Eyes Wide Open

Everywhere I look lately, I am noticing things in a way I never did before.

Is it a child’s recent diagnosis of ADHD? The friend who thinks her son might have Asperger’s? The couple met by chance with a child at 13  struggling with Fragile X?

Or is it that those with “special needs” have become more mainstream media fare?

There is the Temple Grandin biopic airing on HBO, the TV series “Parenthood,” Jodi Picoult’s new novel “House Rules,” and an essay this month in “Harper’s” magazine. All around me are images and stories - some fictional, most real - about parents raising children with special needs.

At times it can be overwhelming, taking it all in. But mostly it is freeing.

I see the look of recognition between grownups over towheaded children. Kindred spirits thanks to an experience so unique, suddenly shared.

It is also empowering. With each encounter, each story, we learn more. Not just about children whose journeys veer from the path followed by most, but about ourselves and strength found in advocating for our young.

Are things so different than in our parents’ day? Are diagnosis such as autism, Asperger’s or Fragile X really new? Or is it really that our eyes, ears, hearts and minds are open now to the fact that there are differences in some children that are really “OK.”

I can see clearly now.

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com/

Luck Of The Irish

So the other day, one of my kids found a four-leaf clover. No kidding!

I, too, was skeptical when my daughter ran up to me claiming her find after poring over the grass on her school campus. I mean, who hasn’t looked and looked to no avail?

When she handed me the clover, I gingerly turned the stem between my thumb and index finger: One… two… three… FOUR!

“I told you,” she said with a big grin.

Now, I don’t consider myself an overly superstitious sort but when we spotted a rainbow an hour later, it was very tempting not to give in to my kids’ pleas to go looking for a pot of gold at one end (or the other).

As we prepared to have friends over to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day yesterday, I hung the now dried-out four-leaf clover on our refrigerator per my daughter’s request. And I got to thinking.

Our family is already blessed, but within days of Barcelona’s clover find some positive changes happened in our lives. Sure, I know we worked hard the last few months, but I can’t help but think a little “luck of the Irish” didn’t hurt either! 

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com/

The Wisdom Of Dr. Suess

Last week, my kids celebrated the anniversary of Dr. Seuss’s birthday with a week of activities at their school.

There were spirit days where students dressed in Seussical themes. One day everyone was encouraged to wear their pajamas, another a crazy color combination of clothing, then it was wear red-white-and-blue followed by all green - in honor of the tale “Green Eggs and Ham” of course. The middle school-age students at our K-8 campus created Seussville and lunchtime activities along with a series of poster put up around campus (see photos).

The school’s PTSA group hosted a Family Reading Night during which many of Dr. Seuss’s popular titles were read aloud to listeners of all ages. There’s something special about hearing “The Sneetches” - or any of Dr. Seuss’s stories - read aloud. As a parent, it is not often that I get to sit back and listen to someone read to me.

The week long festivities were a fun tribute to one of the best children’s authors ever. It was also the perfect time to enjoy the pleasure of reading his words and the insight they still  give us today.

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com/

Some Days

Some days I stop and take a long look at my children:

The curve of their chins, long lashes resting on soft cheeks and dark locks.

Some days they resemble the toddlers still found in photographs.

Some days my two act more mature than their combined years.

Some days I yearn for years past when they fit so snug in my lap.

Some days I hold them there, ignoring lanky limbs that dangle from the old armchair.

Some days, like this one, I simply cherish their presence.

Today they are here. And they are mine.

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

Be The Change

Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to be an adult volunteer for a 7th grade Challenge Day at my neighborhood school. 

I spent a good part of the day prior trying to talk myself out of going, even though I have been looking forward to participating since dropping out due to a family emergency last year. Grumpy and overwhelmed by the clutter in my house, I kept telling myself I could better use seven hours on chores.

In the end, I managed to get up, get the kids out of the house and arrive to the school on time for the program. Three days later, I am so glad I did! Friends’ descriptions did not prepare me for this fantastic and intense experience.

Challenge Day is a series of activities - some fun, some serious - meant to break down the facade people tend to hide behind. By becoming “real” with one another and sharing our fears and dreams, participants develop a better understanding of their fellow human beings.

One of the exercises had participants cross a line every time something described applied to them. As I watched many young people cross the line again again, I was overwhelmed with the reality of how much children have to endure - from racism to the loss of a parent.

When I returned to my small group, I shared what I learned from the exercise… If I had known other kids were also facing challenges at home and at school when I was their age, life would have been just a little easier. This is something I want to hold onto as my kids get older.

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

Much Ado About School Closures

If you live in the Sacramento region, and pay any attention at all to news of public education’s demise, you’ve heard about plans by several local school districts to close/consolidate campuses in the coming year(s).

I live in the Natomas Unified School District where a history of poor decisions, poor money management and equally poor public relations make the board of trustees’ decision to close a school (or two) even harder to swallow than in neighboring districts.

One thing is certain, our schools - no matter the number of impassioned and involved parents - are an endangered species. And I’m not just talking about those slated for closure.

Public education dollars continue to dwindle and little relief is in sight even if Race To The Top provides an injection of funds. What are proponents of public education to do?

I don’t pretend to have the answer, but the important thing to remember is that my school district - and your school district - are not alone in this scenario. Perhaps we can work together on a solution. 

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

Forget The Past & Move On

I would not be a very good parent were I to get mired in the past of my own childhood.

For all the joys of being a child, there also was a measure of heartache. The disappointment of a parent more interested in adventure than his offspring, a man who could not keep his promises and who was rarely there.

Growing up, I shed a lot of tears because of my father’s shortcomings. There came a time in my life, however, when I reached a crossroads in our relationship and I gave him a choice: be there or go away.

He chose to be there. When that happened, something shifted. No longer did I bemoan the man my father would never be. I forgave him for all the times he failed me. From that point on, I was no longer focused on the past and instead became future-oriented.

Fast forward several years. I am now the parent of two beautiful children. I am part of their life adventure and I am present. Better yet, their father stands by my side.

Did I ever forget the man my own father was? No. But I forgave him.

This was an important lesson for myself, and my children, as I later welcomed my father into our lives and home. People make mistakes, even people who love us. Should the mistakes of our fathers define us? Or can we learn from them and do better?

When someone you care about hurts you, you can hold on to anger — or embrace forgiveness and move forward. This is an important lesson we can all teach our children.

“Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead.” (Philippians 3:13) 

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

Do The Right Thing

One of the biggest challenges of parenthood is knowing whether or not you are doing the right thing.

It’s starts at birth: Natural or epidural? Breastfeed or formula feed? Cloth diapers or disposable?

Every step of the way we are faced with more choices. How to discipline? Preschool or not? Immunizations?

In the past week, it was a decision about the other child’s health. My son had been experiencing abdominal pains nightly for several days and a visit to the pediatrician seemed to rule out anything serious until our little guy was writhing in pain later that same night and again the next afternoon. I pretty much decided to take him to the ER and even had the kids (and overnight bags) already in the car when the pediatrician called back and said, “Yes, take him in.”

Everyday we ponder, we research, we go with our gut, and oh, how we try to do the right thing by our children.

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

Rites Of Passage

When my daughter asked to get her ears pierced for Christmas, my first response was to tell her: 

“No, you’re too young.”

It just so happened that my own mom was with us at the time and she quickly reminded me that I was two years younger when I had my ears pierced. So for Christmas, my husband and I gave Barcelona a little jewel box with a note “for your earrings” inside.

The days that followed, however, Barcelona simply replied: “No, not yet!” when asked whether she was ready to go get her ears pierced. Yesterday she surprised me with a bold announcement first thing in the morning that she wanted to get them pierced TODAY!

So we packed up and went to a neighborhood jewelry store, picked out her birthstone earrings and filled out the necessary paperwork. When Barcelona asked whether it would hurt, I couldn’t answer. My grandmother pierced my ears with a clothes pin and a sewing needle. I could not remember whether there was any pain and I had no idea what it felt like with an ear piercing gun.

But the perky young gal working at Claire’s reassured Barcelona the procedure was quick and virtually painless. My little one proved a trooper with her eyes barely welling up after the first ear had been pierced. The second ear was done quickly and she was proud of her own bravery.

My daughter getting her ears pierced is a true right of passage, but am I ready for her to grow up? No, not yet! 

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

Yum Yum Dim Sum

When I was a child, my mom always tried to bring the world to me through cuisine. Only on special occasions would we go to the local French restaurant for their famous onion soup, drive to the next town over for Chinese food, or dine at a brand-new Japanese eatery.

A road trip before a big move saw us stop in San Francisco where we ate dim sum together for the first time. It was magical how the little dishes of food showed up table side steaming with different exotic foods. We still recall with humor turning down the chicken feet. I was 9 years old.

Years of living in Hawaii opened our palates up to more delicious foods from around the world like sashimi, kalbi, and lau lau. When we returned to the mainland, we sought out these foods over the years to quench our craving for something other than chicken and rice.

The tradition now continues with my own children. They devour lumpia I fry up at home. Their Nana often cooks homemade kalbi when the kids have sleepovers. And the four of us like to go to dim sum together.

With one child game to try almost everything, and one who is often wary, it has been fun to watch as they develop a taste for different foods that hopefully prepare them for even more cultural experiences as they grow. 

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

I Just Wanna Know Why

My children were born nearly three years apart. My daughter is just older enough to mother (translation: boss) her little brother around. My son is just younger enough… Let’s face it, he’s a rascal!

Sometimes it’s difficult to remember the different stages of development with this age gap. You know, like the inquisitive stage, where youngsters constantly ask the question “why?” My nearly 6-year-old son currently fits comfortably in this category.

Each day we start off with a new slate and a new slew of questions, some hurled one after another at me like the constant fire of a machine gun. So fast, in fact, it’s nearly impossible to keep up and I simply stagger under the barrage.

Why is there frost on the grass? Why is sissy crying? Why do I have to wear a seat belt? As the day wears on, my patience tends to wear out. Why? Why? WHY?

“BECAUSE I SAID SO!” I say, grimacing under the weight of this oft-used, time-worn parental response to another of my son’s innocent inquiries.

I feel worse when my little cutie pie adds with widened eyes, “But, I just wanna know why, mommy.”

Ask me again tomorrow, son, ask me again tomorrow. 

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

We Are Santa's Elves

Nothing like a major holiday to add one more thing to the parenting plate!

Already we are moms or dads, chauffeurs, chefs, economists, stylists and personal assistants. Bless those single parents who juggle dual roles as mother and father.

Sure there’s the stress of shopping and cooking, but holidays such as Christmas take our parental duties to the next level - one filled with imagination and magic!

My third-grade daughter asked the other day whether Santa Claus was real. The stock answer my husband and I give to inquiries such as these is: “If you believe it, it’s real.” But when your child tells you all her classmates think the bearded one is a fake, you have to work a little harder.

We have tried to make holidays and losing one’s teeth special ever since our kids have been old enough to appreciate morning surprises such as full stockings, overflowing baskets and a shiny new coin. We eat the cookies and drink the milk, put green food coloring in the toilet (those naughty leprechauns!), toss a trail of plastic grass and sprinkle fairy dust. This is the fun part of being a parent!

Each year it seems my husband and I have done something different to step it up. One Christmas morning, our daughter woke up to colorful lights adorning her vanity mirror. Another year, our kids found dozens of stuffed animals circled around the tree. And now they look forward to decorating the tiny trees they found in their room upon waking one holiday morning.

I was delighted when I ran into my friend Viv at the neighborhood grocery store, who told me about and later forwarded me the link to this free website portablenorthpole.tv/home. Parents simply send a photo and some information to the site and, in turn, get a very realistic and personalized message to their child directly from Santa. The results are amazing and we can’t wait to try it for ourselves!

Ho ho ho.
Ho ho ho.
We are Santa’s elves. 

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com 

A Little Perspective

“…you know what I’m craving? A little perspective. That’s it. I’d like some fresh, clear, well seasoned perspective.”

-RATATOUILLE (2007)

Some people quote literature, others classic films, but me? I like to quote animated Disney movies meant for children.

This past week I caught myself referring to the movie RATATOUILLE on three separate occasions, specifically the line: “A little perspective.”

As people, parents and partners, we often get wrapped up in the little dramas of everyday life. Criticizing others and the world around us comes too easy. C’mon, who hasn’t had a word or two to say about Tiger Woods?

We could all use a little perspective.

In recent years the winter months have kind of been a struggle for me. I like to blame it on seasonal affective disorder, a type of depression caused by darker days and not enough sunshine. But, honestly, sometimes life can just get overwhelming what with holiday preparations and everything else that gets tossed our way.

This year, I gave myself an early gift. I got myself some perspective.

A child almost dies, a couple divorces and a friend balances close to losing their home to foreclosure. Nothing like putting yourself in someone else’s shoes, to gain some “perspective.”

So fond of this newfound perspective, I find myself sharing the concept with others (hence the referrals to RATATOUILLE). Times are tough for many, for so many different reasons, do we really want to dwell on the negative?

Today, I am thankful for my beautiful children, my supportive husband and the roof over my head. These blessings are so much more important than all the other things that swirl around us and distract us on a daily basis.

I choose to have perspective.

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

What Was Your Favorite Part Of Today?

The other night I crawled into my daughter’s bed, put my arm around her and did something I haven’t done in awhile. A little something that had been part of our bedtime routine for years until my ailing father came to live with us and displaced my daughter from her own Tinkerbell room to share one with her younger brother.

“What was your favorite part of today?” I whispered into the dark.

“Seeing Calista,” she answered with a smile in her voice. “And ‘Mr. Fox’.”

We held each other close as together we listed our favorite daughter, favorite mommy, favorite brother, and favorite daddy. This is something we used to do every night when I put Barcelona to bed, when her younger brother still slept in her old crib. A routine set aside when my parenting role unexpectedly extended to caring for my daughter’s grandfather.

Things do not come easy for my little girl. She walked late, talked late, and now struggles with school work. In the past, asking my daughter her favorite part of the day became a touchstone for both of us, a single moment each day when everything else fell away and we reveled in what brought us joy.

Earlier in the day, someone made my daughter cry. Don’t get me wrong, the kid is no stranger to tears. A sharp word, a troublesome brother, a playmate at school, and math homework have made my daughter cry and likely will again. But today it was an adult, someone I would expect to be a friend to children and, more importantly, to mine.

When I turned off my daughter’s light that night and crawled into her bed, I took a chance asking about the day. (More recently she has tended to dwell on the negative.) It crossed my mind that perhaps, by not asking her “favorite part” of the day these past months, I have not allowed my daughter to erase those things, both challenging and hurtful, from her mind.

So we rediscovered our touchstone together, a moment in time to share what makes us happy and to open the door to sweet dreams.

written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com

There Is Something About Family...

While growing up I lived with my mom, making occasional visits to Phoenix, Ariz. to see my dad. When I was younger, the age my kids are now, I usually stayed at my grandmother's home.

The family recently took a trip to the Southwest, where we visited my dad and grandmother (pictured here with the kids). My dad and I even drove by the old family home. It looks the same, with a fresh coat of paint.

A lot of time has gone by. A lot of memories. I tried to share some of those with Barcelona and Berkeley.

Lazy, Hazy Days of Summer

Why must we fill our days with activities

I remember long, lazy summers growing up.

My days were spent walking barefoot, playing with friends, and countless adventures fueled by my own imagination and the freedom to roam at will. I spent one summer as a teenager at Bible camp, but for the most part my three months off from school I was home or hanging out in the neighborhood.

As Barcelona wrapped up her first year of grade school, I found myself chatting with other moms about how we planned to spend the summer break. My approach was simple: A week at the coast, swimming at the pool pool, free family films at the Natomas Marketplace movie theater, play dates with friends, and a few family day trips.

When I posed the same question to my peers, I found myself bombarded with lists of preplanned activities designed to occupy every spare minute of their children's' two-month break from school. Bible School – twice. Gymnastics camp. Soccer. Swim lessons – twice. Summer school. Art camp.

Due to poor planning on my part, I booked our trip to the coast during the one week my children normally attend a neighborhood Bible school program. But that was only one week out of the eight. I considered swim lessons, but the idea of having to be somewhere everyday for two weeks did not appeal to me.

And I began to wonder, was I being a good mom? Should I have signed my two children up for a bevy of activities to fill their summer days? Truth be told, I started to feel more than a little inadequate.

That was until I talked to my own mom, who lives a mere 10 minutes from us. She quickly poo-pooed the idea my children would not be doing enough.

“They only have two months off,” she reminded me.

So while many of my kids' friends were at Bible camp, our family was hanging out in a speck of a town on the Mendocino coast called Anchor Bay. We took hikes as a family and spent hours on the beach where we collected shells and played in the sand. I pretended to read a novel, but mostly I enjoyed the quiet the comes with not being in the city.

When we returned to Sacramento, many of the children we knew were on their way to a second Bible school camp. We instead donned our swim suits and the children practiced swimming and made water footprints on the hot cement. My little ones picked blackberries and nectarines in our own backyard, filling their tummies with sweet, homegrown fruit. I made juicy cobblers and froze the extras for later. My son played dragons and my daughter filled pages with her colorful artwork.

Above all, we enjoyed the time spent together. We relished not having to jump out of bed every morning and rush out the door to be somewhere else. My children grew stronger from chasing each other in the yard, climbing the furniture, and eating a lot of freshgrown food. Our skin got tan, our hair a little messy, our hearts full of love for each other.

In the end, it was better for my children to have some long, lazy summer days to do what they do best – be children. There will be plenty of time for the rest.

Parent Tales Column ~ August 2007

Potty Talk

Get a group of moms together and inevitably the conversation will turn to a handful of ever popular parenting topics. For some unexplainable reason, us women cannot talk enough about our birth stories, breastfeeding woes, sleep deprivation, and potty training adventures.

It's no wonder these topics are consistent fodder for parenting magazines. After all, someone is always having a baby, most women give breastfeeding a try, and by the time our kids get to kindergarten they should be both sleeping through the night and toilet trained.

My admiration goes out to those moms who diligently teach their offspring how to the use the toilet at an early age. One gal I know had each of her children trained earlier than the previous one. Her third child was pooping on a baby potty months before she turned 1 year old thanks to the concept of "elimination communication." Elimination communication is a when parents tune into their individual child's body language and pre talking sounds to know when to place said infant on a toilet. Talk about dedication!

I have met more than one mom who swears by this technique, but personally I prefer the path of least resistance and anyone who has children knows potty training is met with resistance more often than it is not. Like eating and sleeping, whether or not to go potty on the toilet is one of the few things children can control.

For those of who chose not to go the elimination communication route, there are countless parenting books which tout the importance of several cues when it is the “right time” to tackle potty training. Some say little ones who stay dry through their naps are ready. Others will tell you a child able to communicate their need to go can be trained, whether it is with spoken words or sign language. Theories vary with each child and, truth be told, successful toilet training depends on the demeanor of the child and their parents.

I ventured into toilet training Barcelona like someone dipping their toe in a swimming pool before diving into the freezing water. My daughter was about two years old and attending an in-home preschool when I first put her in training pants. I asked her frequently whether she needed to go, but she always shook her head and not long after she would be wet – or worse – and in need of a change.

We potty trained like this off and on for a few months when I decided potty training was not a task I could tackle along with morning sickness. After all, I had read somewhere, children can regress and have accidents upon the arrival of a sibling. So I decided to wait until after Berkeley was born to try toilet training again.

Our family had become the proud owners of a carpet cleaner and Barcelona's fourth birthday loomed on the horizon when I decided to revisit potty training. I vividly remember a four-day weekend during which my husband and I ran our daughter to the toilet, took turns steam cleaning the carpet – and couch – and changing our kid's clothes again and again. At some point we stopped putting any clothes on her and then we were done. I held my breath during our first official outing on day five, and Barcelona held her bladder.

With Berkeley I had hoped he would be inspired by his older sister and toilet train on his own. After all, some of my friends' children had done it! But, alas, my son was not motivated by seeing his sister sit on the toilet. When it became apparent Berkeley would not train himself, I copied another one of my friends and offered to buy my son a “big boy” bed if he used the potty instead of diapers. “No big boy bed!” was his adamant response. I tried rewarding my son with M&Ms, but that only worked until later the same day when I found he had climbed up to the kitchen counter and eaten every candy on the sly.

One day I went to the store and stocked up on several pairs of cartoon character covered underwear. But the possibility of wearing Nemo, Lightning McQueen and Spider Man on his bottom did not delight my son the way it did other little boys we knew. A few months later, I drove to the IKEA store in West Sacramento for the express purpose of buying a large stuffed dragon which I told Berkeley he could have when he went on the potty and no longer wore diapers. The thing gathered dust atop the wardrobe in Berkeley's room as he continued to shun the toilet.

Then, one day when my kids were taking a bath together, Berkeley climbed out of the tub and sat on the toilet. After that I would ask him if he needed to go whenever I changed his diaper, sometimes he did and sometimes he did not. I reintroduced the reward system and started giving him chocolate chips for his positive trips to the potty.

Something shifted in my son and one day his preschool teacher suggested going to the bathroom, like she always did, but this time he ran in there “like it was no big deal,” to quote Miss Dina. Suddenly, Berkeley started talking about chocolate and when he would get to play with his dragon. Since we do not have four solid days to stay homebound, I know the potty training process will not be complete overnight. But as Barcelona would say, “Berkeley, I'm so proud of you.”

Now, if only I could get him to stop saying the word “poop."

Parent Tales Column ~ July 2007

The Secret Language

Every home has its own lingo

My home is multilingual.

Oh, it's not what you are thinking... My family of four do not converse with each other in a lyrical foreign tongue, we speak a language of our own making.

I am certain an evening in our abode would make a linguistics aficionado's head spin like that poor girl in “The Omen.” For our little language lacks structure and there are no grammatical rules to dictate how we speak to each other.

I blame it on the children.

My husband, Bill, and I started this odd talk after the arrival of our first born. We never did speak the stereotypical baby talk – think goo goo, ga ga, ba ba – to Barcelona. But almost as soon as we brought her home, we started to call her everything but her given name. First, we called her Boo Boo, but this became confused with my own identical nickname. So we switched to Little Boo and eventually settled on the shortened version: Boo.

Before Barcelona found her own voice, Bill and I communicated with her using baby sign language. After she started to talk to us, we incorporated her little Boo-isms into our own language. One overnight trip to the San Francisco Bay Area, we booked a hotel room. For some reason Barcelona translated “hotel” to “hotower” and the word stuck. When discussing up a recent trip to Disneyland, both my husband and I could be heard talking up the hotower where we would be staying. I am sure anyone eavesdropping on these conversations would wonder whether our accommodations were real or imaginary.

When Berkeley came along three years ago, we started off calling him Baby Brother. Somehow that moniker evolved and now we often refer to our family's youngest member as Turkey. You would have to ask my husband to explain this one, but I suspect it has something to do with my son's mischievous nature as in “He's such a little turkey!”

Berkeley's translations of words are typical of most children's language development. There is “bapple” for apple, “biper” for diaper, and “pider” for spider. Funny thing, though, the grownups at our house can be heard using these same interpretations in our everyday conversations with each other. I am just as likely to ask if anyone wants bapples with their peanut butter and jelly sandwich as the kids are to request them. The other day I was a little shocked when I asked Berkeley if he wanted a bapple and it was my preschooler who corrected me.

“No bapple, mommy.”

“No?”

“No, I want apple.”

I was equally surprised the time I overheard a dispute between my two youngsters. When Berkeley started to talk, we taught him to say “sissy” instead of Barcelona. He still uses sissy when he speaks to her, when he is looking for her, and when he is tattling on her. But one day while they squabbled, I was shocked to hear my son say “Barcelona.” For some reason I mistakingly assumed he did not know his own sister's name. They grow up so fast – sigh.

Then there is the way I talk to my children. There are times I question my college degree in communication. Instead I sound like a military sargeant barking out orders or someone just a little on the side of crazy when I say things like “Take the dinosaur out of your mouth!”

Children have selective hearing when it comes to their parents and for this reasons I can often be heard repeating the same command over and over again. I can be heard saying “go go go” when the children are dawdling, “no.... No... NO!” when they are being naughty, and several other variations all equally aggressive. Sometimes I cringe when I hear my voice say the same word over and over again like a broken record.

Yes, there is something about having children that changed the way my husband and I talk. We refer to our children by their pet names, we incorporate their made-up words into our own language, and we say things we never could have imagined -- “Don't lick daddy's feet!”

My solace is the knowledge other families are also multilingual. They say things that sound a little weird to outsiders and often have to repeat themselves. For this is the language of parenthood.

Parent Tales Column ~ June 2007

Reflections of Motherhood

On friendship, magic and cherishing the moment

I was chatting with a friend this afternoon, comparing busy schedules and our desire to do something more with our time, when she leaned forward and said, one mom to another:

“I completely understand. After all, we would not be doing any of these things if we did not have children.”

Her statement, an epiphany of sorts for me, was so obvious, I resisted the overwhelming urge to smack myself in the forehead with the flat palm of my hand. Duh!

Volunteering in the classroom, shuttling from Daisy meetings to horseback riding lessons to gymnastics classes, memberships with MOMS Club and Mothers of Preschoolers, the babysitting exchange; I would not orbit from one to the other and back again if it were not for my children. And my plane of existence likely would not include writing assignments about education policy, parenting issues – this very column, for that matter!

When I first joined mother's groups and signed up for the SacramentoMommas.Com online chat board, I did so to meet other women. Women who had children. Women like me.

Over the years I have maintained wonderful relationships with girlfriends from high school, those I met at the women's college I attended, writing groups, and past jobs. After I gave birth to my first child, I still craved the company of women, but at the time I felt something was missing from all those B.C. (before children) relationships.

Six years later I understand each friend – whether it's someone I met 20 years ago or just last week – brings something special to my life table. I hold on tight to the notion friendships are for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, and look for the value in each.

With spring showers, come May flowers and Mother's Day. This is the time of year I catch myself reflecting on my station in life as mother to Barcelona, nearly 6, and Berkeley, 3. After all, I gave birth to my first born just days before this annual holiday and found out I was pregnant the second time just two years later. For this reason, Mother's Day is more than a Hallmark holiday for me, it is a day which marks a significant transition in my life.

I find myself doing things now, my high school self would have never imagined! For one, I became a card carrying stay-at-home-mom when I decided to try to write from home. Also, I am technically just a minivan shy of being the quintessential soccer mom. Not to mention the daily cuddle sessions with my offspring and all the magical touches I try to incorporate in their lives.

Last month, I was playing Easter Bunny late one night when I asked my husband, “Would it really bug you if I sprinkled Easter grass on the floor?” This to the man who earlier that same day had vacuumed and scrubbed said floor surface. When he nodded, I asked, “Can I do it anyway?” Then clapped my hands happily when he nodded again.

I assembled the kids' Easter baskets and set them on the family room coffee table then proceeded to create a grass trail from the table back to the front door. I tried to feign surprise the next morning when my daughter discovered the grass and ran through the house to tell her little brother, “Berkeley, the Easter bunny came last night! Do you want to come see?”

The magic is the Easter grass, colored eggs, silver coins underneath pillows, mini Christmas trees left decorated in my children's rooms, and their stuffed animals circled around the tree with piles of gifts on Christmas morning... One of the best things about being a mom is reinforcing their childlike wonder and I loath the day my children stop believing in the Easter bunny, tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and worse yet, in everything I may say to them.

I know real challenges of parenthood loom on the horizon. After every sunset, the sun will rise again and bring with it another day. My children will continue to grow and evolve.

In the coming years, I expect to log many more miles driving my kids from place to place and later I expect to wait up once they are – God forbid! – driving themselves. I would be surprised if my children did homework and chores without being asked repeatedly to perform these tasks. And I do not doubt there will be the dreaded “sex talk” as well as tangles over shaving, make up, dating and curfews with both children.

This Mother's Day I resist imagining my children as their future selves. Today they are still so small and fit so easily within my arms. I fight the urge to hold them tighter in an effort to fend off the inevitable. Instead, I focus on the knowledge there is a reason to enjoy this very season. I may not always be my children's best friend, but for a lifetime I will be their mom.

Parent Tales Column ~ May 2007

It Takes a Village

The business of childhood is learning

The African proverb “It takes a village to raise a child” appeared to be everywhere in popular culture almost as soon as Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton used it for the basis of a book by the same name published in 1996. I never realized the validity of these words until my own daughter started kindergarten 10 years later.

My husband and I were among the dozens of parents who turned out for that seasonably warm first day of school. Even those with older children, already kindergarten “veterans,” walked their children to Mr. Turner's classroom door and stood huddled together in anticipation.

The call for parent volunteers went out immediately in the form of a sign up sheet posted on the outside wall next to the door. I never imagined myself in the role of “class mom” even after I had children and decided to write from home.

But on that first day, after most parents finally kissed their little ones farewell, I stayed behind. Those first 3 ｽ hours of school were filled with more than 20 children going about the business of being official kindergarteners. There was some dancing to get the wiggles out, there was a story to ease their minds about the first day of school, and there were projects, projects and more projects.

This is where the parent helpers were to come in handy.

Everyday in Barcelona's class, there is an hour or more dedicated to what has been dubbed “workshop” time. It is during this period when children rotate between four to five different stations to work on everything from writing their letters to reading to creating art to performing scientific experiments. At times, the children perform these necessary tasks with the precision of well-tuned machinery. At other times, chaos reigns supreme as they struggle to stay on task.

I volunteered more than once that first week of school in part due to my own separation anxiety, but mostly to aid Mr. Turner and his teaching partner with the daily juggling of active learning. Finally, another mom and I agreed to take turns watching our younger offspring so the other could volunteer in the classroom only once a week (something I was happy to sign up to do after that exhaustive first few days).

It was surprising how quickly I learned the names and faces of all the 22 kindergarteners in my daughter's class. It probably didn't hurt I already knew a few from preschool. Each child presented a unique personality from the offset and each brought with them to kindergarten some strengths – as well as a few weaknesses.

I remember early on in the school year when one particularly advanced child turned to her peer and asked, “How old are you anyway?”

The quiet girl replied somewhat timidly, “I'm 6 years old.”

“Then why are you scribbling?” asked the girl who carefully colored within the lines on the page in front of her.

I was appalled, but truth be told I was also surprised how much the some children struggled to hold crayons and scissors while others already appeared to be masters of these skills, a few of them already budding artists. I quickly assured both girls they were doing their projects correctly and later slunk over to Mr. Turner for advice. How much should a parent volunteer say or do in these situations? I asked.

Six months later, my child volunteered me to work the dreaded workbook table where children practice writing upper case and lower case letters and try their hand at sounding out and writing down words. One of the students, who started the school year not speaking much English, was among the group of children still writing down only the starting sounds of the words. At Mr. Turner's encouragement, I asked this student to sound out word one word, then another until he completed both pages in his workbook.

I probably could not have been more excited if it had been my own child and I was bubbling over all day as a result!

There is no question in my that mind teachers are people who answer a special calling. Their ability to instruct a group of children – with learning styles and abilities at opposite ends of the spectrum – continues to amaze me. And the patience with which they handle the occasional unruly child and classroom dispute is also admirable as I myself struggle daily with two of own bickering children at home.

At the same time I realize what an important role parents play in the learning process. Those of us who are lucky enough to help in the classroom and those who make time to sit down and do assignments with our children at home have front-row seats. We can applaud all the children's accomplishments, for we are part of the village it takes to raise a child – not just our own.

Parent Tales Column ~ April 2007