that can kill an entire precious naptime — but sometimes it just doesn’t work. I lose direction or focus or can’t think of an idea or I’m tired or OH LOOK SOMETHING SHINY!

For example! The very entry you are reading right now was submitted well past the agreed-upon deadline. Some of the things I did instead:

1) Reorganized my TiVo Season Pass list.

2) Nursed baby.

3) Looked up frittata recipes.

4) Made scrambled eggs.

5) Nursed baby.

6) Oh man, Die Hard is on. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this from the beginning.

7) Checked inventory of leftover Halloween candy. Yep, still making a nice dent in that.

Read blogs.

9) Nursed baby.

10) Lego Indiana Jones on the Wii.

11) Read more blogs.

12) Showered.

13) Changed baby’s outfit for absolutely no reason.

14) Nursed baby.

15) Twitter, Facebook, more blogs, email, looking up random things on Wikipedia.

So. For someone who makes a living writing the sort of things bored people waste time with on the Internet, I sure can manage to waste a hell of a lot of time. Usually on the Internet. Then I get really good and behind and frantically pound out deadline after deadline in record time because OH CRAP.

So YOU tell ME, fellow readers-of-blogs and work-from-homers and stay-at-homers and even you work-at-an-office-but-still-like-to-read-blogs-types? How do you minimize distractions and stay on task?

She gave off a fairly tightly-wound vibe, is what I am saying.

I had my new baby in a sling and my three-year-old running wild, probably smearing germs onto every available surface. I attempted to smile at her, all “oh! these kids! whattaya gonna do, right?” but noticed her gaze had shifted and she was full-on GLARING at my toddler, who dared to — you know — COUGH. At the DOCTOR’S OFFICE.

Her husband walked back over. He’d found a brochure on new baby care. “It says here we shouldn’t use the nail clippers. We should only use a file.”

His wife looked like she was about to burst into tears at this factoid — nay, this damning, horrible judgment of her parenting. And then she yelled at her husband that he can’t just get advice off of random pieces of PAPER and what could be so WRONG about clippers, she was CAREFUL and the files don’t WORK THAT WELL, what, was she supposed to let him SCRATCH HIS FACE OFF? GOD.

And then the blogger inside me — the one who never has to let a single thought go unexpressed, who is always ready to share her brilliant ideas in a patented, self-deprecating manner — made me open my mouth. Wait! I know this one! I have advice!

And the words were on the tip of my tongue: Forget clippers AND files! I just BITE the nails off.

But before I could say anything, the husband spoke up once more. “So-and-so said she always just bit the nails off.”

And the blogger in me once again got ready to butt in: Ha! Me too! Me toooo!

“BITE THE NAILS OFF? ARE YOU CRAZY? THAT’S DISGUSTING. LIKE I AM GOING TO BITE HIS NAILS OFF AND GET MY GERMS ALL OVER HIS HANDS. THAT’S HORRIBLE. STOP TALKING.”

Her husband wisely walked away to return the Evil Brochure to its slot. I snapped my jaw shut and picked invisible lint off my baby’s head.

Silence ruled the room, except for the sound of my son’s hacking cough.

I felt badly for her. I remembered sort of being sort of like that, right after my first baby was born. I sat there in that very office sobbing hysterically because my baby had lost too much weight and my milk wasn’t in and we were given 24 hours to fatten him back up with formula lest he get sent back to the hospital. They hooked me up to a breastpump and taught my husband how to bottle-feed and I stared at the floor while big fat tears made a wet spot in my lap because of this damning, horrible judgment of my parenting. Just when I’d managed to compose myself a nurse commented that my newborn had a little bit of diaper rash and I lost it all over again. AM TERRIBLE MOTHER. I FAIL.

I tried to think of something to say to her that wouldn’t come across as assvice-y or condescending but couldn’t. Noah came up to me and asked for a nose wipe, and then promptly sneezed all over me and the baby. I pulled a probably-used tissue out of my pocket and instructed him to blow. Then I gave him a kiss, because I love the way he says “nose wipe.”

I noticed she was eyeing me in horror, so I turned and smiled. “These kids! Whattaya gonna do, right?”

When it comes to getting organized, I’ve decided I need one central place for to-do lists, appointments, and every thing else I seem to write down on the backs of envelopes. And in most cases, a regular old day planner would suffice. But now that my daughter is school aged and my toddler has a few activities each week, I’m not only keeping track of my own schedule, but that of a few other people too. And that little square space in those regular old day planners just doesn’t cut it anymore.

If you’re in the same situation, that you’ll want to check out these fabulous organizers that are all mom-friendly. Alright, so maybe they don’t come with a personal assistant and built in babysitter, but they will help you keep track of everyone in the household so that you can focus your energy on other things. Like making sure you’ve got matching socks on.

MomAgenda - Invented by mom of four Nina Ristieri, these gorgeous datebooks allow you to keep track of up to four kid’s schedules as well as your own. Available in various sizes, and colors, they’re definitely something you could use in the office and at home without batting an eyelash.

TimeToo - These small simple date books allow you to fill in the calendar dates - so if you don’t happen to start your resolution on January 1, you can start whenever you want. These are great for moms who don’t have too much going on, but want to have something to keep playdates, music class, and a PTA meeting.

Whomi - The Whomi calendars are sleek and compact which makes them great for busy moms who can’t be lugging around a gigantic planner. Just write in your important dates, snap it closed, and toss it in your big or small bag.

Busy Body Book - You’ll love the Busy Body Book’s side by side columns for each family member’s schedule, along with ample space for to-do lists. And with such a great price, even if you don’t stick with using it, you won’t be out much money.

So. Nursing pads. I never used them with my first baby, except maybe once or twice early on — in those dark, toe-curling days of improper latchings and round-the-clock comfort nursing — to get a little padding for my poor chafed hamburger meat nipples. I had terrible supply issues and never ever leaked milk, so the box of 100-count nursing pads sat on my nightstand unused, occasionally mocking me and my pathetic boobs.

I refused to be mocked again, so this time I bought the smallest box possible, just in case. I figured I could repurpose them as doilies or pee-pee teepees, if I had to.

And of course, I blew through those suckers in record time. OVERSUPPLY. CRAZY ABUNDANT MILK. I hear a baby cry from two states over and my bra is soaked. It’s…totally insane. Awesome, really, and totally unexpected. But it’s forced me to get creative with nursing pads.

Because here’s the thing: I hate nursing pads. The disposable ones are beyond annoying — they bunch up, they don’t stay put, they pop up and out of your bra and I never figured out how to gracefully dispose of them when trying to discreetly nurse in public (or at least keep them from falling out onto the floor while I was busy juggling the baby). The reusable, wash-by-hand ones may be environmentally friendly, but I am already up to my eyeballs in Small Things I Need to Wash. Plus, like the disposables, the reusable ones are just so much BIGGER than I really need, and visible under unlined bras and nursing tanks, which are what I usually wear. And I don’t know about you, but I can think of a zillion other things I’d like to comparison-shop for besides NURSING PADS. Ice cream flavors, for example. And various sizes of diamonds.

So…I ran out of pads. Just in time for us to load the kids up and take a long drive home for the holidays. I knew the situation called for some padding (stuck in traffic, a delayed feeding, baby cries from backseat, Niagra Falls, ahoy!), but I had nothing. Nothing except…the giant box of Kotex panty liners my husband had mistakenly purchased for me immediately postpartum. (I give him props for TRYING to buy me maxi-pads, though.)

The box called to me: ultra-thin, ultra-long, ultra-absorbent!

I pulled one out and snipped it into four sections, removed the backing on two of them and secured them to the inside of my bra, Voila. Nursing pads. The back of the panty liner is edge-to-edge adhesive so it stays put feeding after feeding, and it’s thin enough to be completely invisible under a tank or unlined bra. It absorbs just as much as a regular bulky nursing pad and is a fraction of a fraction of the cost. I get three or four pads from a single liner and can wear them all day in complete comfort and confidence.

So… there you go. I have a panty liner in my bra. My mom thinks I’m really smart and stuff. Let’s not tell her otherwise.

Yeah. That story.

Some kids are natural born travelers, but most have a hard time with the waiting, unpredictability, and discomfort that comes with every flight. So before your next trip, make a few simple preparations that will make the experience a lot easier for everyone:

Pack smart snacks.

Novel snacks have magical tantrum-diffusing properties. Not that I’m suggesting you bribe your kids with Twinkies or anything, but a well-timed snack (given out before everyone is grumpy and ravenous) can often head trouble off at the pass. Pack stuff that’s not crumbly, not sticky, and not smooshable.

Load the baby up with an extra layer of diaper cream.

Babies have a tendency to need diaper changes at the most inconvenient times. While in the security line, for example. Or fifteen minutes after takeoff, when the luxurious airport restroom is 15,000 feet below you. Prepare for the fact that your kid will poop while you’re traveling and you may not be able to change her diaper right away.

Keep a travel pack of wipes in an outside pocket of your carry-on bag.

Diaper wipes are every parent’s salvation. Trust me, you’ll need them for a whole lot more than diaper changes, so keep them whip-outtable. There’s nothing quite like desperately rummaging in your carry-on while holding an infant who has just experienced a rerun of his breakfast.

At the airport, stuff winter coats into your luggage before you check it.

While navigating the treacherous path from the airport check-in desk to the gate, the straw that invariably breaks my back is the kid’s coat. It flops around, it’s always dropping on the floor, and it threatens to be forgotten in the bathroom/at the gate/in the plane’s overhead bin. 

I try to stuff everyone’s coats into our luggage either before we check it, or before it goes to the security folks. I’ve taken to leaving the outside pocket of our suitcases empty just for this purpose. If the kids get cold on the plane, there are blankets. (But they won’t get cold, because you’ve thought ahead and dressed them in layers.)

Prepare to be the in-flight entertainment.

You don’t actually think you’re going to read that People magazine, do you? Unless you’re flying with a partner with whom you can tag team, accept that you’ll be reading to your kids, talking to your kids, rocking your kids and generally keeping them content for the duration of the flight. It’s actually a wonderful opportunity to give them the undivided attention you mean to give them at home. Grab this chance to play and run with it.

My list is but a drop in the bucket of family travel tips. How do you stay sane while flying with kids?