The Love of Books

Passing the passion for reading down to kids

A couple nights ago I found myself among a group of women talking about books. Literature was the topic of choice and not by chance; the gathering was that of a book club.

The air was filled with overlapping voices as we discussed the dark novel most had read prior to the meeting, the first after an unplanned hiatus. I was excited for the evening out with my peers and for the excuse to have read a book more than 300 pages long which was not considered “chick lit.”

As a stay-at-home mother of two young children, I find my lifelong passion for literature has taken a backseat and been reduced to reading the “People” column on page A2 in our daily newspaper and snippets from the monthly periodicals I subscribe to about parenting, housekeeping and scrapbooking. I am forced to read these bit by bit, often falling behind, leaving me with a pile of half-read magazines destined for the recycle bin.

Being invited to this book club meeting forced me to read something out of my self-imposed comfort zone and pick up a thought provoking book and embrace, if only for a couple of days, one of my favorite past times prior to having children.

For as long as I can remember, I loved to read. Good thing, too, because there were several years growing up my mother and I lived without a car or a television. As a child I had an active imagination fueled by a voracious appetite for the written word.

In our single-income household, books were a luxury we could rarely afford. My mother and I were library card carriers in nearly every city we lived. I remember when we lived in Hilo, Hawaii, where the nearest library was a bus ride and a long walk from where we lived. To satisfy my literary thirst, I frequented my middle school library and often strolled home with arms loaded down by books.

I developed a penchant for bookstores during my teen years; I loved to walk among the stacks browsing titles and sneaking peeks in tomes a little mature for my age. Later, while my husband and I were still dating, we would often spend time together at bookstores and even now, often times a night out together ends with a stop at one in our neighborhood.

Growing up, I considered books special gifts. Those that sparked my imagination and had me dreaming of becoming a writer were some of my most prized possessions. Today my bookshelves are still home to titles such as “Charlotte's Web,” the Little House and Narnia books, “The Pigman,” “Island of the Blue Dolphin,” “The Grapes of Wrath”...

As a mom, one of the ways I like to spoil my children is by buying them books. Thanks to two neighborhood bookstores, school book orders, and annual sales at the Scholastic Books warehouse here in town, I have ample opportunities to pick up new titles for Barcelona and Berkeley.

A few months ago, my kindergartener started selecting and checking out books from her school library. She gravitates toward non-fiction titles about the planets, sodium and stars; she picks these books because she wants to be a doctor when she grows up.

My youngest has finally slowed down long enough to sit down with a book. He likes to look for hidden pictures in his cardboard books. A new lift-the-flap book about dragons is one of his favorites.

Both my children have small bookshelves in their rooms overflowing with titles. Thanks to their parents and my mother, who now works as a school librarian, Barcelona and Berkeley have a wonderful collection of fiction and non fiction at their finger tips. It is such a delight for me when I catch them reading to themselves and I am eager for them to really appreciate these books for the words as much as the pictures.

Just recently, my husband started reading chapter books to Barcelona. He started with “The Hundred Dresses” and is now reading “Charlotte’s Web's” -- both classic tales about acceptance and friendship. My daughter listens to her father with rapt attention, absorbing these stories and declaring her disappointment when he finishes a chapter and it is time to go to bed.

Barcelona likes to sleep with the books she is fond of tucked behind her pillow. Some mornings, when the day has barely started, I can hear her in her room reciting these stories to herself. I have taken my daughter's lead and put a couple of indestructible titles in Berkeley's crib for him to look at on those days he is awake before the rest of us.

I know it is only a matter of months before my daughter will learn how to read on her own and her brother is sure to follow suit. Will Barcelona and Berkeley both love the written word as much as their mother? Will they one day sit with friends and talk about the latest best seller? More importantly, will books open the doors to my children's imagination and inspire them to dream?

This is my hope for them.

Parent Tales Column ~ December 2006

Our Happiest Place

For this family, Disneyland never gets old

I do not remember my first visit to Disneyland. From all accounts it was with my then still married parents and I was a toddler. For years, the only proof of this amusement park foray was a partially used ticket book my mother kept tucked away in the family cedar chest.

The first time I clearly remember going to “the happiest place on Earth” I was about 9 years old and on an early summer road trip from Ashland, Ore. to Phoenix, Ariz. with my mom. Disneyland was just one of several stops along the way.

My next visit to Anaheim, the summer I turned 16, made a lasting impression on me. I had one of those Kodak disc cameras which I used to document my days at Disneyland. The photographs from that trip are not the best quality, but my memories of lazy days riding the PeopleMover with friends still linger two decades later.

Suffice it to say, I really love going to Disneyland and I was lucky to meet and marry a man who also shares my affinity for the theme park. We took our first trip together to Disneyland one summer while I was on break from college and we visited a couple times after that, despite meager finances, thanks to a friend who worked for an affiliated company and was able to get us into the park for free.

We took several years off while school, careers and our relationship took priority. During that time, most of our travel was international and we relished it! Then we started a family.

Barcelona was barely a year old when my husband had to be in Anaheim for a work-related convention. My daughter and I tagged along and we built a mini-vacation around his business trip. Some people may not believe this, but Barcelona seemed to enjoy it as much as we did. She posed unafraid with the larger-than-life characters, ate her very first ice cream, and happily spinning around and around on the Mad Tea Party ride. We also celebrated a major developmental milestone when our little one crawled for the very first time across the floor of our room at the Sheraton.

The following spring, we decided to make an annual trek to Disneyland one of our family traditions and spent Barcelona's second birthday at the park. True, she acted more shy around Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends than she had the previous year, but she still loved riding those tea cups! Barely pregnant at the time with my son Berkeley, I braved morning sickness and fatigue to visit our family's favorite vacation spot.

The arrival of little Berkeley less than a year later pushed back our annual trip and we didn't make it to the park again until November. Disneyland was gussied up for the holidays with colorful lights, Christmas trees and faux snow flurries following the fireworks show. Berkeley, like his sister before him, approached this make believe world unafraid and for the third year in a row, we had the resident artist on Main Street cut our daughter's silhouette portrait – this time with our son, too.

The following year was a difficult one for our family and a trip to the Magical Kingdom was not in the cards for us until earlier this year, some 18 months later. Now people may consider us a little loopy for wanting to spend precious vacation time ensconced in one of our country's largest trappings of tourism. And I admit there are times I imagine our family would be better served by expanding our cultural horizons past those defined by popular animated films.

The reality is, we are the parents of two young children, and for us a trip to Disneyland is much like one to a foreign country. But unlike the overseas jaunts of our childless days, the theme park is familiar country for us. We know the lay of the land, speak the language, and do not have to worry about getting a good exchange rate for our dollar.

I write this column fresh on the heels of our second trip to Disneyland in less than a year. My husband calls it “making up time” and even the difference from our visit six short months ago is amazing. Our daughter definitely has her preferences when it comes to rides and she now poses for photos with her favorite princesses and conducts pin trades with the newfound confidence of a kindergartener.

At 2-1/2 years old, our son also has his own ideas what rides he considers fun and is talking in complete sentences. Imagine a little toddler voice his worry about the Anaheim mass transit system – repeatedly – when my husband and I decided to drive our car one day.

“Why we not take the bus? What happened? It broken?”

Truth be told, the more time the four of us spend as a family at Disneyland is more time spent in touch with our own youth. Days and nights are carefree and fun; the smiles on the faces of Barcelona and Berkeley forever priceless.

Parent Tales Column ~ November 2006

Dragon Tales

On finding the perfect Halloween costume

I love living in a city where the seasons change.

Sure, it might be a toasty 90 degrees outside as I write this article, but soon enough the temperatures will cool and fall will come to Sacramento.

The leaves will change colors and litter the city's streets. It will be time for a trip to Apple Hill, time to carve pumpkins, time for Halloween.

One of the great things about being a parent of young children is how much they enjoy holidays. My daughter gets excited about every festivity from Valentine's Day to Christmas. She often acts as my conscience reminding me when I am due to decorate our home.

Not so long ago Barcelona refused to accept it was the Fourth of July because “mommy hasn't put up decorations yet.” Shortly thereafter I was digging through boxes in our 200-degree, three-car garage in search of all things patriotic. But I digress...

The other day I was in my neighborhood craft store where holiday-related paraphernalia had taken over the center aisles. My children were duly fascinated and asked question after question about the orange-and-black themed decorations. At one point, my daughter asked me how many more days until Halloween.

“Three months,” I told her.

“Three months!?”

Even to a 5-year-old this answer seemed absurd. Technically, though, it was true. It was still August.

To prove my point I recited the months of the year with my precocious kindergartener placing a lot of emphasis on August, September, and October.

Excitement about the pending holiday quickly overshadowed our conversation and even my 2 ½ year-old son Berkeley started chanting “Halloween, Halloween, Halloween” in his little toddler voice.

My daughter informed me, “I'm so excited for Halloween! I want to be a fairy!”

“Fairy,” my son echoed.

For about half a second, I considered reminding my daughter she dressed up as a fairy last year, but my inner voice quickly interrupted me saying, “What are you thinking? You won't have to buy her another costume this year.”

With an audible sigh of relief, I outwardly praised my daughter's choice of costume albeit a bit on the early side. At the same time I hid my crossed fingers in hopes she would not change her mind in the weeks to follow.

That left finding a costume for Berkeley.

Up until this year, my son has worn his sister's hand-me-downs. His first Halloween he squeezed into a giraffe getup and last year he was outfitted as a duckling. Were he to wear Barcelona's costume from her third Halloween, he would be dressed as a ladybug.

Although I personally have no problem putting my little boy in a ladybug costume, I know in my heart the little guy would not go for it. I am constantly reminding him “ladybugs are our friends” in an effort to keep him from killing these tiny beneficial bugs.

I wondered what kind of costume to get Berkeley until I had an “aha!” moment a few days later. I was flipping through a children's catalog when I saw a precious dragon costume. I was really excited – until I saw the price.

“Eighty-nine dollars!” I said aloud to no one in particular. The costume was cute, but definitely not worth the price. So I started searching the Internet.

I was browsing web pages one afternoon when my telephone rang. The caller was a woman I asked to speak to one of my mommy groups. We exchanged pleasantries, then she asked me what I was up to, and I told her.

“Are you kidding me?”

Turns out Isabel's daughter dressed up like a dragon the previous year. Not only did she still have the costume, she had just dug it out to sell at an upcoming consignment sale.

Suddenly, I felt like Isabel was my new best friend. What are the odds she would have exactly what I was looking for? I thanked her profusely for agreeing to bring the costume with her the following week when we were to meet in person for the first time.

A week later I instantly fell in love with the fuzzy, three-piece costume complete with little dragon wings. I knew my son would love wearing it. Knew he would want to live in it once he saw it. And you know what I loved? The fact it only cost me $10.

Happy Halloween!

Parent Tales Column ~ October 2006

What's in Your Bag?

The Search for the Perfect carryall

My search for the perfect bag started prior to my daughter's birth. Armed with a list of should haves for every new mother's diaper carryall, I went shopping.

In the end I chose cute. One trip to Babies R Us and I came home with a stroller, infant carrier and diaper bag all made of matching fabric. Each piece was not as practical as it was aesthetically pleasing.

Reality hit not long after Barcelona entered the world. Hauling an infant carrier and a diaper bag the size of a large piece of carry-on luggage is not very realistic for a woman with only two arms and hands. True, I needed all the spares – diapers, onesies, outfits, wipes, diaper cream, binkies – but did the bag need to be so dang BIG?

With a baby already in tow I decided it would be easier to embrace my initial selection and not spend any more time looking for or money buying a different diaper bag. After all, it wouldn't need to carry it forever!

But for our first trip with Barcelona, my husband and I dug out the backpack we bought in Europe. It was roomy and hung comfortably over one shoulder, or both, leaving two hands free to push a stroller, change a diaper, or put our baby in her car seat.

For several months we bounced back and forth from the gigantic diaper bag to the not-so-small yet versatile backpack. This worked for us until Barcelona was about 18 months old and our family went to New Orleans together. I knew the city was a lot more urban than what we were used to and I wanted something that could hold everything we needed, but be small enough for easy maneuvering and sightseeing in a crowd.

I found the perfect bag at an Eddie Bauer store. It had just enough room for my wallet, a couple diapers and wipes, as well as built-in compartments for a bottle and my mobile phone. It was worn across the chest, making it also a perfect shelf for my daughter's little bottom when I carried her on my hip.

My Eddie Bauer bag was a mainstay until the arrival of my son more than a year later. My diaper needs quadrupled overnight when Berkeley was born and once again I needed more space for all the newborn paraphernalia. I searched online and found the Un-Diaper bag on sale and bought one. I nearly fainted when it arrived; it was beautiful but cavernous compared to its predecessor – “too much of a good thing,” I thought to myself. The Un-Diaper Baby was returned and a nice mid-size brown with pink trim model, bought at Target, took its place.

There came a time when Barcelona was potty trained and Berkeley no longer went through 10 diapers in a day. I yearned for a purse, a real purse, with little nooks and crannies just right for my lipstick and keys. I found one, but I also found it was not possible to be trendy and still have room for kid essentials like diapers so I graduated to two bags. Like many of my mommy friends there was now the one I carried with me and the one left stocked in the car.

Being a two-bag lady quickly grew tiresome, especially after absolutely no one acknowledge my new, cute Liz Claiborne leather number. I was in a quandary until I decided to hijack a handbag some friends had given my daughter. It was big enough for all the necessities, yet small enough to throw over my shoulder. Barcelona wasn't using it – so why shouldn't I?

For a few months now I have been carrying the beaded Minnie Mouse bag and its capacity to carry all I need never ceases to amaze me. Just the other day I was at a meeting and in need of a pen. I turned to my bag and pulled out a pair of pink leather dance slippers, four large unsharpened kindergarten pencils, a package of sunscreen wipes, a diaper, my husband's mail, my journal, a small bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, and digital camera before finding my check book with a pen tucked inside.

Would you believe this little bag still had enough room for an asthma inhaler, school supply list, hand sanitizer, package of Kleenex, a Pull Up diaper, wipes, a handful of shopping receipts, my wallet, pad of paper, favor bag from a child's birthday party, cellular telephone, eye drops, lipstick, lotion, small emery board and one pair of children's sunglasses? Even more important? The tons of compliments I have gotten since I started carrying it!

Parent Tales Column ~ September 2006

Missed Opportunities

Focusing on what's not happening, rather than what is

I have been known to keep sporadic, but pretty regular journals for both my children. Every now and then I sit down and write about Barcelona and Berkeley, their personalities, and any milestones they may have accomplished.

While the actual books themselves appear identical -- save for each child's name on the cover -- the contents tell very different stories... I am the first to admit a gap in Barcelona's journal from June 19, 2002 to April 14, 2003 is a major blip and reflects one of the most challenging periods for me as a first-time parent.

When Barcelona was 15 months old and did not yet walk or talk, our pediatrician raised the red flag. She told us most children are doing one or the other, if not both, by that age.

Over the next several months my daughter was subjected to blood, urine and genetic testing as well as a hearing test, ultrasound and MRI. She was examined by a child development specialist, audiologist, geneticist and a neurologist. Each searched for a medical reason why Barcelona's gross motor and speech development was months behind her peers. I usually left these meetings emotionally drained by the specialists' theories.

One day I realized nearly a year had gone by and I all but missed it! I was so angry when I thought about all those doctors and how they focused my attention on everything Barcelona was not doing as opposed to what she had accomplished. All the little things that made her a beautiful, unique child had seemingly gone unnoticed.

Mostly I was disappointed in myself. After all, Barcelona did learn how to walk and she also mastered several baby signs to communicate with us until she found her voice.

Despite another blip after the birth of my son, the journal I keep for Barcelona is a testament to the shift that took place after this epiphany. The entries I write, although not as often as I would like, always make note of the everyday as well as the momentous.

One of your favorite words right now is "why." So whenever you ask me a question, no matter how I answer, you ask "Why? Why, mommy?" Sometimes it sounds so silly, I just laugh!
-Sept. 28, 2004

It turns out that after my anger subsided, I found a purpose. I was Barcelona's mother and her advocate. It was my job to make sure the doctors took note of her triumphs and to be there with hugs and encouraging words in the meantime.

I remember an appointment we had with the pediatric neurologist who watched Barcelona cautiously walk down the corridor to his exam room -- something she had not been able to do the first time we met. The doctor asked me a series of questions to gauge my daughter's progress since he'd last seen her.

"Does she know her body parts?" he asked.

When I nodded an affirmative response, the neurologist leaned down and looked into Barcelona's face.

"Barcelona, do you know where your eyes are?"

Then my sweet little girl looked at me, back at the doctor and WINKED both eyes. Her smile beamed as the neurologist and I both chuckled with delight. When we stopped, he told me "she's just fine."

Truth be told, as much as I worried, I always knew my first born would be all right whatever the outcome of all those tests, good or bad. Her father and I just needed to make sure she had the tools, whether it was speech therapy or adapted P.E. classes, to help shore up her confidence so she could tackle new challenges in her own way and on her own time.

Last fall, at our annual appointment with the child development specialist, he told me there was "no reason why Barcelona cannot start kindergarten on schedule." And I was pleased to hear these words -- not just for myself as a proud parent, but for my daughter, for how hard she has worked and how far she has come.

Today, Barcelona is a happy and healthy 5 year-old girl who loves drawing, practicing her letters, playing dinosaurs with her Baby Brother, and dancing. In a matter of days she will start kindergarten and I will be there beside her, holding her hand.


Mommy Time Column ~ August 2006

A Not-So-Super Birthday Party

When a party costs more than a college education

I confess, I am hooked on a little reality TV.

My guilty pleasure is not one of the more popular shows my mommy peers tend to follow like "American Idol" or "The Apprentice." No, I watch a show which airs on MTV called "My Super Sweet 16."

This series is all about the planning and execution of parties commemorating one lucky teen's 16th birthday -- or 15th birthday, in the case of the Latina girls.

The concept sounds simple enough, but we are not talking about a DJ, balloons and a little cake. The parties on "My Super Sweet 16" are grand-scale events usually with a price tag which exceeds what I paid for four years of private college.

The girls on this show, and a few boys, are divas to the nth degree. They whine, cajole and pout their way through every stage of party preparations and, in the end, always get their way and usually a new BMW to boot.

Watching this show is like watching someone sprinkle salt on a live snail. I am horrified by what I see and hear -- you would not believe how these teens speak to their parents! -- however I am unable to tear my eyes away from the screen or change the channel to watch something else.

These teens have professional party planners and stylists at their side. One had silver coins minted in Mexico which she passed out as invitations. Another had rap artist Kanye West perform. Almost all of them have several outfit changes and some sort of choreographed entrance.

I cannot believe how much goes into these parties, I said to myself recently while watching an episode. But there, in my hands, were a pair of scissors and a color printout of Swiper the Fox body parts which I would later assemble and hide in our backyard for my daughter's Dora The Explorer backyard birthday bash.

Earlier in the year, I had gone all out for Berkeley's second birthday party. I hand stamped the invitations, stuffed tin pails with fake hay and toys for goody bags, and served an Old West lunch on aluminum pie tins -- heehaw!

As Barcelona's fifth birthday neared, I decided to take the easy route and use store-bought invitations and thank you cards. But before I knew it, I was printing personalized tags featuring Backpack for the goody bags along with a Map for the obstacle course in our backyard, CD labels and good old Swiper the Fox. Oh, let's not forget booking the larger-than-life Dora bounce house which loomed over the our single-story home and the 50 partygoers in our mingling in our backyard.

When I picked up a recent copy of a local parenting publication, I found pages and pages of advertisements for theme parties and party entertainment. Every couple of months a catalog dedicated entirely to party supplies arrives in my mailbox. Birthday parties are a cottage industry for children of all ages.

There is some comfort in knowing other parents also strive to throw a good party, even if it is for a toddler. And, honestly, at this age the party planning is for the parents because I have found that as long as there is a place to play, the little ones generally entertain themselves.

Now the shindigs I throw for my little ones are nothing to the scale of those I see on "My Super Sweet 16," but I cannot help but wonder is that where I am headed? Ten years from now, will I be one of those mom's smiling wanly as my daughter stomps her foot and shouts, "Daddy promised"? Will Barcelona's 16th birthday party cost more than my wedding?

Probably not. (Knock on wood.)

Mommy Time Column ~ July 2006

Weekend Without Kids

Children may be far away, but they're never far from our thoughts

It finally happened. For the first time since giving birth to my daughter two days before Mother's Day in 2001, I spent the night away from both my children.

I consider this recent weekend getaway a significant event in my life as a parent. For me, it ranks right up there with my daughter's first day at preschool, the first time I left her with a baby sitter, and the first time someone (other than my husband or myself) drove her somewhere without one of us also in the car.

As I write, my daughter's birthday looms in the back of my mind; she will be a 5 year-old within a week. Countless "firsts" remain in our future together as mother and daughter, but my overnighter away from her seems significant in some way.

About a year earlier I went to San Jose to celebrate a friend's birthday. My son, Berkeley, stayed behind with my husband while Barcelona accompanied me as she had on jaunts to the Bay Area before her brother was born. At night we shared a bed, snuggled together like hibernating bears. She slept sweaty and restless in the crook of my arm and I barely got any rest. When I returned home the next day, my 1-year-old son chose to ignore me -- payback, I suspect, for not taking him with us.

A year later, I looked forward to a full weekend away without either child. I would not describe myself as eager, per se, more curious than anything else. What would it be like? How would my husband do? Would I ever be able to go away again after all was said and done?

Prior to my departure I made sure everything was in order: clothes and dishes were clean and put away, the freezer and cupboard stocked with simple meals my husband could prepare within minutes, outfits for each child set aside for the next two days, a well-stocked diaper bag, and a detailed list of instructions. I even laid out fresh pajamas for my children, put toothpaste on their toothbrushes, and turned down their beds. A little over the top, perhaps, but it made leaving the house easier for me.

The three-hour drive to Monterey was smooth, no traffic and no potty breaks. I listened to music of my own choosing -- no Raffi this trip! -- with the windows rolled down and the volume turned up. It reminded me of my many road trips before marriage and children.

When I arrived to my destination, a three-story beach house in Pajaro Dunes, I found half a dozen other women eating their lunch out on the deck, their eyes fixed on the breathtaking view of the ocean. For the next two days I would either work on scrapbook page layouts, take walks on the beach, sit on the deck, or eat gourmet meals prepared by someone else. It was truly fabulous.

But admittedly, even though I was there without my children, they were not far from my mind. Most photos I placed on scrapbook pages were of them and often I would pause to show the pictures to the other women there. When I walked on the beach, I collected shells of different shapes and textures with my daughter in mind. While I dined with the other women, all moms, our conversations often turned to the topic of our children ages 2 to 20 between the lot of us.

The first night I called and asked Barcelona what she had for dinner. When she answered "cheeseburger" I joked with my husband Happy Meals were not on the list of approved dinners I left for him. In reality, I was pleased. The kids sounded happy and my husband did not sound stressed out.

A couple of women left the next day, one called home by request of a sick child and the other by a husband. When a third woman checked in, her husband uttered those words we stay-at-home moms yearn to hear, "I don't know how you do it by yourself. She did a little dance while we cheered her long-awaited validation.

When I called my home, both kids were napping after spending the morning with their dad and grandmother at the Scottish Games. That evening was just relaxing as the first, maybe even more so thanks to a dip in the hot tub and a chocolate fondue night cap.

In the morning all of us were pretty quiet as we packed up to leave the beach house, the beach, each other. Some of the other women were friends before the weekend, but those who had been strangers seemed like old acquaintances a mere 48 hours later. We exchanged hugs, some phone numbers, and of course promises to see each other again at next year's retreat.

I looked forward to my three-hour drive home not with remorse but instead a renewed of self. I brought home with me three large artichokes for my husband (he loves them!), a half flat of fresh strawberries for my children, and a bag full of sand dollars and other sea shells for Barcelona. The weekend was a wonderful respite from my mommy duties, yet I remained a wife and mother the whole time I was gone.

Mommy Time Column ~ June 2006

Let's Make a Deal

It's not easy letting go of my children's playthings

I remember a time not so long ago when I was on a transatlantic visit to see my mother. She lived in New Jersey at the time in a small one-bedroom apartment and she was trying to purge those things no longer needed.

Together we pulled one of those old-fashioned metal travel trunks from her living room closet. I flipped the two latches, lifted the lid, and opened a window to my childhood. Inside the trunk were remnants of days gone by -- barrettes adorned with braided ribbon and beads, plastic horses, Menudo posters -- all that was left over from a time that preceded my mother's cross-country move more than a decade earlier.

I left our home in Washington state to go to college here in California mere months before my mother's move. At the time she shipped to me a few boxes of belongings I had left behind in my room. The rest she took with her in this old family trunk.

That day I sat before the trunk, her charge to me was simple: Go through the contents and take out anything I wanted to keep. The rest would be tossed or donated to Goodwill.

Instantly, I felt overwhelmed and emotional. It was almost too much to bear, the idea of getting rid of anything, any of my childhood memories. Eventually I completed my task, but not without shedding a few tears in the process.

Today, a few years later and with two young children of my own, the irony is not lost on me as I try to sell their childhood on Craigslist.com. Sounds terrible, doesn't it?

The thing is, my children are 4-1/2 and 2 and already have more clothes and toys than they can possibly play with and wear, let alone need. And with each birthday and Christmas my two darlings only accumulate more. I know unless I intervene now, we will be buried in playthings sooner than later.

I have always been good about going through their clothes and purging when necessary. This task is made easier by the simple fact things my daughter outgrows -- and those which cannot be shared with a younger brother -- must go to make room for the new stuff that fits her. It has been relatively easy to pass items on to my niece or friends who have daughters younger than mine, to sell the higher end stuff to consignment shops, and to save a few favorite outfits for the cedar chest.

Toys are a whole other matter. These are the things with which my children played and snoozed. These are the things they might actually remember and ask for once they are gone! These are the things even I have a hard time letting go.

So the process of purging at my house has been a painstaking one. Around the holidays I sorted through all the playthings in our family room and in both children's rooms into three piles: keep for now, keep for sentimental reasons, and get out of the house! I made the mistake of leaving the purge pile within reach of my children and they became prone to grabbing a toy they had neglected for months with renewed interest, as if to say, "Gee, I forgot I had this Elmo doll/rubber ball/Happy Meal toy."

I finally moved everything into our office and behind closed doors, but it took a couple months before I sat down in front of our PC to start posting this stuff on the Internet. I sold some baby items this way a couple years ago, at the recommendation of a friend, and delighted in the ease of the transactions. No need to hold a whole garage sale, simply sell that which you no longer needed.

But this time has been different. Almost immediately after posting some baby equipment and toys on Craigslist.com, the e-mail messages started to arrive. And a few were a little -- dare I say? -- weird.

For the Bebe Sounds Prenatal Heart Listener, I received the message "i want it, how do it get it, pay you" signed with the sender's first name and telephone number. Already wary, I sent a generic response to which he replied with the address of the bar where he'd be serving drinks that afternoon. What?

Now I really wanted to sell this thing -- why should I care who buys it? Maybe this guy was on the up and up, but his e-mail messages were too strange for my taste. I concluded he did not deserve my children's castoffs.

A few minutes later, I received a message regarding several Elmo items I had posted which read: "Please, Please sell me all your ELMO stuff my son is really in love with him ... could you call really soon I want them all call any time, like right now."

I will not lie to you, I did not reply to this message at all nor did I call the numbers until a week later -- and when I did so, it was just out of curiosity. Suffice it to say, the two numbers given did not belong to the sender of the message.

Another person wrote "I would this doll" and my imagination ran wild filling in the missing verb. Did they plan to dress up Elmo and perform voodoo rituals? For some reason, I could only conjure up an unsavory end for our hand-me-down Limbo Elmo. Yeah, I did not call them either.

To date, I have managed to weed through the e-mail and find whom I consider suitable buyers for some of the stuff I am trying to sell. A nice woman bought the heart listener and a grandmother purchased the baby swing. I met both in the parking lot where my husband works and handed over to them small bits of my children's babyhood from the trunk of our car. In exchange, they gave me cash.

"This feels strange," said my husband, who supervised from the periphery. "It's like you're a dealer."

I laughed at the time, but thinking about it now, I have to agree. I am dealing a part of my children's past. I may not be shedding any tears this time around, but I am also not shedding these reminders of my babies' precious childhoods without reservation. It's never easy letting go.

Mommy Time Column ~ May 2006

Hot Mamas

Being a parent is the latest trend

Is it just me, or is parenthood the newest, hot trend?

First, take Hollywood. Everyone who is anyone seems to be procreating or adopting like having children is going out of style. Translation: A-listers are having babies and some -- think Gwyneth Paltrow and Angelina Jolie -- are even adding to their broods.

Next, peruse any newsstand and hip, new parenting periodicals appear to pop up every month. I admit to reading "Martha Stewart Kids" and "Child" -- equal parts trendy and practical -- on a regular basis since getting pregnant with my own first born in 2000. But just recently I noticed "Wondertime" from the publishers of mommy favorite "Family Fun" and "Cookie" brought to us by the same publishers of the oh-so-trendy chic magazine "Conde' Nast." Even a page in my April issue of "Real Simple" promises a specialty publication due out this month to help me manage busy family life.

Finally, I was surprised to discover there is chick lit for mothers! During my daughter's recent preschool field trip to the library, I happened to pick "Yoga Mammas" and "Tales from the Crib" from the new releases shelf. Maybe I am behind the times, but I devoured these easy-to-read novels like the first carb-ladden meal after a diet. I could identify with the characters -- they were as real to me as any of the other parents I meet at the grocery store and play groups. And in true chick lit fashion the stories both had happy endings (even though the husbands were not perfect).

Never one to be a trend setter myself, or really even a follower of fashion for that matter, I suddenly feel hip! Now parenthood is part of today's popular culture I have to wonder: Are magazines like "InStyle Parenting" and "Cosmo Mom" just around the corner? Will the success of "Desperate Housewives" lead to "No Sex in the Suburbs" on cable television's fall lineup? And are changes in our popular culture on the way as well?

Maybe those strangers sitting in the pew next to me at church will smile warmly when my 2-year-old son pokes my chest and yells "boobies" during the homily, instead of gritting their teeth. Possibly drivers of all ages will stop when they see me waiting to cross the grocery store parking lot with my two young charges, and not speed by us. And my daily uniform of sweats, T-shirt and scrunchie will finally be stylish, even if I am not wearing a matching hoodie and Ugg boots. It's possible, right? A mom can hope.

Of course I know that even if my fantasy were to become reality, most trends come and then most trends go. And my children are simply not fashion accessories. Being their parent is not a temporary state of being, it's a lifelong commitment.

For my two children I am willing to be uncool, unhip, unfashionable. But for having them -- dirty diapers, dirty stares from strangers, and all that in between -- I will never be unhappy. As a really, really popular actor said in an oft-quoted movie: "They complete me."

Mommy Time Column ~ April 2006

A Tough Subject

Talking about death with children is never easy

My father-in-law passed away in early January after an eight-month-long battle with pancreatic cancer. Most people know this type of cancer is one of the worst and that survival rates are less than 3 percent.

From the beginning, we knew my father-in-law's prognosis was not an optimistic one. My husband and I talked a lot about the treatments his father pursued to prolong his life, how his death would affect my mother-in-law, and even ways we could spend more time together with them.

Our goal: Make memories so our children would remember their grandfather, "Vuvu," after he was gone.

In the last year, we took a lot more trips to the Bay Area. Some of these visits were for family gatherings, but many were to see Vuvu in the hospital or skilled nursing facility.

A hospital can be a confusing place for a 4 year-old girl and a dangerous place for a carefree toddler oblivious to the fragility of IV stands and intricate mesh of cables. And yet we persevered.

My husband and I would take turns caring for Berkeley, while Barcelona sometimes sat on the hospital bed to give her Vuvu hugs. When Vuvu was able to get out of bed, the children would take short walks around the hospital ward with their grandfather, holding his hands and keeping him company.

Almost always after our visits, Barcelona would ask why Vuvu was in the hospital and always we kept our answer simple.

"Vuvu is sick, honey, the doctors are trying to help him feel better," we would say. We did not use words like "cancer" or "dying," I think we were too scared to.

After Christmas, my father-in-law's bad days started to outnumber his good ones. My husband spent most of his time in the Bay Area and when possible I took the kids on day trips to see their Vuvu.

The last visit was a bittersweet one. My father-in-law had decided the day before to cease all treatment and enter into hospice. By the time we arrived the following afternoon, he was sleeping and difficult to wake. When he did open his eyes briefly, I held Barcelona over his bed while she softly told him, "I love you."

I believe I saw the corner of Vuvu's mouth turned up a little at the sight of his granddaughter, that he could see her, hear her voice.

A short two days later, when my husband called to tell me Vuvu had died, I felt a tremendous sadness wash over me. I did not tell Barcelona right away, but instead held onto my grief like a precious secret.

I was not sure how to explain death to a 4 year old, so I called her preschool teacher who kindly loaned me some children's books from the school's library. After reading them, I decided they were too complex for my little one, but they gave me an idea what to tell her.

When my husband came home, the three of us worked together on a photo essay for the memorial service planned a few days later. We talked to Barcelona about Vuvu while we arranged and taped pictures of him as a boy, with his sons, and of his world travels to the tri-fold display board. Later, after we put Berkeley to bed that night, my husband and I sat down to talk with our daughter.

"Sometimes, when people get sick, they can't get better and their body dies," I told her.

"Like my gold fish?" my daughter asked.

"Yes," I said. "You know Vuvu was sick for a long time and he couldn't get better. Vuvu's body has died and he has gone to heaven to live with God and the angels."

"Because he was sick?"

"Yes."

"But what about Berkeley? He's sick," she said, referring to her little brother's recent cold.

The next few minutes were spent reassuring Barcelona that Berkeley was not sick the same way Vuvu had been. Finally, she seemed satisfied with our explanations.

"Vuvu's body died and he went to live with the angels," she said. "But I want to see the angels. I like angels."

Together we hugged our daughter with tears in our eyes. We embraced her sweet innocence. Neither of us, I think, wanted to let go.

Mommy Time Column ~ March 2006

***

I recommend the book "Remember the Butterflies" by Anna Grossnickle Hines when talking about death of a loved one with children.

Reading List

A crash course in parenting, followed by hands-on learning

I remember when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, Barcelona. My husband and I had just moved into a London hotel flat.

Within minutes of flying into England from Switzerland, I found my way to the nearest Boots drugstore. Almost as soon as I saw my pregnancy test results, I became obsessed with all things baby related.

Within days I found a neighborhood Internet cafe and ordered copies of "The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy" and "What to Expect When You're Expecting" from amazon.co.uk by way of a rented PC. I walked to a nearby bookstore and picked up my first baby name book and at the grocery store I purchased every magazine I could find related to pregnancy, children and parenting.

I read about and researched pregnancy as if I were writing an article. What foods should I be eating? Which should I avoid? And, Heaven help me, was there anything I could do to counter the constant nausea?

An American transplant -- and a temporary one at that -- I mostly kept to myself and slept a lot. I shopped for foods on "The Best-Odds Diet" menu. I ate what I could keep down. I pored over my pregnancy library.

Four long months later I returned to the United States. Still fatigued, sick and hormonal, I cried when my airplane finally landed in San Francisco.

It could have been the pregnancy, but when I got home to Sacramento I felt lonelier than I had in London. I freelanced a bit, however found it hard to reconnect emotionally with friends after being out of the country for the better part of a year.

I was also embarking on a journey none of my best girlfriends had yet to take themselves -- I was the first one to get pregnant! I promptly subscribed to both "Parenting" and "Parents" magazines and signed up for all the freebie publications available to first-time moms like me: "Baby Talk," "American Baby" and "Very Best Baby."

I picked an obstetrician and attended prenatal preparation and exercise classes at Kaiser. At Babies "R" Us and Goore's, I pocketed every flyer I could find. I enrolled in a prenatal water aerobics class at Bruceville Terrace and researched mother's support groups for after my daughter's arrival.

Being pregnant had become my full-time job. Even on walks through McKinley Park, I often would find a bench to sit, rest and write in my journal about the new life growing inside my belly.

When Barcelona finally arrived, my research paid off. My husband and I had all the tools of the parenting trade. I even had a new mother's support group to attend, sponsored by Mercy Hospital, which met weekly only a few blocks from where we lived at the time.

Don't get me wrong, though, the parenting path was not without its potholes. There were false starts with breastfeeding. I struggled to treat my newborn's cradle cap. And I failed to keep up with my numerous magazine subscriptions which I let pile up so I could nap with my baby.

When it got down to it, the two of us were as prepared as two first-time parents could be. Without prior experience, no amount of reading and research could replace the learning that would come only after our daughter's birth.

Three years later, I was expecting my son, Berkeley, I tried to take a more laid-back approach to my pregnancy. It was great having a network of mommy friends whom I could ask questions after his birth, but it also helped already having a little experience under my belt.

Today, always with the hopes of being a better parent, I buy books like "Supernanny," The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Parenting," and "Raising Happy Kids." But, honestly, these titles largely go unread. I am much more likely to skim through my monthly issue of "Child" magazine while cuddling with my two kids on our couch.

I think hands-on learning is the best!

Mommy Time Column ~ February 2006

Resolutions to Live By

Getting the new year off to a good start

Sigh. It's a little depressing to think about the last 12 months and realize just how quickly the year came and went. Not only are there countless unfinished projects I meant to tackle, but more importantly my son turns TWO and my daughter will start kindergarten in a matter of months!

Rather than dwelling on the undone and inevitable, I decided I would try to look forward to the months ahead and jump -- with two feet-- right into 2006.

The past few years, I have had my own spin on the tradition of writing New Year's resolutions and made a list meant to motivate me to work on my own writing projects. The reality is, as a stay-at-home mom I do a lot more parenting, sometimes even housework, than writing and what little "extra" time I have is parceled out to pastimes other than working on the next great American novel.

So this year, I am doing away with my writing resolutions and turning back to something more tried and true. My New Year's resolutions are...

• In 2006, I plan to spend more time with my children whether it's one-on-one with Barcelona and Berkeley or getting down on the floor and playing pretend with them both. They are growing so fast and too soon hanging out with mom will no longer be their favorite thing.

• I also want to take more photographs of my children. I carry a small digital camera in my purse and do take tons of pictures without thinking about it. This year, though, I want to focus on capturing their essence on film. I have read some parents do a "photo shoot" once a month to document their ever-changing children and while this seems somewhat ambitious it is worth shooting for, so to speak.

• Sitting on one of our bookshelves are two spiral-bound copies of "The Mommy Journal: Letters To Your Child (Andrews McMeel Publishing; September 2, 2002)". I have spelled out one of my children's names in stickers on each of them. I am a huge fan of journaling and even teach classes on the topic from time to time. As with most things, however, it is not always easy to practice what I preach and I have not been very diligent about keeping these missives updated. I used to write in them once a week and want to get back in the habit this year so I can recall and share with them my children's accomplishments as they grow.

• In 2005, my husband and I spent part of the summer participating in a "10 Great Dates" workshop offered to couples as part of the Sacramento Healthy Marriage Project. How refreshing it was to go on dates for 10 consecutive weeks. This time spent together truly helped enhance our relationship as a couple. I know we both feel it is important to model a healthy marriage for our children, so I want to make sure our relationship continues to have the highest priority and that we keep "dating" each other this year.

• Having a happy life, is all about finding balance between what we need to do, what we should do and what we want to do. Each day, I seek to achieve Zen-like harmony in my life.

• For the stay-at-home mom in me, I find the friendships and fellowship from mother's groups to be priceless. MOMS Club, Mothers of Preschoolers, SacramentoMommas.Com and my neighborhood babysitting co-op have helped me get to know my neighbor moms better. I will continue to seek out the company of other women, a network I could not live without.

• I grew up going to church and to this day appreciate the fact I spent much of my preteen and teen years hanging out with youth groups and not at the neighborhood bowling alley. This past year, we attended Saint Francis of Assisi Parish more often than not. For me, having a church home helps me stay spiritually healthy. Attending Mass weekly this year will ground me for any challenges I may face the days in between services.

• In 2005, I started writing this column for Inside the City and I plan to keep it up! I have fun penning pieces about my mommy adventures and I enjoy being able to meld my stay-at-home mom job with the remains of what used to be a full-time writing career. This year I still will selectively accept assignments so that I am writing regularly, if not working on that ever elusive novel.

I wanted to resolve not to get too carried away planning my children's birthday parties, but I know I would and expect to enjoy doing so. I wanted to resolve to stay on my exercise and diet plan, but I know that is a surefire way to not to and instead will try to be happy exercising and eating well -- much of the time. I also did not want worry what other people think of me, gossip or eat too much chocolate, but I figure I should save something to give up for next year, right?

Happy New Year!

Mommy Time Column ~ January 2006