Author: amberhj

Canon bomb

Posted on by amberhj

We got a new camera. Stepped up to an SLR. I know it can do amazing things. I just don’t know how to make it do any of those amazing things, as you’ll see.

Below is a picture of Stella and her Animal Hospital. She loves it, and so do I. When she gets engrossed in her veterinary work, I get precious time to waste on my blog, twitter and Facebook page. She attempts to unlock the tiny cages that look like stacked tombs, says “ba-boom-ba-boom” while holding the stethoscope, and administers “Boo Boo Cream” to the toy’s accompanying kitty. Once in a while, she’ll even branch out and vaccinate me and Cody with her little syringe, giving an adorable but piercing little yell of faux empathy. The hospital is not on the up-and-up, though, because the cages aren’t much bigger than the animals. They certainly can’t turn around or even walk at all.  Please don’t report her to the Human Society, Ingrid Newkirk, or anyone like that. I bet I can convince Stella that a little investment in her facilities will eventually result in a huge boost to her bottom line. She loves animals, but this is a business, first and foremost.

Casual Friday at Stella's Animal Hospital.

Casual Friday at Stella's Animal Hospital.

And here’s a shot of Stella on her rocking moose.  I love the vibrant colors and light in this photo, and how the background is slightly blurred, but Moosey’s nose is in focus, rather than Stella’s. And before you say anything, Stella’s baby LIKES to sleep on the ground okay? It’s not a problem or anything. It’s what works for them so please don’t judge.

Moosey was successfully treated at Stella's Animal Hospital.

Moosey was successfully treated (for severe motion sickness) at Stella's Animal Hospital.

And finally, here’s a look at father and daughter. Other than the terrible framing (that’s a photography word, right?), harshness of the flash (their eyes aren’t actually white and illuminated in the middle, I promise), and general lack of photographic skill, you’ll probably notice a few things:

  1. Their eyes are identical. But Stella has my knees, so I don’t feel left out or anything.
  2. Stella’s hair style is an “interesting look.” She’s never had a hair cut. Those bangs are natural. Her hair is long and stick straight on top, wavy and short on the sides, and long and curly in the back. There is no decernable part, unless you count the adorable spiral of her hair from a central point in the back. As soon as I put any of them in her hair, Stella rips out the wide variety of cute clips I bought on Etsy. So this was my attempt at the most minimal and least intrusive style possible, a last ditch effort to tame her unruly mane and prevent everyone from assuming she is a boy, even while wearing pink (come to think of it, this once happened while she wore a pink hat, so maybe I can’t blame the hair). Not sure we’ll be going back to this look. Besides, it lasted 15 minutes before she tore out the band. Stella, 357. Me, 0.
  3. There is a lazily-left-behind pile of clean clothes right next to Cody, yet he chooses to wear dirty pants. You’re going to have to talk to him about that. I wear dirty clothes all the time, but only because ALL my clothes are ALWAYS dirty. There’s a big difference. Huge, actually. Not that I’m perfect or anything. Just superior. Even when it comes to wearing filthy pants.
  4. Cody’s smile, while attractive, is a bit “intense.” It’s because Stella was actually flailing maniacally and had finally stopped for a brief second to permit a photo (or because I yelled crazy gibberish loud enough to catch her attention), and he’s really smiling as hard as he can in an attempt to cover up any annoyance or stress involved in the struggle that preceded. Also, he always looks insane in photos. There are even legendary stories about this fact, which I’ll probably share in a future post. Because I know you’ve been waiting for that. Hang in there.
It's a blue-eyed party and mommy isn't invited. Ever.

It's a blue-eyed party and mommy isn't invited. Ever.

See?

Exhibit B

Exhibit A

Exhibit C

Exhibit B

I’m looking into beginners’ digital photography classes. I know. I’ll definitely focus on how to get good action shots.

Confident mom interview #2: Jennifer of Sweet Futility

Posted on by amberhj

I’d like to introduce you to my cousin Jennifer. There are a few things you should know about her. First off, she’s really, really smart. Or as they say in Massachusetts, where she lives and where I’m from, “wicked smaht.” Like, she could’ve gone to Harvard. But didn’t choose to. Which brings me to my next point: She doesn’t care about fancy, superficial bullshit that doesn’t matter in the end. She wanted to stay home with her daughters, four-year-old Marley and 14-month-old Rudy, and made sacrifices to do it.

Jennifer, sharing a moment with Marley and Rudy

Jennifer, sharing a moment with Marley and Rudy

In addition, Jennifer faces challenges that many moms don’t. Her daughters have a health condition that, while not life-threatening, requires extra care and calm on her part every single day. Oh, Jennifer’s mom also has severe health issues requiring not only lots of extra care and calm, but (as you’ll learn below) life-saving measures from as far back as when Jennifer and her sisters were in elementary school. Maybe that help explains Jen’s toughness. In any case, Jen handles motherhood and life in general with grace and a sense of balance and realness that I truly admire.

She very rarely, if ever, complains about anything–okay, unless hard cider is involved. She can laugh just about anything off. To quote Tim Gunn (someone her daughter Marley can do a pretty darn good imitation of without even trying), she makes it work.

Life and Times of Stella: Your blog is a very honest and uplifting take on motherhood. How did you come up with the name “Sweet Futility“?

Sweet Futility:  First of all, it’s weird that anyone who wants to check out my blog won’t be able to since I made it private about a month ago.  Someone I didn’t know left a comment that may have been innocent, but I felt like protecting my kids just in case it wasn’t.  Maybe eventually I’ll open it up again.  In the meantime, anyone who’s curious can leave their email in your comments section and I’ll send along an invite?  I guess? (Life and Times of Stella notes: Or readers can just email me, and I’ll relay the info to Jen at Sweet Futility.)

A friend actually uttered the phrase “sweet, sweet futility,” during one of Marley’s tantrums.  He was witnessing her wrath for the first time, and foolishly trying to dismantle her craziness.  I told him it was futile, and then he called it sweet, and right away I thought that it was a fairly accurate description of parenting.  Because really, as parents we’re in charge of some things, but ultimately, our kids are going to be who they’re going to be.  And it would be wrong to take that individuality away from them.  Which is what I tell myself when my daughter Marley asks for things like POM-POMS and swoons over anything pink and sparkly.

Life and Times of Stella: On your newly exclusive blog, you revealed that Rudy and Marley have a condition called x-linked hypophosphatemic rickets. How does it impact everyday life for you and them?

Sweet Futility: This form of rickets affects their bone development, and my understanding is that without treatment, their little bones will bow as they grow and cause them a lot of stress and pain.  The condition can affect their stature, which may be why my girls are in the first or second percentile for height.  Daily, I have to make sure that they’re taking phosphorus and vitamin D supplements; frequently, I take them for blood work and check-ups with their pediatric endrocrinologist; annually, they have x-rays and ultrasounds to monitor their growth.

Because my husband has this condition, and because it’s x-linked, we knew that any girls we had would have rickets.  I think that helped me to take it in stride.  It wasn’t a surprise or anything. And while all the medical appointments are time-consuming and therefore, often irritating, I know that this isn’t anything life-threatening.  I mean, I worry that like their father, they’ll have terrible knees and have to deal with pain and maybe not even have the option of going for a run if they want, but I know that in the grand scheme of things, my kids are healthy, and I’m lucky.

Life and Times of Stella: Rudy and Marley share a room. What was behind that decision and how is it going?

Sweet Futility:  After Rudy was born and I asked the doctor and nurses to confirm that she was a girl, I was crying and murmuring, “I’m so happy that Marley has a sister.”  I have two sisters, so of course that’s all I know, but I just think they’ll have each other’s backs, growing up and as adults, in a way that a brother and a sister can’t.  (I know that’s a valuable relationship, too, of course.  I’m just saying.)

I want for Marley and Rudy to be silly little buddies, and I think that a shared room can nurture that, at least while they’re young.  I also think a shared room is a way to teach things like sharing and cooperation and appreciation in both subtle and dramatic ways.  Already, Todd and I hear them in the morning talking to each other, and it’s hilarious.  I mean, Rudy’s pretty much saying, “Be-beh” [baby], and “Nuh-Nuh” [pacifier], but Marley’s got this full-on monologue going, and they’re laughing, and it’s great.

I shared a room with my younger sister my whole life.  The first time I had a bedroom to myself, I was a junior in college.  (That was a little too long to wait, for the record.)  But it helped me to fully appreciate my own space, and I certainly wasn’t spoiled in that way, and I don’t want my kids to be either.  Plus, now we use Rudy’s old nursery as a family office, where most of the kids’ books and art supplies are.  At least a couple of times a week, Todd’s up there working at an adult-sized desk, and Marley’s at her little table, doing her preschool homework or concocting imaginary dinner parties and making elaborate invitations for them.

Life and Times of Stella:  In addition to taking care of your daughters full time, you help take care of your mom. Ever get overwhelmed? How do you cope?

Sweet Futility: Hoo boy.  My mom has early on-set Alzheimer’s, and she’s a type one diabetic, which is a pretty terrible combination.  Because she and my father are separated and he’s in Florida literally doing things like basking by the pool or ocean and enjoying week-long cruises with his lady friend, my sisters and I have taken on the responsibility of caring for her.  My older sister especially, because my mom lives with her.

Because I’m a stay-at-home mom, I’m responsible for bringing my mom to daycare when my sister’s at work, and I handle all of the doctors’ appointments.  It’s tedious, and depressing, but it’s also nothing new to my sisters or me.  My mom didn’t do a great job of taking care of herself and managing her diabetes when we were growing up.  We’ve brought her out of hypoglycemic shock more times than we can count, since we were really young.  It’s the kind of thing that you think is normal when you’re young, and then, when you’re in therapy you learn that it’s not right to be constantly saving your mother’s life when you’re in elementary school.

My sisters and I are a great team, and sometimes we’re bitter and angry, but we support each other and we can laugh about the ridiculousness of our situation, too.  Mostly, we just get the job done and keep the focus on our kids.  And we take care of ourselves and each other because we know what can happen when moms don’t.  Ugh.  Next question.

Life and Times of Stella: How and when did you decide to be a “stay-at-home mom” and leave your teaching job?

Sweet Futility: My last full-year teaching, I was given three classes of eighth graders.  It was not hard to walk away.  Seriously.  The people who teach middle school kids because they “just love that age” are saints.

When I started teaching high school English, I had sweet classes like creative writing and AP English Language and Composition.  I loved teaching those kids.  They were mostly nerds and overachievers like me, and they loved reading and writing.  I got into the profession because of my love of grammar, not because I watched Dangerous Minds and wanted to teach inner city kids poetry.  This makes me sound like an elitist jerk, so I should mention that a part of me did absorb Dangerous Minds when I was becoming certified to teach, and I will always love Stand and Deliver.  Defy the odds!  Like in Rudy!

When I was pregnant with Marley, my husband and I were both full-time teachers.  And teaching is a full-time job.  Especially for English teachers.  The day is over at 2 p.m., sure.  But then you’re not really out of the building until almost four, and you’ve got this gigantic pile of mostly mediocre essays to read and grade, and that’s at least three hours of work, and so we knew that if we both worked, we wouldn’t get to hang out with our kids at all.  And I really, really wanted to be at home with them while they’re little and funny.  So we have been stretching our dollars ever since, and I still coach, teach a night course twice a year, and fit in private tutoring whenever I can to keep us afloat.

Life and Times of Stella: What is a typical dinnertime in your home like? What’s on the menu in terms of food, conversation, and antics?

Sweet Futility: Dinnertime is not where I want it to be right now.  Unless I’m really on my game, it’s suddenly five o’clock and I’m just getting something going for Todd and me (and Marley) while I’m microwaving small plates for Rudy (and Marley).  We try to overlap our eating so that we’re all sitting together for at least five or ten minutes, but that doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.

And I know there are all these people who say, “I’m not making six different meals,” and “If my kids are hungry, they’ll eat it, and if not, they can eat again at breakfast,” and I certainly agree with that in theory.  But Marley and Rudy are both wee kids, and every time we see their pediatrician, she’s on me to be sure that they’re eating healthy and gaining weight.  So right now I’m balancing filling their stomachs the best I can with what I know they like, and making sure they at least try whatever Todd and I are having, too.  I’m hoping that in about a year, we’ll really and truly be sitting together and eating the same things.

That doesn’t really answer your questions.  So I’ll tell you that the other night we had chicken thighs braised in white wine, stock, and some dijon mustard, toasted basmati rice with shallots, cumin, and coriander, and some green beans.  And tonight, we’re going to drown ourselves in french fries and bacon cheeseburgers at Five Guys, and I’ve been thinking about it ALL DAY!  We eat healthy food, especially fruits and vegetables, as often as possible, and I don’t really buy junk food for snacks. But I use lots of butter and salt when I cook.

One of my absolute favorite cooks is Nigella Lawson.  And I was once watching this documentary about her, and she said how it really affected her when her mother got cancer and said something like, “Well, now I guess I’ll finally eat what I want without worrying about my weight.”  And clearly it’s affected me, too.  Why deny yourself?  I still don’t think I’m answering your questions the right way.  I have a lot to say about food, I guess.

Life and Times of Stella: What do you find most challenging about motherhood?

Sweet Futility: I think it’s hard to be the kind of role model I want to be.  I want to show Marley how to maintain a sense of calm when she’s mid-tantrum, but sometimes I still blow my top.  I want to exhibit things like kindness and compassion, but that can be difficult depending on who I’m dealing with. (Ahem.)  And I want to be assertive and stand up for myself, but I also really hate confrontation.  So it’s probably the same stuff a lot of moms feel: I’m setting some impossible standards for myself and just doing the best I can to meet them as often as possible.

Life and Times of Stella: Tell us one thing about each of your daughters that you admire.

Sweet Futility: I love Marley’s spunk.  Even though it can drive me bananas, her feistiness is something that I really admire.  I don’t see her ever having trouble standing up for herself.  And at the same time, she’s such a little lady.  She will know more about how to properly apply eyeliner at age fifteen than I know now.  I don’t even wear it, for crying out loud.  She will be truly embarrassed by my ensembles in the next year or so unless I stay on top of things.

Rudy is a model of living in the moment.  She is slow and deliberate and sweet.  Sometimes I call my sisters with her, and they’ll answer, “Hello?”  And then Rudy will say, “Hiiiii.”  And then Heather or Danielle will realize who it is and take in this sort of pleased and contented breath and then say, “Hi!” and then Rudy replies, “Hi.  Hiiiii.  Hi!”  And these greetings can go on for about three or four minutes.  I feel like when I’m holding Rudy and she’s smiling and taking things in, my blood pressure goes down.

Life and Times of Stella: What is your biggest wish for Marley and Rudy?

Sweet Futility: I want most of all for Marley and Rudy to be truly, deep down, happy with who they are and what they’re achieving, throughout their lives.  I want them to laugh as often as possible.

Life and Times of Stella: In closing, can you recall a proud mothering moment, when it was clear that something you’d done as a mom was definitely not futile?

Sweet Futility:  That’s a tough one.  I think it’s still too early for me to answer this as far as Rudy goes, but I’ve got a few examples of Marley making my heart swell.  Or melt. Depending.

The first is something I didn’t get to witness.  When my sister Danielle was watching Marley last year while the Boston Marathon was on TV, Danielle pointed out how fast the female runners were going.  And Marley said, “Yeah.  Girls do sports.  My mommy does lots of sports.”

Last week, when Marley and Rudy and I were wheeling our red carriage toward the registers at Target, I was trying to get Rudy to say, “Buh-bye.”  So I was all, “Bye!  Bye, Target!”  And Marley, skipping alongside the carriage, said, “Bye, Target!  I love you!”

And every time I drop Marley off at preschool, she has to give me a hug and a kiss and squeeze my nose, and then she does the same thing to her little sister.  It’s adorable, I promise.

Heidi Montag can kiss my un-enhanced ass. Actually, I feel sorry for her enhanced one.

Posted on by amberhj

My first baby shower was absolutely amazing, if not a bit embarrassing. When I was seven months pregnant with Stella, we traveled to visit family in Austin, Texas, where friends and kin not only gathered together, but went to impressive lengths to create an incredibly moving video of the day. It’s the kind of keepsake that demands a level of thanks that you can’t quite reach.

Each guest was covertly escorted away from the hubbub of the party. A camera rolled as they each answered questions about me and Cody and their wishes and wisdom for us as parents. Later, it was all edited together into the amazing, aforementioned treasure trove of loving advice, recollections and encouragement. I cry every time I watch it, especially during my parents’ segments. My dad said empowering things about how to raise girls, noting that no way did he decide what to do with us based on our gender. We did everything, from “helping” him work on cars to sharing motorcycle rides. My mom recalled something I said when I was two. She’d asked me what bees were made of. In typical over-thinking Amber fashion, I sat there, with my fingers on my chin for a long while, and finally said, “Bees and paper.” Then, as the video closed, my mother expressed her wish that my baby bring the same happiness into my life that I’d brought to hers.

And no, I did not escape questioning. There I am… happy and lovely, because I loved being pregnant and was proud of my shape. But also bloated, uncomfortable, sweating, and wearing an unflattering, frilly and floofy white tank top designed, apparently, for a five-year-old girl. I don’t do frilly or floofy. It’s not me. Why I suddenly decided that such a look would work, precisely as my torso went from ruler to beach ball, is beyond me. My feet were too swollen for my sandals, raw pinky toes escaping through the side exits, but I refused to take them off because damn it, I bought them just for this very special occasion and I was sticking to them! (Literally, my feet were stuck in the shoes.) Emotional, exhausted, and coasting on an unbelievably horrid night’s sleep thanks to a granite futon and third-trimester discomfort, I did my best to answer some poignant questions.

What stands out most from my interview is my reply when asked about my biggest worries and fears for Stella, our then-unnamed, unborn daughter. Perhaps foolishly, I didn’t answer with concerns about her health. (Though, of course, her health is an immeasurable gift and not something I took for granted!) I said, without a doubt, that I was most concerned about how to raise a confident daughter. I know firsthand how devastating a lack of confidence can be. I was able to fight my way out, but it could have easily gone the other way. I’m lucky, and fully aware of it. I am deeply  knowledgeable about the huge importance of self-esteem in girls, and determined to help minimize the struggle for Stella.

So, earlier this month, when I saw before and after pictures of Heidi Montag’s ten plastic surgeries, all performed simultaneously like a symphony of mutilation, I was upset. Floored and upset. Anger came quickly. Because she gave up. She didn’t choose to fight the good fight. To learn to love herself, to realize how truly beautiful she was. By not only undergoing extensive plastic surgery, but celebrating it in any media outlet that will shove a camera at her now-triple-D boobs, she’s happily promoting the at-all-costs pursuit of an unrealistic, inhuman beauty ideal . She’s endorsing the idea that to be truly beautiful, women require fixing.

Then, the anger subsided and I felt sad for her. She was naturally beautiful, but clearly didn’t think so. Somehow. Despite the fact that she’d wound up on TV in large part because of her looks. The level of insecurity required to choose such extensive and painful surgeries–10 procedures at once–is mind-boggling. Apparently, no one ever planted that idea within her–the belief that she is perfect and lovable just the way she is. Even if you lose your way and your worth due to all the bullcrap images and messages that surround us, with that kernel nestled somewhere below the surface, you can find your way back to sanity. Thankfully, I possessed it all along, and was eventually able to nourish it. If someone did plant such a seed in Heidi, it didn’t take root. Or perhaps Hollywood, or the attack-dog blogs that nip at its heels, crushed it.

After further processing of Heidi’s surgical madness, I had another, slightly more hopeful thought. Maybe, in a way, Heidi’s doing us a favor. We know that plastic surgery is rampant among celebrities, but it’s hidden and denied if at all possible. By speaking out openly about it, she’s exposing the insanity (and it really is insanity). Without realizing it, she’s illuminating the fact that it’s all gone too far. Sure, she says she’s not addicted, but she’s not fooling anyone. Because where does it end? The aging process will be terrifying for her, rather than empowering, as it should be. More procedures, in the name of “maintenance” if not “enhancement,” are surely to come. And we’ll likely hear about it–even though we don’t want to.

To get to the heart of the matter, all I have to do is think of what Heidi must have been like at Stella’s age. Seventeen months old. Back then, the world was Heidi’s oyster. I bet she loved ice cream to the point of squealing. She liked to play in the dirt, and maybe even taste it once in a while. Reality TV didn’t exist–only Sesame Street. The sight of her own reflection made her whole face light up–she’d tilt her head and smile ear to ear at the friend looking back at her. My heart breaks for that little girl, whose features and spirit no longer resemble themselves. I can only imagine how Heidi’s mother feels.

Heidi, you say you’re just doing what makes you happy. But this is just superficial stuff, and that’s not how happiness works. You haven’t done the real work. For your own sake and that of daughters everywhere, I hope you will.

Confident Mom Interview #1: Meet Suzanne, the Fearless Formula Feeder

Posted on by amberhj

When I was forced to give up breastfeeding for the health of my baby, I was heartbroken and plunged into an even deeper and darker postpartum depression. It seemed like a no-win situation: I was failing, and my baby was not getting “the best.” Based on all that I’d been told about breastfeeding, a switch to formula did not bode well for Stella’s mental or emotional health, not to mention her IQ. But then it occurred to me that I had absolutely no in-depth scientific knowledge or statistics about the actual benefits of breastfeeding or actual outcomes for formula-fed infants. All I had were soundbites. In an attempt to inform myself about precisely what formula-feeding meant for Stella, and to maybe try to feel just a little less despair, I started digging around online.

Suzanne, the Fearless Formula Feeder

That’s how I found Suzanne. Her increasingly popular blog, “Fearless Formula Feeder,” is catching the attention of formula-feeders and breastfeeders alike, sparking controversy in lactivist circles and heated debate in the blog’s comment section.  It’s no secret that after all Stella and I went through with her feeding aversion and NG tube, while I still wish I could’ve breastfed, I have found immense comfort in Suzanne’s blog. You can agree or disagree with her message, but you can’t deny that she’s a courageous woman.

I have a feeling you’ll be hearing Suzanne’s name again soon. She’s currently working on a book about formula feeding and the concept and impact of breastfeeding pressure. And with that, I present my first ten-question “Confident Mom Interview,” with the Fearless Formula Feeder.

Life and Times of Stella: Why did you start your blog?

Fearless Formula Feeder: I was 100% committed to breastfeeding. I went into the hospital with everything going for me – I was educated about nursing from classes and numerous books; I lived in a community where everyone breastfed; all of my friends had nursed without problems; my husband was just as dedicated to the cause as I was and completely supportive; I didn’t have a maternity leave end-date looming over my head (being a writer who worked from home)… basically, I was a poster child for the best candidate for a successful nursing journey. I had the will, the drive, the attitude, the desire, and the support necessary to breastfeed.

And yet, I still ended up formula feeding…

Read More

Yeah, about the blog…

Posted on by amberhj

Tube weaning resource? Neurotic mom humor? Obnoxious oversharing? I’m slowly figuring out exactly what the point of this blog is, and trying to bring it into focus.

I’ve got some new ideas, and some much needed fresh energy–though that could be the giant hazelnut crunch chocolate bar I just consumed in 90 seconds flat while writing copy about an exciting porta potty promotion. No, I’m not kidding, though, it’s better than it sounds. Especially because I managed to use the word “pee” in messaging that thousands of people will see. Sarah Palin isn’t the only maverick in town.

First off, I’m proud to announce that I’m interviewing moms. The goal is to showcase the voice of one confident mom per week. Confident, as perceived by yours truly. Confident, as in, “this woman knows what she’s doing, does not apologize for it, and we could all learn a thing or two from her.” Confidence is a quality I strive for, and I’m going to dig it out of the corners of the blogosphere, hold it in my virtual hands, throw away my hand sanitizer, and pray that it’s contagious.

Secondly (and lastly, for now), I’ve gone all fancypants on you and changed the address to the elegantly simpler lifeandtimesofstella.com. Yep, I cut “wordpress” right the hell out, because I’m ruthless like that. Don’t worry, I won’t forget where I came from (that would be lifeandtimesofstella.wordpress.com).

As I dealt with the routing of the new URL, I remembered how I don’t love the name of this blog. Not exactly a creative gem, is it? When I started the blog, Stella was a newborn and I was thrilled, yet bleary eyed and brain dead and freaking out because something was wrong with Stella and her eating, but I didn’t yet know how to help her. I sat on the couch with my laptop and an irrepressible urge to blog (i.e. vent) immediately, bloodshot eyes demonically fixated on the wordpress home page, but couldn’t come up with a name for the life of me. So I did what any good creative would do: I asked my husband to come up with an idea on the spot, and I ran with it. “The Life and Times of Stella” was the result. Lately I’ve pondered “Hooray for Stellyhood,” but this blog is about me as it is about her, and it’s heading in some new directions. So, as usual, I’m unsure about what to do. Right, so on that insecure note, I’m off to post my first confident mom interview.

And hey, thanks for reading! I really appreciate your time and eyeballs.

Let them eat sugar

Posted on by amberhj

I took newly 17-month-old Stella out for ice cream last week. Just me and her. There was no special occasion other than “mama needs ice cream NOW.”  We headed out on foot at around 7pm to sneak in our treat before her 7:30 bath (which, of course, didn’t happen until 7:45). On the “walk” home, she stopped between wind sprints to request “more more more.” I happily served her bites of my mouthwatering masterpiece: perfectly salted caramel and rich chocolate Molly Moon’s ice cream in a waffle cone made two minutes before we ate it. I didn’t even mind sharing, until I realized she’d finished the salted caramel, leaving only chocolate and destroying the dessert’s mindblowing salty-sweet synergy. Really, the outing itself was a treat that instantly turned into a sweet memory.

So imagine my reaction to an increasingly popular declaration being made on mommy blogs lately: “My toddler eats no sugar or white flour whatsoever.”

First thought? Sheer defensiveness. Then, “WHAT DID YOUR POOR TODDLER DO TO DESERVE THIS???” Lemme tell ya, I gave up dairy for two and half months in a last-ditch effort to make breastfeeding work, and it eroded my soul. I’m 27% more evil now. Had I been forced to give up sugar and white flour too, which to me means insanely sexy chocolate and crusty loaves of French or Italian baked goodness, I would not be here today. With no caloric or emotional reserves to draw from, no boost from my extra special favorite foods, the breast pump would’ve eventually worn me down to a pathetic pulp. The way our dryer would wear down my jeans if I put them through an unrelenting tumble cycle every three hours for two and a half months straight.

Maybe it’s because I just finished reading “In Defense of Food” by Michael Pollan, which I highly recommend as an enlightening antidote to our need to control and monitor everything we eat. Maybe it’s because for a few hellacious months, my baby refused to eat and required a feeding tube. In the process of helping her learn to embrace and enjoy eating, I had to let go of my own lingering fear and anxiety around food. (Fear is likely behind parental sugar bans, by the way.) Whatever the reason may be, I find sugar-free righteousness to be ridiculous, unrealistic, unhelpful and practically inhuman. Mark my words: An all-out sugar ban will backfire.

Read More

Thwarting an emerging toddler dictatorship

Posted on by amberhj

Stella screamed, at the top of her incredibly powerful 16-month-old lungs, several times at Gymboree today. Because she wanted the almighty red-headed puppet Gymbo, but he was a crowd of toddlers away and busy hanging out with someone else. Because a smiley classmate found a stray bubble next to her on the slide, and she seemed to feel boxed in or threatened by his positioning across the bottom of the slide just below her (she kicked her feet at him, but didn’t actually make contact before I swooped in and took her away). Because I tried to pick her up and bring her to the singing circle. And just because. (There seemed to be absolutely no reason for a couple of the angry shrieks.)

For a while now, we’ve had a strong, rock-solid philosophy, though hard-earned, when it comes to eating. Good. And while Stella’s sleep isn’t perfect, it’s pretty darn good, due to a consistent approach to napping and bedtime that really works for all of us. So, with shut-eye and food, we have a “way of doing things.” We know what’s effective, what we believe and makes sense to us, and how to respond when things go haywire. The next frontier, it seems, is figuring out how to help Stella manage her emotions (and volume!).

I’m overwhelmed and often quite nervous, though I strive to prevent that from showing. I’m in charge. I’m in charge. I’m in charge.

One evening not too long ago, Stella and I cut a rug like you read about, to the tunes of our current favorite album: Here Comes Science. We had so much fun, and it was totally organic and breathless and joyful. Well, she now wants to repeat this magic on the hour. Here’s what I mean: She’s playing with her whimsical number flash cards and I’m sitting on the floor nearby, watching, calling out numbers, and relaxing, when a fast-paced danceable number pipes up on the stereo. She perks up and bounces twice because, well, she just can’t resist, then with brow-furrowing purpose marches over to me, and grips the shoulders of my sweater, attempting to forcefully yank me to my feet while shouting something unintelligible. (When Daddy’s around, his attendance is also 100% mandatory–she hunts him down in the kitchen with a forceful pointing gesture.) Mini-dictator wants to dance! What fun! But heaven forbid you slow down or take a break. That is strictly forbidden! I must keep my feet moving and my face cheerful lest I incur Stella’s wrath, which is swift and punishing to eardrums and souls. (Of course, this is all incredibly amusing and, in a way, truly wonderful, to me until I’ve danced a few songs and truly need a break.)

Stella’s been an increasingly take-charge baby from day one. She nearly wailed her head off during her first full night of life here on earth. The sound echoed through the silent hospital ward, and I imagined it drifting over the heads of the more content and sleepy newborns. The nurse was genuinely baffled. At five weeks old, she started to tell me more and more clearly that she’d really rather not eat. “No really, you’re quite kind and thank you very much, but I’m not at all hungry. Tummy’s a bit sour to be honest. Just reeling from all the excitement of my new life, I suppose.” I’d be all, “That’s bull crap! Really, you should eat! It’s been five freakin’ hours and the books say you must be starving, darn-it!” She’d indulge me by having a tiny one-minute snack and say, “Oh thank you that was divine but I really must be going now. Can you please be a dear and fetch my bumbershoot?” And I’d insist, “Oh but you hardly ate anything! Don’t be rude! I can’t let you leave hungry! Let me boil you another hot dog. (pause) What’s a bumbershoot? (angry pause) You know I don’t like fancy talk!” That’s when she’d put her foot down, “NO THANK YOU MOTHER! I’VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH NOW GOOD DAY!” Me: “Are you sure?” Stella: “F OFF!”

She has also consistently let me know that she does not like being in car seats or strollers. Frankly, I think it’s because in those scenarios, she isn’t involved enough. Not able to see all the action. Not in control, where she clearly belongs. After all is said and done, I respect her more than just about anyone I know. She’s weathered a good storm in her day. She knows what she wants and declares it. Most of the time, I do neither. But I’m working on it.

My current project is to continue to build confidence in myself as a mother, and to decide with Cody how to handle Stella’s outbursts. To be consistent in setting proper limits without limiting her rightful expression. I want her to keep speaking up. I just want her to know when it’s necessary, and when a simple “please” or “help” or, oh, two seconds’ patience will do. She’s already taught me about that particular virtue, but I suppose we both need a bit more. And possibly, ear plugs.

Meet fearless Frankie and her parents

Posted on by amberhj

Update: In March of 2010, her parents announced that Frankie discovered the joy of eating and left tube-feeding behind for good!

I’d like to introduce you to Francesca and her devoted parents.  Their extremely touching and wonderfully written blog, Frankly Frankie, documents Francesca’s struggles with eating. They need our morale support–right now.

Adorable two-year-old Francesca, or Frankie, has a story that begins very similarly to Stella’s: severe reflux (GERD) and cow’s milk protein intolerance, signaled by bloody diapers, led her to refuse to eat as a newborn. Frankie’s mom, Brett, eliminated dairy from her diet to no avail (sounds familiar). As with Stella, a reluctant switch to amino-acid-based formula and bottle feeding was made. But Frankie was unfamiliar with the bottle, the very expensive formula caused terrible constipation (not to mention its horrible taste), and she soon shut down orally, with near-total refusal to eat. Diagnosed with Failure To Thrive (FTT), she descended through the ranks of the growth chart until she fell off, despite valiant daily efforts to feed her “normally.” A g-tube (PEG) was surgically inserted into Francesca’s stomach in order to prevent severe malnutrition. Francesca remained off the growth charts until very recently, a truly hard-earned achievement for her parents, a milestone that prompted celebration.

She is now two years old and has been 100% tube-fed. (For the full story, click here.) But not for long. Frankie’s parents very recently embarked on an intensive and heroic weaning effort. What touches me so much about their story and current efforts isn’t, as you might expect, that Stella could easily have wound up in the same exact situation. What gets me is the absolute dedication and above-and-beyond efforts of Frankie’s parents. They are doing everything humanly possible to help Frankie discover the joy of eating. They have turned their home into a play picnic, a highly successful and messy therapeutic Graz method used during weaning that allows tube-fed kids to explore and play with food without pressure, on their own terms, and become comfortable enough with food to eat. The floors and walls in Frankie’s home are sticky.

A few days into the weaning process, Frankie’s parents are trying hard to keep the faith, as Francesca still prefers ice cubes over the many treats offered, including (hold on to your hats):

“oatmeal with soy milk and brown sugar, dried cranberries, pita chips, cherrios, sharp cheddar cheese, bread with seeds, coconut rice, apple sauce, carrots shaped like coins, vegetable and goat cheese frittata, whole wheat spaghetti noodles, steamed broccoli, carrots shaped like flowers, potato chips, medium cheddar cheese, slices of banana, cinnamon rolls, acorn squash, swiss chard, butternut squash, sour cream, rice krispies, puffs, bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese in a tortilla, spinach, red bell pepper slices, coconut flakes, frosted animal cookies, miniature strawberry yogurt covered pretzels, dried mango-pineapple, dried banana, egg noodles with green onion, salt and pepper, salad greens, baked potato chips, polish sausage, red cabbage, mini marshmallows, dried apples, chocolate yogurt covered pretzels, dried apricots, corn chips, dried cherries, croissant, peaches, banana bread, colby jack cheese, graham cracker cookies shaped like bugs, french bread, fresh mango, cookie bars, pear slices, candy corn, gummy bears, lettuce, chocolate frosting, gingerbread cookies, white frosting, salt and pepper potato chips, chocolate, quinoa, garlic bread, french toast, popcorn with butter, pink pixie popcorn, yogurt, celery with cream cheese and raisins, wheat thin crackers, apple slices, turkey soup with dumplings, uncooked pasta wheels, yellow raisins, brown raisins, fruit loop cereal, orange cinnamon rolls, parmesan cheese, tortillas, dried mango, tortilla chips, grated cheese, beef chili, pancakes with butter and maple syrup, chocolate cookies shaped like bears, jelly beans, deviled eggs, toast with raspberry jam, carrots with ranch dressing…”

Francesca is undergoing huge psychological and biological changes, and needs time to adjust. As such, with this type of weaning, there is a lot of anxious waiting and hoping, and often, a good measure of sheer desperation. (Hek, I threw bottles.) The outcome rests squarely in the hands of the child. As a parent, you feel helpless. Your role? To make food available (really, without even “offering” it), to remain calm, and have faith in a child who has rarely if ever shown any interest in eating.

Tube weaning is extremely stressful, even when it is going well. It’s an incredible leap of faith, and a very lonely journey. Please take a moment to visit the blog, Frankly Frankie, and send your warm, supportive wishes in comment form.

I’ll sign off by simply stating that I have absolute faith in Frankie, and her parents.

Equilibrium

Posted on by amberhj

Today was one of those days: Stella’s cuteness just completely overwhelmed me. Even more so than usual. Gave me that tickling sensation in my heart, which I almost can’t stand.

I hugged and kissed her constantly. Touched my forehead and/or nose to hers whenever possible. Frequently and eagerly picked her up and spun her around and around (Stella, after tenth time: “More? More?” while signing “more”; Me: “SURE! I’m glad you asked!”). I sat and stared as she attempted to remove CDs from the stereo, ate delicious and helpfully thick Greek yogurt from an upside-down spoon, and repeatedly put a tennis ball through a cylindrical block.

Admittedly, I was especially enamored when she ate, with gusto, the healthy stir-fry I whipped up (i.e. awkwardly assembled) for dinner. She happily picked out big clusters of kale, onion and chicken. Chomping on leafy greens is so adorable when she does it.  (I hope you see the humor I’m injecting here, lest you gag.)

Then, after the meal, as usual, she started whining incessantly and clinging to me, which made cleaning up (and breathing) difficult. So I gave her some chocolate chips to get her off my case.

It’s all about balance.

Happy 2nd week of the new year

Posted on by amberhj

And we’re back.

Being the geniuses that we are, Cody and I decided to undertake a three-week, two-city holiday travel bonanza with a 16-month-old tornado. We’re not crazy, just overly enthusiastic. Last year, we canceled our Thanksgiving and Christmas travel plans due to the stress and complicated logistics of Stella’s feeding issues and tube. So we decided to “do it up” this year. We were optimistic and confident, but not cocky enough to honor our “no TV until two, mostly” rule and so we hit Best Buy for a DVD player. Smart move. Stella did not fall asleep on any of our four flights. Sesame Street was an oasis for all of us.

Stella enjoyed some adventures that surely broadened her horizons, including a train ride in Austin’s Zilker Park in 70-degree sunshine and sledding in snowy Boston, just to name a couple. She clearly adores her extended family, and got to know them all much better, which was really important to me. But she was whiny and clingy for the vast majority of the trip. Was it teething? Was it her cold that didn’t let up until the end of the trip? Was it the many changes in scenery? Was it just typical behavior for her age? We asked ourselves these questions constantly and inanely. I consider it a Christmas miracle that none of our family members, all forced to listen to this pointless and obsessive wondering aloud, never punched us in the face at any point during the trip.

Thank GOD for cousin James, who at six years old is amazing with little ones. He has magical powers. Seriously, he knew that when Stella started whining, it was his cue to start a game of tag with her. I didn’t say a word–he’d just sneak up behind Stella with a sly grin on his face and the clinging would end and the fun would begin. Stella could not get enough of him. They held hands in the car, touched foreheads and giggled, and ran, ran, ran. James, buddy, I owe you one.

So, after a fun* but tiring trip, we made it home. Stella could not have been happier to see her rocking moose, ball ramp, stuffed robot, toddler-sized piano, Tupperware drawer, and every single element of her nursery’s decor. She gasped upon seeing each and every item in our home (even lighting fixtures), her eyes and smile so wide they crowded out her dimples. And that was after arriving home at 1am, at which point she’d been awake for what felt like a life sentence but was actually 10 hours. She’s now back to her usual, even sweeter and more delightful self, except for random eardrum-shattering outburts, of course. (It’s been confirmed by family members: Stella is very loud, even by toddler standards.) Since our return she’s eating about twice as much as usual, and even asking for thirds on carrots. WHAT? You heard me.

It’s good to be back, but I sure will miss seeing her play and interact with the aunties, cousins, uncles and grandparents that love her so much. I’m so glad we went.

*Fun with a giant exception: my mom broke her leg, badly. She had surgery on Wednesday and her pain is finally under control. Let the healing begin! She would not want me to make a big fuss about it, especially not on my blog, so that’s all I can say. Love you and thinking of you, Mom.