Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Giving Thanks

Every day at circle time during the month of November, the kids in my daughter's pre-K class have been naming the things for which they are thankful.  Some kids are thankful for their siblings or their moms; my daughter mentioned her stuffed bunny.  It's a cute exercise, but it has really given me a chance to remember what makes me most grateful.  Obviously, I am happy to have my health, and a lovely home, and food on our table.  But really, there is nothing more valuable to me than the people I hold most dear.  So this Thanksgiving, I am going to thank them.

To my dear girlfriends:
Some I've known for 20 years and some just since the birth of my oldest daughter.  But each of you is someone who has shown your support in so many ways.  You're the people with whom I commiserate.  You're the folks who remember the milestones.  You're the ones who help me keep my sanity when life seems too stressful or ridiculous.  You're the women with whom I can share a laugh, a drink, a bawdy story.  We've seen each other at our very worst (like at college frat parties or just after childbirth) and at our very best (like at our weddings or again, just after childbirth).  You're the women I can count on no matter how far away we are or how crazy life gets.  Thank you for always being there in body and mind.

To my in-laws:

Teaching the Value of Money

I am not sure at what age it is most appropriate to start teaching kids about the value of money, but in my house it seems like it's high time.  I am starting to feel like my four-year-old is in danger of developing some less than desirable attitudes towards her "stuff."  Take this exchange as an example:

Me:  S, please don't bring that toy to school.  You might lose it. 

S:  (blank stare)

Me:  And if you lose it, you'll be sad.

S:  No, that's okay.  If I lose it, we'll just go to the store and you can buy me another. 

Me:  (open-mouthed blank stare)

Or, take our trip to Disneyland as another example.  She wanted to buy something at every gift shop she saw, even if she had just gotten something -- and she didn't want just one item, but several.  While she doesn't ordinarily get a treat every time we go to the store, she knew enough to understand that this was a special trip and that her chances of being indulged were much greater than usual.

The End of a Love Affair

My Dearest Silicon Valley Target,

Let me just start out this note by reassuring you that I love you. I will always love you. But, we have to start seeing less of each other. We can't just go on this way. Times are getting tough, and I need to show some fiscal restraint.

Oh, I have so many wonderful memories of you. I remember the time I found that amazing beach tote that I still use constantly, even four years later. How can I forget the time I found the cute black ballet flats? Or when I found the adorable matching velvet jackets for the girls? Think about all the times that I go there to buy regular household supplies and come across some fabulous item that I end up tossing into my cart. You make it so easy -- your prices entice me, make me weak in the knees. Is it any wonder that I can't seem to extricate myself from you without spending at least $100? Or that I find a multitude of excuses for visiting you several times a week?

Facebook: A Virtual Reunion

Here is my prediction:  Facebook will eventually render high school reunions redundant and then possibly, obsolete.   If you use Facebook already, you can understand what I mean.  Okay, think about high school reunions; I’ll bet for most of us, the following are true. 

-- You want to look your best.
-- You want to make sure that everyone knows all about your major accomplishments and none of your failures.
-- You want to appear witty, informed, and still cool.
-- You want to show off your accomplished, attractive, supportive spouse and bring pictures of your adorable, well-adjusted, well-behaved children.
-- There are only a couple of people with whom you want to have any real conversations.  You probably keep up with these people anyway. 

Beetles, and Spiders, and Ants – Oh My!

I hate bugs. Remember that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when Indiana Jones looks down into the chamber of the Well of Souls to see the floor writhing with snakes and says, “Snakes. Why’d it have to be snakes?” –- yeah, well substitute the word “bugs” for “snakes” and you pretty much have my attitude toward the little critters. I know it’s not very creature-friendly, but in my estimation the only good bug is a dead bug. So imagine how conflicted I am about my four-year-old daughter’s love for insects. Seriously, how karmic is this? After all those years of squishing bugs, I get my comeuppance from the cosmos by giving birth to a daughter who loves to dig in the dirt to find “roly-poly” bugs, wants to pet worms, and even dressed as a spider for Halloween last year.  I mean I have to encourage her interests, but why’d it have to be bugs?

Naturally that means during our trip to the San Francisco Zoo last week, we had to visit the Insect Zoo.

Living Strong

Yesterday, the Silicon Valley Moms team (consisting of myself, Ana and Courtney) from the Silicon Valley Moms Blog met up for the Livestrong Challenge 5K Walk/Run in San Jose. No, it was not 2000 miles, like our fellow Silicon Valley Moms Group bloggers and road trippers...it was only a 5K (about 3 miles). We may not be getting interviewed by the morning news, taking hilarious videos or logging miles with cool technology, but we were doing something important. We were picking a fight. Oh, and we "met" Lance Armstrong. Check out Courtney's story here (did I mention she raised $1,500? Go Courtney!). Ana is showing her support here. For Linsey's story, read on...

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I send a text to about 6:50 am to let Ana and Courtney know that I am standing by bag check and next to a sign that says "Starbucks -->" (tempting...). Ana originally organized us Silicon Valley Moms as a team and here we are. I see a cute girl who has a "I'm a Survivor - 11 YEARS!" and I ask her where she got it. She points and I head that direction, feeling a bit lame because......

A Tribute to my Grandmother

I haven't been much in the mood to blog recently.  Not that I haven't been inspired -- I just haven't had the emotional fortitude to put into words what I've been feeling lately.  You see, my grandmother died two weeks ago.  She was the last of my grandparents, and definitely the one to whom I was closest.   It wasn't unexpected.  And yes, it put an end to her suffering.  But call me selfish:  I wish she were still alive.  As the priest said during her funeral Mass, she led an ordinary life, but to those who loved her, she was extraordinary. 

I gave the eulogy at her funeral.  It was my last gift to her, my last way to tell her how extraordinary I thought she was.  Forgive my self-indulgence, but I want to share that eulogy here as a final tribute to her. 

We've Joined the Swim Club!

Is there anything more quintessentially summertime in suburbia than the neighborhood swim and tennis club? For so many people just that phrase “swim club” drums up images of teenaged lifeguards sitting in chairs, twirling their whistles around their fingers, warning little kids to stop running by the pool; or rows of lounge chairs populated by clumps of towels and overflowing beach bags, with flip flops carelessly flung underneath them; or baby pools teaming with water-wing-armed toddlers and mothers slathering sunscreen on wiggly preschoolers anxious to get into the water. Can you see it?

I can. These are images straight from my own youth. When I was about five years old, my parents joined our local swim club. It was Tenby Chase Swim Club in Delran, New Jersey. I’ll never forget it. Each weekday morning in the summer, my mom would run around getting her household chores completed. Then she would pack a lunch for us to bring to the pool. By about 10:30am, she would have us dressed in our swimsuits, have the beach bag loaded with towels, goggles, food, and tanning lotion (that's right tanning lotion, NOT sunscreen), and we would be out the door ready for the three minute car ride to the club. As soon as we got there, she would plop our stuff down on a chair that was usually already saved for her by one of her friends. My sister and I would be off and running, only occasionally coming back to her for food, to complain about some injury inflicted on one of us by the other, or to beg, whine, and wheedle for change for the soda machine or the snack bar. The weekends were largely the same, only a little more crowded and raucous with all of the dads thrown into the mix.

The First Heartbreak

My daughter 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 and secure. 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.

A Report from Mother's Day '08: Please Leave Me Alone Next Year

Is it wrong to want to spend Mother’s Day away from my family? Since I have escaped for two girls-only weekends recently, I purposely didn’t schedule any time spa time or shopping time or any time at all away from my family today. Big mistake.

Let’s see, my day started out at 4:30 this morning when my three-and-a-half-year old crawled into bed with me after a nightmare. Although I got her back into bed quickly, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I just sat there making mental lists about all the things that needed to get done around the house that I was determined not to do today. Then my hopes for going to 9:30am Mass were shot when the baby had a fall-on-the-ground, kick-her-feet, wail-at-the-top-of-her-lungs, snot-running-down-her-face meltdown this morning. I really wanted to go with my family to church on Mother’s Day, but I knew it would just be more stress than joyous contemplation with a cranky one-year old and a husband who has limited patience with cranky one-year olds.