Saying Goodbye to Darby

I am so sad. I am sitting here at ten minutes until 8 in the morning waiting for the vet's office to open so that I can call and tell them that I think the time has come to put Darby out of her misery. My poor, sweet kitty is just too ill. It has been hard for me to come to terms with it, but I just can't ignore the signs anymore. Yesterday she didn't even get off the couch -- not to eat, not to use the litter box, nothing. She can barely move. I don't want her in pain or discomfort. After 15 years together, it's time for us to say goodbye. I don't know how I am going to do it.

See You in September

August has been a weird month. On one hand, we've had a chance to relax. The four of us spent a week at the cabin together, and now I am back here with just the girls for another week. On the other hand, I've been busy with getting ready for back to school, meeting architects for the new house, and getting into my new role as Marketing Chair for S's preschool. I am definitely ready for September to arrive though. While I looove summer, by the end of August I long for the return of routine that September brings. I didn't used to be like this, but as they say, having children changes everything.

I may be biting off more than I can chew, but I have put together a pretty involved schedule for the fall. S has preschool Monday through Thursday afternoons. She also has speech therapy Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Then I have both girls in some fun activities. L is going to start gym class on Monday mornings and S is going to continue ballet on Wednesdays. I found an art class that will take kids from 18 months through 5 years old, so I've enrolled them both on Friday mornings. Finally, I want L to have more one-on-one time with her dad (S already gets more than L, just by virtue of her age), so on Saturday morning R is going to take her to music class while I take S to a different class for older kids. Somewhere in there, I am going to have to find time for my workouts.

Now that I see it all spelled out, it really does seem like a lot. I actually don't believe in having kids' schedules filled with activities every day; they really need to have some down time in order to spur their imaginations, foster creativity and instill self-reliance. We'll see how it goes this fall; if it gets to be too much, we'll cut something from the schedule.

Either way, I am just glad to get back to a routine. August has been nice, but I am ready to see September.

Happy 4th Birthday!

Happy Birthday to my big girl. I can't believe that four years have passed since you came into the world. I remember the joy and awe and outright fear I felt when you were born. I wondered how in the world I would ever take care of you and give you all that you deserved. Believe me, I try so hard to be a parent worthy of you. But, that you've turned into this unbelievable little girl is far beyond what I can take credit for. All of a sudden my little baby has become a funny, sensitive, loving, smart and beautiful little girl. You have your own thoughts, interests, likes and dislikes. It happened before my very eyes without me even noticing.

I wish you a wonderful year ahead. I hope it is filled with laughter. I hope you make lots of new friends and find a special one to replace N. I hope you keep the wonder with which you approach the world for another year. I hope you continue to believe in unicorns, princesses, and magic. I hope you keep believing that your parents are some kind of omnipotent super heroes instead of the regular, flawed people we are.

Happy birthday, my sweet girl. Mama loves you more than you'll ever comprehend.

Vacation at the Jersey Shore!

I have been on a little vacation from blogging for the past two weeks. Why? We took a vacation! I took the girls back to NJ to spend a week at the Jersey shore with my folks. Hubby had to work, so he couldn't join us. It was a bummer, because I wish he could have seen how much fun the girls had, but we took some great pics. And of course, my parents were beside themselves with glee over having the two little rugrats all to themselves. We packed a ton of fun into just eight days.

Actually, before we headed down the shore (that's Jersey-speak for "headed to the beach") we took the train up to New York and went to the American Girl Place. S luuuvvvved it. My folks bought her a doll and she got to bring her to lunch at the American Girl Cafe where the waitstaff arranges a placesetting for your doll with appopriately-sized china. At four years old, S is just at the cusp of the entire American Girl demographic -- so I see several years ahead of us filled with the dolls, their accessories, movies, and whatever else they come up with. And then of course multiply that by two once the baby gets old enough to appreciate the stuff too! I guess if they're going to be obsessed with a set of dolls though, it could be worse. A lot worse. At least they're not Bratz dolls.

Anyway, we had a great day in the NYC and the next day we headed down to Ocean City, NJ to my folks' summer house where I spent every summer since I was a pre-teen. Ocean City is one of those quintessential family towns. It is an actual island connected to the mainland by a series of bridges. And it is one of the few towns at the shore that is dry -- as in no alcohol sold there at all. Not in liquor stores, not in restaurants, nowhere. As a teenager, this was kind of a bummer, particularly if you wanted to waitress: tips at restaurants that don't serve alcohol are nowhere near as generous as those that do. But now as a parent, I really appreciate this fact; it really keeps a family element to the place and limits any "seedier" elements. In fact, Ocean City calls itself "America's Greatest Family Resort."


I don't know about that, but the girls did have a great time there. They crammed all the essential summer experiences into just a few days: played on the beach, searched for seashells, adopted a couple of hermit crabs, ate ice cream, Italian ice, and salt water taffy on the boardwalk, and enjoyed the rides at the amusement pier. It was really special for me to revisit the shore and see it through their eyes. S loved the boardwalk and couldn't understand why there wasn't one in every town. They both loved digging in the sand. Neither was too sure about the waves.

Like all vacations, this one had to end. We said goodbye to the shore and promised to come back another summer. Even though I've been living in California for more than fourteen years, I am still a Jersey Girl -- I'll always carry a little of the Jersey shore with me. Now hopefully, my native Californian daughters will too.

I Live Strong

I hate running. Hate it. Don't like the way it feels, have trouble justifying a reason for it. No matter how many times I've tried to like it, I just can't seem to get myself to convert. So what would inspire me to run today? Cancer.

Okay, I'll admit it, I didn't run the entire way, but I did run through the finish at the Livestrong Challenge 5K Run/Walk in San Jose. I ran through the survivor lane at the finish line proudly sporting my "survivor" bib which boasted my 11 year win against cancer.

This is the first race for cancer that I've done in a long time. I believe the last one I did was when I was still living in Los Angeles, not long after I finished chemo. But this year, when Ana at Silicon Valley Moms Blog suggested getting a team together, I jumped at it. In addition to all the bike distances, it included a 5K run/walk which sounded just perfect for me.

You know, I don't think about my cancer much any more. It's been 11 years since I finished chemo. Those have been years full of... well, life. Since that time I reconnected with the man who would become my husband, fell in love with him, moved to the Bay Area, got married, made a career shift, had a baby, bought a house, waded through a dizzying IPO, left the workforce, and had another baby. There just hasn't been much time to dwell on cancer. It no longer holds the prominence in my life that it once did. However, every now and again it pushes through to the surface. This weekend was one of those times. Yesterday when I went to pick up my race registration packet, and saw all of these people, both volunteers and participants, dedicated to the cause, I became completely overwhelmed with emotion. All of a sudden I was crying, unable to contain my feelings. And today when I was at the race and saw other survivors, like fellow SVMoms blogger Linsey, I was thoroughly filled with pride.

Cancer picked a fight with me 11 years ago, and I won. Today I picked a fight with cancer for all those who didn't win.

I participated in honor of:
Eli Caccia
Jennifer Goodman Linn

And in memory of:
Amalia Grandy
Aldo Caccia
Divo Petrini
Jim Welch

Thanks to the friends and family who helped me to raise $1,500 for the fight. And thanks to Ana and Linsey for participating with me.

As they say over at the Lance Armstrong Foundation: Go ahead. Pick a fight.

Erring on the Side of Caution

I had a disturbing incident this week -- I am not sure if I was being an alarmist, but I feel like I made the only decision I could.

I sent S to camp this week at one of the local parks. Camp ran from 9-12:30pm every day; parents were invited to join at noon during the kids' lunch time. So, on Monday I showed up at about 12:15 and the kids were eating lunch with the counselors. At that point, one of the counselors did a headcount and realized that they were missing a child. Another counselor said, "Oh yeah, I think his mom picked him up a while ago". It was a disturbing couple of minutes before the counselors sorted through the confusion and determined that the parent had picked up the child and signed him out. It was an okay outcome but, a little disconcerting to think that the counselors weren't as on top of it as they should have been. However, S had had fun that day and it seemed like a minor glitch, so I had no second thoughts about sending her back on Tuesday.

On Tuesday my mother-in-law went to go pick S up at lunchtime. As she was coming down the steps to the lower part of the park (this particular park is split into lower and upper levels), she saw a little girl walking down the steps all by herself with no one looking out for her. It turned out it was S. As best as she could determine (and what I could glean from S), the counselors led the kids up to the bathrooms to wash up before lunch, but no one was watching to make sure that the kids got back to the lower part of the park. As far as we could tell, there was no one watching from above to make sure she got down okay, nor was there anyone watching from below. That made me really uncomfortable. This is a particularly big park, and it's not possible to see the path from the bathrooms if you're in the back part of the lower park. S isn't even four years old yet, and I just don't want her going anywhere without a pair of eyes on her at all times.
So, the incident on Tuesday combined with the incident on Monday really sat poorly with me. The level of supervision that I am used to from her nursery school just wasn't there. In addition, S is one of the quieter kids. If an outgoing kid was missing, it would likely go noticed much more quickly than if my quiet kid was missing. I just felt "icky" about the whole thing.

Anyway, I decided not to send S back. I also called the woman in charge at our city RWC parks department and told her the entire story. To their credit, the counselors had already told her about the Monday incident. She was very receptive to my concerns about the Tuesday thing and promised that she would make the counselors aware. She was very cooperative and concerned, and I truly believe that she has discussed this with the counselors.

I still have mixed feelings about the camp. I still think they're a great program for kids. This is the first time in three years of using the our city's recreation services that I have had less than an excellent experience. I just think that perhaps my kid is too young for this kind of camp. Perhaps we'll try again when my girls are a little older. It's funny, but when I told a bunch of other moms about this, it turns out that several had similar experiences and decided the same thing: to postpone camps until at least five years old. I wish I had known this previously! The problem with raising first kids is that sometimes you just don't know what you don't know, and you don't know which questions to ask. Poor S is my guinea pig and even though I try to do right by her at all times, it's just unavoidable that at times I am going to make missteps. Hence the mother's guilt persists despite the best of intentions.

A Final Tribute

Today I gave the only eulogy at my grandmother's funeral. I was nervous about getting up there and doing it justice. But my dear and wise husband gave me a piece of advice. He said that when he had to give his own grandmother's eulogy (just nine months ago) and was getting nervous, he reminded himself that the eulogy was the last gift he could give to her. That thought helped him to refocus his thoughts away from him and his nerves, and toward her all she meant to him. What a wonderful piece of advice. He's a smart man. It was exactly what I needed to hear to help me -- and it worked.

I am proud of the eulogy that I gave to her. It really was a last gift, and I am going to post it here as a last tribute to her.
***********
For those who don’t know me, my name is Courtney Caccia and I am one of Victoria’s granddaughters.

For the past couple of days, I’ve been trying to figure out what I was going to say to all of you here. I wasn’t sure how to express what my grandmother meant to me, to our family. How do you take just a couple of minutes do justice to a woman who lived almost 91 years?

As I was reminiscing and pulling up old memories, I naturally started thinking about her house – the house she lived in for the past 50 years, the only house I had known her to live in during my lifetime. In my mind, I started revisiting each of those rooms. And it occurred to me, that each one held memories that seemed to characterize some part of her personality.

So, let me just share with you a few of the memories that Grandmom’s house evokes for me.

The living room. One of the first things a visitor would see were all the pictures in that room, mostly of the grandchildren, and later the great grandchildren. Grandmom was so proud of all of us. As a kid, I remember hearing her brag to her friends about our grades, awards, and athletic accomplishments. I remember the pictures going up the staircase. As each of the five of us grandchildren graduated from high school, we achieved a spot on that wall with the pictures updated as we graduated college or got married. Grandmom loved being a grandmother and a great grandmother and her living room was testament to that.

It was also testament to her fastidious nature as evidenced by the plastic on the furniture. Oh yes, for all the years of my life she had plastic on the furniture – the couch may have changed, but the plastic did not. I remember hanging out in that room with my sister and cousins in the summer time, and yelping as we stood up and tried to peel the backs of our legs from the plastic. Grandmom may have loved us and been proud of us, but she wasn’t about to let us dirty her furniture!

The dining room. Some of my fondest memories from growing up are family dinners spent around her dining room table, most notably our Christmas Eve dinners. Grandmom and Grandpop, and later Aunt Amalia would put together a traditional feast of seven fishes for Christmas Eve. It was important to her that her family appreciate their Italian heritage and she tried heartily to pass along some of the traditions to her children and grandchildren. I remember the days of prep work before the big feast, and when I was old enough being sent there with either my sister or my cousin Christine to help her out. It was important to Grandmom that she make some of the traditional dishes like the risotto with squid or the baccala, but she also would go out of her way to make something else for the pickier eaters among us – because to her, while the food was important, the tradition of being together as a family was most important. And over the years, she and my aunt would invite friends to join us for dinner, extending her hospitality to include others in a family tradition she so cherished.

And that leads me to Grandmom’s kitchen. That is the room of the house that I most associate with her. She showed her love best through food. Her way of nurturing you was to feed you. That woman could take any remaining scraps of food left in her refrigerator, and in 10 minutes lay out a feast for you. And when she wasn’t feeding you, she wanted to make sure you were eating. Even up to one of the last times I talked to her, she asked if I was eating okay – I am 37 years old, living in California with a husband and two daughters of my own. Somehow, I’ve managed to take care of myself all this time. But she still wanted to make sure I was eating. It was her way of telling me that she cared and still worried about me no matter how old or capable I might be.

The last room I’ll mention is Grandmom’s bedroom. When I was a little kid, that room seemed so special and almost magical to me with all of her jewelry, perfume bottles, and makeup. She had an old fashioned carved hairbrush and comb sitting on a mirrored tray that my sister and I used to think looked like it belonged to a princess. She had a box of costume jewelry that she would let us play dress up with. But, that room must also have been a sanctuary for her – a place for quiet reflection and prayer. It was peppered throughout with symbols of her faith: images of Jesus, statues of the Blessed Mother, rosaries. Grandmom was a faithful Catholic and I think she sought grace and peace in that room.

I have so many other recollections of her – there are some familiar to many of you like the way in which she would mangle the English language or the way in which she kept the television up to ear-splitting volumes. And there are recollections more personal like when at 79 years old she flew all the way to California to visit me, her ill granddaughter. And these memories represent but a tiny fraction of the person who was my grandmother. My grandmother was a woman who knew hardships: she was a child of the Depression, at times struggled to keep her family afloat, lived as a widow for more than 30 years, and buried two of her own children. But she knew great joy too. She married, got to watch her daughters grow up, and see her grandchildren come into this world. She was lucky enough to witness the births of nine great grandchildren! She cherished her close relationships with her siblings. She had lifelong friends. She was devoted to her church.

All of you here today are witness to my grandmother’s long, rich life. She came to the end of her days loved by her friends and four generations of her family. Each of us who loved her have our own treasured memories. While we are all here to say farewell to her, let us each celebrate her life and the special person she was through those remembrances.

Thank you for coming to honor my grandmother.

Grandmom, I’ll always love you and never forget you.

June 27, 2008
St. Timothy's Church
Philadelphia, PA

Still a House, No Longer a Home

Today was a tough day. I am here in New Jersey with my parents preparing for my grandmother's funeral. Today my mom and I drove over to my grandmother's house in Philadelphia to start going through some of her things.

It wasn't until I walked into that house that it really hit me that she was gone. She lived in that house for almost sixty years -- it's the only place I've ever known her to live. And every single inch of that house holds some memory for me. I was overcome by them as I made my way through the house. Just being there evoked remembrances that I haven't thought about in years and years.

The house definitely looked the worse for wear. When she was well, she was fanatical about keeping things clean. When my aunt was alive and well, she did all the maintenance. But, the last few years had been hard on them. The house seems sad and neglected: the carpeting on the stairs has holes in it, the wallpaper looks worn and faded, the house lacks the aroma of meatballs or gravy. The house had all of her stuff, but it didn't have her. And so, it seemed empty.

It was a sad day. I think the only positive I found in it is perhaps my inspiration for the eulogy I am to give on Friday. It's a meager silver lining.

The Dreaded Phone Call

My grandmother died today. It wasn't a surprise. We all knew it was coming soon, but that doesn't make it any easier to take. She was 91 and her health had been failing over the past six months, ever since my aunt (her eldest daughter) died in December. I knew the phone call would be coming soon. It came as I was driving through twisting and turning mountain roads on the way home from the Sierras. I am glad it was my sister who called -- if it had been my mother, I don't think I would have been able to keep my composure behind the wheel.

I last saw Grandma in October. She feared it would be the last time we saw each other, but I kind of buried my head in the sand about that possibility. At that point, I was facing the knowledge that it was to be the last time I would see my aunt alive. I couldn't deal with the idea that I wouldn't see my grandmother again.

I am going to fly home to be with my mom and help her in the next few days as she prepares for the funeral and all of the other details that need attending. The funeral is on Friday, so I'll probably leave on Tuesday. That will give me tomorrow to wrap up all the stuff here that needs to be addressed before I can leave for five days. Fortunately, my in-laws can be ready at a moment's notice to take the girls.

This is the third death in our family in nine months -- R's grandmother, my aunt, and my grandmother. S is starting to wonder why so many of the people in her life are going to Heaven. But in the innocence that only a very young child can possess, she looked at me and asked, "I bet that Bisnonna and the other Bisnonna are talking to each other in Heaven right now." She made herself so happy with that thought. It made me feel a little better too.

You Say "Squirrel", I Say "Surl"

A few weeks ago, I had my end-of-year conference with S's preschool teacher. In it, I asked her about S's speech. Like lots of kids her age, she has trouble with L and R, but she also has difficulty with what I've since learned are called "s-clusters". That is, if there is an S followed by one or more consonants, she drops the consonant(s). For instance, "snake" sounds like "sake", "spider" sounds like "cider" and my own personal favorite, "squirrel" sounds like "surl". Her teacher recommended that I talk with a speech therapist that she knows (whose kids also went to our preschool). So, earlier this week S and I went for an evaluation with "Teacher Judy".

The main objective of the evaluation was for Judy to listen to S's speech and determine if she would be receptive to speech therapy. I was a little concerned that S would clam up and be too shy to say much. But as a professional, surely Judy has encountered plenty of kids like this. She was great, and knew exactly which tactics to take to draw S out. She started out talking about the preschool, and moved from topic to topic until she found one that S was enthusiastic about (pets). And then she started a conversation with her. I just sat back and watched, not chiming in at all -- very hard for me to do! Next she pulled out a book and showed S pictures and asked her to name them. Each picture represented a word with a different sound. In this way, Judy was able to hear all the sounds she wanted S to make. S just thought it was a fun game and was excited to show off all she knew.

Having seen (or I guess heard) for herself S's problem with s-clusters, she started doing some exercises to get S to pronounce them properly. Her approach is clever: she uses something that appeals to each kid and incorporates it into the therapy. For instance, she saw that S really liked art. So, she used some pens and stickers each time she wanted S to try out a word. What was really impressive was her ability to perceive when S was starting to get sensitive about the exercise; she would then back off, redirect, and try again in a minute or two. I really appreciated that. I could see that S was getting self-conscious and was afraid she would clam up and it would be over; but, Judy saw it too and knew how to handle it. After the session, Judy said that she thought S was very receptive to therapy and she would probably conquer her issues quickly. So we're going to start seeing her for 30 minutes twice a week.

I am glad we're doing this -- which is funny because I started out reticent to have her evaluated at all. For almost a year, we have be wondering about her speech. It's not as if she is unintelligible to other people; she can definitely be understood. We just noticed that other kids didn't seem to have the difficulties that she did with the s-clusters. Our pediatrician and preschool teacher at the time told us that most kids work this out on their own by about 5 or 6 years old, and that we didn't yet need to worry about speech therapy. And that was fine with me. I was content to see if she figured it out on her own. However by the end of this school year, I began to think that maybe we should just have her evaluated. She may very well learn how to say these things properly on her own, but if we can help her do that sooner, why wouldn't we? In addition, I was starting to see the beginnings of the exclusionary social dynamic at preschool. I didn't want her speech to be a source of ridicule or stigma when she gets to kindergarten next year. This way she'll have an entire year to work on it.

So, we'll start therapy next week. My little girl will learn how to say things like "spoon" instead of "shoomy" and "smile" instead of "sile" -- and she'll be that much closer to growing up. Just add it to the list of things I'll miss as she moves out of her baby years into little girlhood.

As Perfect As It Gets

Today was one of those rare days in parenting when everything seemed to go just right. Wait. Let me say it again: everything today went right. Ah, it feels so good. I don't think I had to threaten, cajole, or raise my voice even once. I had so much fun with the girls today.

It didn't seem promising when I woke up this morning after a restless night: we had a tight schedule for the day which included a berry-picking field trip with S's preschool to which I also had to bring my toddler, L. To top it off, we're going on the fourth day of R being out of town (which generally leaves me unsettled). Suffice to say, I was prepared to be grumpy. But lo and behold, everyone was cheerful, cooperative, and well-behaved -- including me.

Berry-picking was great fun! Each girl had her own bucket in which to carry berries. I didn't expect L to pick her own, and I really wasn't prepared for her incredible display of berry consumption. She must have eaten her weight in strawberries! I started out picking berries for her and dropping them into her bucket -- I assumed she would just carry it around filled with berries. Yeah, nice image, but so far from the truth. As soon as I dropped a berry in there, her chubby little fingers were darting in there to pluck it out and shovel it into her mouth. Then she decided to start picking berries for herself. She ate white ones, she ate the stems, she ate dirt, and even some dried grass. Her hands were stuffing things into her mouth so quickly that I couldn't move fast enough to prevent it. In no time, her hands and mouth were covered in a sticky mixture of berry juice and mud, and her clothes were splattered all over with pink splotches. This picture doesn't even do her justice. She was one grimy little kid! Notice the straw or grass or something hanging out of her mouth.


By the time we got home, we all needed a bath so I filled up the big tub in our bathroom. The three of us climbed in and scrubbed the dirt off of our bodies. Then it was nap time for them, and exercise time for me once the babysitter arrived.

After my workout, I packed them up and took them to Aunt M's for dinner where they played with LS and E. The four of them play so nicely together. Just six months apart, S and E were thick as theives -- at one point M and I looked over to see the two of them with their heads bent close to each other whispering and giggling. It doesn't bode well for us in the future -- M and I are going to have to keep our eyes on these girls. And at almost seven years old, LS is such a little mother hen; I hardly had to watch little L as she was constantly shadowed by her older cousin. After dinner, we threw all four girls into the tub, put on their pajamas, and I took my two back home to bed.

It was a great day -- one of those smooth and idyllic days that give you the fuel you need for the rest of them.

How To Break The News

S found her very first best friend at preschool this year. He’s the first friend that S chose all on her own. They were in the same class last year, but as two-year olds they really just played near each other instead of with each other. But something magical happens in that fourth year of life: parallel play gives way to cooperative play. When school started last September, S was suddenly playing with other kids in her class; in fact, most of them had made this leap. They were having conversations, and sharing toys, and playing games, and making up stories -- together. The person that S started playing with most often was N.

N and S are really cut from the same cloth. They both tend toward sensitivity, but can be loud and boisterous when they’re feeling happy. They’re both cautious, tending to hang back and watch activities before getting comfortable enough to jump in. They love books. They love little animals like frogs and turtles. They’re both oldest children with toddler-aged siblings who inspire similar levels of protectiveness and frustration in them. Playdates with N are events that are looked forward to with such great anticipation that I’ve started waiting until right before his impending arrival to tell S about it – just to avoid the continuous queries of “When is N getting here?” The last time we spent a weekend away, she worried that N would miss her. At school the two of them giggle and chatter, heads bent toward each other immersed in a world of their own making. They hug when saying goodbye. Today they blew each other kisses as we were leaving school. N is truly my daughter’s first best friend.

And he’s moving away.

His dad got a fabulous new job in another state. The man is literally working on a cure for cancer, so I can hardly begrudge him the opportunity even if it does mean moving a thousand miles away. They’re leaving in less than a month; their house is sold, they’ve bought a new one, and all that is left is the packing up and the goodbyes. And the goodbye part is what I am stuck on: I still haven’t found a way to tell S that N is moving.

I have started laying the groundwork. I’ve gotten a couple of books from the library about best friends moving away. I’ve started telling her things like, “You know, friends are still friends even if they’re far away.” I’ve been encouraging her to make new friends. I’ve basically done everything except come right out and tell her that N is moving. I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. Heartbreak and disappointment will inevitably touch her life – they do for all of us. And there are good lessons to be learned in these situations; I recognize their value. I was just hoping that we could put it off for a little while longer.

So in the meantime I am trying to screw up my courage to deliver my daughter her first heartbreak. I know she’ll get over it. She’ll make new friends; she’ll find another best friend or maybe several of them. But N will always be her first best friend. And I’ll make sure she never forgets him.

Edited from original post to Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Second Guessing

There are times that it's tough to know which is the right parenting decision. I literally ask myself which choice will have the least likelihood of f'ing up my kids. I had another one of these dilemmas recently: whether or not to let S quit swimming lessons.

She started out swim lessons enthusiastically, running up to the pool with barely contained excitement. She loved her bathing suit, her pretty pink goggles, and her swim teacher. In fact, after the first lesson she told me in the car on the way home that she wanted to be a swim teacher when she grew up. Great, right? She loved every part of it except for the part when she had to stick her face in the water. Seems like an integral part of swimming, doesn't it?

Before the second week, I tried bribing her by telling her that if she put her face in the water when Coach Diana asked, she could have a marshmallow peep -- I even brought it to the pool with me in a little plastic baggie. When the designated time came, I held it up and dangled it to her as a reminder of the reward that awaited her. Yeah, didn't quite have the effect I was looking for. Instead of immediately putting her smiling face in the water, S proceeded to start crying. Turns out that my little bribe just made her anxious -- she really wanted that peep, but really didn't want to put her face in the water. Who knew it would backfire? I've used bribery successfully in the past -- she would not be potty-trained now without the use of carefully doled out jelly beans!

After that incident, Coach Diana suggested that I work with S at home to get her used to the idea of submerging her face. S and I were to get into the tub together in our bathing suits and her goggles, and practice there. Dutifully we did just that, working on our "torpedo arms" (arms straight out ahead of us, as if ready to dive) and our "chipmunk cheeks" (holding our breaths). It went better than expected. After just a little coaxing, she happily put her face in the tub, and even blew bubbles. As we walked into the next lesson, I was silently patting myself on the back completely confident in my success. Turns out that the pool is a lot bigger than my tub. S really, really tried, but after one attempt at the torpedo arms and chipmunk cheeks, she dissolved into tears and cries of "I want my mamma."

With each week she became more and more anxious about putting her face in the water. It was clearly making her upset. So, I had a dilemma. One one hand, I feel that swimming is a skill that kids need to have. I don't consider it a "nice to do" activity like soccer or ballet. S has to learn how to swim. I don't care if she never joins a swim team or learns to butterfly. But, she must learn to be safe in a pool. Plus, I don't really want to encourage her to quit every time something gets difficult. One of the lessons I am really trying to impart is the importance of trying and perseverance. Would letting her quit be counter-productive to that goal? One the other hand, I didn't want her to get so anxious that she would develop a real fear of swimming. I didn't want to push her so hard that she would associate so much anxiety with the activity that I would never get her to swim.

After a lot of internal debate and some discussions with other moms, I decided to back off for now. I explained to her that we could give swimming a rest for a while, and she could try again when she is four (which is just a couple of months away). I think it's the right choice. And she seems fine with the idea of doing it when she's four. I guess we'll try again then...

Escaping to the Sierras

Ah, relaxation. There is something about a change of scenery that can do wonders for the psyche. We drove up to the cabin this afternoon. It's just three hours away, but it feels like we entered a whole new world. As soon as we leave the highway and get onto Farmington Road, I can feel my entire body relax -- even though we still have another 90 minutes ahead of us. It's just the feeling of disconnecting from the fast pace of the Silicon Valley that comes over me.

It's funny -- it's not like it's an actual vacation. I mean, I still have to do all the same things here that I do at home. I still have to entertain the kids, keep the baby from climbing things/tumbling down the stairs/playing in the toilet, cook for everyone, empty the dishwasher (since my husband's arms are apparently not long enough to stretch from the dishwasher to the cabinets -- or from the sink to the dishwasher, for that matter), do the laundry, make sure that my preschooler wipes and washes hands -- well, you get the picture. But, there is something about being here that makes it all less stressful. Perhaps it's because our cell phones don't work here or that we don't really use the television or that the house is smaller than ours in Redwood City. Maybe it's just that in order to get here, we had to have a clear calendar, and that our only obligations are the most basic ones: to eat, to sleep, to spend time with one another. It could also be the surroundings. They don't call this place Big Trees for nothing. The smell of pine and cedar and fresh air, the humbling vista of trees and mountains, the quiet. It all contributes to an aura of "awayness" that is rejuvenating to the mind, body, and soul.

We'll be going back home on Sunday and plug back into "real life". But until then, we'll enjoy our long walks, time spent together in front of the fire, and leisurely hours of reading. Ah, relaxation.

Going Even a Little Green Is Still Green

Believe it or not, one of the most sensible philosophies about "going green" that I've ever heard came from none other than Alicia Silverstone. That's right, that Alicia Siverstone, as in Cher Horowitz of Clueless fame. In a radio interview last year, she encouraged folks to start going green by making whatever small efforts they could. It doesn't have to be a grand overhaul to your entire life -- you don't need to suddenly trade in your Land Rover for a Prius, give away all your leather shoes, belts, and bags, and start composting in your kitchen. Instead start small: even if we make just one change, we're doing good. She said, and I agree, that so many people feel daunted by all the steps one can take that they don't do anything at all. Folks think that in order to save the environment we have to do it all: stop using plastic bags, recycle everything, bike to work, use natural cleaning agents, etc. But, even if we just do one thing, like using cloth totes for our groceries, we're doing more than we were previously, and it's another step toward saving the planet.

I really like that approach -- it's enabling. And, I think that once you take a single step and incorporate it into your life, it's easy to add new planet-saving practices to your life. Take recycling, for instance. I remember when municipalities all over the U.S. started incorporating recycling programs into their waste management systems. It was so confusing at the time and seemed like such an extra effort. But now it's such a second-nature thing for so many of us. I think that a lot of the efforts to go green can be that way. In our home, we've switched most of our light bulbs over to CFLs, continue to recycle, bring our own re-usable bags to the grocery store, limit our water usage, eat sustainable seafood, have moved toward fewer plastic toys, and have replaced all of our wood-burning fireplaces. I think the most important thing we're doing is trying to impart these values to our daughters.

Between today and the next Earth Day, I am going to try to add a few more habits to our repertoire of planet-saving practices. To make success realistic, I am going to concentrate on just a few things that I think I can reasonably accomplish:

-- Make a greater effort to eat locally grown foods
-- Find non-toxic alternatives to my home cleaners
-- Grow at least two different vegetables at home
-- Cut down my family's meat consumption

Listen, I am definitely not the "greenest" person I know. I'll probably never stop wearing leather. And unless Kate Spade starts using it, you'll likely never catch me in anything hemp. And I love my SUV. But, I can make an effort to save the planet in lots of other ways -- and that's really the whole point. We should all be making some efforts; and as we begin make some changes, we'll find it even easier to make more. You don't have to do it all at once to start making an impact. Hell, you might even find me elbow deep in a compost pile one day. Alicia Silverstone would be so proud.

My Mom Vacation

I know, I am probably preaching to the choir here, but I am going to make the statement anyway: all moms need a vacation every now and then. I don’t care if you’re a stay-at-home mom, a work-at-home mom, a work-away-from-home mom, or some combination of all of the above: you need to get away for a while. Why? Well aside from the obvious (you’ll get to sleep in, you’ll have fun, you probably won’t be asked to change any diapers), you’ll return recharged and reinvigorated. And if you can do it with your girlfriends, even better.

I know what I am talking about here. This past weekend, I spent two days in Los Cabos with 12 girlfriends. A friend of mine is turning 40, and for her birthday present, her husband rented a fabulous villa at Pedregal and told her to invite some friends to come celebrate with her (thank you Bob and Jenn!). So on Friday morning we all met at SFO and started our weekend of fun. Twelve of us were moms with kids ranging in age from seven months to nine years old. We spent the weekend talking, eating, drinking, getting massages, and lounging by the pool. And that’s it. There was no agenda. There were no schedules. You know what else there was none of? Here’s a brief list:

1. no diaper changing

2. no cutting up anyone’s food

3. no tantrums

4. no whining

5. no negotiations at mealtimes

6. no throwing of food from high chairs/boosters/stokke chairs

7. no arguing over toys

8. no begging anyone to get dressed/get undressed/get in the stroller/(insert mind-numbing activity here)

9. no biting/hair pulling/pinching/pushing

10. no middle-of-the-night wake ups

Certainly not an exhaustive list, but you get the picture. And do you know what’s good about traveling with other moms? They automatically know what needs to be done, and they do it without being asked. When I woke up in the morning, someone had already started coffee and set out the pastries. Another mom was getting started on making eggs for everyone. When meals were done, someone would clean the dishes, load, and actually run the dishwasher! When the beach towels started to pile up around the pool, someone gathered them, neatly folded them, and put them aside. And no one needed to be asked to do it -- it was like each of us had 12 wives! If you can look past the misogyny, you can begin to wonder if perhaps those polygamists were on to something! (Please, don’t flame me – I was only joking).

But the best part of the weekend was the time spent just talking with my friends. We reminisced about old times, shared stories about our kids, dished about our husbands, cackled about sex, and empathized about deranged in-laws. Connecting with girlfriends is such an important part of a woman’s life. Hell, Sex in the City was a show entirely built around that premise. I would posit that as we hit our mid-30s and 40s, and get more deeply involved in work and family, we need these connections even more. I mean, think about the rise of “mommy blogging” – it’s another way for us to connect with other women in a technologically advanced and often isolating world. Sometimes you just need the support of your girlfriends; there are times when your friends can empathize and understand you in ways that your husband or partner can’t.

And because I had such a wonderful time, when I returned on Sunday evening, I was happy to be home. My get-away was just 48 hours, but it was enough to fill up my “mommy gas tank” with patience, stamina, and goodwill. It’s now Wednesday, and I still feel refreshed and rejuvenated. I don’t know how long the “afterglow” will last, but while it remains I find myself much less irritable and much more pleasant. I have now gone three days without wanting to jab a sharp stick into my eye or step into rush hour traffic. Dare I say it: I’ve come back a better mommy and wife.

And so, I feel the need to preach the gospel of the “mom vacation.” It’s something we should all get to do once in a while. You don’t need to spend a lot of money to get away – you just need to get away. Even if you spend a single night at your local airport hotel, it’s a night away from all of your responsibilities. And trying to find the time amidst the kids’ schedules isn’t an excuse. Two of the moms on my trip have children with severe disabilities that require seven-day-a-week therapies. No one needed to get away more than these moms. And you know what? They figured out how to do it (without having to hire extra help – the husbands stepped up). Your family won’t go into a tailspin if you leave for a day or two. Just grab a girlfriend, go away for a night, bring some trashy magazines, and you’re good to go. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it.

Adapted from original post at Silicon Valley Moms Blog

An Education for All of Us

There is a great discussion going on over at the Silicon Valley Moms Blog (and sister sites) right now about education -- including my own post ;) I have been researching schools for S for a while now, but getting other moms' points of view on public vs private vs homeschooling has been enlightening. I am realizing that there are more factors to education choices than I had considered. It's worth checking out...

My Daughter, the Panhandler

Yesterday the girls and I ran to the mall for a few minutes to pick up a couple of items. Living in one of the most affluent areas of the country, our local mall is pretty upscale, as you might imagine. Just to give you a sense, recent new tenants to the mall include Burberry, Cartier, Frette, and Louis Vuitton. So, panhandling isn't a sight you would expect to find there. In fact, in the nine years I've lived here, I've never once seen it at the Stanford Shopping Center -- until now.

Outside Neiman Marcus is a fountain that is a huge attraction for the kids. It features a sculpture of frolicking frogs, and as is the custom, kids throw coins into its basin. We recently taught S how to do this, and she of course, loves to pitch money in there. So, while we were there we walked by the fountain and S asked if I had any coins. I checked my wallet, and there wasn't even a penny to be found. My change purse was empty, empty, empty -- not even any lint in there. While I was putting my wallet back in my purse, before I even realized what was happening, she ran up to the fountain, found a man doling out pennies to his young son, and asked him for one!

All I could hear was, "Can I have one?" The very nice man didn't skip a beat: he just reached down and handed her a coin. Meanwhile, I was trotting over there protesting, "S, you can't do that. You can't just ask people for money." I went over and apologized to him, but he was very kind and understanding. Thank you, Kind Stranger, for being so gracious to my kid and me.

I was definitely embarrassed, but the irony wasn't lost on me. There I was wearing my expensive watch and holding the keys to my luxury vehicle while my daughter begged for money in front of Neiman Marcus. If she's going to panhandle, she should at least learn how to play an instrument for money...

We're All Class Here

Sofia had her first "big girl" swim class yesterday (meaning she had her first lesson without me in the pool with her). Before we left I decided to take a quick video of her. As she was dancing around for me, she passed some gas. Classy.

A Size 12 Cup Holder

This is what happens when you leave your Cole Haans laying around on the family room rug.