It's probably safe to say that most people love adorable little mice in all forms other than as real, breathing critters. These days one of our favorite books is Ellen Stoll Walsh’s Mouse Paint
Jon and I currently are on a mission to develop a weekly dinner plan that: a) is simple and tasty for adults and kids; b) takes the ambiguity out of who’s doing what (we recently discovered I was assuming full responsibility for – and withholding bitterness over – meal prep on top of work and juggling Laurel at the end of the day); and c) gets more vegetables into us. If we get a good plan sorted out, we’ll be sure to share it; meanwhile, we have discovered how effective an excellent, simple vinaigrette is to inspiring salad consumption.
One batch of Martha’s Favorite Vinaigrette and many salads later, we're still in awe of this beautiful and easy steak Cobb salad (click thumbnail to enlarge image), in which we tossed chopped iceberg lettuce with vinaigrette, then layered cherry tomatoes, hard boiled eggs, seared steak strips, cashews, bleu cheese, and avocado over the top (dried cranberries also would make for a nice color and flavor contrast). The steak – and a side dish of pomme frites – warmed up the salad for winter (chicken or marinated tofu also would sub in well), and the presentation projected a culinary mindfulness that largely has been dormant since we embarked on the parenting journey.
We are full-on into the world of potty-training. The little angel requested to go to The Emerald City in her Cinderella underwear on Friday. She made it through the day with only two accidents. The afternoon teacher told me this was something akin to running a marathon after having done a 5k, so we decided that she should wear underwear pretty much all the time from now on.
And thus began my adventure. Right after I picked her up on Friday, we went to Target, because we have fascinating social lives. I was looking for a padlock that could save my beloved computer backpack from the dustbin. It's the perfect backpack, JUST the right size, and though I and many of my envious colleagues have searched the Internet high and low, no one can find one this small. So when the clasp broke during my business trip, I knew I would have to find some way to save it without buying a new one. My salvation came in the form of an oddly shaped padlock that will be replacing the broken clasp. People will think I'm a total idiot or impossibly hip.
Anyway, this whole padlock-comparison affair took so long that when the little angel announced she had to pee, we were at least 200 yards away from the restroom. "Let's run!" I cried. "You can do it!" So there we were, sprinting across Target with the little angel howling, "I can't hold my pee in! I can't hold it, Mommy!" I refused to carry her, because, well, I'm evil and didn't want to be covered in urine. By the time we reached the restroom, I could wring out her little sweatpants. She made a valiant effort, though, and I was not upset with her.
Until she locked herself in the bathroom stall with my purse in there with her when I went to wash out the cuffs of her sweats in the sink and left her sitting on the potty.
And then she crawled off the potty and stuck her head under the door. "Hi Mommy!" she chirped. Then she crawled out of the stall. I'm not sure how she got the door locked. I had to shimmy under it to fetch my purse. I guess I shouldn't have worried about being covered in urine, because, at least in my mind, I was anyway, along with who knows what else a swab test of that bathroom floor could find. GAH GAH GAH
After all that, I headed into Saturday with a little fear in my heart. She made it through all day Saturday, even when she screamed in terror after we took her to the new dinosaur restaurant out west (it's like the Rainforest Cafe, except with frighteningly realistic dinosaurs). My beloved kept insisting she'd be okay, though I had my doubts. Not two minutes inside the restaurant, the dinosaur dropped his head, opened his four-foot mouth and gaped at the little angel, fixing her with his mechanical eyes. She screamed like a banshee. "He's going to eat me, Mommy!" she cried.
I pulled her off to the side, taking my beloved's name in vain. Of course, he was parking the car and not there to witness the event. I reassured her that the dinosaur was just Roar's older brother, and he didn't mean to scare her, but he was just, so, well, BIG, just like the baby whale in the Ariel story. Remember how the whale ruined choir practice with his big voice? This is just like that! (In the background, the dinosaur roared again and I damn near wet MY pants - I couldn't even watch Jurassic Park with surround sound.) In the midst of all this drama, it occurred to me that the little angel might have wet herself. "Did you pee?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Not even when Roar's brother tried to eat me."
"Good girl," I said. "You'll be very good at slumber parties."
We ended up taking her to Dave & Buster's, a Chuck E. Cheese for adults. The little angel, as it turns out, is a game addict. But still, no accidents. Not one in the three hours it took us to get in, eat, play games, fight our way through the Lord of the Flies ticket redemption center, and walk out with a large stuffed dog and a flashing princess necklace.
Sunday she made it through church, lunch and a nap before we went to the park. She rode her tricycle around the park, drunk with speed, until we said it was time to go. She threw a fit. After two days of relentless urine inquiries and restroom locating, I admit, I was at the end of my rope. I still had to turn-down chocolates from the hotel in my pocket. They were shaped like little stars. I held one up.
"If you can get in the car and go to the grocery store without complaining or crying, I'll give you this," I said.
She agreed, and she made it. I gave her the chocolate. Such a waste. It was good chocolate, and the little angel, she has such low standards. As she inhaled it, she looked at me and said sweetly, "I like this chocolate. I don't even have to sleep all night to get this kind."
Just because tees are an inevitable part of the mommy wardrobe doesn’t mean you can’t hang onto your sassy style.
Tuni & G offers comfy clothing for babies, kids, and adults (including maternity); among their collection are separates that can be paired to create punchy Mommy & Me sets. Especially cool is the My Baby Rolls/My Mom Rocks set (piece prices range from $28-36). Available in various sizes, styles, and colors, the logos are constructed entirely of chic pressed stud embellishments. We also love that this style offers a “My Grandma Rocks” baby/kid onesie or tee to honor hip and stylish grandmas.
Given my obsession with ballet flats, I was thrilled to see StyleBakery’s round up of 8 ballet flats under $60. I immediately ordered the Old Navy Satin Ballet Flats ($19.50), and they're fabulous. Word on these elegant, impressively comfortable flats clearly is spreading. There was plenty of stock when I ordered a pair in chocolate last week; now chocolate is sold out and the two remaining colors are following suit. Click quickly to get a pair!
Meanwhile, if the satin flat ship has sailed in your size, you'll likely find consolation in Old Navy's new Leopard Ballet Flats (shown; $19.50); they don’t appear to offer the cushioned foot bed of the satin flats but the styling is too cute to pass up.
Back in the fall we reported on the fresh and functional layette collection at New For Baby. We're thrilled that New For Baby is bringing their smart, stylish designs to Boston Mamas for our March contest.
One winner will receive a New Stylin' gift set in their choice of boy, girl, or unisex ($76 value). The set includes a long sleeve bodysuit, short sleeve bodysuit, low rise comfort pant, and super soft cozy hoodie.
Click here to enter to win. This contest closes at midnight on March 31, 2007, and is open to US & Canada residents.
Congratulations to Laurie F. of Medway, MA and Alex R. of Round Lake, IL, the winners of our February contest! Laurie and Alex each won a baby/toddler yogi gift pack (valued at over $100 each) from Lotus Children. Thanks to everyone who entered the contest!
We also would like to thank our friends at Lotus Children for their generous partnership. Be sure to check out their beautiful selection of baby and toddler clothing if you haven't yet had a chance to do so.
I was on the East Coast for business from Tuesday through yesterday, hanging with some colleagues I don't usually see. Good times and productive meetings were had by all.
Yesterday we were at lunch, and we got to talking about this blog. Some wanted to know what I wrote about. When you say, "I write about parenting," I think it conjures up a bunch of images of poop stories and birthday party photos. I felt the need to clarify that while I do that all the time, I'm also interested in parenting as an art and science.
One of the women I work with has five children and is a single mom. Her kids are all above the age of 10, but her hands-off approach is still fascinating to me. Her mantra is, "when you're old enough to reach the spoon drawer, you're old enough to feed yourself." This extends to a lot of other areas, and she said you could plop her 17-year-old down in the wilderness and he could fend quite well for himself.
While I'll never be quite that hands-off, I do hope I won't be like the mom on Supernanny the other day still brushing her six-year-old's teeth for him. It is hard to know when to help and when to step back and let your child sort of struggle through on her own. I imagine if I had five kids and was doing it on my own, I'd probably just rock beneath the stairs in the fetal position most of the time, but I did think a lot about what my colleague said this morning when the little angel announced she was going to wear her Cinderella underwear to school today for the first time ever.
We've made it through our share of Target trips and dinners out wearing the underwear, but any time the little angel puts them on and then, oh, sits on the couch, I have to take deep breaths. This is not because I have fabulous furniture - I don't - or because I'm afraid she's going to poop - she almost never poops anywhere but the potty, even when she is wearing her diapers. I'm not that frightened by a little urine. It's mostly this idea I have in my head that somehow I can control whether or not she has an accident by asking her incessantly if she has to go, or seeing the change that comes across her face when she's about to let it fly all over the hardwood floor. I need to get over that, and the spoon drawer conversation was useful in that way.
We talked a lot about how your children are their own little people, and not necessarily the reflection on ourselves we tend to think they are. My new boss told a story about how his now MIT-attending son went through a phase during which he had to wear five t-shirts at all times. They just went with it, and eventually he wore less clothing than a homeless person. It does make you think. Some things, like using drugs or alcohol or beating up other children at The Emerald City because they won't share the coveted pink ball, are bad and something we don't want reflecting on our parenting skills. While our children may still do those things, those behaviors may be symptoms of a larger problem we could help with. Other things, though, like the little angel's need to wear her clear Cinderella heels (gah) to a restaurant on Saturday night or having to take her out to eat with friends when she's covered from head to toe in tempura paint are not necessarily a reflection of me, my personal hygiene or my fashion sense. They are simply her being her, and I can't force her to wear matching clothes of my choosing forever. Eventually she's going to go Goth or shave her head or insist on piercing her nose, and those things may not be worth the battle. They may be her needing to express herself in her own way. While I don't intend her to leave the house looking like a streetwalker while she's under my roof, I will need to work on my need to have other people think she looks cute.
I'm sure most mothers want their kids to look or behave in a manner consistent with their own style of dress or speech. It's not evil or wrong to feel compelled to spit-shine your toddler's face. But there is a fine line between wanting your child to look presentable and clean and dressed appropriately for the weather and needing to exert control over their appearance. I probably won't be the mother who refuses to drive her children to school on a cold day because they have hats, dammit, but I don't want to be the mother who insists her daughter wear a dress on Christmas because THAT'S WHAT YOU DO.
So anyway, I didn't have time to shop for the little angel, so I brought her one of the plastic seafood table decorations from a big group meeting. She promptly named the crab Sebastian and took him to The Emerald City with her today. He can't reach the spoon drawer yet, so she shared her banana. I think it was big of her.
A feverish child has left me a little behind the eight ball the last few days, so I’m behind in reporting on a recent New York Magazine article on the effects of praising kids. Local reader Melanie from Arlington wrote in highly recommending not only checking out the article, but also listening to the NPR On Point interview with Po Bronson, the author of the New York Magazine article, and Carol Dweck, the lead on the research study that provided the catalyst for the feature.
Dweck’s experiments, based out of Columbia University, found that praising for effort vs. intelligence on problem solving tasks significantly influenced motivation and subsequent performance, and not in a good way for those praised for intelligence. This body of work – which held across socioeconomic and gender differences – strongly supports the psychological construct that praise, self-esteem, and performance rise and fall in tandem. And while some parents and educators stand by their praise of aptitude, Dweck’s data and other subjective reports suggest that being gifted - and perpetuating the need for perfection through praise - can cause a child to under perform due to fear of failure and embarrassment.
This feature struck a related chord. Back in middle and high school I under performed academically because I desperately wanted to be cool and not fulfill Asian stereotypes (playing the violin already was a strike against me here). And literally days before this feature came out, Jon expressed concern about this very topic, wondering whether we should ease off of our praise of Laurel's various accomplishments. At this point, the developmental milestones and language development come so fast and furiously that praise and amazement are reflexive. But this report certainly gave me pause, wondering whether we ought to translate our potty mantra to other parenting arenas, by playing it cool and commending the effort, not necessarily the outcome.