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

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