It's May, and you know what that means. Oh wait, you don't.

It's a bit early for a Mother's Day post, but then again what better way to differentiate oneself! And yes, we realize this is strange written in the third person. No one's forcing you to read, is all we're sayin'.

Today is May.

First, you're welcome for sharing what we're sure is surprising news to y'all.

But second, we'd like to spend a few serious moments describing what May means to us as May will forever be inextricably linked to Mother's day.  See, we lost our own in early May. We remember the day she died. The day before she died. The cruelly beautiful and sunny Sunday that we tossed a shovelful of dirt into the ground. The cruel irony of burying her on the special day we had previously dedicated to the joy of drinking tequila. Sacrilege! And then, one week later, Mother's Day, which seemed at the time to be an unbearable punishment from the universe. 

Still, at the same time, it also seemed an appropriate time to symbolically acknowledge this loss. For that reason, we chose to unveil her tombstone on Mother's Day. That was one year later, one month past the official 11-month Jewish morning period, and though the constant, overwhelming grief had subsided, the intensity had not, and we recall wondering just how much longer that would take. 11 months was not enough. Who were these "forefathers" kidding? And while we were at it - why 11, specifically? Why not 6, or 12, or even 13, which is always a favorite number in Judaism? We couldn't help think that 11 was such an arbitrary number. Did they know something we didn't? Or were they just full of it, making it up as they went along - like the rest of us. Or - what if we were the stupid ones, what if we misinterpreted it and it was suppose to be years, not months?

Problems With Our Second-Graders

Exhibit A: Typical second-grade humor

Since we seem to have lost our funny of late, we'll share a story from mini.

At baseball practice today, we were eavesdropping just hanging out and overheard her talking about what sounded like a joke with a friend.  All we heard was "see, a mom, a dad and a baby are on a plane..."

Bored and curious to hear what seven year-old kids find funny these days, we asked to hear the rest.  Apparently the mother dies on the plane, the baby disappears, and the father comes home, looking for the baby, only to find it sitting happily at home.

"How did you get home" asks the father?

The baby, apparently a prodigy, replies with a song, to the tune of "This Old Man".

"You went pfffftttt [insert loud fart sound]

I went zoom! [say in sing-songy excited voice]

That's how I got back so soon...."

We were of course, shocked.  Killing off the mother?  Letting the now-widowed father think his child is gone? Really? Poor taste and serious offensiveness aside, do we need to start educating you on the elements of story structure and how this has no relevance at all to the flatulent story they're trying to tell?

There's a clear answer to this problem.

We need to help our kids come up with better fart jokes.

When to Fight and When to Let it Go

When it comes to many things in life, I find myself* frequently debating in my head when to make a big deal of something and when to let it go.  In a weird way, managing food allergies in a child is easy in this way because most times it's not a choice - you can't let go, not even once.

What that in mind I'm finding myself in an odd position where I do have to let some things go for the first time that I haven't before, and it sucks.  While I've recognized that, the hard part is finding that line.

For the first time, mini is eating lunch in her school cafeteria.  It's not what I'd have picked and it makes her mother hyperventilate sometimes. But circumstances have played out such that here we are.  And despite meeting upon meeting starting in May and all of our requests and all the information we provided the chaos we feared is here.

On the plus side: a nut and seed free cafeteria, so concerns about cross contamination are limited to eggs, which is very helpful.  Also in the plus column, epipens everwhere, 1-2 teachers always present, and the entire staff at the school trained on food allergic reactions and epipen use.  Also on the plus column (and no small point as our experience shows that this, more than anything is what ultimately leads to a good result) is a school and kitchen staff whose intentions are good and who do not dismiss our concerns as neurotic, take food allergies seriously, and genuinely wish to do everything they can to minimize a reaction.

I frequently pause to remind myself this, as this cannot be taken for granted.  Loyal readers will think back to when the local public school (who serves pb&j sandwiches and sesame bagels in the cafeteria) wanted mini to eat there with no teacher to supervise, no adult trained to use an epipen, and no full time nurse in the school, not to mention a principal who called us "crazy" and wanted to focus on other kids with "real medical issues".  So compared to that, we are a million miles ahead.

In the minus column, while intentions are good, execution, planning, and communication has fallen short.  Questions have been ignored or dismissed.  There is still no procedure for how we know what mini will be eating.  I have found myself too often emailing at 11pm the night before, extremely frustrated, trying to find out the ingredients for lunch the next day or what mini can eat.

She is frustrated when she asks me in the morning what's for lunch and I don't know.  I am frustrated when we find out at 11am that day, and have to drop everything to email her teachers so she knows the food is safe.  They are frustrated because they don't want to deal with the last minute email.  Mini is anxious if we're at work and can't do it, and then she's told by someone else that we agreed but without having heard from her teachers that her parents said it was fine she's not sure whether or not to eat it (pause to both commend this 7 year old for her maturity and responsibility, and lament the fact that she needs to be this mature at such a young age).  The disorganization worries me and shakes my trust to a degree.  Will they know to re-check labels if vendors of "safe" change? Will they let me know so that I can?  How is the person giving her her food sure that it's the "safe" pasta and how will mistakes or confusion be avoided? These are things I can't let go, so sadly I've had to become more than a bit of a pest, which I hate.  I'm sure other "allergy moms" can relate.  When it comes to food allergies, there's really no room for error.

I continue to voice our concerns and things are slowly improving now that everyone has a few weeks' experience under their belts.  But each day brings new decisions.  What do I do when I find out that day the whole class is getting pizza and come to find out it has eggs? Do I let her sit there with plain bread? Or drop everything at work to get a cab and bring her safe pizza? (which is what her father ultimately did after I cleared it with the school)  Some would say that those are the things that I need to let go.  But then I think about my little girl, watching all her friends eat her favorite food, smelling it, and eating a sad sandwich -- all of which could have easily been avoided with some planning which would have resulted in a solution that didn't exclude her.  That one, I decided, I couldn't let go.

There are some things I let go.  I didn't love the fact that there's an "allergy" seat at the table, which affects her socially, but if the school felt they needed that to properly keep an eye on her then that's that and I haven't even brought it up.  They're not going to do everything the same way I would, and she's old enough to handle feeling a little different sometimes I guess.

What else can't I let go? Unsolicited feedback about how I'm handling it.  You may not agree with having my daughter present during some planning conversations, but aside from the fact that it's my choice and obligation as a parent to do what I think is right, she's going to need to do this for herself one day.  So that one I couldn't let go.  That, and I take criticism of my parenting personally.  That one's black and white, peeps, blame it on the Aquarius in me.  Which brings me to my next point:

Though this keeps me up at night, eventually there will come a time where I can't know or control every single thing that goes into mini's mouth.  After all, I won't be there in college, reading over cafeteria ingredients.  I won't be there when she's out with her friends, judgement impaired from a couple of drinks as the menu comes by.  I won't be there when she has her first kiss, wondering whether or not she was brave enough to ask the other person what they ate that day.  So yes, I need to know that she is prepared and will know what to do when those times come.

I know every parent struggles with this.  As our kids get older, we have to learn to let go, little by little.  But trust me on this one: it's so, so much harder to let go when it comes to this food allergy stuff.  I'll get there eventually.  And the rest of you?  Have a little patience.

*Had to write this one in the first person, peeps.  Sorry 'bout that.

The Work vs. Stay Home Debate, Summed Up in a Half-Ass Poem

Staying home can suck.
There's more dishes than anyone ever tells you.  

But the smiles are so rewarding.

There's no dishes at work.

And a job well done gives you satisfaction and a paycheck.

But oh, the guilt.

Either way, in the end, it will be o.k.

 

Motherhood Ain't For the Faint of Heart*

Terror.

That's what I felt that day, in the cab, wondering if my child was going to pass out right then and there, before we could make it to the doctor's office.

You see, about an hour earlier, she had arrived at my office and ran into my arms crying, saying "Mommy, I don't feel so good".  She had had an allergic reaction a couple days back and a cold on top of that, plus she can be somewhat of a drama queen (we mean this in the most loving way) so it wasn't surprising.  But something felt...wrong.  A person wouldn't look at her and say there's something serious going on, but we heard a little wheeze and she seemed miserable and something just felt...wrong. 

So a few minutes after calling the doctor and making an appointment for later that afternoon, I found myself hurrying to a cab and telling her father to come because something felt...awfully wrong.  Five minutes into the longest cab ride of my life she went from miserable kid with cold to child in obvious respiratory distress and I found myself doing the mental math of which would get us help faster, staying in traffic in the cab, or stopping and calling 911.  "Should I use the epipen?" I kept wondering.  Except it wasn't an obvious allergic reaction.  But something was clearly wrong.

So there I was, terrified, terrified I wasn't doing something I should, terrified I didn't go fast enough, terrified because I couldn't figure out anything to do other than sit there next to her in the cab and wait for it to get to its destination.  I knew I had to be calm for her, to allay her fears, but at that moment I just couldn't.   Apparently, I'm not the maternal rock I'm supposed to be in a crisis.  Check #317 in the slacker mom box.

On the plus side, I did learn the secret to not waiting at the pediatrician's office.  Seconds after walking in and yelling "my child's not breathing!" she was surrounded by several nurses and doctors that appeared out of nowhere.  Before you could say "drugs" we were in a room, she had a nebulizer mask on her face and they were pumping her full of steroids, and we were told we may be there for hours.  I looked at her sad wet eyes.  I felt a bit better knowing the immediate danger had passed, but now she was clearly terrified.  How I wished I could have taken that sad face away.

Fortunately, a few hours later, though still struggling to breathe, she was smiling again.  We were sent home, so long as I promised to continue the steroids, give an inhaler round the clock every few hours, and bring her back in the next day.

It took a few days for the news to really sink in.  Asthma? My mind immediately went to all the stats I'd read about food-allergic kids at higher risk for anaphylaxis if they have asthma.  What did we tell the school? If she suddenly started wheezing, did she need an epipen or an inhaler? How would you know?  The thought was overwhelming.  And a cat allergy?  What else would send her off? What about camp - could I not send her to camp? Could she not visit her school friend with a cat anymore? Did I need to worry? And if I didn't know any of this, how could I trust babysitters, teachers, counselors to know these things? Could I safely leave her with anyone anymore?

All this is just fear talking, of course, and let's hope a calmer mind will allow us to get educated and somewhat rational again.  In the meantime, I struggled with the weight of all this information.  It took a good week to even feel like I could breathe again.  It took two weeks before I could write about it, because I was just too shaken to put it into black and white.

I keep going over "what-ifs" in my head?  What could I have done differently? How did it get so bad? How did I not realize it?  The attack was set off by an allergic reaction to a cat a few days' prior.  I knew she had had a reaction, but didn't know to what.  Sure, there was a chance it could be the cat, but she'd been around the cat for over 24 hours, and the reaction was sudden. Maybe she touched a trace of food?  You never know with food allergies.  But after a few long minutes, while I had a huge debate in my head on whether or not to give her the epipen, the antihistamine kicked in and she got better.  Sure, she wheezed a few hours later, but I called a doctor and followed their instructions to give her an inhaler and Benadryl to help her sleep and prevent another reaction.  Anyone who's ever tried to give my kid Benadryl knows it's easier said than done.  After an hour of fighting, she finally took it.   When she woke up, she had a cold, and the reaction was simply a moment that had passed.  How could I have misattributed the symptoms to a cold?  How could I not have realized she needed an inhaler earlier?  And who knew cat allergies could cause anaphylaxis? I certainly didn't.

I hadn't counted on the emotional responsibility of single parenthood.  I took for granted the presence of another adult who was equally responsible for the outcome of the decision at hand, not to mention one who could actually help me get her to actually take her medicine without losing my marbles in the process.   My friends haven't really spoken to me since, and I can't say I blame them.  They didn't sign up for that drama when they invited us. 

The experience was humbling, to say the least.  We all think we'll know what to do in the moment of crisis, but the truth is we have no idea how we'll react and often all our education goes out the window.  We may know intellectually we're supposed to remain calm and not panic, but that's a heck of a lot easier said than done.

Parenting is one giant exercise in humility.  It's so easy to know what to do in hindsight, but not when it's new.  If it's not allergies, it's behavioral issues, if it's not behavioral issues, it's poop issues, if it's not poop issues, it's school issues, etc.  All of our kids have their own unique challenges that make it impossible to know how to parent by reading a book, or an article, or a checklist, or even a whole  library.  They don't tell you that when you sign up, do you?

We'd love to hear from other food allergy parents as to how they handle reactions, and how they handle the asthma vs. food allergy situation.  We'd love to hear from other single parents as to how they handle crises on their own.  Heck, while we're at it, let's invite any struggling parent to share.  Because for one day it would be nice for everyone to able to take off their "I'm perfect" "I'm a great parent" facade and admit that yes it's worth it, and yes there are wonderful moments, but sometimes....sometimes, no matter what your situation, parenting is just plain damned hard.  Oh, and to all you parents who still want to fight for your child's "right" to peanut butter in schools: you suck.

One final note: with the rise of childhood allergies, we predict a rapid increase in demand for paper bags over the next few years.  You might want to invest now.  Just sayin'.




*Or, I'm just a wussy.  Distinct possibility.

Step away from the cheese, peeps.

This message will always be true, peeps.

Ahhh, Valentine's Day.   You're expecting some sort of snarky post, aren't you?  Well, surprise! If you've got a hankering for some classic Poker Chick, you can read our favorite Valentine's Day post circa 2007.  Cracks us up, every time.  No, really...read it.  Please?





This year we're bypassing the usual cynicism; partly because we'll never be able to top our favorite post from 2007, and partly because this year we seem to have unearthed some hidden *gasp* optimism.

You see, this Valentine's day, things are different.  Poker husband moved out a while ago, though we can't legally call him that anymore.  We're checking that "other" box on forms now.  While we're no experts on this subject, based on what we've seen in the movies and pop culture (which must be true, right?) the usual pattern is this: big fight - maybe even violent, someone yells sweet nothings such as "they're how old?!" or "your secretary, how could you!", someone moves out and overpays for a tiny hotel room, everyone is notified immediately, the lawyers are summoned, someone starts dating too soon, one wants the other one back but they're not interested, then they decide they do want them back and the other is now sleeping with their best friend, lots of drama, families involved, no one speaking to each other, yadda...yadda... yadda...

That's how it works, right?  Oh, not quite? Interesting.

So that wasn't the case here either.  Just a plain old boring case of two good people trying to be good parents and struggling to do the right thing and be [mostly] mature about it.  For mini's sake, that's all we're going to say about that. 

Which brings us back to Valentine's Day, clearly!  You'd think that our first Feb 14th as a single mother would bring us down.  But we're determined to create a happy home with some new traditions, and somehow Valentine's Day has us thinking about the people we love, and the people who have supported us, and we can't help but feel this wonderful appreciation for those loyal friends and family who were there for us.  And so we had a sudden urge to buy mini a card, which we didn't understand.  And then we had a sudden urge for chocolate, which we did understand.

And then we had this epiphany that we didn't actually hate Valentine's Day.  We still hate the cheese and chintz, but the concept? Not as much.  We realized that we were trained to hate Valentine's Day:  Jews don't celebrate it.  It makes people feel lonely and left out.  Mom was diagnosed with an inhuman fatal illness that day.  You know, the usual excuses.

While those were all very, very good reasons to hate this day indeed, it finally occurred to us that those were other people's reasons, not ours.  We actually don't have a reason to hate it ourselves.  So this year we're trying love and a couple of cards on for size. 

Ahh, anti-Valentines...

we will always love you so

But don't even try to come near us with those candy heart things or we'll barf all over you.  Just sayin'.  Love and optimism aside, it's still horribly offensive.  Cheese is still cheese peeps, no matter how you slice it.  You can quote us on that one.
 

And how do YOU make school lunch?

Most parents we know are constantly on the lookout for new lunch ideas for school.  Between nut free and needing to be healthy, and (in our school at least) kosher/no meat, it's not easy to figure out a lunch.  Even without those rules most kids we know have a repertoire of about 2-3 lunches tops that they will eat at least a little bit of.

We have yet to see a school year where the parents are asking each other for lunch ideas.  But, how far does one go to get their kid to eat lunch?

Recently, we discovered this Pinterest page of "easy lunch ideas".

Who, who, WHO has this kind of time on their hands?

So we ask fellow parents out there, does this look easy to you?  Because we're wondering who the heck has time for this level of effort?! Not that we don't applaud it, but seriously?  Every working parent we know, or stay at home parent for that matter, simply does not have that much time to devote to lunch.  In this house, "extra effort" in lunchmaking means using cookie cutters on sandwiches to try and make them look cute, and when that doesn't work, resorting to note writing telling mini the minimum she needs to eat.  And yes, perhaps a cute drawn animal face does the telling. But still, that's 30-60 extra seconds, tops.

Have we missed out on some secret? Is every other parent out there spending 30 minutes on gourmet lunches.  We continue to waffle between feeling guilty that our laziness efficient 10 minute lunchmaking is impacting our child's nutrition, and feeling smug that we save the extra time that would be wasted when she doesn't eat it anyway.

Is this a city thing? Are suburban peeps spending this much time on their lunchmaking? We'd love to hear people weigh in on this one.   

So we ask: is our bar too low for "easy lunch"? Are we just inept lunchmakers who would take 30 minutes to put together an "easy lunch?"  Or is the real issue the fact that a real "easy lunch" board would just not be nice enough to look at?

Discuss.

(And while you're at it, if anyone has some actual easy school lunch ideas that don't involve meat or nuts, we're all ears...)

Carnivals and Cartoons

Big thank you to Libby for including us in this week's Food Allergies Blog Carnival. Go read The Allergic Kid and your lunchbox will never be the same.

In the meantime, if you share our rather twisted sense of humor, you may enjoy the cartoon above.  If so, check out her blog where Tiffany regularly posts cartoons on this subject.

How Motherhood Turns You Into a Sentimental Sap

As we write this, we are going back and forth to check on a sleeping child, to savor the last few breaths of the wonder that was six years old because we're just not ready for the seven year old we will see tomorrow.  
 
Happy birthday, mini.  May you one day know the joy of having your insides shaken up every day.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Recently, someone asked us to to describe the experience of parenting and we didn't quite know where to begin.  There's the honest, yet cheesy answer about loving another little human being more than you ever thought you could.  Then there's the more honest answer, which usually has the words "exasperated" and "smack" somewhere in the same sentence, along with [insert favorite expletive].

Hmm. None of that tells you what it feels like to be a parent at all, does it? 

Perhaps this is closer: imagine, on a daily basis, at random unpredictable times, someone took out all your insides, shook them up, threw them on the street, stomped all over them, and then put them back in your body in the wrong order.  We're talking heart in your stomach.  Emotions where your brain used to be.  Memory, coordination, overall executive functioning, all constantly needing readjustment.  Your ability to sleep through the night thrown out the window, even in lands far far away.

You second-guess everything you say or do.  All confidence and previously acquired knowledge hovers somewhere around your nether regions as if you're some kind of alien life form re-learning how to be a human all over again.  You're constantly being challenged to be a better person, identify your values, rethink your ideals, keep your promises, do good unto others, do what you say.  You feel like someone is always watching you.  Mostly, because someone is always watching you.

Exhibit B: Female finger, post parenthood

Exhibit A: Female finger, pre parenthood

You do not recognize yourself.  You fight off all inner alarms screaming "alert! alert! domestic hell ahead of you!" and go to places like the Container Store and Buy Buy baby anyway, even if they are so overwhelming that all you want to do is run the other way.  You ignore all introverted tendencies and forcefully, even publicly take on any teacher, lawmaker, or adult that gets in the way of what you think is best for your child without giving it a second thought.  You wonder how you let a little 2, 3, 4 year old boss you around and how you ended up wrapped around their cute little finger.

Exhibit C: Child's finger wrapped around adult's.  That's what they want you to believe, peeps. 

You hear yourself say things you'd never have thought would come out of your mouth.  Words like "what do you mean, you don't need me to wipe your poop anymore?" and "I'm going on that sleepover with you!" come out of your mouth so fast you don't have time to clap your hand over your mouth before you think to yourself "whatthefuck. who said that?"  You get so used to reciting "get your hand out of your mouth" at the end of every sentence that you start saying it unconsciously to grownups.  (Worse, still, this doesn't bother you.)  You can't stand it when your child is always hanging off your arm, yet when you are walking around without them it feels like one of your arms is missing.  You are so sleep deprived you want to cry, but at the same time the thought of sending this little person off to sleep away camp or (gasp!) college gives you panic attacks.  Speaking of crying, you do a lot of this.  You cry anytime you hear about a kid anywhere getting hurt, you cry anytime your kid says something endearing, you cry anytime you watch oneofthosesappyfuckingendofschoolyearvideos, you cry when your child wishes you a happy Mother's Day in earnest, and you cry at all those commercials with babies in them because watching all those babies reminds you that yours is not a baby anymore and then that thought makes you cry, which just makes you wonder who is in your body and what someone did with the real you.  You know, the one who was not the soft, sentimental sap you see before you.

That, peeps...that...we think, is a much more accurate description of what it feels like to be a parent.


*Note, if you're interested in an even better description of parenting, click here.  Could not have said it better ourselves.

ALL children deserve to be safe at school.

This is preventable, people. 

Reality Cometh Crashing Down...

Guarantee at least one working parent out there can relate. 

Out by 650am watch bus pull away run like hell one block in heels carrying computer damn I am a fast runner park closed for police activity bus needs to take alternate route there goes my extra time still stop for oatmeal and fruit for energy new years UNresolution starting off right where is my ID? client 1 wants new slides by end of day client 2 wants to have call at 11am to dicuss pov we do not have yet oy vey why the hell did you schedule an internal at 930am first day back oh crap I asked you to sorry team must have coffee make that a machiatto yes to that whip pile it on please..more..more..there you go ahh that's better...everyone running into my office with questions why does everyone always think I have the answers must be a leader here come the coffee jitters sending in refi application 2 big jobs over budget school nurse calls lice FUCKNO why is this happening find team members do the 5 minute power delegate race out spend commute rearranging all calls for after 4pm nanny must stay late so I can work calling all mothers whose children came into contact with mine to warn them narrowed down sources ok where is nanny was supposed to be at school by noon hopping in cab from east side to west and back east again already getting slammed with a few hundies on this did I really need to add 20 to that and what why is birthday party place telling me they didn't get my check I sent it two weeks ago WTF team calling me at home anyway seriously can no one else answer your question work phone in one hand, lice lady handing me comb in the other trying to balance and listen to both at once realize this is not humanly possible throwing out hairbrush and all little girl hairthingies hat scarf must not think about the replacement cost for this must not...bank called loan approved do a little dance have a little moment but holy shit did bank just loan me that much money all by myself pause at mortifying sense of responsibility shaken out of shock by buzzer on dryer next bed to be remade starts now why did I think six pillows on my bed was a good idea and how is it that her dad missed both this week and the last week in Dec when we had to do all the tipping and gifts and notes...mini finally asleep 9pm why am I so hungry OMG haven't stopped for so much as water since the coffee woman cannot survive on an 8am oatmeal alone forage in fridge take call from friend nice to be distracted by other people's problems for a bit chat with a couple friends online catch up on work 98 emails since noon seriously? finish at midnight collapse and begin the daily task of figuring out how to slow my mind that always seems to race at 35 million miles a minute... serenity now serenity now serenity now....


And how was YOUR first day back at work?

A Toast To 2012: The Year That Won't Suck

In thinking about our last post of the year, we struggled a lot with how to characterize 2011.

On the one hand, we could simply title this post: "Good riddance crappy 2011, hello 2012!" The end of the year is a time to take stock as all the "Best albums/fashion/dirty politicians/etc. of 2011" lists in the media remind us, and the only thing we're taking stock of this year is that if we ever have to go through another year like this past one we'll never make it.

New York has a population of over 9 million yet the city can sometimes be one of the loneliest places in the world. It's not a city with a built-in community. You have to find your own community, your own niche, and in a city with so many things going on that is easier said than done. And, if like most New Yorkers, you work 50+ hours a week, you barely have enough energy to go on seamless web and order your dinner, much less try and go out and talk to your neighbor. It's a sad cliche in life that you learn who your real friends are (or aren't) during tough times, and this year sadly re-proved that to be true. So as we take stock of things we cannot elaborate on: the disappointments, multiple near-nervous breakdowns, and lost friendships, we pause to observe that living in a city of 9 million strangers doesn't necessarily help with that. When you struggle you struggle alone.

But nothing is entirely black and white so to say last year was "crap" and leave it at that would leave many other things unacknowledged. This was also the year of our first writing successes. The year mini learned how to ride a bike and tie her shoes. And while we had our backs turned it was also the year mini evolved from an innocent young person to a toothless and beautiful young girl, fully immersed in the journey that is middle childhood.

And the loneliness? Turns out that despite living amongst so many strangers, sometimes New York can also feel like a small town. The school mini attends? A brand new community for both her and her mother. The neighbor who was a stranger? A fellow alum from University. The lady at the haircut place who needed a door opened? A friend whose children went to school with your friend's child. The lady on the bus? A friend's mother. The runner you walked by on the street? Your child's piano teacher. The creepy stranger at the coffee shop? A friend of a friend from abroad. And so it continues...

So while we are tempted to talk about all the things we hated about 2011, the light at the end of the tunnel is but 12 hours away.

How will we begin 2012? Reminding ourselves that "hey, you still have your health" as we relish in the soreness that comes from celebrating our muscles in exercise class this week. Enjoying the peaceful feeling that accompanies watching a child sleep. Sipping champagne, surrounded by friends, hopefully dancing our @ss off. Feeling gratitude for both old friends that have been a part of our lives and new friends that have come into it. And excited about the adventure and possibilities that lie ahead in 2012.

Happy Chanukah. Did you just make that gelt from scratch?

One could call it dedication.  Wanting our daughter to have a bag of foil-wrapped chocolates like her friends in school tomorrow, we made some. 

However, one could also call it desperation.  Despite knowing that Chanukah was coming for weeks, and that her school would give out gelt, we did not order the safe chocolate in time to arrive for the party.  Of course, the party is a day earlier than we thought, but that's even worse. We write about allergies and planning for school celebrations all the time; we talk the talk but can't walk the walk?

So when school called asking what she would eat, we panicked.  Suddenly it dawned on us that why not make our own coins! How hard can it be? One quick trip to a store and $6 later we had molds and wrappers in hand.  A minor domestic miracle!

Dedication? Desperation? How 'bout just plain old procrastination. 

Happy Chanukah all!

Top 5 Superpowers You Didn't Know You Had

Did you know it's Superhero week?

We didn't.  In fact, it's not.  This monumentous made-up week would have come and gone unnoticed if not for the dear Nancy Davis Kho who wrote a fabulous blog entry about her superpower of timepacking.

It was so brilliantly funny, it inspired us to write our own.  In no particular order (ahem), here are the superpowers motherhood has granted us:

1. Mind reading: I have the uncanny power to know what you are thinking before you will say it. It’s true! You don’t even need to open your mouth, I will say it for you, even if it’s not what you wanted to say, trust me, it’s what you were thinking.   
2. No-soap sensor: You may have run the water, but if I hear the pitter patter of your little feet, my supermom no-soap sensor will tell me whether or not you used soap, so that I may direct you back to re"wash", even if I haven't seen or smelled your hands.  Talk about efficiency!
3. Super nighttime alertness: Not only has motherhood introduced me to the wonderful feeling of constant sleep deprivation, my superpowers ensure I wake at the drop of a pin, just in case there's trouble.  My super nighttime alertness makes sure I hear every pee break.  I'm there for the coughs, the fevers.  The drunk guy cursing on the street at 3am.  And for every razor falling in the shower due to a poorly-functioning suction cup, I'm there.  
4. Nag-o-meter:  Nagging is a superpower, right? It must be.  I could win a nagging contest with anyone.  If you need nagging, I'm your woman.   I can nag at mealtimes, bathtime, on the way to school.  I'm such a good nagger I don't even need a kid to nag! Just ask my colleagues!  
5. Transcendental memory: My memory is so good, I can remember every detail.  Every piece of broccoli you promised to eat and didn't.  Who broke the faucet.  And your name.  I remember names so well, I bypass a parent's name and go straight to the kid's.  Heck, I'll even call them by their own kid's name because I have remembered their names so well I don't even need to use it anymore.  That's how good my momnesia is.

Anyone else have awesome superpowers?  

What If We Break Our Own No-Nut Rule?

For years we've lived our lives avoiding eggs, sesame seeds, peanuts, and any and all forms of tree nuts.  No one said it was easy, but since we've been doing this before mini started solids (what we affectionately called the "not so fun yet thank goodness we can still eat frozen yogurt nursing diet") we're kind of used to the drill.  Years of blood tests, skin pricks and food challenges have confirmed that these allergies ain't going away anytime soon.

Mmmmm.......almonds.

Except that a recent food challenge revealed mini is not allergic to almonds!  Not sure if she outgrew them, or if she was never really allergic and we were avoiding it just to be safe, but our world just opened up.  That's right, you heard us, so many foods we could never have before!  The one tiny brand of almond butter that is not made in a plant with any other kinds of nuts!  The cheerios made with almond flour but no other contaminants! The almond hershey kisses!  The....well, actually, that's it.  Maybe "world" is a bit of an overstatement.  But it's still a big change.

Such a big change, we were told mini has to eat almonds at least a couple times a week now to ensure it's safe.  So honey nut cheerios for breakfast it is.  Fortunately for us, it also meets her stringent food criteria as it is non-nutritious and white or brown.

All of this is exciting, but not unexpected.  Her numbers for that nut were borderline for years.  It was time.

So why, you ask, is this even blog-worthy? 

We write because we are humbled.  We write because we did not expect the sudden fear of being a huge-ass hypocrite.  We write because now we have a taste of what it feels like to be on the other side.

Suddenly we were making apple and almond butter snacks like it was no tomorrow, throwing together almond butter sandwiches without thinking about it, and putting together bags of honey nut cheerios as a snack.  It suddenly dawned on us that....it would be so easy for us to forget. 

It would be so easy to throw on almond butter instead of soy nut butter one morning, not thinking, and throw that in the lunchbox.  Imagine, after years of advocating, what a field day people would have if we were the ones putting an almond-allergic child in danger?

Now have we made this mistake yet?  No.  But this actually keeps us up at night.  What if?  What if we're the ones making that awful mistake?  And if it's so easy for us, imagine how easy it would be for people who don't live with life-threatening allergies every day?

So we're cutting everyone some slack in this area.  It is hard to be perfect.  So we sympathize with those of you who have made and will make mistakes.  The ones who are mortified and apologetic when the teacher calls to ask them not to send peanut butter to school anymore.  The ones who stop eating their almonds and slip their bags back into their purses in shame when they see you and realize.  You peeps, when you make a mistake, you get a free pass from this allergy parent.  Honest mistakes happen.

So let's be clear.  It's not you that keeps us up at night.  It's the people that either do it on purpose, or don't care either way.  Because to lack compassion like that, to be that thoughtless, to think your kids' right to a peanut butter sandwich is as important as another child's right to attend school safely, that's not easy. 

So what's our message?  We're saying we acknowledge perfection is not possible.  That's why we carry epipens everywhere.

It's all about the attitude.  The attitude, more than anything is what determines our child's safety.  So if you understand, and you try, but you still forget...we will do our best to understand too.

And to those parents of children who are allergic to almonds? We promise we will do everything in our power not to accidentally send them to school or to the playground or anywhere where we know you might be.  We can't promise we'll never make a mistake, but we can promise to do our best and take painstaking care not to let that happen, because the thought of us making a mistake that could hurt someone terrifies us.  Because we've been there, too.

5 Things I Learned At My Kid's Piano Recital

Mini had her first piano recital today.

This was an interesting cultural experience that was new to this musically-challenged mother.  After entering a hot small room packed with 18 kids and their families, she watched all the 4-7 year olds, one by one, take their moment to shine.  Here are the few things we learned:

1) A keyboard is just not the same as a piano, even if it's a good one.
We cheaped out seeing as how none of us know how to play a piano, nor do we have room, so keyboard it was.  Poor mini fumbled for the first few notes getting used to the pressure she needed to exert on the keys.  Whoopsie. 

2) Some kids practice, and some kids really practice.
We thought mini was ready.  She practiced every day, on her own.  Not at a formal time, just whenever she felt like it.  We heard her two songs the morning of the recital.  But clearly, seeing as how smooth the other kids played their pieces, we underestimated the amount she should practice.  Another clue that the other kids played it too much: they kept going over, repeating the song even after it was done and the applause had started.  After this had happened a few times, and a 5-year old boy asked his mom "not 5 times?" we started figuring it out.

3) Your child is not the piano prodigy you think they are.
We now suspect part of the incentive to run these recitals is to humble a parent or two.

4) The teacher is better than you think they are. 
If the goal was to sell us on the need for more lessons, it worked.  One 5 year old just came in and schooled everyone with his version of that king song who's name we can never remember from "Shrek".

5) Kids can surprise even the most seasoned piano expert.
Hands down the funniest moment of the night goes to the poor 4 year old boy, who sat in his chair, played 3 off-key notes, then ran.  His mother got up in front of everyone to announce he had to go to the bathroom.  It was so funny we hope someone got it on camera to replay it for his teenage friends someday.  As everyone bit their lips to stop themselves from laughing, the teacher summed it up: "there's a first time for everything." 

Indeed, there is.  Congrats, mini.  Mama is so proud.

Peep-e-lehs

It's amazing what a difference a few years can make.  A few years ago, still dealing with the shock of motherhood without training, I wrote a post about avoiding large groups of women like the plague for fear of being exposed as a fraud, and wondering how one learns what a real woman/mother is supposed to know?

Flash forward 3 and 1/2 years and it is these very same groups of women that quite possibly may save me.  Guess I got over the estrogen fear.

What happened?

Well, mini grew up.  And started school.  And there were classes and birthday parties and playdates.  Somehow, we were lucky enough to end up in a place where we actually like the moms.   And then, things started getting hard.  Really hard.  The kind of phase you're supposed to look back on those times and pat yourself on the back for the resilience you have in making it through to the other side.  I'm still waiting for that part.  But I haven't waited for, is much-needed support from my girlfriends.

Rather than mocking my cluelessness when it comes to so many things, these peep-e-lehs have asked me for food advice, bending over backwards to figure out how to feed mini at their place.  They've watched her when needed, they tell me what classes and activities we should consider.  They have taken mini and I into their home on weekends, snow days, holidays, even traveled with us on vacation.  Without fail, someone checks in daily.  They read my writing, and drag me to plays, ballets, movies, dinners, drinks, even shopping when I didn't want to go (can you imagine!?).  They make the manicure appointments, they lend me books, they listen and they make me laugh.  And they've (gasp!) trusted me with their own children.

Wait, what was that last part?!

That's right.  We seem to have passed the motherhood hazing ritual that is the 5-and-under phase, so I guess one doesn't need to know every 1950s thing to be a good mother.  I still can't do any of those "female" things I wrote about years ago, but I'm a damn good baker as long as you have 6 free hours and are willing to clean up a huge mess.  And while I'm still not fully versed in the etiquette involved in making playdates I'm trying. 

So this one is a thank you to my girlfriends who have embraced me as part of a larger community that is motherhood in general.  Thank you for your support, your patience, for laughing at my jokes, for your funny and touching and educational updates, and for teaching me that even though things might not always be easy we will always be okay.

Wouldn't Be Prudent

Last weekend, we went to one of those pop up stores to get a Halloween costume that mini will wear for five minutes before taking it off and declaring it itchy as she collects candy she can't eat from houses that scare her.

Forgetting for a minute why we would do this (she asked, really!) what shocked us the most was what's out there for kids' costumes now.  Especially the girls.  Everything is, like...sexy.  Really sexy.  As in totally inappropriate for a 6 year old, 10 year old, or 12 year old sexy. 

Why does a superhero or fictional character need to have a skirt six inches above the knees?  Is that really necessary?

Now, before you go all judgmental and tell this mother to lighten up, you should know one very important fact: we are cool.  Quite cool, if we may say so.  We wear jeans and blue nail polish to work.  So we know if we're thinking this we're not the only ones.  And we were grateful when our friends at the Mouthy Housewives beat us to the punch on this particular observation, saying it better than we could have ourselves.

So read, enjoy, and cover up your girls for a little while longer.  In the meantime, we'll be busy petitioning the NYC taxi commission so that our children no longer have to be subjected to riding in cars advertising strip clubs. 

Confessions from the Sanctuary, 2011

Now that Yom Kippur's over, it's time to note a few things we learned this holiday, mostly by accident.

While we did fast, we're always amused that many people who don't fast still enjoy the "break the fast" tradition.  Then again, we suppose one can't eschew a religious tradition that involves cake simply because of a small technicality of not fasting.  That wouldn't be very inclusive of us, now would it?

1. When you're spending $100 on lox while fasting because you suck at planning, pause to note both the hypocrisy of the event and the irony of seeing/smelling all that food while you can't have so much as a nibble. 
2. There are times, however, when exposing yourself to food on Yom Kippur is a good thing.  For example, feeding your father and your almost 86-year old uncle lunch so that they'll eat is a good thing.  Even if it feels like torture.
3. When you've gone 24 1/2 hours without food or drink (but who's counting!), and you're so lightheaded you're not thinking clearly, there will come a time when you simply cannot deal with your child's refusal to wear any of her decent shoes, and her suggestion to wear tap shoes because they look fancy will sound like a decent one.  Be smart.  Learn from our mistake and do NOT, we repeat NOT give in!  It will be a disaster at best.
4. Your second favorite moment of the day will be when your child takes out her toy shofar and blows as loudly as possible with a giant group of kids at the conclusion of neila*.  
5. Your favorite moment of the day will be finding out some bizarre family detail.  For example, for us, it was the fact that our "shul" bracelet belonged not to our grandmother, but our great grandmother.  Meaning mini's great-great grandmother wore it to her shul on Yom Kippur in 1920s Germany.  That just boggles the mind.
6. No one will tell you this, but the four questions were originally five.  The fifth question is: "why is it on all nights, we say the hamotzi quietly, but on THIS night the whole room practically screams the hamotzi with joy?" This question is asked by the "bored" child.

*For you non-Jewish peeps, neila is the concluding service of Yom Kippur.  The hamotzi is the blessing on bread which Jews say before a meal.  Interestingly, this explanation just gave away the answer to this question.

Cooking on the Edge of Insanity

You might wonder why it's taken us so long in getting around to write this book review.  After all, it came out months ago.  The author, Emily Rosenbaum, first published this as an e-book (you can get it on nook or kindle e-reader), and due to its popularity has also been published in hardcover as well. 

 

So again, you ask, why so late on the review? Well, peeps, it's all well and good to read a book when it comes out, but we are of the firm belief that when it comes to a cookbook one must actually try a few recipes before you can give it a fair assessment.  If you ever saw the size of the closet kitchen we cook in, you'd understand why it took so long.

That said, the good news for you peeps is you know we're not feeding you any bullshit when we say we've actually used her recipes a lot.  You'll know we mean it when we say that mini, lover of all foods white, brown and bland, child who thinks fresh fruit is the stuff horror movies are made of, actually likes the spinach-chocolate muffins in this book.

Now we know the trend is all "hide it and they'll never know," but we went ahead and involved mini in the cooking process.  The hiding thing may be all well and good for some peeps, but mini is too smart to be outsmarted like that.  Not when it comes to food, anyway.  If she ever found a muffin tainted with a peach or an apple (the horror!) she'd stop eating muffins of any kind, altogether.  And mark our words, peeps.  She would know.  No matter how hard you tried to hide it, she would know.

But of course, if you read Emily's book and her endearing stories about trying to cook something all three of her children will eat, in the two minutes she has free between pickup and pulling out her hair, you'll know that if she can do this, you can do this.  And if her child will eat it, yours might too.

So instead of hiding things we sold mini on the idea of how fun it is that you're eating fruit, it's healthy for you, and you can't taste it at all!  This actually worked for a while, especially because it's really fun for kids to press that giant black button on the food processor and make that whizzing sound.  And once we calmed her down after the panic attack she had upon seeing the neon green substance in the food processor that is all the wet ingredients, she stopped hyperventilating long enough to realize that it all turns to brown once you mix it with chocolate.  Ahhh, chocolate.  

See? Brown.

What was next? Well we would never in our lives have considered making tortillas from scratch, but after a trip to whole foods where even the tortillas are processed on equipment that handles eggs and seeds, it was time.  So we broke out the flour, braced ourselves for the mess, and followed Emily's easy tortilla recipe.

These tasted delicious

While we were at it, we figured we might as well follow her method for cooking garlic, her spinach recipe, and her black bean recipe (forgive us, we used cans!)  Amazingly, despite smelling the cumin and curry that went into the beans and declaring them "disgusting!!!" to her mother and her friend, both mini and her friend gobbled it up.  Even with the visible chunks of onion and garlic.

So tomorrow, instead of a bland soy nut butter sandwich on whole wheat she doesn't like or eat anyway, mini will be bringing a bean burrito with homemade tortillas to school for lunch.  And a spinach muffin for her after-school snack. 

Seriously, if you have kids, and you care about what they eat, you should get this book.  The recipes are totally doable for those of us who cook in the real world, and even if you only cook once in a while, you'll be glad to have this one in your arsenal.