DC Metro Moms

Learning with Sesame Street

As a kid, one of my favorite days was Sunday.  On Sundays my brother and I would wake up at 6 am for a 3 hour Sesame Street marathon on KQED, our local PBS affiliate. We didn’t watch a lot of TV in our house but my parents never objected to Sesame Street.  Perhaps they realized what I now know as a parent- that Sesame Street was children’s television at its best.

As Sesame Street celebrates the start of its 40^th season this week, it reminds us that it is the show that changed children’s television forever.  From the crazy cookie eating antics of Cookie Monster, the loveable Mr. Hooper heart to hearts talks with characters that frequented his General Store, the sibling-like bickering between Bert and Ernie, to the letter and number of the day…Sesame Street’s goal has always been to teach in a fun way.

Sing along as you count with the ladybugs in Ladybug Picnic who not only educate about numbers and one to one correspondence, but also teach rhyming through their song.  Laugh with the always ravenous Cookie Monster as he tries to hold back from devouring a chocolate chip cookie but know that cookie is shaped like a letter.  And The Count…Well, he’s the master at teaching numbers even if he isn't the best elevator operator.  Those tiny little Twiddlebugs that inhabited Ernie’s flowerbox were master recyclers and environmentalists before eco-chic became part of our lexicon as they populated their dwelling with furnishings made from tiny found objects.

Things That Go Bump In The Night

Driving home on a dark and rainy night something zoomed onto the road right in front of my car. There was no way I could safely swerve to avoid it. Braking on the slick road wasn't an option. The other lane wasn't clear either. My heart sank as I heard the small thump and felt the bump under the wheels of my minivan. My mother and my son were in the car with me. I did my best to quickly channel Mr. Rogers and I prepared myself for the questions which would no doubt begin after my son heard the bump.  Only he wasn't the one with all the questions. It was my mother.

Baba: What was that?

Me: It was a raccoon. It just ran right out into the road, I couldn't avoid it safely.

Baba: Why was it crossing the road?

Me: Not sure. Maybe no one ever told it "Cross at the green, not in between."

Son: Baba, I know why.

Baba: You do? Really?  Why?

Son: To get to the other side.

Insomnia

Every night it's the same thing.  I turn off the light and try to sleep, only to end up tossing and turning for hours before finally drifting off.  Several hours later, my body decides to wake up and start the day, only to crash a few hours later.  This pattern of sleeping from 2am-5am is not working for me and I find myself nodding off at work during the day.

Sure, I could blame all of my sleeping problems on being 7 months pregnant, but honestly, the insomnia goes back decades.  My father has sleeping issues, and his father had sleeping issues.  Nothing really helps.  I've tried the warm milk, the herbal teas, over the counter sleep aids...  The herbal pill remedies seem to help slightly with no side effects in the morning.  I don't like the prescription medications because I feel like I've been run over with a dump truck the next day.  Not that any of these really matter at the moment anyway...  I won't take anything while I'm pregnant.

It's Just Like "Mr. Mom" Except I'm a Girl...

When I became a stay at home mom several months ago, I expected that it would be a hard transition. I mean, I already knew my children. And they have never been an easy bunch.

Now you may be thinking that all kids are challenging and that it's hard for all moms, and I would say that you are 100% right. But right now, I could kind of care less about any of that. I'm far too busy jumping through my own fire hoops and running my own pee pee scented gauntlet.

My twins just turned three, and I think that's explanation enough for their contribution the daily chaos. And my oldest isn't just a developmentally delayed four year old - he's a HUGE developmentally delayed four year old with sensory issues typically attributed to a toddler. So I spend most of my days chasing a naked three year old with a pair of underwear under one of my arms and another naked three year old under the other, while screaming at a toddler in a six year old's body to "GET OFF the table, and for god's sake what happened to your clothes?"

The question that dominates my every second when those monsters are awake: "Why is everyone always naked?"

I do put clothes on them every morning...

Anyway - you would think that after a few months, I would have created some kind of order and structure in our house. I mean, wasn't that the point of me staying home? To eradicate the misunderstanding that home is a vacation from school and daycare?

But I haven't.

The Day My Dog Became A Dog

About a year and a half ago, a very sweet young couple moved into the house next door to ours. They were newlyweds, full of enthusiasm and excitement over the purchase of their first house. A few months later, they added an adorable yellow lab puppy - Bella - to the mix, to the delight of my twin girls (and the consternation of my aging basenji, Allie). Like many new dog owners, especially those without kids, Bella became the focus of their lives. They bought a station wagon, took him on nice long walks in the neighborhood, and generally turned into Dog People.

Until she got pregnant.

Last night, I noticed that their house was completely dark, and that only one car was out front. Knowing that the wife was due to be induced on Thursday, I figured that their baby was finally on its way. Turns out I was right - I saw the husband this morning as he returned from the hospital "to take a shower and let the dog out".

Ah, I remember that day - the day my dog took a significant drop down my priority list. I had gotten Allie back when I was single. At the time, she was the total focus of my life. She was my emotional support, the outlet for all my maternal urges, the one who made my apartment less lonely. Even after I got married, my dog was still an extremely high priority for me. Whenever we went out of town, I would spend much of the time worrying about her, wondering how she was and whether she was sad. When I got pregnant with twins, people would tell me that my feelings about her would change after the girls were born. "No way," I thought. "They don't understand - Allie is different. She's a dog, yes, but she's a very special dog, and will always be my first child." I was admitted briefly to the hospital with pre-term labor at week 34, and all I could think about was Allie and how sad and lost she would be when I didn't return home from the hospital that afternoon.

And then my daughters were born.

Someone took care of Allie for me when I was in the hospital having the girls, and I remember well the day when she was dropped back off. It was pure chaos in the house - one newborn at home, one still in the NICU - and when she got home, my first reaction was to be annoyed. (Annoyed!) I felt guilty inside, but in my exhaustion, I couldn't help being irritated that there was now yet another helpless creature that needed my attention. Fitting in her walks, her vet visits, and, frankly, her emotional needs, was definitely a challenge that first year.

Over time, Allie's position in the house has stabilized. She's not the alpha girl anymore. She's not always - or even usually - top of mind for me. And when we go away, I don't obsess anymore about whether she misses me. As a similarly dog-obsessed friend put it when she had her son Luca, "Oh, Peanut turned into a dog the day Luca was born."

I wanted to say something to my neighbor this morning about Bella, something that might assuage the guilt that I am sure he felt as he crossed the threshold of his house this morning after being up all night with his new son. Something that would let him know that it's ok for Bella to revert back into a dog.

Nah, he'll figure it out.

Original D.C. Metro Moms post. Photo courtesy of Clownfish.

Gayle blogs about books and reading at Everyday I Write The Book.

Many Sizes Fit One

It's that time of year again, right?  The temperatures are steadily cooling down, sidewalks and lawns are awash in crunchy fallen leaves, and each glance out the window confirms the not-so-long ago disappearance of summer.  Okay, perhaps I'm a bit late on the realization that summer is now just a memory, what with the Halloween decorations packed up in the attic for another year and the disturbing presence of a snowflake montage on the Target door the other day.  Keeping all of this in mind, can anyone explain to me why my daughter is still pulling out tank tops from the dresser in the always joyful morning experience of getting dressed?

The whole changeover of seasonal clothing thing should be an easy task, right?  (Excuse me for a moment while I guffaw at that silly, silly statement.)  With three children spanning seven years, this process needs to be done at a time when nothing else needs Mommy's attention, and said children are happy to oblige requests to try on articles of clothing again and again.  Oh, and just once more, I promise.  Said another way, let's dump a ton of clothes all over the floor and listen to the children whine and complain for an hour or two.  Yippee!

Explaining the Ft. Hood Tragedy

I grew up in a military family.  My father was a career Air Force officer, as was his father.  My brother joined the Army a few years after high school and served two tours in Bosnia before he got out.  Of course then he gave my mother a heart attach by turning around and joining the Ohio National Guard.  Thankfully, he returned from a tour in the Middle East late last year. My husband spent 20 years in the Navy - 3 on active duty and then 17 in the Navy Reserves.

I also happen to live in the Hampton Roads area of Southeast Virginia, home to one of the largest concentrations of military and veteran families in the country.  I'm actually hard pressed to think of a close friend in the area that isn't associated with the military.  

In my professional life, I'm the New Media Director for Blue Star Families, a non-partisan, non-profit dedicated to empowering and supporting military families.  My community, online and in "real" life, is the military community and my community is hurting right now.

We don't know what caused Major Nidal Hasan to open fire in a soldier readiness facility on the U.S. Army's largest facility.  I don't want to speculate.  Besides, the reason for Hasan's actions is largely irrelevant to the Ft. Hood families affected by the tragedy.  For them, and for many of us, the tragedy is incomprehensible.

But what I do know is that military families across all of the services are stressed beyond belief.  While I no longer have to deal with the threat of activation and deployment, I've watched friend after friend try to hold things together for 6 months, a year or 18 months at a time, only to do it all over again a few months after a service member's return.  Deployment after deployment is hard on a family, particularly families with children.  And when a soldier, sailor or airman (or woman) comes home, nothing is immediately easy.  Families have to readjust, learn new routines, and all too frequently help a service member cope with injuries.  Families also deal with the unseen wounds of war such as post-traumatic stress disorder, traumatic brain injury, and even secondary PTSD, a form of post-traumatic stress disorder that can affect care givers (such as spouses, nurses and doctors) constantly dealing with the trauma of others.

Get Thee Outside

Welcome November! My second least favorite month (next to February) of all the months in the year. Perhaps you're thinking, really, does this lady rank her months? Well, it's not quite like that. Historically November and February are boring, unexciting, cold and usually wet months, sometimes here in Northern Virginia we'll get some snowy conditions. As a family who loves the outdoors, we have to readjust expectations during the yuckier days, weeks and months ahead.

Four years ago, I had been trained by the wonderful Swedes, during our brief time in Stockholm, to embrace all weather conditions. They have a saying "There is no bad weather, only bad clothing!" And they truly believe in this. Rain, snow, sleet--and you would find moms walking babies in prams (or the babies sleeping outside in them) and children playing in their Swedish outerwear on the playground at school. When was the last time you saw kids playing on the playground in the rain?  

During my first year (or even two) back in the US, I adopted this lifestyle, and my Baby Bunch was out donning their Polarn O. Pyert rain pants from Sweden in the drizzle or on the wet playground. But the longer we live here, the more I succumb to the local pattern of staying in on cold, wet day; and the more distant I feel from that "no bad weather" motto.

Gym Childcare: Mandatory TV?

When a huge new gym with a low monthly fee opened a mile from my house, I was excited to try it out. During the tour, I asked about the TV in the childcare room. In my previous gym, the childcare worker yakked on the phone with her back to the room while the TV babysat her charges. "Well, some kids like to watch it, but it's not on all the time," the manager said.

A few days later, I filled out the forms to leave my son there and asked the childcare worker the if she could turn off the blaring 80s sitcom that neither the 10-month-old baby on the floor nor the six-year-old girl coloring at a table was watching. The staff member replied, “Sorry. It has to stay on. It’s company policy.”

I beg your pardon? That mammoth noise pollution device is a requirement for good babysitting? Mind you, this place had an indoor play area to rival Gymboree (complete with slide!), plus toys, art, and two childcare workers. What is with requiring the TV? That somehow makes the place safer? And why a sitcom? I have plenty of friends who are much less media-wary than I but still complain about TV being used too much at the gym (or the offerings being inappropriate for little eyes).

My current gym has no TV and it works great. The kids just play.

The Past Vs. The Present

This weekend I am headed to my home state of Utah, where I haven't been in more than a decade, to see some old high school friends, most of whom I haven't seen for more than fifteen years. We're going to hang out, hot tub, watch silly movies, and talk, talk, talk.

I'm not sure what to expect. I'm excited, but also slightly terrified. All of these women still hang out together fairly regularly, except for me. I feel like I'm getting ready to walk through some sort of social anxiety-inducing temporal wormhole to my past.

I'm still the same person I was in high school, but—no. Check that. I am in few ways the same person I was in high school. That Jean, whom I will refer to as "Past Jean," is in some very real ways a different entity entirely.

In the Blink of an Eye Halloween Changed

For as long as we have had children, my husband and I have had the same routine on Halloween. I stay in and hand out candy. He takes the kids trick-or-treating. We have had minor variations in the years the baby or toddler stayed home with me, but for the most part our Halloween does not change.

My kids love trick-or-treating with Daddy...he's the fun one, of course. Daddy takes them to every single house even though the houses are not close together. Mommy is a meanie and makes the kids wear turtleneck sweaters AND hooded sweatshirts underneath flowing Princess gowns. Horrors! In my defense it was cold that year and perhaps I did chuckle a little at my pair of linebacker-like Tinkerbells! 

This year our plans went in to a tailspin. My teen who has shown little interest in trick-or-treating in years past, was invited to a Halloween party at our neighbor's house. The party was a -- gulp -- boy and girl party. Wait, where did the time go? Wasn't she just wearing her Winnie the Pooh costume and carrying an enormous plastic pumpkin? No, the teeny tiny little thing is now old enough to decide that she didn't want us to spend money on a costume. Nope, all she needed was a hat to go with her sailor's outfit. I could hear the screeching from the party as the boys and girls chased each other around the yard. They may be teens, but they are still little kids to me.

And the Lazy Mom Award Goes To. . .

My daughter's 4th birthday party is Tuesday. As in next week. I just gave out the last invitation today. The other two I gave out the day before that. One didn't even get handed out, I just called her friend's mom. To my credit I did send out a save the date email two week ago.

I know most of her friends can make it. I just realized last night that I should probably order the cake and plan the menu.With baby #2 due in less than 3 weeks, I've taken the easy road.

My Ears are Ringing

My phone has been ringing off of the hook.

Do I know some really sweet gossip? Did I do something astounding? Did my team win the Super Bowl?

No. I've been insanely out of touch, only if you count quitting my old job as something astounding and none of the teams I root for are above .500.

My phone is ringing like crazy with pre-recorded calls asking me to vote for Creigh Deeds or Bob McDonnell or some guy for school board.

This is driving me crazy. I sit down to dinner with my family. *ring* I hop in the shower. *ring* I have just tucked my kids into bed. *ring* *ring*

Honestly, if it weren't already annoying enough to answer the phone and have it be a recording now I have to answer the phone six or seven times a day to a recording.

And don't even get me started on volunteers who call my house after 8:30 at night when my kids are asleep.

When Your Preschooler's Self Esteem Is Suffering

 My four year old has been having a lot of trouble in his pre-kindergarten class this year.  There have been evaluations and meetings with the school and observations and we all end the same place, we just don't know what is wrong.

An Occupational Therapy evaluation showed that he had low muscle tone, but the school seems to think the problem is that he has ADHD, while no one else seems willing to diagnoses him with that.  The only thing I know is that my child is changing before my eyes, and I don't like it.