Category: Parenting

Do we have more to fear today?

1/1/2016

Photo courtesy of Crista Ballard Photography.
This article was originally published in the January 2016 edition of 605 Magazine.

Hello, 2016.

Even just writing that number “2016” feels like I’m writing about the distant, crazy future. You know, the real future: Cars flying overhead, people teleporting everywhere, a full head of hair dry in 10 seconds flat by the quick press of a button. That future. That’s what I think of when I write 2016. Yet, here we are in the “future” 2016 and I’m still drying my hair with a *sigh* archaic blowdryer, pumping gasoline into my land dwelling car, and the closest thing to teleporting is, what, a Segway?

Oh, Back to the Future (1, 2, and 3), how you ruined us! (And, delighted us.)

I say that all tongue-in-cheek, because as we all know, the future of our reality is indeed now and it is pret-ty amazing. Modern medicine is astounding, technology changes by the second, space exploration is having another major moment, global social connection is here, and finally, I mean FINALLY, someone created a real Dick Tracy watch.

The future, today, where we stand, is definitely looking up.

But, then, there’s the other side of the coin. All you have to do is watch the news just for two minutes and you will see that something about the future is also definitely looking down. Way down. Terrorism, sex trafficking, wars, rumors of wars, ISIS, nuclear spills, poverty, riots, millions of people without a home or a country…I need not go on. And then, add the children factor, and then there’s a trillion different other things that lurk in this future for parents to think about: School shootings, the vaccination debate, child trafficking, chemicals in food, chemicals in toys, puberty, bullying, depression, suicide, childhood diseases. Wow. Too many things to name, right? So much so that I kind of just want to sit in a corner and stare. And live in denial.

The future, which always seems to be portrayed as a shiny new version of today, seems to be a little scarier than perhaps we thought. Perhaps, today in this future, we have more to fear. And, definitely more to fear for our children.

Or, do we? Do we really have more to fear?

I’ve been wondering about this a lot lately. As the world seemingly spins into more chaos with each passing day, are our kids worse off than we were? Will they have it better - with all the advances of this future - or worse - with all the problems of this future - than other generations? How do we get them ready for whatever future awaits them?

Obviously, there are no easy answers here. One thing I have been learning, however, from those wiser than me is this: Every day has had its own trouble, and every day will have its own trouble. And fearing that trouble does not add one more minute to life. In fact, fear and anxiety actually take away life and time. And to prepare them? Well, we pray. We do our very best for our innocent children. We live out what we teach. We drive out fear with supernatural love. We wait, patiently, for someone to invent a flying car and an instantaneous hair dryer. We turn off the news when it feels overwhelming. And we try to raise kids that do the same - kids that fling the doors open to the future without fear and gladly say…

Hello, 2016.

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This golden time of year

12/1/2015

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Image Courtesy Crista Ballard Photography
Originally published in the December 2015 edition of 605 Magazine.

Any mother will tell you that nighttime is the time when her thoughts are finally free to run wild. With all work put aside until sunrise, the children sleeping, and dishwasher most likely churning, a mother can finally be alone with her thoughts. This is the golden time when ideas are born, situations of the preceding day are solved and pondered, worries are stoked and set aflame, future plans are made, and in some cases, major world problems are solved. But, there are also nights when we just fall into bed as if we’ve been shot in the rear with a tranquilizer.

Either way - whether it be through restful sleep or power activity - nighttime for mothers is something of a proverbial power hour.

And I am no exception. I am, admittedly, your extreme case of a night owl. Mornings? With the exception of a couple caffeine energy spikes, I’m practically sleep walking until mid-afternoon. But at night? Boy, oh boy, am I firing on all cylinders. And ever since I became a mother, being a night owl has really given me a leg up as nighttime is truly the only time I am efficient. If I play it right, I get more non-children related tasks done from 9 p.m. to midnight than I do during a whole week’s worth of daytime hours. I know…I’m odd. I think that’s been established.

But nighttime takes on a whole new feel around Christmastime. The already magical power hour, golden time of night becomes even more magical and golden for me. I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it is the warming glow of the Christmas tree lights cutting through the dark that entrance me, or the thick anticipation of the season that makes me even more awake and energized. Or, maybe, it is just that the season is so fleeting and I want to stay up and soak it all in. Maybe it’s just all the dang sugar I helplessly consume. Whatever the case, Christmastime has me up late like a crazy insomniac.

This year, we are celebrating Christmas at my brother’s house in California. Since we won’t be here for the holiday, I minimized my house decorations and simply put up our Christmas tree. So, every night after my typical nighttime flurry of activity, I stay up late sitting next to the fully decorated tree reading, staring into space, and chatting with my fellow night owl husband. But tonight, as I write this, I looked down at the tree and realized there are no gifts. The few gifts that we did this year I sent on to California. So, we have no gifts under our tree. And I have to tell you, I realized how an empty tree is such a beautiful sight.

Because this season was never about what we put under the tree. It was never about what we put in our stockings or send on as gift cards. It was truly and simply about the gift of a life. A life that can be filled with joy and hope when sometimes it might feel like there is no joy and hope left. That is what is so magical and supernatural about this season and the reason I want to stay up even later into the night to enjoy it; this season is quite literally the gift of joy to the world.

So, many, many, many blessings to you, Dear Reader, this season and those that follow. And may you embrace and enjoy all this joyful life has to offer and stay up obnoxiously late doing so!

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slowing down and giving thanks

11/1/2015

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Image courtesy Crista Ballard Photography
Originally published in the November 2015 edition of 605 Magazine.

We left on a jet plane. Unlike the song, we knew when we were coming back again. But, nonetheless, we left on a jet plane, to New York City, with two young children in tow. “Are we crazy?” we thought as we pulled into the parking lot at Sioux Falls Regional airport. Probably. But our bags were packed, we were ready to go. There was no turning back.
As we arrived at the airport, we unloaded our passel of belongings for a five-day trip — a stroller, a carseat, two large roller bags, three carry-ons, and as we would learn later, only about half of our brains. Huffing and puffing and burning off what felt like thousands of calories to get our little family of four and all our luggage on the move, we finally arrived ... at the ticket counter.

Whew. “Are we there yet?”

It was here at the ticket counter that we encountered a minor setback on our journey east. As we looked at our reservation, it appeared that we were not, in fact, leaving on a jet plane. We were leaving tomorrow. As in, we bought our tickets for the wrong day and there we were at the airport with all our bags and half of our brains. Parent fail.

We were meeting family in New York and already had our hotel reservations locked in. Arriving a day late would be a huge bummer and not to mention having to explain to our four-year-old her dreams of riding in an airplane that day were foiled. In a scramble, we tried to rebook and by the grace of God and an angel of Delta Airlines, we were able to snag a flight getting us in just two hours late. No big deal! Just more time for our preschooler to rub her face and hands all over every germ-laden seat in the airport, right?

Five hours and a used bottle of hand sanitizer later, we arrived in New York City.

We arrived near midnight and even after the long day’s travel, the beaming light of excitement could not be extinguished from our daughter’s face. As we traveled from the airport to the hotel, we could barely keep her in her seat as she gawked at the lit up skyscrapers and bridges. As we arrived at our hotel, she could not contain her glee as we let her press the number “32” in the elevator. When we arrived at our room, she squealed with delight as we showed her the tiny couch where she got to sleep.

When we woke up the next day, she looked down in wonder at the shockingly, sprawling city beneath her and screamed as she pointed out every last detail to us, the half-awake parents. Needless to say, the trip continued with equally excited wonderment. A taxi! A leaf! A rock! A building! A beautiful piece of TRASH! All laced with screams, jumps, and shrieking. As hilarious as every discovery of hers was, as a parent in the midst of it all, I will admit it was somewhat exhausting to keep up. I joked that I needed just ten minutes of silence staring at a wall to recover. And when I say ten minutes, what I really meant was two hours.

But, each night as we fell into bed exhausted from the adventures of the day; I stayed awake and replayed each and every thing that she sighted in gleeful delight. With every squeal, she made us see and experience vacation and the world in a whole different way. What we would normally do when visiting the city just didn’t feel as important anymore. Now, relishing every bite of a cupcake, craning my neck to take in a skyscraper, watching the mass of humanity walk by in wonder, hugging a lamppost, or spending several minutes admiring one fallen leaf were the new normal activities. And you know what? It all equated with making beautiful, lasting memories.

I suppose that is one of the greatest joys of parenting; the privilege of slowing down and making memories together in the midst of adventure and discovery.

So, yes, we are still probably crazy for pushing our heavy, double stroller filled with children all over the busy, dirty streets of Manhattan. But, I don’t regret one second of it. I learned so much from my daughter that trip. And as we kick off this month where we think about giving thanks and being grateful, I want to take a page out of my daughter’s book and quit rushing around from destination to destination and taking for granted the wonderment this life has to offer. Rather, I want to feverishly celebrate, savor, and give thanks for every little discovery along the way.

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"Just": a four-letter word

10/1/2015

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Image courtesy Crista Ballard Photography
Originally published in the October 2014 edition of 605 Magazine.

With two children now, it is somewhat infrequent that we patronize hip, chic restaurants as a family of four. It’s not that we don’t so imagine ourselves as hip, chic people per se. It’s just that, I don’t know, something about a double stroller, obnoxious amounts of kid gear, and constant breastfeeding kills the whole hip, chic vibe. However, a few weeks back, while traveling, we found ourselves at a young, groovy restaurant with some friends eating tacos. And if you know anything about me, you know tacos are my love language.

So there we were, eating delicious tacos. Our infant was sleeping soundly in his carrier and our toddler was miraculously behaving gloriously. I had a margarita in my hand, a taco in the other, there was great conversation among friends, and I had my dashing husband sitting next to me. It felt like warm heaven. And I felt like Mom of the Century -- hip and chic all at the same time.

Somehow the conversation turned to what we were all doing with our careers and I listened intently and excitedly about each person’s latest promotion, big sell, and new job venture. When it came around to me -- the only mother in the group -- I began to get excited to detail some of the random happenings in life as of late. But, as I started to talk, I was suddenly cut off when someone smiled at me and said, “And we all know you must be busy at home being just a mom!”

I blinked. “Just?!”

Out of nowhere, I suddenly felt the urge to reach across the table and grab the person by the collar and say through fiercely clenched teeth “JUST a MOM?!” But as my arms began to reach across the table in this deliberate act of aggression, reason caught up with me and, oops!, I grabbed another taco. Awkward crisis averted.

Thankfully, someone made another unrelated comment and the conversation veered into an entirely different trajectory. But, the damage to my ego had been done. The seemingly innocent word “just” sliced me with the power of a four-letter word.

As we drove away from what would have been a perfect evening, I confessed to my husband the reason for my bruised ego: I hate being known as “just” a mom, as if I’m not contributing to society enough to be involved in a career conversation. And because he is a dreamboat husband, he turned to me and said, “If they only knew all you did.”
Yeah! Take that!

But as I later mulled it over in my mind (in between bouts of daydreaming of big city tacos), I wasn’t so much aggravated by the common misconception that being a mom is some kind of easy career. I feel no need to make an exhaustive list of everything moms do to prove mainstream thought wrong. And believe me, it would indeed be an exhaustive list. But, that’s not my hill to die on. No. What really bothered me was the fact that I was even bothered at all by such a small, flippant comment. What it revealed to me was the gross fact that I still place some of my identity in what others perceive I do rather than who I actually am.

Because reality is, I am not, and no one is, “just” anything. We are all dynamic, once-in-a-universe individuals created to alter the course of history by simply being who we were created to be. I hope one day I will get to a place where I fully live that out unabashedly and share the wisdom with my children. In the meantime, I would be remiss if I did not advise you, dear reader, to strike all references of the word “just” when referring to anyone or anyone’s profession. If not, you might just get a taco thrown at you by yours truly. Just kidding. I would never waste a taco.

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life with a "threenager"

9/1/2015

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Photo courtesy Crista Ballard Photography
Originally published in the September 2015 edition of 605 Magazine.

I heard her bare feet hit the ground with a thump and I grimaced. I had just fed and put my infant down for his early morning nap and I was almost back into a deep sleep when I heard her. I’m not ready to face her just yet. Maybe if I just stay really still she will go back to bed. But, as I heard the familiar ferocious pitter-patter of her feet sprinting (that’s right, sprinting) down the tiled hallway to my bedroom, I braced myself. Here we go. Another day in the life of a “threenager.”

Up until this year, I had not heard nor did I understand the term “threenager”. But as my daughter is about to turn four, I now have had 12 months of hard-earned lessons into this so-called “threenager” creature. While much has been said surrounding the teenage years -- typical teenage angst, hormonal upheaval, the push for independence, and at times the disdain for authority -- the three-year-old era has been somewhat underrated even though they can act the same way. In fact, the only real difference between the two groups are that toddlers are smaller, they have less hair, they smell better, and they write with crayons instead of texting on phones. As parents, we’ve all been warned about the teenage years as well as the so-called “terrible twos,” so when we reached age three with my daughter relatively (emphasis on that term “relatively”) unscathed I thought maybe we were in the clear until thirteen.

Welp people, I was wrong.

In the past six months I have seen emotional rollercoasters like you would not believe. Unless, of course, you have a three-year-old. For example, as I was writing this, I had to pause and mediate a 45-minute tantrum that began with me telling her that her movie Tarzan was over. (Note to self: Perhaps letting her watch a movie about a man acting like a wild animal is part of the problem.)

Ok, noted.

Apparently at three years old, children really begin discovering their voice and experiencing emotions. And it is our job as parents to help them understand these emotions and help them install proper boundaries around them. Sounds easy, right? Yes! Yes, in theory. But when a granola bar has a crack in it and your three-year-old has an apocalyptic meltdown over it at a restaurant with judgy people staring at you, whew! It definitely does not feel easy. In fact, it feels sweaty and exasperating.

The thing is, I have been reminding myself that these little chaotic moments are small pieces to the larger puzzle of my daughter’s life. She is truly the apple of my eye, the tiniest little ball of joy and wit, and being her mother has been my greatest calling in life. Hence my 15,000 pictures of her in my iCloud. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that this threenage era hasn’t been humbling and challenging. I have heard that we are given the children we get to help us become the best version of our own self. I can attest to the accuracy of that statement as my patience, endurance, and gentleness is most definitely being refined and tested through this threenage stage. A perk? At least she isn’t blaring Justin Bieber music from her bedroom quite yet. We’ll just have to wait for the true teenage years for that.

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Sometimes, i forget about my husband

6/1/2015

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Originally published in the June 2015 edition of 605 Magazine.

It was nine ‘o clock at night and I had just put my feet up on our ottoman and exhaled a deep “finally” type of sighs. Our daughter was in bed, bathed, well read, prayed over, and quiet for the first time since her feet hit the ground running that morning. Our other baby still in the womb, was gently kicking with just a little over a month to go. My favorite guilty pleasure show was about to begin and I greedily cozied down for what would be the most relaxing part of my day. Whew. Next stop after this was sleep. I was practically salivating for my pregnancy pillow and my warm bed. Then, came such a clamor. I was jolted out of my moment of nirvana by the sound of clanks of the dishes and the sound of running water. Now, whoever could that be?

And then I heard his voice; “Are you starting the show without me?!” Somehow, in my moment of narcissistic tranquility I had but for an instant forgotten about the other member of our household: My husband. The father of these children. The lord of the manor. The 35-year-old handsome hunk I live with.

Yes, I admit; there are times when I’m a bad wife. Let the aforementioned night be a case in point: I forgot about my husband for a split second. And I’m ashamed to say, this probably wasn’t the first time this has happened. I know. June Cleaver is probably turning over in her grave. In all the hullabaloo, routine, and survival of our days as mothers, there is one party that sometimes (emphasis on sometimes) gets partially neglected. That party being the husbands.

Feeling guilty for being guilty of neglect, I turned the TV off and waited for him to join me in the living room. And as if he could detect my egregious spousal error, he said “You know, I was looking at some pictures of us before we had any kids the other day. We just look so … irresponsible.” I burst out laughing at that moment because I knew exactly what he meant. Before we had children, our biggest responsibilities were our jobs and each other. Our email and text conversations throughout the day consisted of things like “I miss you so much! Where should we go to happy hour?” And, “Can’t wait to spend the weekend with you, should we head to the mountains?” Or, “Should I make reservations at that new, hot restaurant tonight?” Our responsibilities were minimal and often frivolous and all we could think of was spending time together.

Today, post children, our email and text conversations read a little bit different. “Can you pick up diapers and plant fertilizer on your way home? Oh … and crayons!” Or, “I just saw a bug! Can you call the pest spray people?” And, “I’ll see you at the pediatrician's.” And my personal favorite desperate plea, “Please come home, I need help!” With houses, dogs, children, and increasing age comes increasing responsibility. And sometimes, an increasing pressure to reduce the focus away from each other and on to other life matters; namely the children.

I was reading an article the other day about how even though children are your everything, they actually are not your everything. For a season, young children demand your every attention just to survive, but as they grow older the goal of parenting is to shepherd them out of your house and out into the world as functioning, loving, capable, and independent adults. Part of being able to make that happen is making sure the children know they are important and loved, but at the same time making it clear that the world does not revolve just around them. For example, it would be healthier if the mother did not forget about the father just because she is busy all day with the kids.

Ahem. My bad.

Father’s Day is this month and while I’m usually up here preaching about how amazing women are and how selfless mothers are (hello, we are goddesses!); I want to take this month and say thank you to all the amazing husbands and fathers out there. I know sometimes we neglect you and seemingly forget about you, but we will do better. None of this would be possible without you and we can’t wait to grow old with you and go to hot restaurants and plan spontaneous trips again. We LOVE you. But, seriously, come home. We need help!

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warm weather to-do list in south dakota

5/1/2015

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Photo courtesy of Crista Ballard Photography
Originally published in the May 2015 edition of 605 Magazine

Look! That thing in the sky! Yes, that blinding light gleaming like a burning ball of happiness. No, it isn’t the apocalypse, nor is it a figment of your imagination. It is, boys and girls, indeed the sun. Warmer temperatures are draped upon us and I am reminded every day the sheer wonder of this as my daughter saunters out of bed and upon looking out the window exclaims in bewilderment, “Mommy! It’s sunny day!” It is as though she also appreciates my newfound appreciation for the warm sunshine and shares my habit in quietly singing I can see clearly now the negative windchill is gone …

So, now that the sun is out and school is out, what now? What do we parents do with our little critters in this grand state of ours during this glorious summertime? Admittedly, when I first moved here and I didn’t see a mountain or a beach in sight, I felt dismay and a feeling as if I’ve been tricked. But today, I have seen the light (literally, the sun) and have a ever-growing simple to-do list of things to do this summer with children in tow. Here are my top five:

1. B&G Milkyway
Ok, so I may have mentioned that I’m pregnant so it may not be a coincidence that the first thing on this list involves food. But summer to me has come to mean sunset nights at this darling, local, Sioux Falls legendary ice cream shop with my little family. And what better reason to eat naughty fudge covered ice cream than the sun being out; can I get an amen? And with winter illnesses hopefully behind us for now, I don’t mind letting the littles (and the canine) indulge in a good old-fashioned sugar induced brain freeze. By the way, to all of you I see in the Dairy Queen drive-thru and not in the B&G line, I just want you to know; you’re making a grave error! Get out of there immediately.

2. Lake time
I have discovered that half of this town is gone during the winter (snow birding, you lucky devils) and during the summer the other half is gone lake housing (again, you lucky devils). Last summer, we hopped on the bandwagon and put in some serious lake time at a couple of the surrounding lakes in the area and our minds were blown. We did not know how much we were missing out on. So, this year we hope to bribe more of our friends to take us. Although, we come with a hyper toddler, a giant dog, and this year hopefully with a newborn. Any takers? All jokes aside, getting out to a body of water even if just for the day is like Christmas for kids of all ages and a must-do on our summer fun list.

3. Sioux Falls Parks and Rec Activities

When I first moved here and knew close to no one, I loved pulling out my little Parks and Rec Activities guide and migrating toward activities and events age appropriate for my daughter. Two years later, I still love going to the little play times that they offer at parks across the city as they really do a fabulous job in making summertime fun with the children and it provides a great way to meet new parents! And, secretly, the way I see it, if my daughter acts up and acts like a maniac, oh well! No one knows us! Anonymity can often be golden currency while raising a toddler.

4. Wall Drug

I steer us west for a mere moment because let’s face it, the west side of this state got the lionshare of the beauty in this state and we gotta show the west side some love! Think: Black Hills, Missouri River, Spearfish Canyon, etc. The problem is, although the drive is relatively short from the east side to say the Black Hills, I have found it does not feel short when you have needy, darling children in the backseat requesting something every nanosecond. However, I have found the holy grail of donuts that makes it worth your while and a perfect little stop for the offspring on the way to higher altitude. Wall Drug donuts, people. And I won’t stop there. Wall Drug pancakes. In the summertime, their backyard is open with lots of summertime food and happenings for the kids, so they can play and splash and mine and take pictures with jackalopes. They can even be terrified by a giant robotic T-Rex dinosaur, because who doesn’t like to see a terrified child? (Kidding). But you, faithful parent, get yourself to the donut counter line and get a maple donut. Bring one back for me. I’ll be your pregnant best friend.

5. Naps and Bubbles
Summer is also a time for simplicity in my book. A time to take a break from routines and schedules and let the day unfold lazily with a cool breeze. Thus, I plan to take lots of naps and play in the swirling bubbles with my imaginative daughter. Just merely visiting our backyard is a magical field trip to her and it has truly made me stop and take notice that we don’t have to go anywhere or do anything to find beauty. There are so many tiny, beautiful things to notice and savor. Like the green grass, the blue sky, and the mere certainty that the sun is in fact above us in all of its life-giving glory.

Happy warm temperatures to all of you, may there be adventure and rest (and donuts and ice cream) in the sunny days to come.

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making room for a new addition

4/21/2015

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Photo courtesy of Crista Ballard Photography

This article was originally published in the April 2015 edition of 605 Magazine.

Spring is always that time of year where our winter oppressed bodies comes out of deep hiding and we unabashedly expose our sun-deprived faces to the world in an act of utter jubilee. In addition to the weeping of joy that takes place once winter is over, spring is also a time where many take to the mop, the rags, the bleach, and channel their inner Cinderella servant self and involve themselves in what has become known as their annual spring cleaning.

And then, of course, there are people like me.

Who, at the first scent of spring, run frantically to the windows, throw them open with wild abandon, lay in the sun, and dream of fresh gardens and golden tans. Leaving any conscious thought of being in the house another second after a cruel winter -- let alone cleaning said house -- far behind.

However, this spring is different for our little family. You see, a blessing blew down from heaven itself and we are expecting a baby boy in June. (Insert wild, off-beat, embarrassing, happy dance here.) So, with a pending arrival of another tiny human, I have gone against the grain of my character and decided to try to do a little intensive organization and spring cleaning of my own. Or, as some others may call it, nesting.

We didn’t get the chance to prepare, clean, or nest when our first child came because she made her two-pound debut 10 weeks early. Thus, we were immediately hurled into the throes of parenthood and hospital stays and the very last thing I had time to think about was organizing baby socks, cleaning the carpet, or even putting a nursery together. And while we are praying and hoping this time will be different, we realize there is a chance we could find ourselves there again. So, to alleviate a bit of pressure I used spring as a good excuse to get the house ready in anticipation of our baby boy.

And, what have I learned from this idea of spring cleaning? Well, fellow spring citizens, tidying off any remnant of the harsh winter is no simple affair. I ended up consulting the Google about what sorts of activities are included in a regular spring cleaning and I came upon a list compiled by Martha Stewart entitled “Spring-Cleaning Checklist.” And I’m here to tell you, I’m sorry, but Martha has gone and lost her mind. The checklist is three pages long, small print. THREE pages. And as if that isn’t crazy enough, they list eight steps to achieve perfectly clean windows. Eight steps. And for good measure, they also throw in how to clean all the grout in your house.

I quickly shut my computer after I read that list. First of all, what happened to just wiping your windows down with Windex? And second of all, I’m not entirely confident I can identify what grout even is in my house. Sigh. It is no wonder I have avoided this seasonal cleanse my whole life.

Now to those of you who love this type of extremely thorough house purification, I hope you don’t hear me judging you. Because, well … baby, you’re a firework. I’m jealous that you have that work ethic in you and wish I had it in me to locate grout, scrub it, and wax it until it sparkles. Unfortunately, I just don’t have it in me. So, I have just pretended Martha’s exhaustive three-page list does not exist and I have been focusing my energy on things like sifting through old baby gear and seeing what I can use again, hiring painters to paint the new nursery, and trying to get my three-year-old to understand the change that is brewing in our little house. And now … I’m exhausted.

My spring cleaning list may be small, but I feel enormously accomplished in getting to do any sort of preparation at all this time around. And, as any parent can attest, anything can happen on this wild ride to bringing a human into the world, so while the sun is shining, the baby is kicking, and the carpets are cleaned, I’m just going to soak up the springtime sunshine and leave the intense cleaning for another season (or decade).

Happy cleaning!

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co-parenting ... with technology?

4/1/2015

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This article was originally published in the March 2015 edition of 605 Magazine.

Oh! How I do love thee technology. I can find out anything I need to know — and also what I don’t need to know -- with a quick inquiry to the Google. I can map myself to anywhere I want to go. I can find out things about girls my brothers are dating before my brothers even know the poor girl’s last name. I can arm the alarm to my house from anywhere in the world. I can incorrectly diagnose myself with any medical ailment you can think of. I can stalk where my husband is at any given moment (not creepy at all). And finally, I can waste a perfectly glorious day holed up in my room binge watching Downton Abbey episodes until I’m speaking in a British accent.

You see, technology and me? We’ve become quite close.

Unfortunately, this relationship has enacted unintended consequences on my offspring. My daughter has been a first-hand witness to all the texting, googling, talking to Siri, and “there’s an app for that” behavior of mine. Despite my attempts to limit her usage, she has noticed that technology plays a very present role in her parent’s everyday life and naturally, it is beginning to take a prominent role in hers.

We recently took a trip to Arizona this winter to make sure that temperatures still exist over 30 degrees. We were relieved to find that in fact, they do, and warm sunshine still exists. In addition to that very important finding, it was this trip I began to notice my daughter’s reliance and desire for all things technology. For example, when we boarded the plane, one of the first questions she asked me was “Does airplane have WiFi, Mommy?” Whoa. First of all, no it does not and it absolutely should! But second, how do you know about WiFi 3-year-old child of mine? Back in my day, when I flew in an airplane as a child I was most concerned about being the one who got to sit by the window and how many bags of peanuts the flight attendant would surrender to me.

But, gone are the days of peanuts, and gone are the days of window watching for children growing up in this generation. Afterall, who wants to look outside when we have information, entertainment, and distraction available on our technological devices? Therein exists the conundrum. As it is so readily available, are our children relying too much on technology? Am I, the relatively perfect mother (blatant lie), relying too much on technology? And, while I am at it, what happened to all the bags of peanuts?

I read a report the other day that said it would be beneficial to limit any type of screen time for children to 30 minutes and under per day and to never use it as a “babysitter”. I immediately thought to myself, “another parenting fail on my part; we watch at least two Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood per morning. Oops.” But, I put the study to the test and limited my daughter for one day to only 30 minutes of any sort of technology (phones, Ipads, TV, computers, etc.). The result? We played together, we colored, we imagined, we danced, read books, stared at each other, and napped. When it came time to prepare dinner, I turned on her favorite PBS show and turned it off right as it was over. So, all that to say, limiting screen time to 30 minutes is not completely impossible, but it definitely takes dedication on my end.

The next day, however, was a different story. I wasn’t feeling good throughout the whole day, so we watched movies. I let her scroll through pictures on my phone. Dinner that night was out with family so I turned on YouTube at the dinner table so we could talk and eat in peace. And at the end of the day, I cringed at how many minutes of screen time she probably logged on to her little brain. In fact, how many minutes had I logged on to my little brain?

Whether you are a parent or not, the technology-life balance struggle is real. How many people do you know cannot be parted from their phone for longer than a nanosecond? Are you one of those people? As a parent in our technology ridden age, how do we showcase a balance to our children with technology in our own lives? How do we harness the power of technology and not let it harness us or our children?

I don’t have the answers. But, wait! I bet there is a YouTube tutorial out there about it … I’ll let you know.

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A Messy Life

3/1/2015

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This article was originally published in the February 2015 edition of 605 Magazine.

I like to think that I have strong life skills. I like to think that I am a survivor, a conqueror, and an overall go-getter in life. However, there are days when I step into my house, survey the situation that is my entirely unorganized home and question all my life skills while wondering how I was ever authorized to run a household.

Household and general life organization has never been my strong suit. In fact, it is probably my weakest suits of all my suits. At the workplace, however, somehow it is a different story. My offices and desks were always extremely organized, my computer work files were layed out so intuitively Curious George could navigate them, and barring the several coffee cups that would somehow proliferate in my work area, for years no one ever knew my dirty little unorganized secret …

That is until I had a child.

You see with a child, you always have to be organized and prepared. Preparedness wards off disasters. You must be prepared. And up until this point in my life I was able to skirt by with just some minor infractions as a direct result of my my tendency to be unorganized. (You know, like an occasional missed flight, lost keys, a lost parked car, unmatching socks, a boarding pass flushed down the toilet on accident, a phone flushed down the toilet also by accident, a perpetually lost phone, a dropped wallet in a parking lot, an expired drivers license etc.). But, when a child came along, organization became paramount to survival and sanity. So, I stepped up to the plate and upped my game and somehow we got through the infant years with no major disasters.

But lately, something has gone back to being seriously awry with my household organization skills. Is it too late to blame y2k?

A couple of weeks ago, I was taking my daughter to swim lessons and of course we were running a few minutes behind. So, I grabbed her swim bag and searching high and low, went to look for her swim towel. After several excruciating minutes, it finally came to me that I wasn’t going to find a swim towel in the several piles of unfolded laundry located in various rooms of the house. Then, I couldn’t find my shoes. Then, I couldn’t find my daughter’s shoes. Then, I couldn’t find my purse. Now, we were really late.

So, I just tossed whatever I could find in the car and off we went hoping a magical towel would somehow appear at the end of the lesson. But as you can imagine, a magic towel did not appear and there I was staring at my shivering child, realizing I had absolutely nothing to dry her. But my inner Macgyver noticed a napkin in my purse which I used to wrap up a cookie that I would later use for bribing purposes (I mean, seriously, aren’t I an excellent parent?), and I took said napkin and dried her tiny body off. Then, to my delight I found fresh, dry clothes in my bag and quietly thanked God that somehow I had the foresight to at least pack dry clothes.

Celebrating my ingenuity and success, I completely forgot about the dreaded towel incident. Unfortunately, my daughter did not. As we arrived home, she ran to my husband and like a tiny little spy told him flat out “Mommy forgot my towel and used a dirty napkin to dry me.” To which he looked looked at me slowly and repeated “You dried her off with a dirty napkin?”

It was a low point for me. Yes, I did. I dried my daughter off with a crumb infested napkin. And sadly, dear husband, I can’t promise it won’t be the last time.

You see, I have come to own my unorganization. I have gotten better in some areas, but for the most part trying to be organized exhausts me on every level. I like flying by the seat of my pants, and I thrive in chaos. Yes, I may have a mountain of unfolded laundry at every given moment worthy of an elevation number, I will lose my car in the parking lot once a month, and you would be lucky to find two matching socks in my sock drawer or a swim towel at a moment’s notice. But, at the end of the day, my goal this year as a mom is to own my strengths and my weaknesses, improve where I can, and throw in the swim towel where I can’t.

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A Messy Life

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