Inside Out

5 Things We Need to Tell Our Kids More Often

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Mon, 20 May 2013 20:39:00 +0000

Every once in awhile I come across one of those articles on the net warning us that we're pumping our kids' heads full of too much praise.

Is there such a thing? Of course. You hear it at the park when the mom tells Jr. that he really didn't HAVE to share the tricycle even though that other kid's big mean mommy pointed out that it's a public park and he hasn't actually used the darn thing for the past 45 minutes. You hear it in the grocery store when the mom pushing the cart one aisle over tells her little Einstein that he's good enough, strong enough, and doggone it, why can't people just agree that the capital of Ohio is Kansas City?

People love to blow smoke up their respective kids' you-know-whats.

But as much as I want to jump on the "OMG, not EVERY kid needs a trophy" bandwagon, I can only manage to hoist one foot up there.

Some kids get entirely too much praise. For other kids, that little trophy is the only sign that someone thinks they're special.

Are these the kids of parents who read all those Internet warnings? Probably not. More likely they're the children of a set I call the cold ones (and yes, I was using that phrase before Twilight, so back off) ... parents who are in the parenting game only half-heartedly. Maybe they really wanted kids only to find out they aren't really cut out for being around kids. Maybe they had an oops and are just trying to make do. Or maybe, well ... we read about monsters on the Internet every day.

I have those monsters in my head when I lean in to my daughter, drink in that oddly enjoyable (only to mothers) scent of shampoo, sweat, and days-old Pirate's Booty, and whisper "you know I love you, right?"

I try not to go overboard. We don't praise her for doing the things she should be able to do by now (honestly, if I had a nickel for every time I've said "NO, you're almost 8, you can do it yourself," I'd be sitting in Maui in my beach house typing this blog post).

But I won't stop telling her the truth, and I can't say this enough ... parents, we can't see these over-praised kids and veer too far in the other direction. It's not WRONG to use a little praise. In fact, there are some things I think EVERY kid needs to hear:

1. You're Smart. Listen, your kid may get As or he may get Fs. But he's smart at SOMETHING. And there's nothing more encouraging than for a kid than having someone recognize that ... and

2. You're Beautiful/Handsome. We walk a fine line with our kids. We don't want to encourage vanity, and looks should not be the main focus by any stretch of the imagination. But when looks are just one of the many things you mention, you teach your kids that there is value in all of us -- brains plus body plus ...

3. You're Funny/Silly/Spirited/Generous. Is your kid a clown? A philanthropist in the making? Tell them. Help them learn to hone these wonderful qualities, to embrace them.

4. You're Awesome. They might not need you to say it, but haven't you ever wanted someone to tell YOU you were awesome? It doesn't hurt.

5. You're Loved. I was going to put this at the top of the list. And then I was going to put it at number 2. And 3. And so on. This could replace everything on this list, honestly. Because if there is one thing you really can't tell a child enough, it's that they are number one in your world.

What would you add to the list?

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Giveaway: Dad's Book of Awesome Projects

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Fri, 17 May 2013 20:22:00 +0000

There are two types of people in this world. The ones who are crafty ... and the ones who have friends who are crafty. I'm the latter.

I am the reason the word Pinterest Fail exists. But my friend Mike Adamick (you might know him as the dad behind Cry It Out -- the blog, not the parenting method) more or less looks at a needle and thread and unicorns and kittens pop out. His daughter is so lucky.

And you and I? Well, we're close. Mike isn't going to fly in with a superhero cape he just Macguyvered up flapping in the breeze behind him to save you from that unfortunate glue gun accident. But he does have a book out: Dad's Book of Awesome Projects.

I've read it, and I can assure you, this is not hyperbole on behalf of the book publishers who really just want to move some product. It is indeed awesome in the way that only books that provide you with the means to make your kid a fruit crate scooter can be. This is not another book filled with baking soda volcanoes and pipe cleaner flowers. Mike has come up with projects you can do with your kids, and they'll actually want to play with after.

Oh, and the awesomeness isn't just in the creativity of the projects, but in the detailed instructions that you'd have to be an idiot (or you know, me) to screw up.

And because I am ALSO awesome, I've got a copy to give away!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Have you checked out the Gluten Is My Bitch Book Giveaway?

Dandelion 1, Mom 0

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 15 May 2013 00:17:00 +0000

There she was, running at me, brimming with youthful exuberance.

And there I was, my fingernails caked in dirt, my mouth forming some exaggerated version of Edvard Munch's The Scream.

The culprit? A dandelion clutched in her tiny fist as she ran at me, grin spreading across her little face.

"Mommy, get ready to blow!" she yelled.

My "Noooooo" seemed to come out in a deep rumble, like a movie being played back in slow motion.

I used to wonder how you could go to bed one night, content in your lush green lawn, and wake up the next morning to a sea of yellow weeds.

Now I know.

My daughter and I recently watched one of those gorgeous Disney Nature documentaries on how intelligent plants make use of the insects that visit them to pollinate the world.

But I dare say the dandelion is the smartest plant on planet Earth. Where others have to trick the likes of bees and ants to spread their seed, the taraxacum (as its known in gardening circles) pulls out the big guns.

The plant has made itself absolutely irresistible to anyone under 4 feet tall.

There isn't a yellow-headed dandelion that a 7-year-old doesn't see as prime pickings for a game of "Mama had a baby and its head popped off" (which sounds so much sinister now that I'm decades past third grade).

There isn't a white ball of fluff that doesn't call out for a breath of sweet chicken nugget and mac and cheese scented air to send it dancing in the breeze.

And so it was on Sunday afternoon that I crouched over my lawn, hands caked in dirt, a pile of freshly pulled weeds at my side, and faced a 7-year-old's dreams of making little white seedlings do a fairy dance in the air with abject horror.

Dandelion 1. Mom 0.

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Giveaway: Gluten Is My Bitch ... the Book!!

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Thu, 09 May 2013 18:56:00 +0000

Part of being a writer is being really jealous that your other fabulous writer friends get book deals ... and bitching that you haven't gotten one yet. OK, so maybe it's because you haven't actually written a book yet. Or, well, even come up with your idea. But you get the point. My fabulous writer friends are all getting book deals ... and in the case of one fabulous April Peveteaux, aka the funny behind the blog Gluten Is My Bitch, that book is now out on shelves!

If the word gluten made your eyes just glaze over, please come back to me. Didn't you read the rest of that title? The hilarity that comes out of her head is enough to actually make this gluten-loving non-celiac read her blog on the regular.

As a vegetarian, I can't help getting into people who really understand alternative eating lifestyles, and my girl April has gone full bore into gluten-free since being diagnosed as a celiac (nope, she's not trendy ... just unfortunate).

And my friends, it's good. Good enough to make me try eating a gluten-free donut kind of good.

Yummmmm.

Donuts.

Oh wait, where was I? Oh right, fabulous writer friends and their fabulous books.

Being friends and what not means I got the hook up for a copy of Gluten Is My Bitch ... the book. And of course I have to share. The book, that is, not the donuts.

Want a copy? Take it away ....

a Rafflecopter giveaway

5 Business You Need to Invest in Pre-Kid to Get Rich

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 08 May 2013 17:49:00 +0000

Just about every warning you read about preparing for kids includes a cost analysis. The latest figure from the USDA (which keeps track of such things) puts the cost of raising a kid to adulthood at around $234,900. That's not factoring in inflation.

It's just for food, shelter, and necessities.

Something tells me that doesn't include paying for a steady supply of Littlest Pet Shops (if you don't know, don't ask ... you're better for not knowing), packs of chewing gum, or Oreos.

But you get the point. Kids cost money. A lot of it.

But the older mine gets, the more I wonder if the economists and the pregnancy book authors aren't coming at this the wrong way. They tell us to save and save, and then go save some more before deciding to have kids.

Maybe they should be telling us to spend or rather, invest.

The amount of toilet paper the average toddler goes through in a week, for example, is sure to play an ample role in the size of a dividend check for a paper company stockholder.

And that's just one product!

I can't imagine the money I'd be sitting on now if I'd just invested wisely in the following:

1. Bandages. Anyone who has ever been a parent, heck, anyone who has ever spent 5 minutes with a child knows that Band-Aids fix darn near everything. Real boo boos. Imagined boo boos. Dropped ice cream. Stuffed animals who have boo boos because they were dropped while trying to hold onto one's ice cream ...

2. Tissues. Ever heard the term "snot-nosed kid?" Enough said.

3. Stickers. To people 4 feet tall and under, there is no such thing as a surface that can't be improved by these little stick-um backed bits of paper. Bookcases. Beds. Toilets. Windows. You name it, I've found a sticker on it. Which leads me to ...

4. Stick-Um Remover. The person who invented the spray used to remove not just stickers but crayon and marker must be a billionaire by now, and it's all on the backs of parents like me.

5. Glitter. If it isn't a sticker, it's a sparkly fleck of something scattered 'round the room. Glitter is like the American Express of the kid world; they don't leave home without it, and neither do their parents. It's on your clothes. On your cheek. In your sandwich...

What do you use in ample supply in your house ... that you wish YOU had invested in?

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It's the Mets + the Wiggles for a Mother of a Sunday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Mon, 06 May 2013 12:45:00 +0000

I don't know how my husband and I ended up on the topic, but we were debating whether or not we're "boring" parents the other day. We don't do anything outlandish in this house; no mom in a rock band or dad in a motorcycle gang. But we realized our daughter has had a pretty steady diet of out-on-the-town experiences.

She's been to Major League baseball games, minor league baseball games, minor league hockey games, and major league soccer games ... and a whole lot more.

And at the risk of tooting my own horn (ahem, it is MY blog), I have to admit it's worth it.

This is why I became a Mets mom this summer. Because I believe in getting your kids out to baseball games and the like. Because kids need to get out, explore the world, experience big things!

And the latest offering from the Mets fits right in with that theme ... and I've got a big discount deal for Inside Out readers. Here's the deal:

The Mets have invited the Wiggles to Citi-Field on Sunday, May 12. Yes, that's Mother's Day. What better way to spend it than hanging with the kids?

How about hanging with the kids AND the Wiggles?

Inside Out readers can do both with a private Meet &Greet with The Wiggles from 11:30 a.m. - 12:15 p.m. or 1:15 p.m. - 2 p.m. in the Mets Cafe at Sunday's home game against the Pirates (the game starts at 1:15, so you'll miss a portion of the game for this one ... but there should be less people there so it might be easier with the kids!).

For $65 per person, package includes:
• One (1) Field Level ticket • Exclusive photo opportunity with The Wiggles!

Want in? Of course you do!

Purchase tickets online or contact Matt Gulotta at 718-559-3044 or mgulotta@nymets.com.

What's been your family's favorite BIG outing?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Come Onnnnn Children's Place

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Fri, 03 May 2013 00:07:00 +0000

Of all the things I dread about my child growing older -- and there are many -- I dread her growing out of The Children's Place.

Go figure ... the mom who wears jeans and a sweatshirt EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. cares about kid fashion.

The truth is, I've started to dread shopping for clothes for my daughter. Not because of anything she's done -- she's begun to develop her own taste and asserts herself, but manages to do it politely -- but because of the clothes in half the stores that cater to young girls.

You know what I'm talking about, Moms and Dads (and grandmas and aunts and uncles and ... ). The t-shirts with slogans that tell girls they're too dumb to do homework. The pants with the writing across the behind, drawing the eyes to a young girl's derriere.

If anyone wonders why 7-year-olds are dressing like tramps these days, it's because there are slim pickings on the shelves.

Except for the aforementioned Children's Place.

It's become my port in the storm, the one place where her newly developed "taste" meets my cringe test. There are sparkles, but not too many. There are sayings, but not too dumb. There is style ... and it's just right.

Desperate for some solace in your search to find something your daughter can wear without making you want to hide?

The Children's Place allowed my daughter to take a look through some of the clothes in their new line recently (blogger disclaimer here). The relief I found as she oohed and aahed is worth every second of agony it was to let me take her picture to share my favorites with you.

This purple dress is my favorite example of why I love the Children's Place -- you can find everything there ... from an outfit for running around the park to a floaty dress perfect for a spring wedding.

This romper ($19.95) is the perfect example of why SHE loves the Children's Place -- it's soft cotton made for play, but some sparkles on the ruffled collar and a spaghetti strap over one shoulder make playtime more hip and fun.

I think the smile says it all ... and dresses like this one go for less than $30.

What is your go-to store for your kids? Are you a Children's Place fan?

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Disclaimer: I received several Children's Place outfits to facilitate this review but was not otherwise compensated. All opinions are my own ... including the gushing. Especially the gushing.

What's YOUR Mom (or Dad) Tell?

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 18:04:00 +0000

You don't have to walk inside my house to tell that there is a child in residence. The bike abandoned on the front walkway would give it away before you alighted from you car.

A peek in the back of my car would reveal a booster seat. A look in the front window hints at a small artist with a messy side.

Venture inside, and you're assaulted by a melange of signs of kiddom. A small coat abandoned on the floor beneath the hook here, one size 13 shoe there. The coat to a doll here, a LEGO there.

It's true. I am a mother.

I couldn't escape it if I wanted to.

Because even when we step beyond the boarders of our home and leave all those markers of parenting a small child behind - the bike, the doll coat, that tiny LEGO brick - we parents are stamped with evidence that there is a little girl living in our house.

The fairy Band-Aids tend to be a dead giveaway that my husband is a father.

And the glitter. I spotted some on his cheek last week. And in his ear (don't ask ... I didn't).

We parents have all borne the evidence of some art project gone awry at some point. It's our own special badge of dried gluey honor.

We're marked by our references. Other adults sample from movies. We deal strictly in cartoon quotes. You'll have to excuse us. We have entire episodes memorized from viewing the same episode over. And over. And over again.

We tend to spell our curse words too, if not offer up some nonsense version that will turn heads ... but won't get our kid sent to the principal's office for copying it.

Ask us for a good joke, and we'll offer up a knock knock but can't promise it's any good.

Ask where the bathroom is, and we'll give you directions to "the potty."

And if you're ever out of tissues, don't worry, we always carry an extra pack ... or three.

What's your mom (or dad) tell?

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The Disney Mom Blog Photo Scandal Needs a Dash of Common Sense

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 17:12:00 +0000

My friend Marshall -- and I didn't steal it; I took it

It's been a rough week in the blogosphere. The Wall Street Journal infantilized grown women with its ridiculous mommy business trip article. And a blogger set off a firestorm with her assessment of a dear friend and Disney publicist Marshall Weinbaum as a "raging douche bag" for an allegedly sexist photo of him (which she edited) standing with several women huddled at his feet.

The former was troubling, but if I had to be honest, was something I've come to expect from the Murdoch-owned Journal. I was once interviewed by a reporter from the paper who had clearly written her article (on "bad" parenting) before she even spoke with me. I was cut from the piece, no doubt because as a seasoned journalist, I knew better than to take her bait.

The latter, however, has upset me in more ways than one. First, of course, there's a friendship with Marshall.

Second, I've noticed a troubling tendency as Americans to assume offense is meant where none is intended. While I won't excuse, for example, a racist joke from someone simply because, "aww man, I didn't mean to hurt someone's feelings," at some point we have to draw the line. At some point we have to acknowledge that people do not always have a secret agenda.

This is my trouble with using an innocent photo of Marshall Weinbaum to ruin his life.
Once again, I offer the disclaimer that a friendship exists. As a journalist, I tend to keep publicists at arms' length, lest there be a scent of impropriety. But some sneak through the cracks because, let's face it, they are human beings too.

And such it is with Marshall. The photo in question, a recreation of the famous National Lampoon's Vacation movie poster, was shot along with several other blogging friends at a wax museum this past week. No surprise from a guy whose Facebook URL refers to himself as a "movie geek," a guy whose favorite Christmas gift was a pass to AMC to see all the movies he wants in 2013 (See? He really is a friend).

The photo was taken off Marshall's personal Facebook page (some are saying stolen, but I confess as much as I know about fair use, this may be a grey area) and edited to make it appear as though the mom bloggers on the ground were "groveling" for his affections. The point of the post was to call Marshall out as sexist pig who the writer later alleged plays fast and loose with his ethics when it comes to providing mom bloggers with access to Disney.

That she did little research is evident in her insistence that Marshall, who works in marketing in-theater movies for the corporation, is somehow related to Disney Social Media Moms, another animal in the Disney menagerie entirely. The latter is a behemoth in the mom blogosphere I can't quite wrap my head around. I've never been invited, and although I find it interesting, I'm not really positive what it all entails aside from some seriously good deals on tickets for your family at Walt Disney World.

But I digress.

The point is this photo, this alleged misogyny (I'd prefer not to provide link love to the origin of this vicious bit of libel, but you can see the image over at Southern Bella's Ways to Save, site of one of the bloggers who was attacked in this whole mess).

As a feminist, I could see the photo as being questionable ... if it were given no context.

But this is the problem in America, isn't it? We've become so quick to judge, so ready to find the bad, that we don't bother to assess the true content of something.

Allow me to diverge from the Marshall story for just a moment. I promise there's a point here:

Just the other day a friend posted a link about Oatmeals New York that showed a sign board being slammed for "fat shaming" Americans. The board listed the calorie content of a bagel and the significantly lower calorie content of oatmeal. Beneath it said "summer is coming, just saying."

The company was forced to apologize, saying they were merely trying to point out that their product is a healthy option. OK, but why did they have to apologize in the first place? Simply misconstruing things as offensive doesn't make them so. Displaying caloric content is actually law in New York City, and it's something many Americans are grateful to see. Are we going to call out the nutrition labels on the side of the cereal box for making us feel bad for choosing Trix over Grape Nuts now?

Which brings me back to the Marshall photo. No attempt was made to ascertain the story behind it, and it's blown up into a national story that even drew the attention of AdWeek.

All because an innocent photo was misconstrued as offensive by someone who failed to do her homework?

Fact: there was no malicious intent behind this photo. That says a lot about the man's character. It flies in the face of terms like "raging douche bag" and "sexist." It stands in direct opposition to the character assassination committed this week against Marshall.

Was the photo a good one? Maybe not. I know the folks in it were all being silly. I know that women on the ground, man standing, was in no way a sign of the subjugation of females. I know because I know the character of four of the five people involved. I know because gosh darnit, just because a woman is on the floor doesn't mean she's being pushed down by a man. Ask my husband. I don't look up to any man, but yes, there are photos of me in what could be termed by some to be a submissive position.

But hey there are photos of Beyonce looking like a heinous beast. We know that's not true, right?

A still photo tells only the story of one moment in time, the second the shutter was depressed. It does not portray the before or the after. The before and after of this photo of Marshall and the four mom bloggers (whose characters are also being harmed in this debacle) are just as important as that split second.

At some point we as Americans need to step back and realize that not everything is meant to piss us off. This has nothing to do with "political correctness," and everything to do with common sense.

And if you're GOING to be offended, here's an idea: do your homework before you decide to share your outrage with the rest of the world. It will make you look like less of a "douche bag."

Did you find the photo offensive?

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If I Didn't Tell my Daughter Girls Suck, It Wouldn't Be Fair

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 17:46:00 +0000

I went somewhere I don't usually go last week. I read some comments on an essay I wrote about my daughter having more boy friends than girls. I tell people not to do it, and I went there.

To be fair, it wasn't right on the site. A friend had shared the piece on Reddit's TwoXChromsomes, a site I love, and I was curious to hear what the women over there had to say. And that's where I found a comment that spoke to one of my biggest problems raising a girl in America today.

Women who agreed with me that they recall being friends with more boys than girls, women who cited the cattiness of females they've encountered over the years, were called out for "internalized misogyny."

It's a trend I've noticed more than a few times in feminist readings. There seems to be a trend among feminists to insist that any words spoken against women are not feminist and must be stopped.

But what happens when the words are true? Who is the misogynist then?

It may not support the feminist agenda (whatever that is?), but the mean girl phenomena is not just a Tina Fey movie. It's a problem that's plagued girls for generations, and it's not going away.

I recall the way I felt when I fought with my girlfriends vs. the way I felt when I battled with my boy friends. The girls could cut me to the quick, and would. Their taunts were vicious, personal.

With boys, the disagreements were less so. In fact, disagreements is really the only term I can use for them. We didn't fight. We disagreed. There's a vital difference.

So too is there a difference between criticizing women and internal misogyny.

For all that we want to speak of equality between the sexes, we can't ignore that there are differences. There are good differences and bad differences. And there are scientific reasons to explain such phenomena as the girl wars that crop up for so many females in the formative years.

In one study in Psychological Science, researchers describe how females who feel the threat of social exclusion are more likely than men to former other cliques and alliances to prevent their own exclusion. Researchers at the University of Buffalo have tracked relational aggression behaviors in girls as early as age 3 that lead to problems for girls in their teen years. And a study at Johns Hopkins has revealed that while teenage boys tend to be equal opportunity bullies, "teenage girls most often bully other girls, using sly and more indirect forms of aggression than boys, such as spreading gossip or urging others to reject or exclude another girl."

Acknowledging the difference in how teenage boys and girls treat one another isn't self-loathing. It's scientific fact.

And as the mother of a little girl, I'm struggling with how to best address it.

I don't want my daughter to be ashamed of her femininity or to assume that she is doomed to be a catty witch in the years to come. The fact that a large percentage of girls turn on the drama doesn't mean she will, at least not if we work hard to raise a kid who is kind and generous.

On the other hand, I don't want her flying blind into a hornet's nest of hormones and hairbands in a few years.

She's already dealt with mean girls in pre-school (convincing me fully that the folks at UB are on to something), and it wasn't pretty. A group calling themselves the A girls (I wish I was making that up, but I'm not), made both my daughter and her friend feel like they were inferior human beings for an entire school year. I thought I had until 11 or 12 before that would start, but I had to handle it on the fly back then, and I'll tell you, her boy friends helped. A lot.

They just wanted to play. They just wanted to be normal 4-year-olds. They had no truck with manipulation and rejection.

Today she has a lot of boys who are friends (as opposed to boyfriends) and a few close girlfriends. I have never suggested she value one over the other, never pushed her toward either. Although the boys are mostly the children of my closest friends, she asks for playdates with them herself, and she does so frequently. Just as frequently as she requests a sleepover with one of the girls.

I hope this continues, not because I have a hatred for girls, but because I know the years ahead are tough. I know kids -- on both sides of the gender divide -- can be cruel.

And I remember, all too well, what it was like to deal with the species known to scientists as the mean girls. Remember because I can never forget them or the things they said. Remember because they are real.

My job now is to strike a balance. I need to prepare my daughter for the mean girls who lie in wait, ready to tear off chunks of her self-esteem and leave her heart open and wounded. And I need to tell her that it's OK, because she's a girl. And girls can do great things, like leaving the mean girls in their dust when they leave high school to tackle the big bad world beyond.

What's your mean girl story?

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CNN Got Boston Bombing Coverage Wrong But They're Not Alone

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 13:40:00 +0000

America endured a nightmare last week along with the people of Boston, and in the midst of national tragedy came a debate about the media.

CNN, in its haste to be first with the news of a much awaited arrest of one of the murderers responsible for Marathon Monday's cowardly attacks, came out quickly with an announcement that a bomber was in custody. Too quickly. At that point, the names Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev had yet to even be associated with photos of the bombing suspects, the photos yet to be released.

The response from an American people already on edge was furious, and rightfully so. CNN got it wrong.
Very wrong.

And yet, now that time has passed, now that the more immediate matter of finding the suspects and providing Bostonians with their much-needed safety is over, it's time we as Americans sit down and talk about the role we all play in how rumors are spread.

The media plays a role.

They always have.

Remember the name Eric Rudolph? You may or may not. But you certainly remember the name Richard Jewell, don't you? He was the security guard who saw his life ruined when his name was -- wrongly -- linked to the bombing of the Olympics in Atlanta in 1996.

Rudolph later pleaded guilty, and he's serving a life sentence, but Jewell carried that monkey on his back until his death in 2007.

The media is to blame for that. It behooves us all to use our power wisely, to check our facts, to put truth ahead of speed.

But it doesn't stop there.

This responsibility extends to regular Joes too, to the very people throwing stones at CNN in the past few days.

In this day and age of social media, it might be said that an average American can have nearly as great an impact on the spread of information as a professional journalist.

As a professional journalist, that terrifies me.

Not because my job is threatened; I am prepared to adapt with the times. As a woman whose primary job - blogging - didn't even exist when I graduated from high school; I already have.

I'm terrified because I see the careless nature in which information is spread by lay people.

The 24 hour news cycle may force media types to move quickly, but at least we still make attempts to source our information.

Regular Americans never even bother. They see something interesting, and with one click of a button, they pass it along. They "share" on Facebook or Twitter.

They convince their friends that an "Obamacare tax" is being added to your bill at retail stores (although even the IRS has discounted this so-called "fact") and alarm their neighbors with warnings that a dangerous chemical known as dihydrogen monoxide is killing people (go back to ninth grade and you'll recall that two hydrogens and one oxygen combine to make ... water).

This is the power of the Internet, and it can be powerfully destructive.

All a bored overgrown teenage conspiracy theorist living in his mother's basement has to do to spread lies these days is put up a Facebook post. Someone else sees it and shares it, and on it goes. The problem is that so few Americans bother to check whether they're sharing something based on fact. Although they're sitting in front of a computer using social media, they won't even use the tools in front of them to do a simple Google check.

And the things they will share are often easily checked -- and easily discounted.

Take, for example, a set of photos circulating last week that attempted to prove that Sandy Hook Elementary Principal Dawn Hochsprung had not been murdered in December but was alive and well and going by the name Donna, that she'd survived the Boston Marathon bombing.

Google Dawn Hochsprung, and you'll find countless bits of credible evidence of her tragic death in Newtown, and no credible evidence that she had lived on.

The rumor was irresponsible, not to mention cruel to her family, still grieving their loss.

That they have been victimized again was not the fault of the media but of average Americans who engage in a dangerous game of telephone with information on the web.

The media has a responsibility to get right as much as we can. As professionals we should certainly be held to a higher standard than average Joes. By no means do I excuse the folks at CNN ... or any news organization that jumps the gun on reporting bad information.

But if we want to stop the rapid fire spread of misinformation, we in the media can't do it alone. We need you to stop listening to that that conspiracy theorist still living with Mom ... or least make him back up his "facts" before you add to the cacophony of voices repeating them.

What's the dumbest thing you've seen shared on the Internet lately?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Image via Mark Z./Flickr

Mets Ticket Discount Extended -- LAST CHANCE

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 06:22:00 +0000

This could be YOUR kid!

Good news, y'all! If you didn't get your discount Mets tickets for the Mom and Family Day at CitiField you get a second chance!

The Mets have extended the ticket deadline to April 19 ... yes, that's today! So get hopping!

Here are the details:

On April 28, the Mets are playing the Phillies (booooo, hisssss) at 1:10 p.m.

From noon to 12:30 p.m., the team mascot, Mr. Met, will be hanging with kids in the Met Cafe. Fans of the Mets Moms (aka us bloggers who checked it all out a few weeks back can get their kids there AND get 1 field level ticket; 1 hot dog; 1 soft drinks, popcorn and peanuts; plus a Mets lanyard ... for a whopping $25.

But you only have until the end of today to get it!

Want in? Here's what you need to get in on Mets Mom & Family Day!

And here's why you're going to want to take the kids to see the Mets.

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Save a Life -- It Only Takes 10 Seconds

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 19:55:00 +0000

It isn't easy being a do-gooder type these days. Everywhere you go, you're met with empty hands held high in the air as people, often sheepishly, admit they just don't have the cash to share.

That's what makes the bone marrow donation event going on this weekend at the Villa Roma such a beautiful thing.

You don't have to donate a dime. All you need is 10 seconds and the ability to open wide for a cheek swab.

And you can save a life.

Not used to getting such glory for free, are you? Sounds too good to be true?

It's isn't.
Bone marrow is one of the few parts of the body for which you can be a living donor -- you don't have to die to help someone else. And unlike a kidney, which you kiss goodbye during surgery, your bone marrow will regenerate.

You give it for free, and you get it back ... for free.

How can you pass that up?

If you're between 18 and 55 and in fairly good health, you're running out of excuses. Money doesn't work; if you're matched up with someone in need, all expenses will be covered. As for time, well who doesn't have 10 seconds? Or heck, an hour if it takes that long to drive to the Villa Roma, get in line, get swabbed and gab with some great folks?

How's this to get you to turn off the ballgame and get out there on April 19 or 20? Five years ago a drive in Jeffersonville drew 501 donors. So far just four have been matches for people in need.

The chances of matching are that slim.

The need is that great.

And for no money at all, you get the chance of a lifetime: you get a chance to save a life.

So what do you say?

Don't live locally? Check out DKMS to find a bone marrow drive near you!

Will you become a bone marrow donor?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Wings of Life DVD Takes Flight With a Little Girl's Imagination

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Sun, 14 Apr 2013 15:54:00 +0000

So I may or may not have said a few thousand times by now that I'm stuck between a rock and a scientific hard place. Although I was every bit the geek girl, I was never a big science girl. Only now I'm raising a female in a world where the STEM subjects are everything.

This weekend, our march to raise a budding scientist continued. Our mission? To watch the new Disney Nature documentary, Wings of Life (releasing this week on Blu-Ray and DVD)

How does one hook a 7-year-old girl into sitting down for a 2-hour movie with 0 animation or singing? One word: butterflies.

I don't remember going through the phase myself (although I probably did), but the butterfly obsession ranks right up there with the horse one for girls of a certain age ... or at least for my daughter and her little buddies.

And the imagery of the vast Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve in Mexico is breathtaking in this film. There's a moment when you can hear what sounds like a giant wing, but it is merely the beating wings of thousands of butterflies.

It's majesty is breathtaking, as is much of this film, which somehow manages to turn even creepy-looking desert bats into beautiful pieces in the puzzle of life, eliciting an "aww" from my 7-year-old daughter.

In a week when I witnessed her spend 10 minutes outside in the middle of the road (a back country road, and yes, I watched for traffic) "rescuing" earthworms lest they be run over when the school bus arrived, that "aww" was another shot in the arm for us as parents. She's getting it! She's understanding that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, for one, but also that creatures great and small matter -- regardless of how they look.

When Disney offered to send me a copy of Wings of Life, I agreed because I know I'm not the only mom trying to make science exciting for her kids. But I'll admit I was dubious: would a 7-year-old really want to watch a nature documentary? Featuring bats and bees? Because the butterflies, though an important part of the film and the world, are just a part.

The power of this film is in its ability to make the smallest of creatures and their place on this planet resonate with all ages, and empower our kids to make a difference. Ending with a variety of ways to protect these winged creatures, the film has my kid convinced we need to start planting flowers in our yard IMMEDIATELY and begging me to find her a butterfly kit online.

Just wait until she finds out how much science is involved in raising your own butterflies and planting your own flowers.

Wings of Life will be released on Tuesday, April 16, but you can get a sneak peek below!

Want more on the butterfly migration to whet your kids' appetites? Check out Adios, Oscar! A Butterfly Fable by Peter Elwell. My daughter has outgrown the picture book, but she refuses to let go of the cute caterpillar and his dreams of Mexico. Not only does it cover the migration, but your kids will also learn the difference between moths and butterflies.

Want more fun science for kids? Check out the rad candy experiments we're mixing up in our kitchen!

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Disclaimer: Disney provided a review copy of Wings of Life to facilitate this review. I was not otherwise compensated, and all opinions are my own ... except those of my 7-year-old. She makes ALL those up herself!

It's OK to Hate Your Kids ... Just Don't Tell Anyone

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 18:22:00 +0000

Have you seen the article from the mom who calls her children the "biggest regret" of her life yet? It's been everywhere after showing up in the Daily Mail (or as it's known for running articles just like this one: the Daily Fail). Among the highlights: mother of two Isabella Dutton compares her now grown children to parasites, and says her son and daughter "took" from her while giving "nothing meaningful in return."

I respect her opinion.

What I don't respect is her decision to air it publicly, at least in the manor she chose. Because not only did Dutton put her own name at the top of the article, she also shared the names of her children, along with photos of them.

She aired her dirtiest of laundry in front of the world's audience, with little care about how it might affect her kids.

As a writer, I see the value in what she had to say. It's often the job of writers to say things that others cannot because they can't form words.
We tackle difficult topics every day. We give voice to the thoughts of many.

And yet, it's as a writer and mother both that I'm disappointed in Dutton. She could have shared this story without her name at the top, without photos of her children. A pen name would not have made her feelings any less valid, just less Google-able by her kids.

That was her responsibility to her kids. That is something she owes them. Because they didn't force themselves to be born.

The fact is, Dutton may have been dragged into motherhood, but even she admits that she chose it. Of course, her decision is curious, all things considering, and in many ways downright misguided. I have several friends who have dubbed themselves child-free for life, and I can't applaud them more loudly. They know they don't want to be parents, and so they're not going to inflict themselves on kids they don't want.

Equally troubling about Dutton's approach to parenting is how judgmental it sounds:

I cannot understand mothers who insist they want children - especially those who undergo years of fertility treatment - then race back to work at the earliest opportunity after giving birth, leaving the vital job of caring for them to strangers. Why have them at all if you don't want to bring them up, or can't afford to? And why pretend you wanted them if you have no intention of raising them? This hypocrisy is, in my view, far more pernicious and difficult to fathom than my own admission that my life would have been better without children. And here, perhaps, is the nub of it: I would not take on the job of motherhood and do it half-heartedly. Unlike so many would-be mums I thought hard about the responsibilities of my role, and, I believe, if more women did before rushing heedlessly into it, they might share my reservations.

No wonder the old bird was miserable! Her version of motherhood sounds absolutely abhorrent.

Granted, reading her article I quickly surmised that her kids already know how their mother feels about them. Although Dutton insists that she loved her children, every word about them drips with so much disdain that it's easy to tell that her version of "loving" her kids is not what most of us think of when we say we "love" someone.

Dutton is a classic bad mom. She thinks she was better at it than she was, and by golly, she's sticking to her version of the truth.

But it isn't in hating motherhood that Dutton is truly "bad." It's in how she decided to out herself.

It's in not putting up that front for her children's sake.

Because while I don't agree that every mother needs to park herself at home just to be a "good mom," there are things you sign up for when you decide to make a baby. You are now supposed to be that child's back-up. Forever and ever, Amen.

That does not mean that you don't discipline your kids. It doesn't mean that you become a lawnmower mom, never letting them be hurt or have a little trouble in their life. But it does mean you're there for them when it happens.

You are the voice that says, "Hey kid, sometimes you screw up, and it doesn't make me happy, but God, I love ya and always will!"

This is what good mothers do, what loving mothers do. Because those kids have the right to the unconditional love due them from a parent.

You may not love every minute of motherhood. You may tell your friends how much it sucks. You may write anonymous articles that make child-free folks feel better about the way they feel about kids.

But for God's sake, you make sure their kids don't find out how much you hate being their mom.

You owe them that.

Do you agree with Dutton? Is she a "good mom" despite what she's done?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Mets Ticket Discount: How to Score Cheap Seats for Family Day

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 20:41:00 +0000

Think baseball is just for the guys? Not on your life, and definitely not on April 28. The New York Mets have dubbed it Mom and Family Day. And after a day of uber family friendly fun at CitiField last weekend, I can't think of a better organization to pull it off. Even better ... I've got the key to get you discount tickets.

You know what you want to find out more.

So here's the deal.

On April 28, the Mets are playing the Phillies (booooo, hisssss) at 1:10 p.m. But before that, from noon to 12:30 p.m., the team mascot, Mr. Met, will be hanging with kids in the Met Cafe, so kids can get up close and personal ... kind of like this:

And fans of the Mets Moms (aka us bloggers who checked it all out last weekend) can get their kids there AND get 1 field level ticket; 1 hot dog; 1 soft drinks, popcorn and peanuts; plus a Mets lanyard ... for a whopping $25.

That is if you book before April 15 (ahem, that's tax day, so it better be on your calendar). Not sure you can do it before then? You'll get it all for $29 if you make the call after.

Want in? Here's what you need to get in on Mets Mom & Family Day!

And here's why you're going to want to take the kids to see the Mets.

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Disclaimer: The New York Mets covered my expenses to attend Sunday's game against the Miami Marlins. I was not otherwise compensated, and all opinions expressed are my own.

How to Grow a Baseball Fan

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 14:52:00 +0000

The other day I asked some friends without kids to confess what annoys them most about parents. I promised not to be angry or hurt, and I think I managed it pretty well.

The fact is, I agreed with a lot of them. When kids are out and about, parents don't always make their best effort to police the small ones' behavior ... and it makes the rest of us look bad. It can make it hard to go out and do the things we big people enjoy when there are small people in our lives. Folks see a mom and her kid coming, and they run.

And so last week when the New York Mets emailed me with an offer to come see how they've tried to turn Major League Baseball into something parents can do WITH the kids, I decided I'd hear them out.

Dirty secret: I am a New York Yankees fan. But I was a New York Mets fan first.

If it seems impossible, hear me out. My favorite player of all time is Mookie Wilson. In truth, it was probably his name that attracted me first. I was a little girl when he took the Amazin's to their '86 World Series win, and "Mookie" rolled right off my toddler tongue.

The Mets were my introduction to what has become a life-long love of baseball. And here they were telling me that they could do the same for my daughter.

I bit.

We loaded up the car Sunday morning for the two-hour trek to Queens for some VIP treatment.
What we found at CitiField was nothing like the Shea I last visited before my daughter was born or any other baseball stadium I've been in for that matter.

It was a place where kids weren't just accepted but celebrated. They have a dunking booth, batting cages, XBOX STATIONS, and they're open to every kid (and overgrown kid), no extra special ticket needed, no plunking down a whole lotta dough to get in.

This is their way of giving families an outlet when their kids are starting to get antsy, a place to go so your kid isn't that brat in the next row making all the childfree baseball fans throw daggers at Mom and Dad with their eyes.

It's a way of giving parents their cake and letting us eat it too.

We can go out and have a good time, indulge in our love of the sport, and keep our kids happy too.

We can show the kids that baseball is a game in every sense of the word, a chance to have fun ... for everyone.

That's worth two hours in a car on a Sunday morning, don't you think?

How are YOU growing a baseball fan?

Coming Up: How to get discount tickets!! Keep your eye out here!

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Disclaimer: The New York Mets covered my expenses to attend Sunday's game against the Miami Marlins. I was not otherwise compensated, and all opinions expressed are my own. And I REALLY mean not otherwise compensated ... idiot me LOST the dining card they gave each family. Have no idea what happened to it. OUCH!

Finally, a Mother Who Speaks My Language

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 01:55:00 +0000

There is always a secret thrill that goes through me when a blogger gets a book deal. It's a bit of living vicariously through them, a bit of hope raised that one day I'll find the time to put together my pitch and actually go for that deal I've always wanted. But when I got my hands on Carry On Warrior, the new book from Glennon Doyle Melton of Momastery, there was an added bit of happy.

Not familiar? Glennon is the mom behind the viral blog post about moms who just can't Carpe Diem. A friend of a friend, I was already familiar with her blog, already interested in the words of a fellow recovering bulimic who is trying to be a mother and retain her identity, but it was that post that hooked me.

Finally, a mother who spoke my language.

See, Glennon gets that life cannot be lived according to pithy sayings. There are too many variables.

Maybe you will be the girl who got all As and being inducted into Honor Society and getting into one of the nation's top colleges, but you spent every night in the bathroom throwing up everything you'd eaten the day before.

And maybe you will have a child you wanted more than you ever imagined, and then you will find out that motherhood is really friggin hard, and all around you are people who are smiling and nodding like little bobbleheads. Motherhood is great. Bob. You must love it all. Bob. Don't say no. Bob. Just embrace it! Bob. Bob. Bob.

I've always wanted to smash those bobbleheads.

Glennon is my type of girl. She did too. As she said in her now famous blog post:

This CARPE DIEM message makes me paranoid and panicky. Especially during this phase of my life – while I’m raising young kids. Being told, in a million different ways to CARPE DIEM makes me worry that if I’m not in a constant state of intense gratitude and ecstasy, I’m doing something wrong.

Only, she took the bobbleheads, and she chucked them out the back window while going 90 miles per hour, and she didn't even look back:

There are two different types of time. Chronos time is what we live in. It’s regular time, it’s one minute at a time, it’s staring down the clock till bedtime time, it’s ten excruciating minutes in the Target line time, it’s four screaming minutes in time out time, it’s two hours till daddy gets home time. Chronos is the hard, slow passing time we parents often live in.

Then there’s Kairos time. Kairos is God’s time. It’s time outside of time. It’s metaphysical time. Kairos is those magical moments in which time stands still. I have a few of those moments each day, and I cherish them.

OK, so I'm not big on the God part of it all. I am a lapsed Catholic who has never been able to square the concept of a higher power with the hate of gays and ill treatment of women I experienced growing up. But the rest of it makes sense to me.

This is how to be a mother and be myself, in admitting that it's OK not to think that shitty diapers smell like roses and whiny toddlers are adorable. It's in finding that one spot in the day that doesn't suck and really enjoying it.

This is the story of Carry On Warrior, of the book that is a voice shrieking to be heard above the droning hum of parenting books. There is no perfect in motherhood. If you've found it, surely you've lost you in the process.

What there is is that moment when you find yourself able to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and carry on down the path content that there is method to your madness.

Have you read Carry On Warrior yet? What was your favorite part?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Disclaimer: I received an advance reader copy of Carry On Warrior. Although I tend to shy away from book blogging, at least when it comes to adult books, this one spoke to me.

How Do They NOT Read?

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 17:37:00 +0000

Isn't there some cliche about idle hands? I don't know if you'd classify my paws clutching a book as keeping them from being the devil's playthings, but it works for me.

I've found too many writers have given up on reading. They're so sick of words by day's end that they'll plop on the couch, beer in hand and stare glossy-eyed at the television.

I can't do it.

I can't spend a day without reading. Not the sexiest of addictions, but there it is. My vice. My one true love.

I do it in the bathroom (foot holding it open, I tell you, no creepy germs on those library tomes).

I do it on the phone (hey, sometimes you bore me).

I have a book stowed under the front seat of my car – for emergencies I tell myself.

I have a revolving over-due fine account at the library, which I pay up with donations of books when I'm feeling really low down and dirty about what I've done.

I'll be honest with you. I don't want to be alone.

Even when my husband and my daughter are off gallivanting, I'm lost in London or gay Paree. (I'm a cheesehead, I know).

But there's something intoxicating about this power for me.

It started at 3 when I sorted the family mail - able to read my parents' names off the envelopes.

I will read the darn cereal box if that's all I can get my hands on.

The only problem? It's the writing I can't handle once I'm off the clock. So much for blogging ...

What's your obsession confession?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

If you've read this already, I apologize, I'm transferring in posts from a rarely-used old blog!

Image via Kevin Dooley/Flickr

Beware of Free Puppies!!

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 18:51:00 +0000

"In search of a free puppy." It sounds like the sweetest message in the world. Who doesn't want a new puppy?

And yet, it's one that makes my skin crawl. A free puppy is about as real as the Easter beagle, folks.

Sure, a friend's dog will have a litter, and she'll hand over the critter without asking for money. But then you get the dog home, and you realize it's time to buy a dog food bowl. And then you need to buy something to fill that bowl.

And then, well, a dog has to have something to drink water out of too, right?

Of course, after all that eating and drinking, they'll need to go for a walk ... which means you're going to need a leash. Plus something to hook it to.

You're starting to see where I'm going with this, aren't you? That free puppy just cost you two bowls, a bag of food, a leash and a collar. And quite frankly, I'm just getting started.

No responsible pet owner adopts a puppy and doesn't make a vet visit right off the bat. Then they make additional visits as the years pass to keep their four-legged friend up to date on shots.

Of course, if your new buddy is just a puppy, you could cheap out on toys, but expect to find yourself replenishing the supply of shoes, books, and pretty much everything else within reach of the dog's mouth for the next few ... years.

You get the picture; dogs cost money.

And yet, every time I turn around, someone is trying to get one for free. They go to the local shelters and come home to jump on Facebook and rant about the adoption fees. They put out feelers for freebies.

They treat adopting a dog like getting a used couch.

But a used couch doesn't do much more than sit there, maybe exuding a slightly musty scent.

A dog is living, breathing creature, and bringing one home means making a commitment for anywhere from 10 to 15 years. A commitment to be a good friend to man's best friend. A commitment to feed them, to shelter them, to love them, and a commitment to spend the next decade and a half spending money to keep them comfy.

If you can't afford an adoption fee, how will you afford to do all that?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Big Kid Begins ... Now

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 16:49:00 +0000

You're just swimming along the motherhood river and then, one day, quite suddenly, before you stands a big girl, tall and strong and fording her own way through the water ...

Has it happened to you yet? When did you realize they weren't little anymore?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

12 Dreams a Mother Has for Her Daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 15:21:00 +0000

When you're growing up, your dreams are big. Ballerina. Firefighter. Maybe even president one day (mine was first female president ... we're getting there, although I've come to terms with the fact that it won't be me).

If you're lucky, as you age you don't forget to dream. But they're smaller. Job with health insurance. Job with health insurance AND dental insurance. President of the company.

And then you become a parent, and the dreams you are chasing change once again.

I am a mother, and I have a dream ... or three or four.

I dream that one day I will find her coat on the hook ... not underneath a sleeping cat.
I dream that one day I will get the last cookie.
I dream that one day my bathroom will be warm in the winter ... because the laundry will be chucked in the basket instead of being dropped on the heat register.
I dream that one day she will celebrate the 15 books I have bought in recent months that were a big hit and stop reminding me of that one book from three years ago that turned out to be a dud.
I dream that one day she will remember to brush her teeth sometime before we've left the house to catch the bus.
I dream that one day I'll walk into the kitchen and find her feeding the dogs without me having to remind her 12 times.
I dream that one day the books will magically find their way back to the shelves without ever touching my hands.
I dream that one day she will sit in her own house, on her own couch, and want nothing more than to cuddle up on the couch for six straight hours with a book in her hand.
I dream that one day she will go to a shelter and rescue puppies just like the ones she's growing up with.
I dream that one day she'll look at herself in the mirror and smile at what she sees.
I dream that one day she will realize how special she is.
I dream that one day she'll be president. Or a doctor. Or a princess fairy ballerina. Just so long as it makes her heart sing.

What are YOUR dreams for your kids?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

In Defense of Too Much 'Stuff' for Kids

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Tue, 19 Mar 2013 20:56:00 +0000

I had the old Peter, Paul, and Mary song about leaving on a jet plane running through my head as I surveyed my daughter's bags.

They were packed, alright, and she was ready to go. Only there would be no plane. We were taking my car.

And this was no lengthy adventure worthy of a folk song. She was going to a house just two towns over.

For one night.

It looked more like she was moving out. There was the hooded blanket she can't sleep without (it's top, with a unicorn horn and mane, doubling as an instant portal to fantasy land). Her pillow pet (also a unicorn, naturally). Beside them was a bag overflowing with the currency of 7-year-old girls everywhere: Littlest Pet Shops.

Not familiar? Count yourself lucky, er, I mean, imagine cartoonish animal figures cast in plastic and dosed in pastels. Then multiply that image by 1,000. Now you get a sense of what was in that bag.
Notice I haven't even gotten to the necessities? They were there too, a bag with jammies and undies and her toothbrush.

I wasn't sure which I should worry about more: that my 7-year-old was already flying the coop or that the sleepover mom would take one look at the invading army at her doorstep and run.

I need not have worked myself up. Sleepover mom got it. She is, after all, mother of her own 7-year-old. Hence the sleepover.

She looked at me, laden down with more purple and sparkles than I've ever worn in my life, and laughed. I did too. I looked ridiculous.

But as I handed over my daughter's bags, I couldn't help but ruminate on the "stuff" we accumulate in our lives.

It's easy to dismiss it all as the trappings of materialism. But when a 7-year-old packs her "valuables" for a sleepover, suddenly "stuff" becomes something else. It's her life, packed up in little bags.

What's your view on kids and STUFF?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Hooray, It's Snowing!!!! Said No Mother Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 22:34:00 +0000

As my daughter celebrates the white stuff coming down outside, it must be said ...

Speaking of ... the truth about snow days is revealed.

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?

Candy Experiments & Women's History Month -- Yes, These Things Go Together

noreply@blogger.com (Jeanne Sager) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 18:49:00 +0000

We're pretty big fans of The Big Bang Theory in my house. My 7-year-old daughter even has a hammer named Dr. Sheldon Cooper (yes, a hammer, and yes, it's a long story!). But I think I truly fell for the geek comedy with their Women's History Month storyline this month.

The scientists were trying to drum up more interest in the sciences among young girls. Naturally that meant sending a bunch of uber dorks back to middle school, and hilarity ensued.

Amusement aside, as the mother of a daughter, I appreciated the show's efforts to bring the issue of girls and science to the masses.

It's one I'm struggling with in my house in no small part because I am not the kind of girl who was drawn to the STEM subjects. I hid in the corner of the playground with my latest Anne of Green Gables book and was perfectly content growing up.

Like me, my kid is a reader. And I don't mean she reads.

I mean, last week she came home, put her hands on her hips and announced angrily that the teacher referred to someone else as always having "her nose stuck in a book." Got that? The teacher was talking about SOMEONE ELSE, not her.

I could almost hear the "as iffffff." Got the Clueless reference? No? I'm old.

Moving on.

She's a reader, like me.

But my kid is not me, something I try to remind myself of daily. And so she still has a chance to be the little science superstar that the guys in Big Bang were trying to court.

And now ... the point of all this long lead-up.

We have found a way in with the kid. Candy Experiments!

Yes, it's everything your 7-year-old heart would have melted for. You take candy and get to make glorious messes!

Our new project is based on a book named, ahem, Candy Experiments (I know, you're shocked) by Loralee Leavitt that showed up on my doorstep one day unannounced (that's the disclaimer that it was free).

Kid picked it up because a. she likes to read and b. it had the word candy in the title. And she has been building grand plans ever since, which is OK by me because short of spending hours on Pinterest trying to find science projects that kids are actually into, I am clueless about this kind of thing.

Even better; each project seems to spur something in her brain, pushing her to make up her own "experiments." Example? She and a cousin learned what water does to cotton candy, and when they came up with a big vat of colored water, they decided they wanted to see what would happen when they froze it (as it turns out, nothing interesting ... but the point is they were excited to try!).

Here's her favorite at the moment: Floating Letters!

Drop M&Ms in warm water with the letter side facing up, wait a few minutes, and you'll get to see 'em float (process further explained over at Candy Experiments).

And of course, the big hit of the day ... getting to eat our "experiments."

Help a mother out ... what are your tips for getting kids interested in science?

Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?