Target is the new Playland

I consider myself a pretty busy person, but every now and then I accomplish so much on Monday and Tuesday that Wednesday comes and it's, like, "Will I just be counting the minutes until I eventually die?" (Technically, this is impossible, because you can't count while you're sleeping; and if you're not sleeping, you might be an alien and therefore immune to human boredom. Glad to clear that up.)

Miss Dub, despite her tender age, is actually quite content to keep herself busy playing with her three baby dolls - Mimi, Kiki and Carma. She could spend several hours just rearranging their sitting positions: "Mimi, Carma, Kiki - no, Carma, Mimi, Kiki!" She also likes to mimic me, which is very telling. She's either having a party with them or ordering them to the "mad chair." So apparently I'm a disciplinarian socialite. There are worse things.

But I can only handle so much baby doll time myself. So I decided we would take a trip to Target and let Miss Dub walk around sans cart. (Insert gasps.) Upon getting there, we immediately headed to the ... baby doll section! Yes, I let my child play in the baby doll aisle of Target for 90 minutes. (You did not read wrong. I am a bad person.)

When I realized the aisle had serious appeal, I went and got some magazines. (No worries, I just hid Miss Dub among the baby dolls while I browsed the tabloid section.) I then removed a few stuffed puppies and made myself comfortable on a bottom shelf. Miss Dub happily took down a nice selection of baby dolls - some that pee themselves, some that talk, some that perform delicate surgeries - and rearranged them.

It was sheer genius. Not to be confused with Shear Genius, which is really letting me down this season. No wonder I'm in desperate need of a haircut. I'm just so uninspired in this world of Holmes 'dos. (And, yet, it's still so cute. Curses!)

But the best moment came when I finally insisted we go to the "Mommy section." Miss Dub ran off for a second and then came back carrying a bra.

"Wook, Mommy!" she exclaimed, quite proud of herself, and in full view of Target's teenage male population. (Why were they in the intimates section, anyway?)

"Our house," she added, meaning I have some at our house.

Not one to embarrass my daughter, I gave the bra an enthusiastic examination.

32DD.

Very flattering. Maybe I am doing something right.

Right now (not a Van Halen tribute)

Right now, I am looking out my window at a cloud that looks like it will deliver a weather whoopin'. To say I'm frustrated with Midwestern weather would be an understatement. We get a few perfect days each year, but the rest are either frigid and flurry-filled or sticky and stormy. (I know that alliteration is really overused these days, but my true calling in life is to be a card writer. I am NOT kidding. If anyone has connections with a telecommuting card writing job, please email me. I have a hilarious idea for a Rosh Hashannah card. Again, I'm NOT kidding here. It involves a talking calendar.)

Right now, I am not wondering why they call it hand-foot-mouth disease, because one look at Miss Dub confirms the name's inspiration. She has sores on her hands, feet and mouth. So I guess if I had any suggestion for the disease namers, it would be to call it hands-feet-mouth disease, because the sores have been no way limited themselves to one side of her body, and the name is sort of misleading in that regard.

Right now, I'm hoping that none of your children has hand-foot-mouth disease, because Miss Dub probably gave it to them. Probably through the Internet. It is very contagious for, like, three weeks, which means we are going to be watching an inordinate amount of children's TV, because I just cannot think of 10 hours of indoor activities each day.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out a way to enforce our no "Caillou" rule. That whiny brat is way more annoying than educational. Also, his mom wears clothes that are not flattering to her figure.

Right now, I am watching a young Justin Timberlake sing to Elmo on an old episode of "Sesame Street." I'm wondering how someone with such a high vocal range has been able to score such beautiful girlfriends. Then again, besides Britney, his lady friends are on the sinewy, masculine side. And we all know Britney isn't even human, but part of some fedora-wearing alien species who probably live on the same planet as suspender-wearing animals. (Why must chimps always wear suspenders?)

Right now, I'm wondering who would win in a street fight - a taco or a grilled cheese sandwich.

What are you thinking about right now?

My little drummer girl

Miss Dub already likes to dress herself. And if you think fashion sense is genetic, it's not. It's an acquired skill, and I can only hope that these early, awkward acquisitions lead to future outfits with coordinating colors. (Or at least thoughtfully mismatched ones as is über-hip these days.)

It takes some serious self control to let my child out of the house wearing pink cowboy boots and red shorts. I try not to be embarrassed or make explanatory comments to strangers - after all, isn't fashion about discovering yourself? - but it's hard not to when she looks like I just found her on the doorstep ... of Weird Al's house.

So much of parenting is trying not to control your children - forcing them to do or behave the way you would. Like, I'm obsessed with simple, modern children's products. I daydream of toy boxes full of wooden blocks and kid gear void of plastic, bright colors, characters or noises. So far, I'm failing, mostly thanks to grandparents who are happy to give Miss Dub the brightest and loudest toys they can find.

And you know what? She loves them. She likes her big turtle-shaped toy-holder in the bathtub, even though I lay awake at night thinking of ways I could make a simple beige pouch to replace it. She likes her Winnie Pooh plastic car, complete with obnoxious songs. (And, let's be honest, Pooh is one creepy bear.)

I need to make peace with it. I need to realize that she's not going to like the same things and styles as me for the rest of her life. I marched to the beat of my drum, so why should I try to keep control of her drumsticks?

But I seriously draw the line at light-up character shoes ... but ask me again in a few years when she's throwing a fit in the middle of Target.

HTT - Mom Edition

Have you read this article, "Confessions of a Modern Mom"? If you haven't, and for those who refuse to link - and may the jaws of the inferno swallow you whole for your laziness, or whatever - then let me sum it up for you: Moms are human. We all do things for our own darn convenience that the "perfect mom" would never do.

I, for one, am guilty as charged. As we speak, the TV is babysitting Miss Dub so I can write this post. To be honest, it would be on even if I wasn't using the computer. It's just an easy way to start our day.

I've also forgotten to brush her teeth on occasion. I feed her processed foods. I've even locked her in the car for a split second so I could drop off my rent check without unbuckling her.

Does that make me a bad mom? Well, maybe. But for every bad thing I do, I do something unnecessary, like worrying the whole time she's with a babysitter. Like letting her nap time rule my life. Like watching her around any vaguely elevated surface in case she takes a stumble. (And really, isn't the occasional stumble good?)

Here are some recent "bad moms" who made the news. You tell me if they deserve the criticism they're getting:

A. An Illinois mom who was arrested after leaving her napping toddler in a parked car (in eye sight) while donating change to the Salvation Army out front.

B. A New York mom who let her 9-year-old ride the subway home by himself - with specific directions, instructions and change for a phone call.

C. A Massachusetts couple who left their sleeping kids in a car strategically parked in front of a restaurant window so that they could grab some dinner and keep an eye on their children.

The first one just infuriates me - I mean, really? Thankfully, those charges have been dropped. I don't judge the mom in the second, I just doubt I'd have the guts to let my 9-year-old do that since I'm a bit paranoid. But seriously, why not? I remember being 9, and while there is always a risk in life, that risk is probably no less at 12, when most of us would consider it OK. And the last one - I have to admit I found it clever ... but I probably wouldn't do it. (And if I did, I wouldn't tell you!)

But the overriding thing for me is that we're too quick to judge ourselves and others. Short of abuse, we need to give each other a break. It's hard to be a parent. And if TV makes it a little easier sometimes, so be it!

But what do you think?

What makes you a modern mom?


* To see what my negligent mothering has done to Miss Dub, go here.

HTT - Parent Edition

I'm borrowing today's Hot Topic from a dear friend, who posted this question on her blog: Which is harder, being a stay-at-home mom or a working dad?

It's a question that I've often posed in my mind, but I've never had the eggs to ask aloud to Mr. Dub. To his credit, he often remarks on how hard it is to be a mom and how he's not genetically composed to do it as well as I do. (Aw, shucks!)

Not to be too Swedish on this issue, I can see pros and cons to both sides. Let us review:


Working Dad

Hard because he ... Has the pressure of being the sole provider, must go to work at assigned hours, has to switch brain from working issues to family matters as soon as he returns home, is under tremendous stress from work projects, must climb the career ladder to earn more, which will then go towards family expenses, etc.

Easy because he ... Doesn't have a child following him around 24/7, can generally check out mentally from work when evenings and weekends come, misses out on most diaper changes, spit-ups, huge messes and accidents, can take a day off from work when sick or on vacation, etc.


Stay-at-Home Mom

Hard because she ... Is always on call, must put her child's needs before her at all times, has to act as a chauffeur, cook and nurse despite whether or not she wants to be any of those things, can't take a day off in her own house, is constantly consumed with her child's welfare, etc.

Easy because she ... Is her own boss and makes her own schedule, gets to set the rules, can wear loungewear every day if she chooses, gets to cuddle with her child instead of writing a report, has the best job in the world, etc.


After weighing this sampling of pros and cons, I must tip my hat to the mothers because they are truly more physically and mentally engaged during the day. (And, let's be honest, do more of the waking up at night.)

But I do want to tell the dads how grateful we are for their hard work. And it is hard, just a different kind of hard.

(And then, of course, there are working mothers, who do a bit of both things and have an entirely different perspective.)

But what do you think?

Which is harder - being a stay-at-home mom or a working dad?

And what would your husband say?

That's, like, 11 hours, kids!

Last night, I went to bed at 7:45 p.m.

I mean, when is the last time I did that - when I was four years old?

We've been re-struggling with Miss Dub, who has decided post-vacations and illnesses to wake up even earlier than her standard 6 a.m. awakening. Like, 4:30 a.m. To-tally awake! And ready to watch TV, as she's become quite the connoisseur thanks to her early awakenings. (I know, I'm a bad mom, but what else can I really do with her at that hour? Finger painting just seems complicated in the dark.)

To curb the fatigue that's come from such early risings - and to help heal a raging headache - I went to "lie down" for a little primetime snooze. Well, I didn't wake up again until 2, at which point I was WIDE AWAKE. Thankfully, I managed to fall in and out of sleep for several more hours ... until 6:45 a.m.

And guess what? Miss Dub managed to do it, too - I heard her rustle, talk and even cry a little, but she took one for the team and kept sleeping ... and on the one day I wouldn't have minded waking up at 4:30!

Needless to say, I'm going to bed a little later tonight. Like, 8:30 p.m.

But if she does wake up early tomorrow, any suggestions on the least annoying kids' show out there? 'Cause Backyardigans is the best I've found so far, though I find myself "stomping that Yeti stomp" in my head hours later.

And seriously, what's the most annoying show? I'm going to say Boobah. Pretty sure that one is based on a producer's acid trip.

HTT - Extracurricular edition

First, thanks for all your fun feedback from yesterday. Shoot, I think Mel will keep HTT thriving for years to come with all her ideas. And I think you all convinced me that I don't necessarily need to blog less, I just need to stop expecting my blogs to be hilarious anecdotes or inspiring revelations. Sometimes they might just be a pic; Sometimes, there might be nothing, and that's OK. I'll stop short of the "You like me, you really like me!" impersonation because I've disliked Sally Field since my mother once compared me to her as a teenager, as if we were in the same peer group. ("Don't worry, honey! Lots of young people have arthritis. Sally Field, for example!")

Second, I'm really not that skinny, people. I think my face is just getting old, which means my chipmunk cheeks are now sinking into my face. Let's face it, we all can't look as young as Sally Field!

Third, you know it's a good HTT when someone suggests the topic to Mr. Dub and I, and we promptly get into an argument about it. Then again, we're pretty good at debating in our household. I don't suppose it would surprise you if I told you I'm a bit stubborn in my opinions?

So here's the topic: How far should you push your kids? Specifically, in extracurricular things. We all know that Tiger Woods is an amazing golfer, due in part to a father who bred him to be an amazing golfer. The guy had no choice. He probably doesn't even know if he ever wanted to be something else. Golf was his destiny ... or so his father decided.

Other kids are thrown into a million extracurricular events in hopes that they will be balanced and talented and, presumably, more marketable as college applicants. Sometimes the children are happy to be so involved, other times not so much. And most probably wouldn't notice if they had a few less lessons and a bit more playtime.

But it's a tough situation. You don't want to let your kids give up on an extracurricular pursuit just because it's challenging or because they're not the best at it. Some of the best athletes and musicians failed in the beginning or needed a little prodding.

But I say you shouldn't force a child to continue with something if he/she has made a valiant effort at it and still isn't having fun - even if they're really good at it. I also don't think you should get your kids involved in more than 2-3 extra things for fear of crowding out basic childhood experiences, like building forts. And, finally, I definitely think you have to examine your motives and make sure you aren't trying to live vicariously through your child. I mean, as Mr. Toys R. Us once said, "Let a kid be a kid!"

Mr. Dub, however, disagrees with me a bit. He thinks that you shouldn't let a child quit when they're displaying natural talent at something. And that you shouldn't let them stop just because they aren't having fun. He also says that our boys can never pursue dancing or acting, but I'm assuming he's joking. Right?

What do you all think?

How much is too much when it comes to extracurricular activities? How can you determine if your child is giving up or making the right decision to quit? And, finally, do you think amazing athletes and musicians are made from pushy parents? Or do you think you can be a star these days with an average amount of encouragement?

C'mon, my marriage is riding on this! Joking ... mostly joking.



p.s. Looking for a good read? Go here, where I'm of no help whatsoever.

Sour cream and the meaning of life

I'm beginning to realize that part of the job description for a mother is accepting chaos.

Before having Miss Dub, I erroneously thought that I would be managing chaos. I knew there would be diaper explosions and temper tantrums and huge messes, but I thought I could handle them; that by the end of each day, poop would be properly disposed of, tantrums would be calmed and messes would be tidied.

Oh, but what a fool I was. I also thought that Miss Dub would sleep through the night by 12 weeks, eat vegetables with a vengeance by 10 months and memorize all her animals noises by a year. And let me tell you, her cow sounds strangely like a lamb. I mean, what did I do wrong?

Also, the house just doesn't stay clean. Books go on the bookshelf, books come off the bookshelf. Toys go in the basket, toys come out of the basket. And poop sometimes shows up in the most surprising places.

I'm not a huge cleaning freak, though I am fastidious, but I am an organization freak. Like, the kind that belongs in a circus featuring stacked papers and filing systems. I like things put away in their proper place, so much so that I nearly had a panic attack the other day when I realized that the sour cream had fallen from its appointed spot in our fridge. I had to fix it, even if it meant keeping a tantrum-throwing Miss Dub waiting; even if it meant being late to a get-together.

But I can't always fix the sour cream.

Sometimes, as a mother, I have to leave the sour cream on its side on the wrong shelf.

Because sometimes you can't keep the house clean, and you shouldn't because there are more important things like playing with your children, or leaving yourself enough time to drive the speed limit.

And sometimes you can't micromanage your children, and you shouldn't because they have to make their own choices, which will ultimately teach them to stand up for what they believe.

I mean, the people who manage chaos the best are often the most stressed people I know. Even though their homes are clean and their children are safe, they are overwhelmed by the level of perfection they feel compelled to maintain.

And I'm on that road with my sour cream-straightening, house-cleaning, chaos-controlling desires. And as much as I really, really like the idea of order, I think I better start embracing some chaos if I ever want to feel peace.

But don't purposely put the sour cream in the wrong place. That's just cruel.

HTT - Sleepover Edition

Question: Whose blog is this?

Answer: Mine ... which means that I can totally renege on my deal without being duplicitous. In fact, I can call my blogging twist a literary device. So despite what I promised yesterday, I’m not going to use all your suggestions to help me write my blog this week ... because so many of you sent me such fabulous suggestions that I can’t force myself to address them all in one pithy week. Instead, I’m going to drag them out until they die a slow, painful, but interesting death. Or until I’m sick of using them. ‘Cause it’s my blog and all.

And in another twist, today’s Hot Topic comes from a “reader” suggestion posed to me over chili last night. (Did I mention it was served in sourdough bread bowls? Had she asked me to blog on synthetic fibers I would have obliged.)

And the topic is this: Slumber parties: Good idea or bad idea?

Now, I must say that this reader/friend in question has basically made a decision to not allow her daughter to attend slumber parties in the future. Partly because we live in a crazy world where sometimes seemingly good people can do terrible things. Partly because you just don’t know what goes on when someone else is supervising your children.

I used to think anti-slumber party people were crazy or super strict. After all, I spent half of my teenage life on Mrs. Jay’s floor. (I always said that I preferred to sleep on the ground, lest you think she was cruel. I’m slightly compulsive about making other people happy.) Our sleepovers were a highlight of my youth and the source of many great adventures that will one day be shared here.

However, I’ve since realized that not everyone is lucky enough to go to Mrs. Jay’s house, where 3 a.m. showings of “Gidget” were as crazy as it got. After all, teens and slumber parties can sometimes be a reckless combination. And even if you trust the family hosting the event, baaaaad things have happened at slumber parties involving adults and children. (I know because I covered these kinds of court cases when I was a reporter in Utah, and they call it “Happy Valley” there.)

Plus, who hasn’t had a weird sleepover experience? In second grade I went to a friend’s slumber party, where her parents had rented “Nightmare on Elm Street” for our entertainment. Not only do I never watch rated-R movies (even today), but it was hardly appropriate for a 7-year-old. I managed to convince a few girls to play Barbies in another room, but I ultimately called my mom to come and get me because my friend’s parents gave me the creeps.

And I’m sure you all could share a similar story. (And I hope you do!)

I did suggest to my friend that you only allow your kids to sleepover at homes you’ve visited with parents you know well. But she made a good point that you don’t ever want to create a friendship hierarchy where certain friends are allotted more privileges than others, especially if it has little to do with them and more to do with their parents. As a result, she plans to create a general rule.

But will I? I honestly don’t know. I typically hate rules that alienate kids from their peers, or that can be misconstrued as “Mormons don’t trust others.” And I worry about overprotecting children as much as I worry about protecting them. But when you’re talking about issues like child endangerment maybe it’s better to be safe than sorry?

And is it OK to not let them attend other people’s sleepovers but to happily sponsor them at my house? ‘Cause that sounds good in theory but probably a little judgmental in reality.

What about you? Have you thought about this Hot Topic much?

Will you or won’t you let your kids attend sleepovers?

If yes, how will you make sure they’re safe?

We’re listening.

Meet Miss Dub

Current Hobbies: Not eating vegetables.

Future Occupation: Scurvy patient

Favorite phrase: "Waaaz that?"

My favorite response: "Not a vegetable!"



How do you get your youngins to eat veggies?

'Cause this 11-month-old insists on feeding herself ... and so far green beans, corn, edamame, bell peppers, carrots, and peas are not on her menu.

Ideas?




*Like Project Runway? Go here!

HTT - Sex Ed-ition

(Warning: This post contains references to SEX. For tamer fare - and a review of a phonics DVD - go here.)

It's a Mormon urban legend*: A recently married Mormon gal goes to her doctor worried about infertility. Though she and her husband have been trying to have a baby for some time, they've yet to conceive. The doctor looks over her medical history and, puzzled, suggests an internal exam. When he goes to check "under the hood," the girl asks why he would be looking down there when all the action happens "here." (Pointing to her belly button.)

Yes, my friends, the girl wasn't getting pregnant because she wasn't even having sex, technically.

True or not, we've all heard some horror stories about sex, especially in the LDS world where premarital sex is discouraged - really discouraged. As a result, there are a lot of young brides and grooms who are pretty clueless about the whole thing, which can create issues in many marriages.

I don't want to get too graphic, but I'm not talking about myself here. Our master bedroom is just fine, thank you. But just thinking about Miss Dub growing up in today's society has me already stressing "the talk." And, let me tell you, you can be confident the girl from that legend didn't get a talk from her mom ... or any useful sex education for that matter.

But I recognize the dilemma her mother may have had: How do you teach about the beauty of post-marital sex without encouraging premarital sex? And how do you highlight the sanctity of sex without making it seem secretive or disgusting?

My plan is to be open about the whole thing - real names for body parts, age-appropriate answers to questions and open conversations about sex starting in her tweens. I don't plan to be crude or overly graphic, but I do plan to be honest.

I truly believe that if you avoid talking about sex, you are asking for your kids to find their information elsewhere. I also believe if you treat sex lightly, so will they.

And to really add some heat to an already Hot Topic, I'd really like to understand (seriously) the rationale of parents who won't let their kids attend sex education courses at school. I recognize that much of what's being taught is different than my values, but personally I think it's important for kids to have an opportunity to discuss sex outside the home but still in a structured setting. Because while most of us don't want our children to engage in premarital sex, at least they will be able to consider other reasons to abstain (like STDs and pregnancy) if they turn their back on religious ones. And I'm really not an expert on chlamydia myself.

No matter what I believe parents should be their primary source of sex education. I just think you need to supplement what the school teaches and clarify what you believe with what the school talked about. And, most importantly, you need to stress the beauty of sex with a spouse and the joy of creating a family through it.

But is it really necessary to alienate kids from their classmates and make them that much more curious about sex? Do some parents worry that hearing about birth control options will change their kids' minds about whether or not to have sex?

Thoughts?

And is that legend true?



* More on Mormon urban legends tomorrow!

HTT - Potty Edition

Miss Dub is now TEN months old. Ten months, people! I'll be dropping her off at the mall with friends in no time. And she'll be telling me I'm unfair before I can blink. I mean, adolescence is at her doorstep.

So you'd think I'd be all over potty training - well-versed in all the various toilet techniques and associated parenting philosophies, but I'm not. I haven't thought about it for a moment. Even a little.

First, changing diapers doesn't bother me that much. I mean, I'd rather not unwrap a stinky surprise several times a day, but I'm not disgusted by it either. Everybody poops; Miss Dub just doesn't know how to dispose of hers, which is fine by me. She also doesn't know how to make cupcakes, but I'm in no rush to show her the Kitchenaid.

In fact, I have no idea what's the right age for potty training. I imagine it's somewhere around 2 years old, though you'll have to school me on the specifics. And I imagine that it's a Hot Topic because all child-rearing issues can get moms steamy under the collar. (And why is that? Do we really think our methods are superior, or do we just feel better by justifying our behavior?)

I recently read this article, which confirmed that potty training is, indeed, an interesting issue. And reminded me that there are some freaky people out there. People who not only eschew diapers from birth, but let their children relieve themselves in SINKS at PUBLIC restrooms. And then they wonder why other people look at them strangely.

And while the idea of a potty-trained newborn sounds appealing, I can't help but notice the irony. These people are so averse to wiping excrement that they don't diaper their babies, but they are happy to expose others to it - in a vestibule designed to remove germs nonetheless.

I just don't get it. Why can't babies just be babies? What's the rush? Diapers aren't meant to be enjoyable, just necessary. I don't feel like I have any less bowel control because my mom waited to potty train me ... so I fail to see the advantage.

But what do you think?

When have you or do you plan to potty train your youngins?

What's your strategy?

And on a scale of 1-10, how are disgusted are you by a mom who lets her baby use a sink as a bidet?

'Cause it's pretty much a 10 for me.

HTT - Naked Edition

Once upon a time there was a girl named Mrs. Dub who used to fret over Hot Topics for Tuesdays because while she was quite passionate about a lot of things, she never knew what other people wanted to talk about and had a tendency to offend people when she really let loose with her opinion.

Enter kind M&M readers who began to suggest all sort of friendly topics for everyone to amicably discuss and brainstorm about together. And it made Mrs. Dub’s life, or at least her Tuesdays, infinitely better.

Today is another reader request that’s making me one step closer to happily ever after.

The topic is nudity, but we’re not talking about art. (Let’s just say I don’t mind me a nude sculpture or two.)

We’re talking about family modesty. Like, when do you stop letting your kids shower with you? And when do you make your skivvy-lovin’ kids cover up? How do you teach them the sanctity of their body when they’re young?

I can’t really speak to the matter yet since Miss Dub is the first person I see when I step out of the shower, and I wipe her rear every few hours ... so we’re still on an intimate level. But I know some of you are in the throes of this issue, and others have already implemented a system.

So I’ll leave it to you to dish your nude-a-licious advice.

Speaking hypothetically, I think I would stress the sacred nature of our bodies from an early age. And I would insist on modesty outside the home around age 3 or 4. Seeing parents naked would end around the same time, and any indoor exhibitionism would need to be squelched by kindergarten.

But what do I know? I’ve always liked layers.

What do you think?

Bear all.

Americans!

I recently alluded to the fact that we've become friends with a German family.

I don’t mean that to sound stereotypical, but their ethnicity is essential to my point. Not so much their German-ity, but their European-ness. Because while certain cultural groups – those who love to eat finger foods for example – can actually make me feel somewhat proper (with my preference for flatware and such), other cultural groups (i.e. Europeans) can make me feel like I was raised in a barn. And not a converted barn featured in Architectural Digest; a literal barn filled with dirty, untamed animals.

Yesterday, for example, Mrs. Deutsch had Miss Dub and me over for some girl talk/play-time for our babies. It was really fun. She lives in a town that has total Midwest charm, and we hung out at a park by a scenic lake that had me feeling like Mark Twain. You know, if he was a woman, a mother and preferred lakes to rivers. (Currents frighten me!)

But when we went to go to the park, she asked, “Where are Miss Dub’s shoes?” Well, to be honest, while Miss Dub owns a large collection of shoewear, she prefers to go au naturel. And since she’s not walking yet, I usually let her. But I was a little embarrassed to admit that so I pretended like I’d just forgotten and borrowed the pair she kindly lent me.

Then she asked, “Has Miss Dub had her fresh air for the day?” Again, I had to admit that she hadn’t. But what I didn’t admit was that our daily excursions outside have little to do with Miss Dub’s health and more to do with my sanity. And that sometimes – though rarely in nice weather – the extent of fresh air she gets is going from the car to Target.

But what really made me wonder about my upbringing was when we ate lunch, which was a fresh zucchini/bell pepper pasta she’d made for the babies. Which didn’t really make me feel bad because most people are better cooks than I am, and I’ve long made peace with my unorganic tendencies.

“Does Miss Dub prefer a fork or a spoon?” Mrs. Deutsch asked.

Well, um, she prefers her index finger and thumb, and I prefer to feed her with a spoon so … “Spoon,” I said.

“That’s nice,” she said, “Miss Deutsch always wants to use a fork.”

Now, Miss Deutsch is 13-months-old so she has 5 developmental months on my lil’ Miss, but I was still shocked to watch her gracefully stab a few pieces of pasta and zucchini onto her fork, blow away some of the heat and put it carefully in her mouth. Then, she would stop for a few glugs of juice from her cup … a regular, handle-less, sippy-spout-less cup!

Meanwhile, Miss Dub and I were making a scene as I tried to get the pasta onto the spoon and into her mouth. Because at home I would have probably thrown a few pieces of pasta and zucchini (skip the bell peppers) onto her trough, er, highchair and let her go at them with her fingers. Some would make it into her mouth; most would end up on the floor or in her hair.

And getting her to drink from a regular cup was almost comical. While Miss Dub had surprisingly mastered the concept of holding and sipping from it, she would then tilt it all the way back and let the juice gush down her chin. Then, for her final trick, she would pour a little onto the floor for good measure.

Mrs. Deutsch thought it was funny, which was a relief. Miss Deutsch looked embarrassed for Miss Dub.

I was just surprised. Had I grossly underestimated the ability of a baby? Is it normal for a 13-month-old to eat her food with such grace that Emily Post would marvel?

After much thought, I realized that it isn’t normal for a 13-month-old American baby to do such things. We expect them to be babies. Mrs. Deutsch on the other hand told me that she lets her kids be unruly until they turn 1, at which point she enforces adult etiquette. And it works!

But we don’t even try. Shoot, we’re not even that well-mannered ourselves. We’re loud, and we’re laid back. We’re improper, and we're irreverent. We’re (often) totally oblivious to the rest of the world, its concerns and its customs. (But I’ll save that for a future HTT.)

And we love sippy cups. Because they’re easy. And Americans love easy. And maybe that’s OK?

But remind me to bring shoes next time.

p.s. My blog is having template issues. Bear with me.

HTT - Discipline edition

Beware: Behind these sweet eyes lies a mischievous soul!

Miss Dub now bites me when she's peeved and/or curious about the current flavor of my epidermis.



Miss Dub now throws things on the ground because it's fun, and sometimes to make a statement. (Like, "This yogurt does not match my capris!")



Miss Dub now whines and whines and whines when she doesn't get what she wants, which is pretty much always since her dream day would consist of watching "Baby Einstein" while chilling naked and eating adult desserts. Then, chatting online with her friends all night.



This new rebellious streak is obviously annoying, but much more disturbing because I have no idea what to do about it.



Discipline?



I hadn't given it much thought, to be honest. I kind of thought I could ride the baby-wave of perfect behavior for a couple years.



I mean, she is a baby so any disobedience on her part is not totally intentional or, at least, malicious. So no matter what she is forgiven and will be doled out endless amounts of patience and kisses. (Or is that my dream day?)



But I recognize that she needs a little direction. A little, "me no likey bitey" on occasion.



But how?



I know what I don't like --



Spanking - Yes, there's a reason this mommy post is a Hot Topic. Because things like spanking can get a lot of people hot and bothered, including myself. Because there is no scenario under the hot summer sun where I think spanking is acceptable (especially when it's a regular form of punishment and not a light pat hastily given during a mommy meltdown). I've heard people say that some kids just don't respond to verbal discipline. Well, that sucks, but hitting a child won't make them more obedient, unless out of fear. There's been serious studies done on this and spanked children end up in more trouble, with more issues and way more therapy. If it wasn't so early I'd go look them all up for you. But it is. So I won't.



Saying yes all the time - There are people out there who are such fans of positive reinforcement that the word "NO!' is not found in their mom-cabulary. While I'm all for constructive criticism and using positive options to help kids make a good choice, sometimes you've got to say, "No!" Like when your baby is about to touch a hot oven and there's no time to say, "Touch the carpet, please," or, "Would you rather play with your ball?" Also, there are moms who never say no, meaning that their kids get anything they want. Not a big fan of this theory either since instant gratification leads down a dark road that typically ends with credit card debt and an 8-year college plan. While I do think you should spare the rod, I think you should only occasionally spoil the child.



Saying no all the time - On the other side, there are parents who are constantly telling their kids no. Not only for bad behavior, but anything less than perfect and to all kid requests. I mean, we did choose to have kids. So sometimes you just have to say yes to things that aren't your favorite, like watching "Zoey 101" when you'd rather be watching "E!" Because if you always say no, your children may feel so restrained that their only option is to go wild. And you know where that leads - to a blurred-out image on a spring break bootleg video.



So I know what I don't like. But what do I like? Balance. Moderation. Patience.



But how do I deal those out? And to a baby is one thing, but what happens when Miss Dub is four? Or thirteen?



What's your take?



Any advice?



How do you discipline or were you disciplined?



And what's your take on spanking?



I promise I won't bite.



Miss Dub on the other hand ...

Perk Parenting

A few days ago as I was cruising about the village (because we live in villages not towns in this state), I passed by a mom who was walking her son to school and carrying his backpack.

And I thought to myself, “Self, when your kids are older, walk them to school.”

And then I remembered the better point and thought to myself, “And Self, don’t forget to carry their backpacks.”

What a loving gesture. That way your child can feel a little lighter and peppier on the way to school. (And more easily stop to smell flowers, examine bugs and tie shoelaces.) That way your child knows that you care enough to carry her burden, albeit a Cartoon Network-emblazoned one. But that’s another story … for Wednesday, perhaps?

Which reminded me of an acquaintance I had who told me his mom used to cut two oranges in half and put one half from each in her two sons’ school lunches, just in case one of the oranges tasted better than the other. That way they both got a shot at a perfect orange and some relief if one was overripe.

Another acquaintance told me her mom used to throw towels in the dryer right before her kids got out of the bath or pool so that they would be nice and toasty … which is pretty much genius unless you are getting out of a pool in July in Arizona, in which case chilling the towels would be more refreshing.

My parents did their fair share of “perk” parenting. During his Chinese cooking phase, my dad used to send us to school with brown bags filled with homemade wontons, which tasted delicious and made me the coolest kid at the lunch table. My mom on occasion would surprise us at school and take us out early for something fun, like a new movie or a special lunch.

And now I find myself trying to develop some perks for Miss Dub and her siblings. (Two more? Or dare I try three?) Some ideas have included nights where each kid gets to pick a fave food and we eat them all together – even if mashed potatoes and cinnamon rolls sounds repulsive. Or letting them pick out my outfit for the day, no matter what it looks like.

What are some of your favorite parenting perks?

(Whether instituted by you, your parents or your cousin’s best friend’s hairdresser’s mailman.)

Dish.