As I mentioned yesterday, I decided to take the lead of some New England media folk and chronicle a day in the life of a Massachusetts suburban work-from-home mom of three by snapping photos throughout the day. That mom, of course, was me.
And wouldn’t you know that today happened to be the day when The Youngest Boy stayed home from school complaining of a constellation of vague symptoms. However because The Spouse was working from home, it wasn’t solely my duty to serve at the kid’s beck and call, fetching him beverages, snacks, lunch, blankets, etc.
After reading Metrowest Daily Newscolumnist Julia Spitz’s piece yesterday photographically chronicling a day in her life as a Massachusetts resident – as part of a bigger project sponsored by a Boston TV station — I thought it was a great idea. One day in the life of an average New Englander. Which led to this thought . . . one day in the life of an average suburban mom.
Yeah, yeah, I know . . . the Boston TV station which came up with this project designated January 25 as the official day to take and post “Day in the Life” Massachusetts photos, but I’ve decided to it’d be fun to take photos tomorrow and post a few snapshots on this blog from throughout the day that reflect an average day.
Jan Eliot’s Stone Soupcomic has a tendency to strangely reflect some aspect of what’s going on in my house at any given moment. It’s really starting to freak me out a little.
Take this week’s subject: The two grade-school aged girls — whose favorite pastime is mocking their mom’s lack of expertise in the domestic arena – have been forced to pick up the slack when it came to the laundry and preparing dinner, since their single (widowed) mom’s busy working and their grandmother, who had helped out around the house, is on an extended trip. The girls are finally going to get a taste of what it’s like to tackle the mundane and unglorified tasks of running a household. (I’ll bet the tuna surprise they’ve been making in the last two comic strips, with marshmallows and chocolate malted milk balls, will certainly surprise them when they dig into it. My hope is that, if they ruin the laundry and the dinner, that they’ll have a bit more respect for what their mom does for them. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
In the Picket Fence Post household, I’ve been trying to get the three kids (8, 11, 11) to be more comfortable with making meals as a way to help out. They prepare their own breakfasts on many school days — The Girl is confident enough to make pancakes and egg dishes — and they’re able to put together school lunches, though The Eldest Boy’s usually too slow moving in the mornings to prepare his lunch. The Spouse has also been trying to get them accustomed to doing the laundry and folding it.
Unfortunately, none of this has prevented The Ungratefuls from routinely kvetching about the dinners I make them. (Actually, that’s not fair. The Eldest Boy doesn’t usually complain and is a very good eater. One out of three ain’t bad I suppose.) However The Youngest Boy will drop to the kitchen floor and roll around in a fury, I’d estimate, roughly, 80 percent of the time when I inform him what I’m making for dinner. The Girl’s technique is to sit at the dinner table and eat nothing, fighting furiously with us if we try to coax her into taking just a bite out of dinner. (Last night, we had words when I tried to convince her to take a bite of the barbecued chicken, long grain rice and the baked butternut squash with pecans and brown sugar I’d prepared. You’d think I was trying to get her to eat beets or chicken livers.)
As of late, I’ve been declining to answer the question, “What’s for dinner?” I leave them on their own to deduce what I’m making, commence with their requisite griping and prepare for a bowl full of cereal for dinner.
Maybe it’ll work out better for the mom in Stone Soup.
Do your kids help out with laundry, making meals or other household chores?
Just saw the trailer for a new documentary (not yet released) called Babies which follows four babies in four different continents (one was in San Francisco) during their first year of life. Looks fascinating, though the folks who think all babies should be encased in bubble wrap will likely be appalled by the trailer.
Papers, we’ve got papers . . . In the past two weeks — which included a four-day MLK Day weekend — the three Picket Fence Post kids have brought home from school a total of 78 pieces of paper.
Included among the papers were: Four (count ‘em four) copies of the same solicitation for donations to Haiti earthquake relief, two invitations to a Noodle Night fundraiser, two solicitations for a notepad fundraiser, a newsletter from one of the school principals, a classroom newsletter from one of the teachers, 10 pages of worksheets and information about electric currents and circuits, copies of two Robert Frost poems (A Late Walk and Good Hours) that the fifth graders had to read aloud to me 12 times a piece for fluency homework and a notice about an event which is a “non-event” where families are encouraged to “unschedule” themselves and enjoy family time. . . that’s once they’ve unearthed themselves from the piles of paperwork.
The total number of papers brought home by the three kiddos (grades 3, 5 and 5) since The Paper Project began at the beginning of the school year: 1,145. (For background on The Paper Project, go here.)
Any fans of Lostin the house? As the start of the final season draws closer (it’s on Feb. 2), fans are gearing up to say goodbye to the complicated series. And they’re doing so in a variety of ways, including by making parody videos.
Some folks who call themselves “The Gorgeous Geeks” have created a cartoonish video extolling the virtues of Sawyer, the fast-talking, nickname-giving con man with the shaggy mane of blonde hair:
Want to see a family-styled spoof? An Italian family from Long Island reenacted scenes from Lost’s previous seasons in someone’s house, mostly in the living room. The kids, the grandparents, everyone got involved . . . to amusing ends, with a little interruption from a Jets game. As I watched it, I thought that my kids would have a blast doing something like this:
It was something that annoyed me to no end when my children were but wee little toddlers. Everywhere we went – playdates, the park, pre-school – it seemed as though nearly all of my peers were handing their children snacks every two hours or so. If you went against the grain and didn’t provide your offspring with some sustenance at regular, two-hour intervals, your kids would throw a tantrum because the other kids were eating Pirate’s Booty while they were wasting away to nothing as you just sat there impassively, witnessing the horror of their deprivation without batting an eyelash.
It has continued, even worsened, during their grade school years, this obsession with snacking. I chaperoned a school field trip for my 8-year-old this past fall and was stunned that the students were instructed to eat their snacks (that parents were told to send in) on the bus on the way to our destination, less than an hour after the students had arrived to school. (Hadn’t they just eaten breakfast?) Some kids even brought in multiple snacks, one for the bus ride there, one for the bus ride home, and a lunch in between the snacks.
This constant feeding of children — despite all the news stories about rampant childhood obesity — has even infiltrated the sidelines of youth soccer games and the benches during baseball games. Here we are, bringing our kids to participate in an athletic activity and we give them food either during or after the games (or both) because, what, they can’t make it for an hour or two without food? They can’t just wait until they get home?
What the heck is up with all this food? Why are we, as a society, encouraging this, creating this habit that, once the kids become our age, will catch up with them and their waistlines? I have no problem with giving kids an afterschool snack, or with giving them an occasional dessert after dinner (I did blog about making cupcakes the other day) but why do we feel compelled to institutionalize this snacking throughout the day in addition to their three meals (which, oftentimes, they won’t eat — even though I’ve worked hard to make well-rounded, homemade fare – because of all of these damned snacks)?
An article in the New York Times Dining section this week entitled, “Snack Time Never Ends” made me feel vindicated. I am NOT the only parent who rolls her eyes when she sees someone pull out a box of powdered doughnuts on the sidelines soccer games or when a kid brings a series of snacks, plus a lunch when he’s only going to be away from home between 8:30 and 4. Here’s an excerpt of the story about the all-snacks-all-the-time mentality:
“. . . [W]hen it comes to American boys and girls, snacks seem both mandatory and constant. Apparently, we have collectively decided as a culture that it is impossible for children to take part in any activity without simultaneously shoving something into their pie holes.
‘Children used to come home, change into play clothes and go outside and play with other children,’ said Joanne Ikeda, a nutritionist emeritus at the University of California, Berkeley. ‘There were not snack machines, and the gas station only sold gas. Now there are just so many more opportunities to snack and so many activities after school to have snacks.”
Do you think we’ve become a society obsessed with snacks?
Item #2: 11-Year-Old Skater
Here’s what my 11-year-old daughter does during any given week: Goes to school, plays basketball or four-square at recess, does her homework, reads tons of books, listens to music, draws/sketches, plays on a basketball team and goes to her games and practices, attends church, watches TV, plays Wii and plays with friends, her brothers and our dog. All in all, it’s a pretty nice, well-rounded tween life. Just the way it should be.
So when I read a profile in the New York Timesthis week about another 11-year-old girl who’s gunning for Olympic gold in figure skating, I couldn’t help but think of my own child and how different her life would be if she were in that girl’s skates. The ice skating girl had skates slapped onto her feet at age 2, started “formal lessons” at 4 and now is “out of bed at 5 on most school days, on the ice six days a week” and “finished an encouraging sixth on Tuesday in the novice ladies division at the United States championships,” the Times reported.
The article quoted her coach and her mother saying that, at age 4, it was decided that, as far as her career and future in figure skating went, they were going to “commit everything to it.” While I respect that every family has its own set of values and priorities — there are folks who think I’m crazy for limiting our children to one sport per season per kid and, most of the time, do not permit playing the same sport in back-to-back seasons — I felt very sad for this child when I read this passage:
“On winter and spring breaks, her classmates can sleep in while she must spend much of her time at the rink.
‘I do want a break sometimes,’ [she] said. ‘I’d like to go to a birthday party.’
Asked if she skated for herself or because others wanted her to, she replied, ‘I guess it’s half and half; sometimes I want to and sometimes I don’t.’”
When the Times asked the child’s mother if she’d permit her daughter to drop out of figure skating if the 11-year-old didn’t want to do it anymore, the mom told the paper, “Probably not. I see her potential. For sure I would like that she continue and do her job. I think she can do it.”
Item #3: ‘Squeakquel’ Gripes
Okay, I know that I have no business griping about that Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel. It’s a Chipmunks movie, so what the heck should I have expected, literary allusions and insightful observations on the human (or mammalian) condition? Of course not.
When I took my 11-year-old twins to see this screechy sequel this week (the 8-year-old saw it with friends during Christmas break), I didn’t give much thought to the film’s premise: The trio of famous singing boy chipmunks goes to high school while a trio of as-yet undiscovered singing girl chipmunks enrolls in the same school in an attempt to become international rock stars a la the original Chipmunks boy band.
The problem — other than the fact that I didn’t bring ear plugs – was watching the female chipmunks perform. I was really disappointed that their ”performances” were all about hip swaying and pelvis grinding, along with substantial booty shaking. Offstage the “Chippettes” were as innocent and sweet as the boy chipmunks, but on stage, it was an entirely different story. On stage, they turned into Beyonce.
This annoyed me, probably more than it should have. Why couldn’t the Chippettes just have been portrayed as really good singers who rocked the house with their talent and coolness? Why did they have to send the message to the girls that to be successful, gals should capitalize on sex appeal and go the rump-shaking route? After all, the boy chipmunks weren’t pulling a Justin Timberlake when he does his booty shaking thing. *shaking my head*
Hey, have you heard that there’s a U.S. Senate election happening today in Massachusetts? It hasn’t received all that much coverage, has it? Have you caught any of the ads for Republican candidate Scott Brown and Democratic candidate Martha Coakley? Maybe you’ve heard a bit of talk about it on the radio, that’s when you weren’t being incessantly reminded that some 62-year-old would-be rapper recently sang a ditty called “Pants on the Ground” on American Idol.
Seeing that I’m a politics and news junkie (read tons of news, watch political TV shows, listen to talk radio), the U.S. Senate race in Massachusetts to select someone to complete the late Sen. Ted Kennedy’s term has become major grist for kitchen table conversations at my house. The three Picket Fence Post children joined The Spouse and me and watched some or most of the final Senate debate on TV last week (seems like eons ago) and they kept asking who that “Kennedy guy” was since they hadn’t heard The Spouse or me mention that he was even running. They found it patently unfair that the third party candidate — Joseph L. Kennedy – was asked by the moderator whether he’d vote for Brown or Coakley if he had to choose between them.
As political ads (many negative ones largely from the Coakley campaign) have been rolled out at such a brisk pace that their sheer volume nearly blocked out the sun, the kids asked more questions, like why the negative ads had such grim music and ominous voice-overs making it sound as though the world would end if the other person were elected.
In short order, the members of the Picket Fence Post family started lining up behind candidates, and suffice is to say there wasn’t unanimity, which has caused some friction . . . like when The Youngest Boy pumped his 8-year-old fists into the air and started chanting his candidate’s name in the face of his 11-year-old sister who’s backing a different candidate.
I’ve attempted (key word *attempted*) to tamp down my own enthusiasm for a candidate as I’ve been vigorously lobbying The Spouse (who always waits until the last minute to decide on a candidate) that my choice is the right one. However I didn’t want the rugrats to witness me pestering their dad while I was simultaneously preaching about the importance of being civically engaged and voting, no matter what one’s political views might be.
Today, on Election Day, The Spouse was working from home and the children had no school so we decided, as a family, to go vote together. There was jostling over who got to hold the two ballots and over who got to feed them into the machines (we have fill-in-the-circle ballots at our precinct). The jostling was exacerbated by the deep red/blue division between two of the kids and inevitably devolved into tears because The Youngest Boy didn’t get a chance to put a ballot into the machine.
Seeking political reconciliation, after we got home, The Youngest Boy and I baked some vanilla cupcakes and swirled red food coloring into six and blue into the other six. Once they’ve cooled, we’ll frost them and decorate them all with red, white and blue sprinkles. The plan is to enjoy them together in front of the TV at around 8 p.m. after the polls close, with some hot cocoa in hand. It’s supposed to be a celebration of Election Day and how lucky we are to have choices. I’ve warned both factions within the Picket Fence Post household that poor sportsmanship and gloating will not be allowed. That’s the goal anyway. Political, all-American unity. Under one roof. While enjoying red cupcakes and blue cupcakes decorated by red and blue sprinkles. My fingers are crossed.
The story was about a Massachusetts mom of a 3-year-old whose labor with her second child came on so hard and so fast that she wound up delivering her 6 pound 4 ounce baby alone in the vehicle while her mother ran into the Emergency Room to summon hospital staff for help. As the baby, Grace Emily-Marie was making her way into the world, Meghan Aucoin’s mother drove her to the hospital and by the time medical staff returned to the vehicle, Aucoin was holding her daughter in her arms.
Makes me shudder. That was me with The Youngest Son. Eight-and-a-half years ago. Baby was coming out when I was still in my bathroom. The Spouse loaded me into the car, drove like mad to the hospital, then left me (because I was unable to walk) laboring in the car as he ran into the ER to get the doctors . . . except that the doctors got to me in time and The Youngest Boy was born shortly after I was wheeled into the hospital. I became known as “the lady who almost gave birth in the parking lot.” Now Aucoin IS the lady who gave birth in the parking lot. My hat is off to her.
Item #2: 8-Year-Old on Watch List
Reading a page one story in the New York Timestoday about an 8-year-old third grade New Jersey Cub Scout who’s on the Transportation Security Administration’s watch list as a potential security threat does not make me feel safe. A boy named Mikey Hicks shares a name with “someone named Michael Hicks [who] made the Department of Homeland Security suspicious and little Mikey is still paying the price,” the Times reported.
This boy has been subject to pat-downs and questioning when flying on commercial aircraft with his family, starting when he was, get this, 2 years old and was frisked at an airport in Newark because his name was “on the list.”
I was incredulous. A 2-year-old being searched and treated like a potential terrorist? Seriously? I don’t know about you, but it wouldn’t instill confidence in me to see a kid in Pull-Ups being frisked before boarding an airplane because his name is “on the list.”
As Hicks’ mother said, “Up your arms, down your arms, up your crotch — someone is patting your 8-year-old down like he’s a criminal. A terrorist can blow his underwear up and they don’t catch him. But my 8-year-old can’t walk through security without being frisked.”
Their congressman, William J. Pascrell, told the Times, “We can’t just throw a bunch of names on these lists and call it security. If we can’t get an 8-year-old off the list, the whole list becomes suspect.”
Item #3: Brutal World of Politics
I’m reading the book Game Changefor a column I’m working on. It’s the book that’s getting all the media attention for containing a series of inflammatory comments about the 2008 presidential campaign reportedly from the mouths of marquee national politicians (Senate Leader Harry Reid, President Bill Clinton, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, etc.). And as I’ve been pouring through it — reading anecdote after anecdote about searingly private moments between politicians and their spouses (the material on Elizabeth Edwards is so devastating and so personal that I feel like I needed a shower after I read it) — it makes me wonder why anyone would want to open him or herself up to such intense scrutiny, knowing that everything you say and do — even with your spouse when you think it’s private, even in front of “trusted” aides and colleagues – would someday be blabbed to reporters and made grist for late night comedians.
First full week of 2010. The kiddos brought home a total of 89 pieces of paper from school, including several holiday-themed items they’d, for some reason, not brought home from school during the previous week.
The Youngest Boy brought home a gingerbread house he’d made, along with a sweet winter painting of the boy and me (*awww*) outside along with two fundraising flyers from the parent-teacher association. The Girl brought home a four-page creative writing project and The Eldest Boy brought home 17, count ‘em, 17 pages of math worksheets, seven pages on magnets and seven pages of holiday fun puzzles.
This brings the grand total of papers sent home during this school year to: 1,067.
Author and columnist Meredith O'Brien gives you a peek behind the picket fences of modern day life and parenting in the 'burbs. With humor and candor, it's her take on real parenting in the real world.
Author and columnist Meredith O'Brien gives you a peek behind the picket fences of modern day life and parenting in the 'burbs. With humor and candor, it's her take on real parenting in the real world.
