Inside Out

The Magic was Spectacular

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 23:41:00 +0000

You know the old adage try looking at something through a child's eyes?

Friday afternoon, I tried a pair of Jillian spectacles on for size. I'll blame the pinch of their small size for the tears that leaked out the edges.

It was a "Mommy, Jilly and Oma Day" in New York City, a trip to see the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City.

A tradition for many families, this was my daughter's first trip to Radio City, although ironically it was her second trip to the city to see a show in less than a week (a set of free tickets to cover a Disney show in the city the weekend before was a sort of trial run for a pre-schooler's attention span).

It was my second visit; the first made well before she was born. And while I marveled at the Rockettes and their synchronized feats of fancy footwork, I admit I was tired the first time around.

By the time the Wurlitzer players began the closing, I was ready to go back to our hotel.

Not Friday.

I could have withstood at least a handful more of "how did they do thats?" and at least a dozen more "Mommy, Santa waved at mes." Ask me my favorite part, and I can tell you the Rockettes have been falling backward in slow motion in toy soldier suits since 1933. Ask her, and she becomes thoughtful. "I didn't have a favorite part," she explains. "Oh no?"
"No, I liked the whole thing!"

My taste of the holidays in recent years is brimming with flavors - the nutmeg, the cinnamon, the pure sugar of childhood sweetness. And the Christmas Spectacular Santa's explanation of the art of being in more than one place at the same time has ensured I'll get at least a few more years of sugar on my tongue.

There's magic in those glasses, even when they're two sizes too small.

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When One Small Voice Screams

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 20:41:00 +0000

I hate gloating. Well, OK, maybe not.

But when you write a "get out and vote" column every year only to have people blow you off, it's nice to see elections like the ones we had last week in Sullivan County. Which ones am I talking about?

The close ones. The ones that are still pending final decision based on absentee ballots.

Stressful for the candidates. Good for the pharmacists (Tums sales through the roof? are we noticing a trend?). Even better for cranky columnists.

It's easy to say you don't have 5 minutes to swing by the polling place when you don't think your vote matters in the scheme of things.

Setting aside that whole "voting is a privilege not just a right" thing (yes, that's hard for me, but I'll give you that), in a national election it can be frustrating to see yourself as one of millions. But when as little as 16 votes separate an incumbent from remaining on a board, you're the loser if you didn't get out there and pull a lever or two.

Of course that means I'm a winner - along with the thousands of other county residents who bothered to offer up that five minutes. Oops, sorry, gloating again. In fairness, I'm not doing it for me.

Like any good mother, I'm doing it for you (and the shot will only pinch for a second, the medicine will go right down, now get your feet off the coffee table). Even showing up to weigh in on the unopposed has its uses - in this case by not voting.

Or better yet, writing someone else in (and please, Mickey Mouse? Brad Pitt? it's an election, not a game). What, you thought my "get out and vote" column was last week's edition? Hey, there's always next year.

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Blame it on the Rain - and the Yankees

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:43:00 +0000

I blame the rain.

If it had stayed clear on Saturday night, the Yankees would have played the Angels.

And I wouldn’t be sitting in front of my computer on a Sunday night knowing I need to send my column off to my editor as soon as possible – and finding it hard to keep my eyes on the computer screen.

But here I am, secluded in my office, where I meant to put nose to grindstone.

And then came stadium noise. Joe Buck. Tim McCarver.

I looked up. And there he was.

Andy Pettitte, breathing into his glove, setting and releasing.

I’ve got the perfect line of sight from my desk – just to the right of my computer screen. I barely have to move, just shift my eyeballs away. It’s a good thing I learned keyboarding at good old Delaware Valley, where my friend’s older sister was the teacher who forced us to type with cardboard covers over our fingers so we couldn’t cheat.

Hunting and pecking just wouldn’t do in this situation.

I could kick my husband back out into the living room where cartoons should technically be over for the night, the 4-year-old in the bathtub.

But there is no pre-school on Mondays, and all that bathing is not exactly good for fine, fragile blonde hair.

Besides, if I send him out there, we’d subject her to two parents screaming.

“What inning is it?”

“Wait, what’d they just say? Was that fair or foul?”

The last thing a child needs is her parents in a shouting match, right?

So you see my predicament.

Really, it’s for my daughter’s sake that I told him to settle in, to leave the TV tuned to channel 5, the sound up just enough that the dog chasing her tail won’t drown out the oh so important details.

What was that, a strike?

Oh no, Abreu just took a base. You must excuse me, I can’t ... keep . . away.

Blame the rain. I am.

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Party in the country bi-partisan style

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:40:00 +0000

If you haven’t been waiting for this day since about mid-summer, I’ll have to assume you’re one of the four people on earth who love listening to campaign ads where music should be and staring at garish signs every .3 miles as you drive down the road.

You’re forgiven – at least you care about the election.

The politicians get a bye too – at least they’re trying to court our vote rather than expecting it.

But a part of that is up to us. Because the local election offers an advantage none of us will have with a federal or even state vote.

We couldn’t walk into Barack Obama’s law firm to find out how he was to work with, shake John McCain’s hand and suss out what kind of man he was.

We had to depend on their speeches, their ads and media reports.

Not so in a local election. Granted – you have our reports here; and we’d like to think they’re vital – especially those of town board meetings, Sheriff’s office arrests and district attorney dealings.

They give you context.

And it’s up to you to put the pieces together. So where do you find the rest of the puzzle?

Find out if your candidate owns a business – walk in and see how it runs. Ask an employee. Better yet, ask a former employee.

Know someone who had a dealing with the cops? With the prosecutor’s office? Ask them how it went down.

It’s too late to sit in on another town board meeting before the election; but it’s something you could have done, perhaps should have done before this whole thing was over.

You could have seen how your incumbents are in action, whether your candidates bothered to show to brush up and be as informed as possible should they earn a place in office.

One of the most resonant complaints I’ve heard from a campaigning candidate this election season was that political lines have played too strong a role. People he considered intelligent weren’t letting him in the door to talk policy, facts and figures because they looked only at the party that had given him their endorsement.

In a local election, folks, political parties hardly matter.

We aren’t deciding abortion, healthcare or any of the standard Republican/Democrat issues. We are deciding the mettle of a man – or woman – and how responsible they will be with the fabric of our every day lives.

Do you want a Democrat who can’t add 2 and 2? A Republican who can hardly spell his name?

Does it matter their party if they’re inept? Does it matter their party if they’re intelligent, forthright and honest?

It’s often said that voting isn’t just a right, it’s a privilege. And walking the streets of Hortonville trick or treating on Saturday with a Canadian citizen and an Italian citizen, I was reminded how lucky I am to have that right. They live here, but they can’t vote here.

You can.

So do them proud – make it a good one.

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She Dances When Everyone's Watching

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 21:22:00 +0000

I could tell something had changed in my daughter this summer.

She’s sprouted up a few inches this summer – jeans that fit during the abnormally cold month of June are now Sullivan County flood weather appropriate.

But it wasn’t that.

She turned four this summer, graduated from the line between toddler and pre-schooler to fully the latter.

It wasn’t that either.

She’s been singing. And dancing.

Signed up for a music class at Bethel Woods earlier this month so I could cover the partnership between the performing arts center and the Jeffersonville-based arts education facility, the Janice Center, she’s caught the bug.

I’m afraid she may have her mother’s tone-deaf sensibilities, but it doesn’t matter. She’s also inherited my utter lack of modesty.

Put them together, and you have a child who stands outside the ice cream stand in Callicoon hopping back and forth on the deck, her head back, her mouth wide open.

No one had to tell her to dance like nobody’s watching – she’d prefer they are. And if they’re laughing, all the better.

What was supposed to be a job for me, an opportunity to share the news with all of you has turned into one of the best experiences of her summer. She is at once enamored with the sounds she can make and the movements to match them.

Allowed to beat two sticks together? It doesn’t matter if it’s in time, she’s in heaven.

Told she can make a tambourine jingle? She’ll shake what the teacher gave her.

While other parents in the western end of the county have raved about Music Together classes for their kids, I’ve held back for fear of buying into the new push toward over-scheduling our kids.

What does she need classes for? She’s got fresh air and a backyard to play in.

Leave the organizing for the city kids who don’t have a slide behind their houses or sandboxes to dig in.

Forgive me, world, for I knew not what she was missing.

Her life, it seemed, needed a soundtrack. And now mine is a string of crazy words . . . loud and off-key.

I’ll dance to it too – just don’t look.

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Bedtime's for Bonzos

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 17:44:00 +0000

It’s been less than week since I made my national TV debut – a guest appearance on ABC News Now’s new parenting show, Moms Get Real with Good Morning America correspondent JuJu Chang as host.

And I’m still not sure it was me.

OK, technically, it was.

I took my daughter for a day trip into Manhattan just to sit down in a studio just off the (not as large as you’d think) Worlds News studio. A make-up artist dusted my face and covered up the newly sprouted sign of nerves.

A crew member snaked a mic up my shirt and slipped an earpiece into my ear.

And my daughter rode her first train – or rather her first six – to the city and back and all around.

The event itself was simple – they talked, I listened. I talked, they listened. And I weighed in on a topic every parent has becried – the bedtime issue.

My daughter . . . wait for it . . . really doesn’t have one. And I’ve written about it for an online parenting magazine – which earned the attention of the national news media.

I was prepared in my fifteen minutes (max) for people to disagree with me and to defend the practical country roots to my parenting proclivities.

But nothing prepares you for hearing yourself – really hearing yourself.

Not hearing the words as they come out of your own mouth, but allowing them to sink in as you watch your mouth move, your eyes bounce, your shoulder shrug.

What I looked like – the big (in my mind) swallow near the beginning of the clip, the flipped up collar from the way they snaked the mic through, the eyes shifting ever so slightly to ensure my four-year-old was still quietly coloring on the floor – didn’t matter.

It’s the very literal out-of-body experience of hearing myself speak that has made me wonder: do I really sound like that?

According to all the Facebook friends who have sent me cheers and stopped me on the street to talk up the clip – I really do.

Uh oh – time for voice lessons.

Although that would mean a lot more trips into the city – and I can’t afford all those trains.

Want to watch? Visit Moms Get Real.

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Forty Years Later, Born for Woodstock

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 17:40:00 +0000

I've been very behind - two months behind, in fact, but I'm finally getting back in the habit with my columns:

It was a weekend full of comparisons – none of them quite hitting the mark.

Born a full decade later, I can’t compare Saturday’s version of Woodstock to the original.

But it’s as much where I was a born as when that means I wouldn’t try.

Because growing up a stone’s throw from the site offers a look at history that is both exciting and undeniably understated.

It was there . . . there where I can drive past it and look anytime I want. But then again, it was there . . . on land like most in Sullivan County – green in the summer, muddy when it rains.

Until Bethel Woods.

Because for everything that came before it, including my very first “real” rock concert on the field in 1998, it was always touch and go, always a field that could very well remain just a field with memories as wispy as the pot smoke that fueled them.

Woodstock itself was special for half a million people then, yes, but not for those of us born decades too late. For us it offered as much excitement as the Washington Mall late at night, emptied not only of protestors making their presence known to the world but of the people who would listen to them crow.

And when I moved back to Sullivan County, took a job at the Democrat, there was no story I wanted to hear about so much as that of the Woodstock festival plans.

I’d missed much of the hot and heavy debate, but I was home just in time for the planning and building, for the anticipatory years when there was real promise for something permanently great to rise out of one-time magnificence.

I am grateful to Woodstock.

To the half a million hippies who proved the motto “give peace a chance.” They might well have changed the world – a pay-it-forward movement that staved off what could have been.

But I’m grateful too for making people look at the green fields that I love as something more than grass.

After the words “When I was here in ’69. . .” from the dozens of folks I chatted up, the words I heard on Saturday night were, “this is a beautiful place.”

They found beauty in spirit in ’69.

In ’09, they found the beauty of my home, and I can’t compare the two.

Get a glimpse of the show starter - a 15-year-old BLIND Hendrix who kicked it all off. (pictured above)

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Hey Grands: Get the Goods

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 00:57:00 +0000

Hey guys, I know it's been awhile, but I'm trying to get back to more regular deals here on Inside Out, and I've got a good one for my grandparent readers . . . and for those of you who have a grandparent to buy for every once in awhile.

Grand Magazine, the nation's leading magazine for grandparents (and one of my bosses!) is giving away a free subscription to Inside Out readers!

Packed with a grandparenting angle on all the latest parenting news, it's the mag that will keep you in the know about the current trends with stories that are actually relevant to YOUR life.

Want in? Click here to get your free subscription!

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Just Being Objective . . . It Was the Best Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 18:54:00 +0000

Anyone who thinks they can step back from judging a performance that included their kid needs to take a cold can of soda and place it directly on the back of the neck.
Sunday’s tractor parade was the best ever.
Yeowwwch, that was cold.
Yes, it is with complete bias that I pass judgement this year on my favorite of all of the country fairs and festivals of a Sullivan County summer.
My kid was in the parade this year, how could it not have been good?
True, she co-opted the lap already filled by her cousin, J-P. True, she was just one of hundreds of people sitting atop farm equipment new and old puttering down Main Street.
But with great-uncles Mike and Leo sharing the view from atop a tractor, my oil and dirt-covered daughter was living what brings thousands to Callicoon every year.
One part diesel fumes, two parts noise and an extra dash of heat that makes for a heady rush of pure excitement, it’s a parade that has sucked in the skeptics and spit out believers.
You don’t just go to one tractor parade.
You may not come for the same reason as your neighbor, but you come all the same.
To ride in a different kind of style.
To hear people cheer for you one day a year.
To cheer for something as patently ridiculous as a boy in a bathtub being pulled by a tractor.
To sniff the air and go back to being 5-years-old on grandpa’s knee on his tractor.
To laugh and carry on where the entertainment is free, and the company is good.
You don’t have to “get” the tractor parade.
You just have to let it happen.
And if someone offers you a ride, hop on. You might find it’s the best tractor parade . . . ever.
Well, until the one where your kid gets a ride.

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The cat that drove me over the edge

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 13:41:00 +0000

I’m handing in my card. My days in the crazy cat lady society are over.
It’s been years in coming. Years of cats peeing in basements and throwing up on my daughter’s toys.
That was upsetting, sure, but never enough to put me over the edge. Until now.
Until I was forced to pull up first carpet, then old tile, then a layer of decades-old stick-um for old tile and finally the wooden slats that make up the floor of my daughter’s closet.
A sane person would blame themselves for this predicament, for the late night desperation that put two average, relatively even-keeled adults through the floorboards. It was me, after all, who decided the fight with the cat wasn’t worth it and left him alone in the attic.
It was through the unfinished attic that the cat – once my favorite in the world – gained access to the space beneath the floorboards of our second floor, through the finished attic that my dear, sweet loving cat got himself stuck.
Hopelessly stuck.
Or so we thought.
Because listening to your furry little friend yowling from underneath you doesn’t inspire a whole lot of deep thought so much as it spurs you to act.
Our little buddy was in pain.
And so we found ourselves near midnight tearing every item of clothing out of our daughter’s closet and throwing it cross the room onto the bed where our three- almost four-year-old should have been sleeping.
Armed with a crowbar and a hammer, we got to work.
And with each bang of the hammer, the yowling got louder.
With each layer pulled up, we got closer to the noise.
Until we were through.
And then it stopped.
Pulling our daughter’s monkey flashlight (note to self: hit Callicoon Supply and stock up on real flashlights with non-dead batteries) off that pile on the bed, I shined the light first this way and then that way, whispering sweet nothings all the while.
“George, come here kitty, kitty. Here Georgie, Georgie, Georgie.”
Nothing.
Until I heard a scrabbling in the attic.
I flew out of the closet, round the corner and threw open the door.
And there he was. Covered in dust and cobwebs. If he’d skittered across the room with some sort of embarrassment all might have been forgiven.
But he came at me purring up a storm.
“See lady, I’m just fine and dandy. I can take care of myself.”
So take my club card.
And if you’re in the mood, how about a cat . . . or four?
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I've been mowed over

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 12:59:00 +0000

Who says you can’t learn something new about your spouse after eight and a half years of marriage?
How about learning that the granddaughter of one of the county’s best known and longest-operating lawnmower shops has never used a push mower?
It was humbling, to say the least, to lean over to my husband on Saturday and ask him if I could mow the lawn. I needed exercise, and I knew he was busy with other things.
That I’d never made the offer in six years of home ownership has nothing to do with a belief in some fifties-era, “that’s a man’s job” silliness. It’s simply how it’s happened. He’s mowed the lawn. I’ve cleaned the toilets. I’ve also fixed the toilets while he’s done the lion’s share of the laundry, so we’re even.
Some of you might have noticed all that rain last week, followed by a sunny Saturday – the makings of a lawn ripe for mowing.
And with a bit of winter weighing on my hind end, I was ready to move anywhere – even if it dyed my feet green and left my ears ringing.
But first I had to get it started.
Which is easier than it looks.
“You have to pull it hard,” my husband said of the ripcord.
“Uh huh,” I grunted back, yanking again and coming up short of that engine roar I needed to hear.
By the time I’d gotten it started, I was ready to be done. But I’d asked for this.
So I started off across the yard. Only to realize it wasn’t cutting much of anything.
“HOOOONEY!”
He dropped the blade – while I watched helplessly – and I was back in business. For awhile.
Because while I struggled to turn the thing around without tearing up sod, while I made zigzags across the yard trying to find my groove, he watched.
Give him credit – he was quiet. Or, at least, I couldn’t hear him over the roar of the mower.
But with every painful push (because let me tell you, “self-propelled” my jiggly in-need-of-exercise tuchas), I could feel his eyes on me.
Finally, I let go.
“I know. I know. I know!”
But as he leaned in to give me a few gentle pointers, I kept my eyes on my feet.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve never used a pushmower before. For my first time ever, this isn’t that bad, right?”
He looked at me, shocked. “You’ve NEVER used a pushmower? Never ever?”
There, I’d said it.
The country girl, from a lawnmower family, has lost all her street cred.
But at least I tried.
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SCIL, We Knew Ye Well

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 26 May 2009 12:59:00 +0000

You go away for one week, and you come back to hear the death knell of an institution.
Yes, after 18 years, SCIL as we know it is an institution – it’s served nearly a full generation of Sullivan County teenagers.
And while Sullivan County BOCES has pledged to recreate a new program out of the ashes of the old, Sullivan’s superintendents have put the kibosh on one of the biggest benefits to the program.
Its access to everyone.
Because SCIL has always been a school-day program.
Kids miss – at most – one school day a month to attend the academic program.
I say at most because in many districts, the SCIL team changed from month to month, allowing kids who excelled at the different subjects on tap for each competition to attend.
Remember what I said about access to everyone?
Holding SCIL competitions during the school day allowed kids who might otherwise be unable to take part in extra-curricular activities an outlet.
With colleges putting more pressure on kids to load up on extras and an increase in the number of households where the parents (or parent) work outside the home, today’s kids are caught between their future and their present.
They should be participating. But who is going to drive them there? Who’s going to pick them up from the new after-school meets? Who’s going to watch their little brothers and sisters while they take part in a Saturday event?
And what of that missed classroom time?
The presentation of the subject matter might not land on the Regents, perhaps, but each competition carries with it a unique mix of life skills and academics.
How do I know?
I’ve been there.
For six years, in the earliest years of SCIL, I was one of those acaletes huddled in a school gym brushing up on history for a faux newscast couched in the details of a decade. I was a senior hunched over a computer flexing my English language arts muscles typing out a mock editorial about Sullivan County’s economy and the much anticipated performing arts center at the Woodstock site in Bethel.
Funny thing, isn’t it, how I worked on a newspaper in a SCIL meet and ended up working in newspapers as a career?
Life skills. And education too.
Memorable education. The kind that I can recall like it was yesterday that I was sitting in a group of teens hashing out a problem together.
Just like we do in a staff meeting today.
SCIL as it stands may already be dead, and BOCES may well have some good ideas for the new version.
But I’d like the county’s superintendents to remember this decision when they grant permission for kids to miss school in the future.
Is a golf match worthy enough? A visiting play?
Maybe, but we’re guessing kids who miss classroom time for those sorts of activities get the OK for two things: life skills and an alternative education.
Something 18 years of Sullivan students got out of SCIL.
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She Won a Dainty Necklace!

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Mon, 18 May 2009 23:25:00 +0000

I know it's past mother's day, and I'm behind on naming some winners here, but I'm home from my (not-so-restful - are they ever?) vacation, and I let random.org do some naming for me!

First up, the winner of the dainty necklace from Homespun City:

Meg R

Sorry to those of you who didn't win (this is my favorite prize, ever, that I've given away, so I really do feel badly!), but you can always stop by the shop and, well, shop!

Winner of the Calico Critters from last month:

Janet W

Winner of the Mugen Pop Pop:

Jennifer (I confess, this one I already gave to her - I know her personally - but she's been bugging me to post on here that she won!)

I've been remiss, but if the winners would shoot me an e-mail to claim their prize? Thanks guys!

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A Gift to Chill Out Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Mon, 18 May 2009 20:02:00 +0000

Invitations to baby showers are piling up, and you don't have time to hit the store for every single blessed registries. Skip them all and head for the Qube.

The makers of emergency preparedness kits for families have come up with a one-stop shower gift that will fit every mom-to-be and her baby. The Ice-Qube Baby to Go comes stocked with a full set of baby toiletries in sample size (perfect for stowing in the diaper bag), all the medical supplies you need for simple (non hospital) baby medical care, plus extras of everything kids lose on the go (think pacifers, toy keys).

With a onesie and actual diapers, it's an extra diaper bag already stocked in one big sturdy cardboard square. All mom has to do after the shower is shove it in the trunk of her car. You just bought her peace of mind . . . she can chill out now.

Get the Baby to Go Ice Qube for $96.82 (remember what you'd pay for each of those items individually).

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Kiddie Lit Makes for Adult Quotes

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Fri, 08 May 2009 00:10:00 +0000

Be it a movie or a book, there's always one line that stands out in the good ones. Hence that dorky guy at the office who answers everything question with a movie quote.

I've thrown together a collection of Strollerderby's favorites:

Another Dr. Seuss fave: "Truffula Trees are what everyone needs. Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack.Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back."
And one more from the Seuss: " "on those wild screaming beaches..." (from The Sneetches)
What's the use of having a trained balloon if it won't do what you want?"- The Red Balloon by A. LaMorisse
"I am a nuisance in the lobby. Mr Salamone said so." - Eloise by Kay Thompson
"Though I've grown old, the bell still rings for me as it does for all who truly believe." - The Polar Express by Chris VanAllsburg

Want to read the rest? Click here for more . . . and to weigh in on your favorites!

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It's Not Swine Flu - Your Kid Has Whine Flu

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Thu, 07 May 2009 22:39:00 +0000

Replace coughing with sputtering. Upset stomach with lying on stomach and pounding fists. It sounds like your kid has a serious case of the pandemic whine flu.

Don't worry, we're here to help. With the help of the AP, I've put together an in-depth look at what you need to know about the WHINE flu:

Q: How easy is it to catch this virus?

A: It spreads easily among preschoolers, elementary age and teenage kids. Marked by the elongation of vowels and a particularly grating addition to their voice, you'll know it when you hear it.

Keep Reading the Q&A here (and send it to every mother/teacher/person who has ever dealt with a whiny child you know)

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Celebrate "Lost Sock" Memorial Day With a Free Set of Socks

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Thu, 07 May 2009 12:51:00 +0000

In our house, we blame it on the dryer gnomes. Also known as the mysterious force that walks off with just one sock of any particular set.

The folks over at Little MissMatched have made that a problem of the past with their mismatched sets of three socks - that's right, there are no pairs, and hence you're never one sock short! With rockin' colors and designs that are always a little bit off, you'll find something for your little girl and you too (they have 'em for kids AND for women).

It's a way to play Mommy and Me and still be unique (and keep your feet warm).

And since this weekend is Lost Sock Memorial Day (which they didn't make up, believe it or not), you can get two sets for the price of one from Little MissMatched. The offer is good from May 7th through the 11th, so check out Little Miss Matched!

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Why Daddies Don't Babysit

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 06 May 2009 23:13:00 +0000

When my daughter was born, I already knew my husband had the makings of a Wonder Dad. I married him, after all. I just didn't expect to hear about it everywhere I went: the glowing tones, the gushing from other women, the constant reminders that I "picked a good one," because he not only knew how to change a diaper, but did so.

It's why daddies don't babysit, and it's my new essay over at Babble this week! Check it out:

Dads Don't Babysit

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A Body at Rest - Until the 3-Year-Old Intervenes

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 06 May 2009 15:04:00 +0000

I spent Friday on my couch, Friday night rolling and moaning in my bed and much of Saturday on the couch.
Don’t worry. It wasn’t swine flu (does anyone in Sullivan County have the extra bucks for trips to Mexico these days?).
It was, however, an adventure in its own right.
Because home with me was my 3-year-old.
My 3-year-old who would have been in nursery school, should Mommy have felt safe getting behind the wheel.
Alas, the jackhammer in my head laughed at that idea and kept right on drilling.
So it was just her and me.
I crawled downstairs, poured her a bowl of Fruity Cheerios and curled up on the couch.
“Mooooomy, I wanna watch TV.”
I stuck my hand out of the blanket and felt around for the remote. Got it.
The sounds of Noggin filled the living room. I shoved the pillow over my ears.
There it was again. This time, much closer. The moist warm morning breath was soaking my ear.
“Mommy, I’m thirsty.”
And so it went.
For this I took a sick day?
“Mommy, I have go to potty.”
“So go.” This mumbled more than said, muffled by the hood of my husband’s sweatshirt, into which I’d snuggled to try to block out the noise of cartoons.
“But I’ll miss you.”
I work with three men in my office. Chivalrous though they may be, they have never once expressed their fear that they will miss me when they take their leave to the bathroom down the hall. Thank heavens for that.
They don’t ask for much either. A story here. A picture there.
I’ve often wondered if they’d notice if I fell asleep in my little corner of the room. They’ll be surprised I’m admitting this, but chances are they might even survive just fine on their own for, oh, I don’t know, two, three hours without me.
But the little girl conditioned by her only child status to learn to play quietly by herself for hour-long stretches was struck incapable by the sight of an able-bodied adult at rest.
Leading me to believe, a body at rest will remain at rest until it meets a toddler.
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Guest Drive on Over to Motherproof

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 06 May 2009 09:39:00 +0000

Babble.com and Inside Out might be atop your favorites lists, but Motherproof.com deserves a slot. The home of a mother team of car reviewers who get the truth out of Detroit, they've got the skinny on what you need for your next ride.

And they let me hop in the wheel this week! I was honored as a "guest driver" over at Motherproof.com this week. Check it out - and take the whole site for a spin. You might find something you like:

Guest Drive: Jeanne Sager of Babble.com

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Bad Parent: Organic Schmorganic

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 05 May 2009 21:33:00 +0000

So you don't buy all organic? Me neither, and if that makes me a bad parent . . . well, you can read about it in my newest essay over at Babble.com!

Bad Parent: Organic Schmorganic

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If You Had a Parenting Do-Over

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Sun, 03 May 2009 16:07:00 +0000

Although I'm firmly in the "one and done" camp, I'm one of those obsessive (OK, anal) types who ponders what it would be like to have a "do over" with your kid.

Not a second kid, but a repeat of the first. So I could fix things. Or, at least, not totally screw them up royally!

I pondered whether I'm the only one over at Strollerderby this week, with a list of some of my "do-overs," including:

So you were told never to wake a sleeping baby? Someone please tell the nurses at the hospital where I delivered. Because I was waking that kid every two hours to attempt nursing . . . even at 2 a.m. No wonder I never slept.
Worried less that I was going to drop her. Carrying my friend's baby in a football hold recently, I realized I NEVER would have been that carefree with my daughter, and why not?

What are yours? Go weigh in on the post and see what other parents would do again and most definitely WOULD NOT.

If You Had a Parenting Do-Over

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Is the Litter Pluck enough?

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Fri, 01 May 2009 15:58:00 +0000

It was a beautiful weekend, wasn’t it?
You didn’t happen to spend it out on the roads, did you? Perhaps with a bag and a pair of rubber gloves?
Or, at least, cleaning up your own yard?
Saturday was the county’s official Litter Pluck day, but after sitting down at the dining room table with a Bethel couple to discuss the garbage dumping problems in Sullivan County, I’ll be honest.
We need a lot more than a Litter Pluck day to straighten things out.
With the economy crumbling and costs for dumping our garbage climbing, there’s a scourge creeping across Sullivan County.
Illegal dumping.
They take their trash, and instead of carting it to the landfill or calling a private hauler, they throw it in the back of their vehicle and go for a ride.
Under the dark of night, they pull over, chuck the bag over the shoulder of the road, and make like a tree and leave.
It’s a victim-less crime, they say. The town or county workers will come pick it up, guys who get paid to drive the roads will take care of the mess.
Except, it doesn’t work that way.
Sure, there are a few places in the county where the heads of the highway make it a point to add litter control to the duties of their crews (check out the roads in the Town of Delaware – they’re spotless, and for good reason). But more often, it’s homeowners walking outside to find a big pile of trash in their backyard and heading back into the house to don gloves so they can get to work.
Take the Bethel couple, who asked not be identified because they don’t want more dumpers to make use of their property.
Four times since the snow melted, they’ve faced messes, each more disgusting than the last.
Bags of incontinence pads thrown in the creek, where they loaded with water, leaving just one bag so heavy a tractor had to be brought in to remove it.
Decaying meats, still in their plastic wrap, as though someone had emptied their freezer into a garbage bag, then emptied the bag onto their property.
And so it goes.
They pick up medical waste that is not their own and put it out with the garbage pick-up they pay for themselves. They collect freezer-burned food and hope that no animal will attack their garbage and force them once again to clean up someone else’s mess.
They are the victims.
And what’s to be done? There are social programs for people who’ve lost their jobs, for new mothers with limited incomes . . . Do we need to start a program for people who can’t afford to get rid of their trash?
Or do we all need to lend a hand? Get recycling. Get together with a neighbor to share the cost of curbside pick-up. Litter Pluck, whether it’s county sponsored or not. Clean our yards. Help clean other people’s yards.
And keep trash out of the creeks and off the roadside. Is the Litter Pluck enough?
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Psychedelic Strawberry Tee for Your Little Hippie

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 00:50:00 +0000

You know what they say about location, location, location?

Yes, I'm Woodstock obsessed. But you can blame it all on my location folks - I grew up a stone's throw from the site of the best known musical festival on earth. And now that the whole of Sullivan County, NY is gearing up for the 40th Anniversary (including the paper I work for), I've been on the hunt for groovy finds for little hippies.

My favorite for little girls? This delicious strawberry tee from Decaf Plush. The psychedelic size of the sewn on felt fruit makes your eyes dance (while you're grooving to the music in your head), and the cotton American Apparel-made tee is soft on little skin.

You can get it from one of my favorite shopping spots on the Web - Psychobaby for $35, and if you buy today, you can use code SPRING15 to get 15 percent off your order.

Too late? Become a fan of Psychobaby on Faceboook, send them a picture of your own psycho baby by May 31, and you'll be entered to win a $250 gift card.

Want more Woodstock finds for kids? Check out my whole list over at Droolicious:

Four Best Woodstock Tees For the Fortieth Anniversary

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Win a Dainty Initial Necklace From Homespun City

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 00:58:00 +0000

Ready for Mother's Day? What about Father's Day?

You don't have to show the world you've got two point five kids with your jewelry this year thanks to Homespun City, home of dainty initial necklaces, hand made with an initial on delicate charms that sit just so on the throat. Both sexy and sweet, nothing about these necklaces screams "mom," and yet each initial in the bunch can stand for your kids, your partner, or yourself.

As the name implies, it's a line spun in the city with a hint of home, from something to slip on for yoga to the gorgeous bouquet that blossoms on the neck.

I've reviewed them over at Droolicious this week in ode to Mother's Day, and Homespun City's talented owner Catie has offered to give one mom (or dad) a chance at winning one for Mother's Day.

To get one, check out the post on Droolicious, which will link you straight to my favorites from Catie's shop, Homespun City on Etsy (or go straight to Homespun City.) Follow the links over, and you have the chance to pick out your favorite. Leave your pick (other than the dainty) back here in comments for an entry into the drawing. Get extra entries by grabbing my badge and/or blogging about this contest and all (remember to leave the link in comments as well).

Open to U.S. and Canadian residents, the contest will close on May 5, so remember to check back or subscribe at left to be notified right away. NEW SUBSCRIBERS for the month of April will all be entered to win the new Tamagotchi Music Star from Bandai.

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