Silicon Valley Moms Blog

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.

 

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.

Why Every Mommy Needs a Vacation with Her Girlfriends

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, a work-at-home-but-wish-you-were-in-the-office 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.  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:

How Do You Choose?

School choice is a huge topic in our house right now; my husband and I are currently embroiled in the great elementary school debate. Our oldest turns four this summer, so we’ll have to make our kindergarten choices by next winter. We’re not the only ones trying to make some decisions. In fact, whenever I get together with other moms from my daughter’s playgroup or preschool, one of the hot topics of conversation centers around, “Where are you sending your kid to kindergarten?” Before I had kids – actually, before S was two years old – I never imagined that this would be such a difficult question to answer. 

We live in Redwood City, one of the more “modest” cities in the Silicon Valley (by SV standards). Our public elementary schools vary widely in reputation and test scores. We have a few with really low test scores, and a couple which rival the schools in some of the Peninsula’s tonier towns, including one charter school with a better API score than all but one of the Palo Alto grade schools (which have great reputations).

Death of a Guinea Pig

Yesterday was one of those (many) days that I was so grateful for the expertise and unflappability of my daughter's pre-school teacher.  Teacher K had to explain to a class full of three and four year olds that Wilbur, the school guinea pig, had died over spring break.  When she asked the kids if they knew what it meant to be "dead", she got a variety of responses, as you might imagine -- from the sweet, "it means that God has a new pet," to the matter of fact, "it means that your parts don't work anymore," to the funny, "my dog's ears don't work anymore, but he's not dead," to the hopeful and resilient, "our dog died, but when we move, we're getting a new one."  There were things said by the kids that made me cringe (like talking about their own deaths), and others that almost made me well up with tears.  And through it all the teacher kept it together, was warm, and offered the kids plenty of opportunities to express their feelings about the situation. 

I was worried about how my S would react to Wilbur's death.  We served as guinea pig sitters for a week during the winter holiday.  The little furball sat in his crate in the corner of our family room and was there for all the activity of our household.  Every morning, S would greet him as soon as she came downstairs.  She liked to pet him and feed him straw.  She was delighted when he would "talk" to her by squealing for attention.  Even our baby liked to crawl over to the cage and check him out.  He was a cute (if stinky) little guy and we enjoyed having him here.  So, I wondered how S would take the news of his death.  It turns out she was impassive.  To be honest, I am not sure she entirely understands the concept of death yet.  Late last summer, her great grandmother died.  She can tell you that Bisnonna (Italian for great-grandmother) is dead, but I think she thinks that means she's just gone somewhere else.   For instance, she talked on the phone with her other bisnonna last week. When we hung up, she asked me which one she talked to -- the dead one, or the other one.  So, it's hard to know how much she really gets it.   And since her great-grandmother's passing, I've often wondered if I have done enough to explain the concept of death to her and how much I really should explain.

The Constant Guilt

I think that guilt is an essential part of parenting. Guilt is often a motivator. It often gets us to do the “right” thing or to avoid the easy shortcuts. For example, guilt is one factor that keeps me from plopping the girls in front of the television every time I want 10 minutes to rest (or cook, or check email, or make a phone call, or use the bathroom, etc). I really think there is some deep, biological basis for parenting guilt that ensures that we care for our kids. 

However, that doesn’t make it any easier. Since the moment I discovered I was pregnant with my first child, I’ve felt the guilt. There was the regret about drinking before I found out that I was finally pregnant. Then I felt sorry about having to supplement S with formula – for some reason my body wouldn’t produce enough milk and it had to be my fault, right? When I returned to work, I naturally felt remorse about leaving my six month old. She was with her grandparents, so I couldn’t have found better caregivers – but, still the guilt was there. Once I made the decision to quit working and leave behind some of my unvested stock options, I felt guilty about all the money I was leaving on the table. I felt to blame for my miscarriage, even though my rational self knows that it wasn't my fault. Then, when my second daughter was born, it started all over again. She has two congenital heart defects – you can imagine the guilt spiral that inspired. My doctor reassured me that I had nothing to do with it, but of course the self-reproach was there.

Clinton Kelly and Stacy London: I need your help!

If you don’t know who these folks are, you obviously don’t share my indulgence in the guilty pleasure that is TLC’s What Not To Wear. Clinton and Stacy take an unsuspecting fashion victim and transform her within a week with the help of $5,000, their styling expertise, and a beauty makeover. Now, I don’t really think I need the hair help – I already love my cut and color (thanks to the new Legar Salon in Palo Alto), but I really, really need the fashion help.

I wasn’t always like this. When I was working, I actually had a style. I pretty much went with classic tailoring, spiced up with a trendy item or two. I had great shoes, too. I loved my heels. But, after almost three years as a SAHM, my fashion sensibilities are greatly challenged.

Grumbling About Gender Bias

Let me vent about something that really sticks in my craw.  Ever since Hillary Clinton became a serious contender for the Democratic nomination for President, I have encountered the sentiment from several women with daughters that Hillary's gender basically obligates them to vote for her.   I am talking about comments like, "If I don't vote for her, what will I tell my daughters?" or "As the parent of a daughter, how can I not vote for Hillary?"  These comments have been from people whose opinions and ideas I ordinarily find reasonable and valuable; and so rather than dismiss them summarily, I really gave them some thought.  But, in the end I just can't get behind this sentiment.

Let's get this straight:  I am no Hillary hater.  I believe she has some great ideas to offer.  In fact, it wasn't until Tuesday morning that I had made up my mind about whether to vote for Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama.  But, gender just didn't come into the equation.  And I simply believe it has no place in the decision.  Ideally, we should be evaluating candidates on the quality of their character (to the extent to which it can be determined), their ideas and ideals, their proposed policy changes, their track records as policy makers and leaders -- but not on their genders.  Imagine the reverse:  we would all be up in arms if someone said that he had to vote for Barack Obama or Mitt Romney or Ron Paul just because he had a son and must therefore vote for a male candidate. 

He, She, It, Yo

The other day, I was driving when I heard this promo on KQED (a local NPR affiliate here in the Bay Area), for a story about the use of “yo” as a gender-neutral pronoun. And, I thought to myself, “Really?! Am I that out of touch that the first I am hearing about this is on NPR?”

When I got home, I looked it up and learned that the report is about a study conducted on a group of middle school and high school students in Baltimore who have started using “yo” as a third-person pronoun.  For instance:

“Yo is going to the movies,” or “I heard that yo might be playing in the game tonight.”   Then, there is my own personal favorite, "Peep yo!" which apparently means, "Look at him/her!"

You Can't Make This Stuff Up: A Christmas to Remember

We have returned from our Christmas away, and I am dreading the question, "How was your holiday?"  Why?  Because I don't think anyone will believe me when I tell them how a vacation that started out with so much promise ended up like some Hollywood comedy.  Think Christmas Vacation with the Griswolds -- only worse. 

Our vacation had such an auspicious start.  After an easy, uneventful drive, my husband, daughters, and parents arrived at our cabin in Bear Valley on Saturday morning to find about 18 inches of snow on the ground.  We were thrilled to introduce our girls to their first honest-to-goodness snow.   We spent the day playing in the snow, going to town to buy groceries and a Christmas tree, and looking forward to the arrival of the remaining family members on Sunday.

Sunday morning came around and as we were blissfully decorating the tree, the first inkling of trouble appeared.  My sister had arrived at San Jose airport, but her luggage had not.  Southwest Airlines couldn't tell her if it would arrive on the next flight which was due to arrive in three hours.  Ordinarily, this might not be a big deal, but she was meant to catch a ride up to the Sierras with my in-laws; they were the ones picking her up from the airport.  So, after much debate, they all decided to wait until the next flight came in to see if the luggage on it.  It was not.  So, she left our address with Southwest, and crossed her fingers that they would actually drive the 3+ hours to deliver it to us at the cabin.