Fevers and Cold Sweats

When E was five weeks old, we had to send him to the hospital due to a high fever (over 103). My poor baby spent three days in the hospital, where he was hooked up to an IV, got round-the-clock Tylenol dosage, and three spinal taps. I heard he was really good about the taps; I don't know, I could not bear to be there so hubby had to accompany him.

What we've learned since is that E just gets fevers. His little body simply runs hot whenever he gets a cold. He has adapted, as have we. He can run a fever up to 101.5, and if you never touched him, you wouldn't think he was hot. He can carry on a conversation, play, and dance while he is running hot. And if he is anything under 101, we don't even bother to call the doctor; we just wait a few days for the fever to pass.

But when he gets a persistent fever that lasts for a week or more, I get the cold sweats. I know there is a reasonable explanation. But it doesn't assuage me. I start worrying that he has lymphoma or a brain tumor or the worst possible disease I can google.

Right now, he has had a fever for a week. We went to the doctor today, and she told me to bring him back if he hasn't broken the fever in two more days. Then it's back to the battery of tests: blood test, urine culture, chest x-ray. None of those tests have ever told me anything about what causes the fevers, which is enormously frustrating. The only consolation is that they confirm he doesn't have lymphoma.

Cross your fingers for E that he breaks his fever in the next 48 hours. And if that doesn't happen, cross your fingers that the blood tests don't come back indicating lymphoma.

Goodbye, Jerrianne

I posted earlier about my friends' sweet yellow lab, Jerrianne, and her battle with cancer. I am heartbroken to say that Jerrianne passed away a week ago. I was so overcome by the news that I broke down in tears at work when I read the e-mail.

Although she was not my dog, and I only saw her once a month, she brought me (and my dogs) an immeasurable amount of joy with her gentle and loving personality. Goodbye, Jerrianne. I miss you.

If you have a dog (or any other pet), give him/her a hug to remind yourself that every day with your furry friend is precious.

My Last Word on Prop 8, I Promise!

I have never been much of a political person, but this election year, in the midst of the presidential race and the economic crisis, I have found myself speaking out passionately against Proposition 8, which was the proposition on the California ballot to re-define marriage as between a man and woman, effectively invalidating all same-sex marriages. The proposition passed by such a narrow margin that the votes are still being tallied.

I have been surprised and saddened at how many of my friends and colleagues were undecided or in favor of this proposition, because this is 2008, and I thought that we were at a point where we could all recognize discrimination and take a stand to oppose it.

Every person has a right to express his or her opinion about gay marriage, but we don't have a right to impose our opinion into the constitution and thereby infringe on the rights of others.

So I am compelled to make one more appeal to anyone who supports inserting a discriminatory declaration in our state constitution, because it is never too late to speak up to repeal the proposition.

I ask how anyone can teach one's children that everyone is equal in the eyes of the Lord, that everyone deserves a fair shot, that prejudice is wrong, and to do unto others as you would have them treat you, and still support something that legally prohibits two people from declaring their love for one another.

I ask those who would never call an African-American a "nigger", a Chinese person a "chink", or a woman a "whore", why you think this small issue of semantics is not deeply hurtful.

I remind anyone whose spouse is not of the same race, that only a little more than 40 years ago, your love and relationship was not considered the norm and outlawed in almost half of the country.

Finally, I quote from the text upon which this great nation was built:

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness...That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it...."

And I ask what greater pursuit of happiness there is than the right to marry whom one loves. How do we honestly say that we live by the tenets that forged this country if we are willing to deny someone his or her inalienable rights, simply because we don't fully understand their love. It is love, nevertheless.

Finding Guilt-Free "Me" Time

Between a full-time job and two kids, there is precious little time to just enjoy myself. I find myself trying to do the little things that I like (blogging, exercising, catching up with my DVR) in the wee hours of the night.

My attempts to carve out "me time" during the evening hours when the kids are up are fraught with guilt. Am I ignoring the kids and somehow causing them psychological trauma? Am I over-burdening my husband by having him fly solo with the kids? Do my dogs miss me? OK, I know the answer to that last question is "yes".

I'm pretty sure my husband doesn't feel one iota of guilt when he goes out to see a Sharks game with his buddies, so why do I beat myself up over two once-a-month activities (Girls Night Out with the gal pals and a writing group)?

And I always feel like I need to fill it with something "productive" - working on the computer, working out, etc. Why can't I let my "me time" be taken up with a nice lazy activity, like napping? Lord knows I could use the extra sleep!

Someone please tell me the secret to finding some guilt-free time to myself!

Update on Jerrianne

I heard from my friends last week that their baby Jerrianne (see previous post) does indeed have cancer. They removed her spleen and have her on chemo therapy. Jerrianne is looking happy and well in her pictures, but of course, my friends are feeling very bittersweet.

Thoughts and prayers for you, Jerrianne, and to your adoring family.

Grateful For The Four-Legged Kids

E and V are so time-consuming and demanding that I have not had a chance to mention my first two kids: Lucy and Stubby. Both dogs are getting old now, and sometimes it takes a sad situation to remind me about my four-legged kids who love me just as much as the two-legged ones, if not more.

Our friends' dog Jerrianne recently had to have a biopsy, and our friends are still waiting to hear the results. If the growth on her spleen turns out to be cancer, she may have only one to six months to live. Jerrianne is only nine, two years younger than Lucy.

I feel so lucky that Lucy and Stubby are relatively healthy (so far) in their old age and active and loving life. They have accepted E and V into their pack, even though we spend considerably less time with them since the kids were born. They are wonderful dogs and wonderful first children for me. I'm so grateful to have them in my life. I can't even imagine how I could cope with our friends' situation.

So make a wish for, say a prayer, or however you commune with the universe, please ask for Jerrianne to be OK. Her parents are holding their breath and hoping that with enough love, their baby can heal.

Stuff I Love: Smashbox Sheer Focus Tinted Moisturizer

Well, it's been a long time since I've doled out any loving. I have of late settled into a nice quiet routine, and nothing has given me a quantum leap in my quality of life, until now.

What I Love: Smashbox Sheer Focus Tinted Moisturizer ($30 USD 1.7 fl oz)

Why I Love It: Yes, I'm not a make-up girl. I still don't really know how to apply mascara without it looking goopy. Which is precisely why I like this product. It actually feels like moisturizer, that happens to have a sheer tint to it. It also has SPF 15 and anti-oxidants, which I need and you need, too, because, let's face it, we're getting old.

You may wonder what this is doing on my mommy blog. What does this have to do with parenting? It's because I don't get nearly enough sleep any more (guess why), and I can no longer roll out of bed looking decent to the world. And I am a better role model to my kids if I feel good. (Follow my train of thought here, we're almost at the destination.) And when I look better, I feel better.

Hey before I got fat(ter) and had fewer gray hairs and got at least six hours of sleep a night, I only needed moisturizer and lip balm before I left the house. Now I need just that little bit of help to make my skin tone even and lessen the under-eye circles. But I still hate that cakey feeling of foundation. So there you have it. This is the product for you if you hate wearing make-up as much as I do.

Yes, You Are My Performing Monkey

Over the last month, I have seen the passing of my grandfather and the marriage of my little brother, and with those two events, a swarm of relatives come through our part of town. Many of them were meeting my kids for the first time.

Of course I am going to show them off, they are so cute! This mommy is proud of her munchkins, especially since I never thought I had the stuff to be a parent in the first place. And especially when the kids are at such cute stages in their life: E, with his adorable pre-school stream-of-consciousness non-sequitors, and V, with her flirty charm and drunken-master walking.

So naturally, when the parade of aunts, uncles, and cousins came to town, I wanted them to see all the things my kids do that make me laugh, make me proud, and make me melt. Which means of course that they did NONE of the things that make me laugh or melt. Would E shake his booty? Would V blow kisses? Not a chance. At one point, I asked E to say something in Mandarin, to which he replied with an icy glare that said, "I am not your performing monkey! Leave me alone!"

Is it wrong for a mother to want to share the joy? I guess they give private performances only.

Milestones!

It's been a busy month, and hence, I have gone AWOL on the blogging front lately. But a few things happened over the last month that are worthy of acknowledgment.

First, V is finally walking. Congratulations to my little diva for finally becoming bi-pedal! Granted, she walks like she's drunk most of the time. And she's not that steady. But having tasted the freedom of walking, nothing can deter her - not tripping on her own feet, getting knocked down by the dogs (or E), or the accidental run-in with furniture (that f**ker came out of nowhere!).

Secondly, E is pooping in the potty! I had pretty much given up, but I caught him making that tell-tale face one day and whisked him onto the potty seat. After he realized that he wouldn't fall in and get sucked to the ocean (like his Lightning McQueen undies), he became more open to putting his poo-poo in the potty. And in case you're wondering, he gets 5 stickers, "potty candy" (aka, fruit leather), and a trip to the car wash for his efforts.

Both of the munchkins are very proud of their achievements, as am I! Mommy's tired arms thank V, and the planet is happy E is putting fewer diapers in the landfill.

Anywhere But There...

The trials of E's potty training continue. He has gotten fairly good at letting us know when he needs to pee. But it seems like he will poop anywhere but in the potty. Argh!

We have tried everything to sway him, from praising, singing songs on the toilet, playing games, giving him a special toy to play with on the toilet, and bribing him with food, TV priveleges, candy, toys. We've swirled more dirty underpants in the toilet (and accidentally flushed one pair away) than I can count.

I've been reading every article I can find online, borrowed countless potty training books, and even signed up for a personalized "potty training" consultant (they really do have consultants for everything, don't they!). One piece of advice we haven't tried is to let him watch while Daddy poops on the toilet. I'll give you one guess why we haven't tried this yet.

The articles say that for boys, they should watch Daddy, and girls should watch Mommy. Since Daddy was reluctant, I gave it a go myself. I realized why they recommend having your child watch the parent of the same gender; E spent the entire session asking me where did Mommy's penis go. "Is it hiding?" "Is it sleeping?" "You forgot it?" "It fell in the water?" "You flushed it like Lightning McQueen underpants?" He didn't even notice what I was doing because he was so pre-occupied with the whereabouts of my penis.

So we're going to have to convince Daddy to let E watch him take a dump. I think I am going to have to bribe him with food, TV priveleges, candy, or toys.

I Wanna Potty Like It's 2006

We started potty-training E over the Memorial Day long weekend. This is going to be a long and arduous process, fraught with many, many, many, many, many loads of laundry. This weekend alone, we ran over 13 loads of laundry (which included one t-shirt that Grandma brought back from China and promptly turned all of E's sheets into a mottled pink color).

We wanted to start the potty-training earlier, but my second pregnancy waylaid our plans. I wish we had had more fortitude at the time and just forged on when we had originally planned. At 18 months, we would have been potty-training a much less willful and stubborn creature.

The other challenge we are facing is that stand-alone potty seats are really too small for a 3 year-old, but a toilet ring on a regular toilet is still a bit intimidating. E looks either like a Lilliputian or Brobdignagian depending on which toilet he's on.

But he seems to be making some progress; today he only had accidents upon waking in the morning and after his nap. If anyone has any tips on how to get past the bed-wetting, let me know, thanks!

Shout Out To Working Families On Their Own

After a month without my nanny, and both sets of grandparents travelling at the same time, I've really developed an appreciation for all the parents who raise little ones on their own. No family, no hired help. Moms who hold down jobs while raising a child? SUPERMOMS. Single mothers? WONDER-WOMEN.

I don't know how I came out on the other side of holding down a full-time job, parenting, and being without my usual support network, having only this deepened respect and negligible psychological trauma to show for it. I bow down before all you mothers and fathers who do this day in and day out. I'm not worthy.

A Belated Happy Birthday, V!

I swore that I would not be one of those moms who lets child #2 get short-changed, but inevitably, it's hard to give undivided attention to the sweet low-maintenance baby when the high-strung three year-old is screaming his head off most of the time.

And so here I am, over a week after V's first birthday, finally acknowledging her big day. And V was as sweet and low maintenance as ever on her birthday. So low maintenance, in fact, that some people forgot she was even at her own party! That Grandma stole her away to a corner and monopolized her time had a little something to do with it, too.

A belated happy birthday to my wonderful daughter. Even though I may not get as much time with you, you have my whole heart.

Grandma's Hip

Do you remember when you used to diss your mom for not "getting" your music? My mom used to tell me to turn down my music and ask my why I would listen to all that noise. (Admittedly, my love for euro-pop confections like a-ha and Erasure wasn't all that cool to my peers, either.) I, in turn, questioned why my mom tortured me on the drive to school with her AM-Gold 70's nuggets like Air Supply and Leo Sayer.

So it came as a shock to me when I heard my mom's new cell phone ringtone today: Rihanna's "Please Don't Stop the Music". How could she be such a square when I was growing up and be so hip now? When I relayed this to my friends at a baby shower, half of them replied, "Who's Rihanna?" I see the square is on the other foot now.

It turns out that no longer being consumed with school functions and extra-curricular chauffeuring has allowed my mother the time to catch up on all her People magazines and learn to use her iPod, while my friends are all becoming pop culture misfits. I guess being a mom really does make you "lame".

I'm going to fight the dorkiness of being a mommy to the end. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get me some Applebottom jeans and them boots with the fur....

OMG, I think that last line officially makes me a dork.

My Boobs Don't Surrender

Well, I thought that I would be done with the breastfeeding by now. With V off to daycare while the nanny went on vacation, and V's loss of interest in nursing, I figured we'd be on formula by now. I had resigned myself to accept it and even started to look forward to the day when I could wear a real bra again and eat whatever I wanted again (oh, my kingdom for a Vietnamese coffee!).

As it turns out, being away from Mommy all day has rekindled V's desire to nurse. How's that for irony! My boobs have petered out during the day. They just have no love for the pump. But morning, night, and weekends, they seem to meet V's needs.

Of course, now V has a few more teeth, and I was really wanting that Vietnamese coffee, so now I'm wondering when I can wean. Isn't that the way it always goes?

Surprise!

After E's birthday party, we sat down together to open presents. E received a variety of gifts, from puzzles to baseball equipment to art supplies to toy cars. I was probably even more excited than he was at the things he received that I have an interest in: paints and brushes, puzzles, and more track kits for his GeoTrax collection. I envisioned us painting together, putting together new train track configurations, and laughing and having fun conversation as we assembled the puzzles.

The baseball, basketball, and golf sets? Meh. Maybe there is a gift receipt and I could return them for something I knew E enjoyed more. After all, he has shown no interest in sports whatsoever.

So imagine my surprise when the thing he wanted to play with most was his T-ball set! And a double surprise that he was actually really good at hitting the whiffle ball. My son, a natural athlete? Who knew??? He and his daddy were having so much fun playing T-ball on the front lawn that I couldn't help but start to like baseball a little more just watching them play together.

Then E said, "I want Mommy hit the ball." Oh no, baseball is not my thing; I was Miss Picked-Last-By-Team-Captains-During-PE from kindergarten to my senior year in high school. I was enjoying being a spectator, and I really didn't want him to see his mommy striking out.

I got my third surprise of the day when I was able to hit the ball that the machine pitched to me. And after a few swings, I was hitting line drives between first and second base. Guess who is playing with E out on the front lawn these days? Daddy is happy to catch a quick nap after work while Mommy and E play T-ball.

And to think I almost returned that toy! So this is a little reminder to myself not to impose my own likes and dislikes on my kids, and also to keep an open mind about what time with them can teach me about myself as well.

Under Pressure

The rat race starts early here in the Silicon Valley. Parents cram their children's days with extra-curricular activities in order to get them into the right grammar school so they can get into the right high school so they can get into the right college. Children end up with tremendous pressure on their slight shoulders and little time to be kids.

My niece P is a prime example. She is currently enrolled in one of the most academically rigorous schools in the area. She also takes gymnastics, swimming, ice skating, and Chinese. Her mother wants to enroll her in a dance class and music class as well. By the way, my niece is three.

My sister-in-law says that P enjoys all these activities, and it's better for her to learn new things than just sit around and watch TV all day. All these things are fun as well as educational, and P is a happy, bright girl - she's not a basketcase or sullen from her full schedule, so what's the problem?

Well, since you asked....

I see two main problems: (1) Kids at P's age can't necessarily articulate that they are feeling pressure or stress, but that doesn't mean they don't feel it, and (2) if one's child is in a rigorous academic school setting from 8am - 5pm and taking four extra-curricular activities in addition, how much time does she spend with her parents?

Let's talk about problem #2 first, because some would argue that there is extensive driving time involved and parent participation in the classes. In P's case, there is a lot of driving time, but since she is three, most of the extra-curricular classes are no longer parent participation (for which my sister-in-law is extremely grateful). I don't know about you, but I consider the time I shuttle my kids around a good opportunity to chat with them (if they're in the mood to talk). Quality time together, however, it is not.

Children still learn primarily by example, and their most significant role models are their parents. So instead of plopping P into an ice skating class, why not take her ice skating and have a good time? And herein lies my biggest beef: the use of extra-curricular activities as a substitute for real parenting. My sister-in-law has often said that she doesn't have patience to answer all of P's questions or to wait for her while she learns something new. She claims that it's better for P to spend time with "trained professionals".

And that brings me back to problem #1. Children at P's age can't express the complexity of what they feel; they can say they are happy, sad, or mad. But they do perceive everything, even if they can't say it. Kids know when their parents are fighting even if the parents don't fight in front of them. They can tell in a very short time who will give them what they want, who will not listen to what they have to say, and who has patience with them. They can certainly tell if their parents would rather not spend time with them.

And they innately want to please their parents and gain their parents' affection and attention. So P may say that she enjoys doing all those things because some of those activities are fun for her, but she may also say she enjoys them because she senses that "Mommy is happy if I go do this thing". Either way, she will only be able to say that she likes it. The bottom line is that taking on that many activities would be hard for an older child, a teenager, or even an adult. Why would anyone expect that a three year-old could handle it?

My Boobs Surrender

Back in January, I weaned V from six nursing sessions a day to five. After all, she was eight months old by then and eating a variety of solids. The plan was to cut one nursing every other month until I got down to three times a day. The plan was solid: four nursings at ten months, then three nursings at a year, and then I would let V determine when to wean altogether.

It turns out that V is ready now, at 10 months old. Mornings and bedtimes, she is a voracious little eater at the breast, but the rest of the day... meh. She'd rather crawl, babble, suck on her fingers, grab the nearest toy (that would be defined as anything in her reach), or just stare at me and laugh.

Like any mother would do, my first instinct was to blame myself: Am I not making enough milk? Is it something in my diet? Am I too stressed out from work to let down? (Hey, when did my Mom rent a space in my inner monologue?!) Then like any good Chinese mom, I blamed V: Is she not latching well because of her teething and getting frustrated? Is her wiggling preventing the let down from happening?

It turns out she's just ready early, not like E who I breastfed until he was 15 months old. Not that I haven't tried everything I could think of to prolong the breastfeeding. I have tried pumping to increase supply, as well as fenugreek (which it turns out can cause massive diarrhea in about 10% of the people who take it, and I'm one of those lucky 10%). I tried sensory deprivation, feeding her in a pitch black room with no sound (that would be the toilet closet of one of our bathrooms - very sanitary eh?). I tried feeding her consistently at the same time.

It's only been six weeks since V lost interest, so obviously I haven't tried anything for that long a duration, but between the fenugreek and the sensory deprivation, I can sit on my toilet for only so long. I finally decided that if she doesn't want it, why should I continually try to force it on her? It's just causing me more stress.

So I still offer her the breast, and if she's not interested, I pump what little I can. I just bought some formula yesterday, and she seems OK drinking it from a bottle or cup. The formula is still my backup for now, but I've finally come to terms with the fact that V will probably be fully weaned by the time she turns one.

I don't know why it seems so bittersweet that she's not interested anymore. Breastfeeding is kind of a pain. And I still have our early morning and late night cuddle-time. Maybe I just miss all the extra calories I would burn. Maybe I have been brainwashed by the lactation nazis who say that mothers who don't breastfeed for the entire first year don't really love their children.

But at the end of the day, the one person for whom the breastfeeding matters most is interested in doing something else, so if she is giving me permission to let it go, I guess I should graciously accept it.

Happy Birthday, E!

Today is my son E's third birthday. He was acting very "3" today, but all in all, he was well-behaved and gracious in accepting all the special exceptions he was granted in honor of his big day: opening presents; TV after dinner; ice cream (ok, soy ice cream) for dessert. He even consented to sit on the potty twice tonight in a cursory show of cooperation in our potty training efforts.

Until I got pregnant, I didn't really think that I would have kids (neither did my friends). And after I got pregnant, I wasn't sure if the whole mommy thing would take. So imagine my surprise to find that I love being a mom, and that on this day, I feel like I am the one who got the best present of all.

Happy Birthday, E!

I Never Thought I Would Be That Kind of Model

I confess that I am addicted to supermodel reality TV. America's Next Top Model and Make Me A Supermodel are my guilty pleasures. I guess it's because I feel that I've missed my calling to be a supermodel (if you have seen me, you would know that I kid - I'm being funny, not delusional). But I often find myself yelling at the girls in these competitions, "You better work that runway, girlfriend!" "Remember to sell the garment you are modeling!" "That one has no idea how to pose for the camera."

Supermodel as a profession sounds great, doesn't it? I used to have lofty career aspirations, too (although never absurd ones such as supermodel or pop star, like most girls do today). But something weird happened after I had kids: I stopped caring about career climbing. It used to be that when my manager asked me what my goals are, I had ideas about the next promotion, getting on the right "track" (leadership track, management track, etc).

If you ask me now what my goal is, it's to be a good role model for my kids. That means being a kind person, being good for the planet, having integrity, demonstrating a positive outlook in life, and following through on the things that matter.

My career aspirations these days revolve around how I incorporate those role model qualities into my job. It can be especially hard to demonstrate a positive outlook when one is surrounded by office politics and climbers who are only working towards that next promotion. At the same time, there is something liberating about not caring about all of that stuff and just focusing on how to be the person I want my children to admire and emulate.

When I think about it, being a person that others look up to is a pretty worthwhile ambition, why hasn't it been my goal all along?

When Did I Become Boring?

A few friends from high school had our monthly moms' night out recently. This time, we decided to invite one of our friends who is still single, so we tried our best not to talk mommy talk. After all, this was our chance to get out of the mommy role and be interesting, vibrant, intelligent, modern women. But it ended up being the most difficult exercise to talk about something besides poopy diapers, when Disney on Ice is coming to town, and how to get one's toddler to have a decent nap.

I drove home in an abject state of disbelief and horror; I have become one of those people, talking ad nauseum about their kids. When did this happen? I went to a good college. I hold down a challenging job at an industry-leading Fortune 500 company. I have interesting opinions on the world around me. At least, I used to.

Aren't we having an election this year? The war is still going on in Iraq. China is doing all sorts of weird things as it frantically prepares to host the Olympics. The Giants staged a major upset over the Patriots in the Super Bowl. And Britney Spears has gone nine kinds of crazy since shaving her head. So why can't I have a conversation about anything more interesting than the Little Gym class into which I just enrolled E?

We ended the evening by inviting our single friend to keep joining us, because we really miss seeing her and because her presence helps steer the conversation to non-mommy topics. But just to encourage her to come again, we promised next month we would see a movie instead (hopefully one that is rated R), so that there would be a much smaller chance of slipping into mommy talk.

The Mom with the Most Balls

My friend, who is expecting her second baby later this year, asked me how one is able to raise two children. With defeat misting up in her eyes and a crack in her voice, she confessed to me, "I don't think I can do this. I'm already such a bad Mom now with only one. How will I be able to handle two?" She continued, "You are so much better than me: you work full-time, you run the household, you have two kids, and you're still breastfeeding...Gosh, you do it all."

I had to apologize to her, if anything in my deportment implied that I could, and in fact, did do it all. Under the surface, we are all frantically trying to hold it together. My only advantage over my friend is that, in my line of work, the ability to bullshit is called upon daily, so I am better at faking an air of competence.

There is this myth that the modern woman can balance career, family, and self, like those Chinese acrobats spinning countless plates on sticks. In reality, it is more of a constant juggling act to be a mom today, grasping at one thing and tossing something else off to be dealt with on another day. And we women tend to compare ourselves to each other- as if we were cars or appliances, assigning a value to ourselves based on who is juggling the most. But the fact of the matter is that it's a silly way to judge your worth as a mother. At the end of the day, the mom with the most balls in the air isn't the winner, she is the most exhausted one of us all.

It's much better to know how many balls you can juggle and set your limits accordingly. That doesn't mean you can only have three balls if that's all you can juggle; it means delegating someone to hold on to a few balls for you every now and then. I have learned that the secret to maximizing yourself as a mother is to set limits, ask for help when you need it, and accept assistance graciously when it's offered. And on those days when you find yourself having to juggle more than you are comfortable with, put a smile on your face and fake it.

Going to the Dark Side

Every mother has this epiphany at some point in her life. Maybe your child is raising hell on a day when you're just not in the mood to cope, or maybe you just had a bad day and unwittingly took it out on your family. But at some point, in a fit of anger, disappointment, or just plain exhaustion, you will say something to your child, and those words that come out might be in your voice, but they aren't yours. They are YOUR MOTHER'S. Then you realize in horror, "I've become my Mom!!!"

It's particularly bad for me, because it reaffirms that I am now a "Chinese Mom". The Chinese Mom is an interesting breed of mother, one part dragon lady, one part Jewish Mom. My mother is a prototypical example: she is 5 feet 4 inches of impossibly high expectations and overwhelming love of the smothering variety, wrapped in cashmere and topped with a short fuse. She is always at the ready with her unsolicited advice and quick to voice her sheer disappointment with you at every turn.

So I've been upset with myself for being so disappointed in the lack of progress my son E is making in the potty-training area. E will be three in March, and he is still refusing to poop in the potty. He is a whiz at peeing (no pun intended), but he just will not poop anywhere but in his diaper. Recently, after a particularly messy poopy incident (my husband was cleaning poop off the ceiling, and we'll leave it at that), I was so frustrated, I actually channelled my mother when I told E, "You are big boy now! You need to learn to poop in the potty! You know how to do this, do this so Mommy will love her big boy."

What?! Did I just imply that I would withhold love from my son if he wouldn't poop in the potty?! What's wrong with me? Oh yeah, I'm a Chinese Mom. The poop on the ceiling was a little scary, but not as scary as my reaction to it.

These days, I try to scrutinize my emotions a bit before expressing them to the kids. The self-censorship goes like this: "Is this something Mom would say to me? If yes, then it's probably better left unsaid." It's hard to fight those Chinese mom genes, but I remember how crappy my mother could make me feel when I was little, so it's a battle worth fighting.

Ruining the Planet - One Purchase at a Time

One of my colleagues sent me a curious link to http://www.storyofstuff.com/, which turns out to be an educational, provocative, effective, and thoroughly depressing piece of propaganda about how American consumerism is ruining the planet. After viewing the video, I wondered in horror, "Am I mucking up planet Earth whenever I impulse buy a cute shirt for my son at Target or go for the 2-for-1 special on Chex cereal at the grocery store?"

The basic tenet of storyofstuff.com is that Americans, in their never-ending quest for a good bargain, feed the behemoth of Big Corporations, who lure us into buying more crap in their never-ending quest for making more money. There is conspiracy theory that manufacturers design their products to look great new but break often enough so that people will buy more. These companies also market their stuff to make people feel like they have to have the newest thing to feel worthwhile.

Watch the video and make up your own mind, but if you feel a twinge of guilt at potentially leaving a planet of "X"-ed out trees and dead fish for your kids, what recourse do you have? Does saving the planet mean that you have to be one of those fashion victims on "What Not To Wear", sporting 10-year-old clothing because you shouldn't buy any more just for the sake of vanity? Do you have to use a relic of a computer with Windows 2.1 so that you don't create e-waste?

Saving the world is like going on a diet: we all know it's good for us, and the steps are pretty simple, but doing them is hard unless they can be easily incorporated into our everyday lives. The section titled "Another Way" on the web site has some good suggestions that are easy to follow. Here are some more:

1. You don't need a phone that takes pics, plays ringtones, syncs with your e-mail, and allows you to access your Wii. My cell phone is 3 years old. It doesn't text message, it doesn't take pictures, it doesn't play MP3 files. I already have other stuff that I bought that does all those things. Resist the urge to get the newest gadget. Where do you think that cell phone goes when you toss it for a new one? It's always less wasteful to make do with the things you have already purchased.


2. Say NO to take-out. One weekend when my husband and I were both sick, we got take out at every meal because we were too tired to cook. We filled up 2 kitchen garbage cans with empty take-out containers. I had a major guilt trip when I saw how much trash we made.


3. Buy in bulk when you can. This doesn't necessarily mean do your grocery shopping at your local Costco, although those warehouse stores are not necessarily bad. I mean buy items contained in the least amount of packaging. For example, I bring a clean plastic container to the store with me and buy my flour in bulk. Try not to buy stuff that is individually packaged; rather, buy the food in a single larger container, and re-use small plastic containers to take individual servings on the go.


4. Read the label. Where was the item produced? What is it made from? How much does it cost? If the price is too good to be true, it probably is. You're better off buying a quality item that costs a little more than a cheap one that may break more easily or be unsafe for you or your family.

I'm still working on the "make do" and "buy less" part when it comes to shoes.

Stuff I Love: Simple Treats Cookbook by Ellen Abraham

I have said before that I always imagined baking cookies with my kids as one of those lazy Saturday activities that would become a cherished tradition in our family, and how disappointed I was to find out that both my kids are allergic to eggs and dairy (my son allergic to wheat as well). Well, I need not give up the dream anymore because I found a great cookbook that lets us bake our cake and eat it, too!

What I Love: Simple Treats: A Wheat-free, Dairy-free Guide to Scrumptious Baked Goods by Ellen Abraham. That title says it all, don't you think?

Why I Love It: The recipes are really good and easy to follow. OK, you will never mistake the cookies that come out of this cookbook for a Specialty's cookie, but they are pretty tasty nonetheless. They are at least good enough to fool you into thinking that they are a regular home-baked goodie.

My son's favorite recipe is the oatmeal-raisin cookie. He loves that he gets to pour the raisins into the batter, and he likes to watch them puff up as they bake. Last night, we made the vanilla cupcakes together, and he told me that he wanted to make more to share with his friends at school. The brownie recipe is awesome as well, rich, gooey, and chewy.

In addition to the great recipes, I love that the recipes make nice, small batches (each batch makes about 15 1-ounce cookies), that all the recipes use no refined sugar or saturated fats, and that the nutritional information is included at the bottom of each recipe.

I bought my copy at Amazon.com, and it was $10 well spent.

The Marathon That Never Ends

I recently had dinner with a single friend of mine, and when we exchanged our "what's new with you?"s, I said, "Not much, just dealing with the kids," while she informed me that she had just completed her first marathon. "Congratulations! WOW!" I replied.

Then it struck me: what's so impressive about a marathon? A marathon ENDS. Twenty-six miles, and you're done. If you are tired one day, you can skip your 10-mile practice run. Parenting never stops. Tired? Grumpy? Got the flu? Too bad, you still have to give your kids their bath and make them dinner.

Yet nobody says, "Congratulations! WOW!" when you say you're a mother or a father. You don't get a t-shirt or a free power bar or people passing out water all along the way. Nobody sponsors you for every child you raise (OK, maybe the grandparents do); there is no Team-In-Training program for how to parent.

People do it every day, every minute of every day. But it's not celebrated as an achievement. Nobody answers the question, "What's new with you?" with "My kid is six this year and I helped to get her there." What an accomplishment to bring a child into the world and teach him or her how to be a good person.

Over the holidays, I met someone at a party who told me excitedly that he and his wife were planning to spend New Year's Eve in Las Vegas. "We can finally afford it now that we've put the last of our four kids through college," he said nonchalantly, to which I replied, "Congratulations! WOW!"