ParentDish http://www.parentdish.com ParentDish http://www.parentdish.com/media/feedlogo.gif ParentDish http://www.parentdish.com en-us Copyright 2013 Weblogs, Inc. The contents of this feed are available for non-commercial use only. Blogsmith http://www.blogsmith.com/News Flash: Women Are More Than Just Body Types and Sex Positionshttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/28/body-image-marketing/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/28/body-image-marketing/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/28/body-image-marketing/#commentsFiled under:

After seven years of blogging about maternal mental health, I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that I ended up on a media list. Some public relations person somewhere decided I would be a great person to contact with all news releases related to health and beauty. This is why my inbox is constantly filled with PR pitches, most of which include headlines like the following:

[CELEBRITY] LEAVES [GYM BRAND NAME] DRINKING [SPORTS DRINK BRAND NAME]

Stop the presses! Women everywhere need to know this! Get me online, quick! It is clear to me that most of the public relations people that contact me have never read my blog. If so, they'd know I don't write about warts or hair implants. Ever.

But what stands out to me the most, even more than people contacting me who have no idea what I write about, is the fact that so many of the health press releases I receive are related to appearance, as if a woman's appearance is the most important thing to her well-being. The category is called health and beauty, but I see only 5 percent relating to health, as opposed to 95 percent focusing on beauty.

Every week I am duly informed about which very skinny celebrity drank what protein drink after she worked out at which gym. I get stories about what you should wear underneath your clothes after you have a baby so that everyone thinks you've lost all the baby weight in the first three weeks postpartum. Pitches tout the newest cosmetic surgeries, the latest and greatest workouts and shoes that will make my legs look like ... well ... anybody else's legs but mine.

It makes me wonder: What are the top health concerns of women? Will waistline be in the top five? Bust size? Skin tone? Waxed upper lips?

Nope. According to WebMD, they're actually heart disease, breast cancer, osteoporosis, depression and autoimmune diseases such as multiple sclerosis, lupus and type 1 diabetes.

We women are smarter than we look, apparently.

Now, I do care about my appearance. I've shared my reluctance to embrace chin hairs and age spots before. I'm willing to accept a little assistance in the form of a Botox shot here and there to help ease me into the great beyond. If I look collectively at all the messages I receive from PR people and women's magazines, though, I feel like I've been reduced to nothing more than a walking doll.

Why is the preponderance of the marketing email I receive aimed at making sure I look like celebrities, many of whom don't even look like themselves anymore because they've exceeded the acceptable limit of injections, inflations and insertions?

As I grow older, I become more and more supportive of women's media outlets and companies that respect us for our brains, our ideas and our capabilities -- ones that attempt to add to our lives in meaningful ways, rather than making sure we're all, as The Commodores memorialized in the song "Brick House," 36-24-36.

I like reading More magazine, for instance, because its headlines don't scream at me about which sexual positions I haven't tried, as if sex and my ability to attract it with the perfect body should be my chief concerns in life. The magazine covers beauty and fashion, sure, but those topics are balanced with lots of other things, too.

Sorry, but I don't plan to write about lip plumpers and push-up bras. They're cool and all, and I admit to even using them now and then. I'm just not going to focus on them, day in and day out, the way you want me to, dear PR people.

So, get with the program. Women have got more going on than that.

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>appearancebody imagegendermarketingKatherine StoneTue, 28 Jun 2011 11:00:00 ESTDo You Ever Regret Leaving Your Children? Mid-Air Storm Makes This Mom Rethink Travelhttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/17/regret-leaving-children/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/17/regret-leaving-children/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/17/regret-leaving-children/#commentsFiled under:

There's a sudden storm over the Atlanta airport, so our plane is patiently circling. The pilot says it shouldn't be more than an extra 15 or 20 minutes.

He comes back over the intercom 20 minutes later to say the storm isn't moving. Other planes are diverting, but we have enough fuel, so we'll stay here and move closer up the line to being able to land. Ten minutes after that, his voice appears again to say even more planes have diverted, which he says is great news for us because we're up at the front of the line now. I'm starting to wonder.

Finally, we start to angle downwards and the descent begins.

Shake, shake, shake.

I hate turbulence. I'm not one of those people who is afraid of flying, yet I do have a strong preference that my flight be 100 percent bump-free from takeoff to touchdown.

Shake, shake, drop.

We probably didn't drop that much, but the weightlessness makes everyone audibly go "Whoa!" Then there's more dropping and shaking. I pull my seat belt tighter with one hand, while clenching the armrest tighter with the other.

I start to feel scared. I can see my fellow passengers feel the same way, because everyone seems smaller in their seats and the low murmur of friendly conversation has stopped. This is when I close my magazine and my eyes and withdraw into myself. I say the Lord's Prayer in my head because it focuses and calms me.

The plane is side to side and up and down as we claw our way through the endless mean clouds. I have been on a lot of flights in my life, and this turbulence is some of the worst I've ever been through. Landing in Birmingham, Ala., seems like it would have been a much better idea.

Now I'm mad at myself. Why did I go give that speech? Why did I leave my children? I just want to be with my family and hold my babies. I'm going to die and it will be because I left the most important people in my life this week to go do some speech I didn't have to do. I am 10s of thousands of feet in the air with a bunch of strangers in what amounts to a tin can being thrown around by thunder and lightning when I could be curled up on the couch watching Mutual of Omaha's "Wild Kingdom" with the ones I love. I'm an idiot.

Do you ever feel that way, when you are away from your children and find yourself in what may be a dangerous situation? All I can think about is how dumb I am for leaving and how much I regret it in this moment, even though my day has been wonderful up to this moment and I feel so fulfilled by the work I just did.

There's a terror that builds up inside me when I think about leaving my children prematurely, no matter the reason. I don't know if all moms feel the same way, or if it's just because I suffer from anxiety, but the idea of abandoning them, even if it is for reasons completely against my will, makes me sick to my stomach. It's enough to make me avoid going anywhere or doing anything other than being with them.

As we bounce around the sky, I briefly consider never leaving them again, but then I realize that would only teach them to fear. It has to be OK to venture out and do new things even if it means leaving your comfort zone. I have a job to protect them, but I also have the job of getting them ready to step out into the world on their own.

I know wish I wasn't on my own right now, as our plane violently shakes and groans, but perhaps rather than feeling stupid for ever leaving I should be proud that every so often I strike out into the world and away from my home, serving as an example to my children to try new things. On second thought, I think there's a bit too much shaking for me to be that self-evolved. Maybe if and when we land I can chalk this up to bravery, rather than stupidity.

After what seems like the longest descent in the history of manned flight, we break out of the clouds and the plane is still. Soon the wheels meet tarmac and many in the plane start clapping with gratitude. The stranger sitting next to me smiles, and we both start laughing. We can't help but laugh. I tell him there was a moment where I thought I was going to have to hold his hand, and that I'm sure my husband wouldn't have minded. He tells me he was thinking the same thing.

Deep breath. I'm here. I can't wait to kiss my children.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>air travelanxietyleaving your childrenmom guiltparentingKatherine StoneFri, 17 Jun 2011 11:00:00 ESTLearning to Let Your Children Grow Up - Eye Rolls and Allhttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/07/letting-your-children-grow-up/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/07/letting-your-children-grow-up/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/06/07/letting-your-children-grow-up/#commentsFiled under:

I was just getting the hang of this how to parent young children thing, and now my son has decided to grow up. I think it's a plot to take me off my game.

Until now, things have been easy. He's a sweet kid. Funny, smart, nice. Never gets into any trouble. Completely trustworthy. Last summer, when some bored friends decided they should go around and ding-dong-ditch the neighbors, he opted out, preferring to come home rather than disturb people by ringing their doorbells and running away. That's my boy!

Then, last September, he went and turned 9. He's still most of the things I just mentioned, but there's one new and unwelcome addition: He's surly.

I call his name, and he yells "WHAT?!?!?" as though I've just sworn obscenities at him or asked him to walk naked through the streets. I ask him to take his clothes upstairs and he looks at me as though I've grown a horn just off the tip of my nose. And then he does this thing where he takes his eyeballs and moves them up toward the ceiling and then all the way towards the back of his head. I think they call it eye-rolling. What is that?

"What happened to my sweet boy who always loves me and is happy to talk to me and do what I say?," I ask my mom.

"He's growing up. He's pulling away from you and asserting his independence," she responds, smirking a little because she knows what's ahead.

I know they're supposed to grow up. I know that thing -- where we joke and say when he's an adult he'll buy the house next door to this one -- is not real. It shouldn't be real. It is my chief job as a mom to prepare him for adulthood and make him ready to go off on his own and enjoy his own life, without me, except for phone calls and the odd holiday visit.

I will do all that. I swear. But I need to take a quick moment here to say, in all sincerity, WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH. (Yes, I'm whining and crying at the same time.)

I have loved being a mom to young children. I love laughing with him and my daughter, reading story books and going to G-rated movies that I dread but nearly always end up enjoying. I like tickle fights. I like how every single morning, whether it's a school day or the weekend, they pile in bed with me for a bit and we have cuddles and hang out before it's time to get going.

I'm having such a hard time envisioning the day when that will all be gone, and, yet, I know it will be here soon. It makes my heart hurt.

I realize this new-found surliness is all part of the grand plan to make it easier on me the day he leaves our house and goes off on his own adventure. By the time he's 17 or 18, I imagine he'll have perfected the eye roll, the door slam and the freeze out. I'll want him to know what it's like to make your own money and your own dinner and your own choices. I'll be tired of his smelly shoes, dirty room and bad attitude. That's what people tell me, anyway.

I'm just having a hard time believing it.

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>grow upkids growing upletting children grow upletting goparentingKatherine StoneTue, 07 Jun 2011 16:00:00 ESTWhy Summer Break Scares Mehttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/27/why-summer-break-scares-me/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/27/why-summer-break-scares-me/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/27/why-summer-break-scares-me/#commentsFiled under:

Summer break has begun.

Some moms are thrilled about this. They can't wait to go on adventures and hang out all day long for weeks at a time with their kids. Their calendars are already filled with plans for family field trips and crafts and such. They are giddy just thinking about it.

I'm not one of them.

The summer scares me. It makes me nervous. I feel like I don't know how to entertain my children all the time. I can only do it in short bits and bites. And then what? They'll go off for a while and play on their own, but then it's back to Mama. Mama, watch this. Mama, do that. Mama, play this imaginary game with me. Mama, read this book to me. Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama.

I'm staring down the barrel of 10 weeks straight worth of figuring out what to do to entertain these fabulous creatures, and it scares me that I don't have 10 weeks worth of entertaining things to do.

People use the word "overwhelming" or "overwhelmed" quite a bit when discussing postpartum depression and its equally unpleasant cousins, postpartum anxiety and postpartum OCD. Even though I'm years away from having postpartum OCD, and even though I adore being a mom to my children, I can still get that feeling of being overwhelmed. It's not like it was when I was sick, of course, but I sometimes have moments of feeling like it's all too much.

It's almost like I love my children SO much and feel SO responsible for their every happiness that I'm full up, and then it boils over and then ... well, then I need space. And quiet. Does that sound horrible? I mean, if you know me, you know how much I adore my children. You know how, when I'm spending time with them, it is bona fide, grade-A, full-eye-contact QUALITY time.

But then, sometimes, I need a break from it, and I feel guilty for that. It's like the intimacy I feel is required, and willingly wanting to engage in with my babies takes up so much energy that I can only do so much of it before I have to go refill myself in a solitary place.

I sometimes wonder if my tendency to be introverted and issues with intimacy are what make it hard for me to get excited about the summer, and, perhaps, also contributed to my experience with postpartum OCD. I just don't know how to make it all perfect (did I say perfect? yes, I'm a guilty perfectionist), and I feel weighted down and guilty by the inability to meet perfection.

This is why summer scares me -- because I know I can't make it perfectly fun and entertaining all the time, and so I feel like I've failed before I've even begun. Completely neurotic, I know.

Am I the only one?

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>parentingperfectionistsummer breakKatherine StoneFri, 27 May 2011 15:00:00 ESTIt's Time to Start a 'No Mean Girls' Coalitionhttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/20/no-mean-girls-coalition/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/20/no-mean-girls-coalition/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/20/no-mean-girls-coalition/#commentsFiled under: ,

When I was in high school, I definitely was not considered one of the "cool" girls. Apparently, if your senior year resume includes show choir and the drug-free squad, you're on the OK to Ignore and Even Jeer At If Necessary list.

I wasn't bullied, but there were certainly girls who were mean to me because I wasn't a cheerleader or on a sports team or wearing the best clothes, and, to be honest, I just never understood it. Why would someone want to purposefully ignore you, or laugh and point at you, or talk behind your back? Whatever. I grew up to kick ass anyway, but it would have been nice not to have felt hurt during those very tender and hormonal years.

Yesterday, my 5-year-old daughter encountered her first "mean girls" situation. She wanted to play with a few older girls who were out on the sidewalk in our neighborhood. She ran right up to them in her eager and jaunty way and asked to play. One of them in particular gave her a sideways icy look and said the group would be unavailable because they'd be going inside in a minute.

Madden, ever game, said she'd be perfectly willing to go inside, too. This led the haughty girl to make even more excuses about why my daughter shouldn't join in. The other two, thankfully, seemed to think it would be just fine to have little Maddie there for a while, so she stayed and I walked home.

A few minutes later, Madden came running in the house to get something one of the girls said she needed. Fine, no problem, happy to oblige. A few minutes after that she came running back into the house to get some other random thing for one of the girls. I didn't like the pattern that was developing.

"Are they playing with you?"

"Um, sort of. Well, not really."

"Why do they keep sending you running back and forth to our house to get things when they're standing right out in front of one of their houses and could get it themselves?"

"I don't know, Momma."

That was it for me. I knew this wasn't working out. I said the girls didn't really want to play with her in the first place, and now they were just sending her off on errands to get rid of her. I could feel my hackles going up, and I don't even know what hackles are. I started getting that sick mom-worry feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's not time for mean girls yet, is it? She's only 5!

It occurred to me as I stood there in the kitchen, preventing myself from inappropriately marching down the street to give the mean girls what for, that I had no idea how to handle such treatment when I was younger, and I have no idea what to do for my daughter now. Thus, I did the first thing people do when they don't know where to turn these days: I fretted publicly on Twitter.

It was amazing how many moms responded with their own worries for their daughters. It made me wonder, is it true that women and girls are catty? Is it really an inevitable part of our nature, a flaw of our gender, to gather up in cliques and be spiteful to each other, or does the female sex have an unfair reputation when it comes to this issue?

Sort of offhandedly, I tweeted "We should all start a No Mean Girls Coalition to teach our girls how to be kind to each other AND to stand up for themselves." That seemed to hit a nerve, because lots of mothers said they were ready and willing to join.

Someone pointed the Kind Campaign, of which I was unaware. Apparently, the young female filmmakers of a documentary called "Finding Kind" also have come to the conclusion that we need to be proactive in teaching our girls about relationships with each other.

"It seems that society has concluded that girls are catty and mean to each other and that it's never going to change. People fail to realize that these experiences are detrimental to a female's growth, self-esteem and ability to form healthy and functional relationships. The cruelty that exists among females is a serious issue that needs immediate attention. The goal of the film is not to point the finger at the 'mean girl,' however, because we have all been on both sides of this issue. It's about collecting stories and perspectives from females all over the country and using these stories to spread awareness and start a dialog about the issue," says Lauren Parsekian, a Kind Campaign founder.

Yes! We need a dialog. We need to come together in some purposeful and meaningful way to make sure our daughters are kind and compassionate to others, understand what being a good friend means, know how to recognize when someone is taking advantage of them and feel confident enough to walk away. So ... any ideas?

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>bullyingkind coalitionmean girlsKatherine StoneFri, 20 May 2011 12:00:00 ESTBotox for 8-Year-Old Reminds Us of Beauty Messages Moms Send Their Daughtershttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/13/botox-for-8-year-old-reminds-us-of-beauty-messages-moms-send-the/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/13/botox-for-8-year-old-reminds-us-of-beauty-messages-moms-send-the/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/13/botox-for-8-year-old-reminds-us-of-beauty-messages-moms-send-the/#commentsFiled under:


My beloved grandmother Mary was a model in her youth, even doing a stint as the Lucky Strikes girl, appearing on the back cover of Life magazines in the '40s. She was, and, now in her 90s, still is, gorgeous and the epitome of a Southern belle. God forbid you go to the grocery store without makeup on and your toenails done.

Katherine and Grandma

Mary and Katherine. Credit: Katherine Stone

She influenced me a lot, and while I'm perfectly comfortable going to Publix with a baseball cap and sunglasses on to hide my dirty hair and unmade face, I still do it up when it counts. I have to admit that looking good matters to me. It always has. My mother tells me I used to get up an hour early when I was in junior high just so I could do my hair.

I often wonder how my 5-year-old daughter will view her own beauty. She sees me putting my makeup on, and has asked me several times to wear it herself. I realize this is because she wants to be close to me, to do what I do, but I feel both anxiety and dread when she asks to put on lipstick or wear eyeshadow.

Are you kidding, child?! Not a chance!

I usually give her a brush with nothing on it and pretend I'm putting it on her, and I've told her again and again that she is gorgeous and smart and wonderful just as she is, and she doesn't need makeup. Do as I say and not as I do, I suppose.

Today, on the radio, I heard the story of a mother who has been giving her 8-year-old daughter Botox injections. If I could have, I would have fallen out of the front seat of my car. Both the mom, Kerry Campbell, and her daughter, Britney, recently appeared on "Good Morning America," where Kerry explained, "I knew she was complaining about her face, having wrinkles, and things like that. When I brought it up to Britney she was all for it."

Brought it up? BROUGHT IT UP?! Who brings up the idea of giving her 8-year-old Botox? I realize -- or at least, I hope -- this isn't a common occurrence. I honestly cannot come up with any reason, other than ignorance, why a mother would think giving her elementary-school daughter Botox and waxing her legs would be a good idea.

Is Kerry trying to get attention through her daughter by using desperate measures to help Britney win a beauty pageant, no matter the cost to the girl's health or self-esteem?

This story made me think of the special series Own Your Beauty at BlogHer.com. The Own Your Beauty pledge reads in part:
Let's collaborate on a definition of beauty that celebrates what makes each of us unique, inside and out.

Instead of measuring ourselves against some airbrushed, Photoshopped ideal, let's tailor the standard of beauty to suit ourselves.

Instead of feeding our insecurities about our appearance, let's nourish our sense of self.

Instead of focusing on what we believe to be flaws, let's look at our reflection and smile with satisfaction.

Let's recognize the beauty of our strength, our dignity, our ambition, our curiosity, our quirky humor, our compassion and our passion.

Let's take all the energy we've spent on endless loops of negative feedback about everything from the way we live our lives to our butts, our hips, our boobs and, for Pete's sake, even our ankles - and use it instead to power something positive and meaningful.

I can't say I've lived that pledge. I try, and on some days I succeed. I have grown to become more comfortable with myself as a whole, and more confident in who I am and what I have to offer. I still don't like my butt, though, or my hips. I fret over my flaws some days, as I see my wrinkles growing deeper and my youth starting to fade. Why can't I more fully and comfortably celebrate the beauty that is me, inside and out?

More importantly, how do I change the conversation for my daughter? How do I help her to be comfortable doing the things the pledge extols? I don't care anywhere near enough about beauty that I would give my daughter Botox, or a wax, or an extreme makeover, but it would be wrong to assume that just because I'm not extreme like Kerry Campbell that I couldn't be doing a better job of teaching my daughter to own her own beauty.

Kerry may be hitting her daughter over the head with a baseball bat of beauty, but I think I need to examine any subtle messages that I may be sending my own daughter about whether she is good enough -- the kind of messages that could get passed on and cemented in a girl's mind when you aren't even looking.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>beautybotoxbotox given to girlgirls and beautyself esteemKatherine StoneFri, 13 May 2011 12:00:00 ESTA Compendium of Mother Warning Phraseshttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/06/mother-warning-phrases/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/06/mother-warning-phrases/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/05/06/mother-warning-phrases/#commentsFiled under: ,

In honor of Mother's Day, I thought I'd take a look at one of the most important and oft-used tools in any mom's arsenal: the warning phrase.

Don't act like you don't have one, because I know you do.

I have two. I call them my shot-across-the-bow phrases. They are what I say when my kids are getting on my nerves and I want them to know that if they keep it up, there will be trouble. Or, at least I want them to think if they keep it up, there will be trouble, even though sometimes I'm really not all that committed to carrying through, truth be told.

My first shot-across-the-bow phrase is "Don't peeve me." I can't begin to count how many times I've said it. I use this one when I need them to go amuse themselves, or they start doing something they know annoys me. Sometimes I add the word "child" to make it slightly more serious, as in "Don't peeve me, child."

Another one of my favorites is "Don't make me beat you." It's a solid step up from "Don't peeve me." I warn them that if they are bad, I will beat them senseless with my Senseless Beating Stick. The Senseless Beating Stick is famous in my house, and has an aura of mystery as it's never been seen before. The kids are beginning to wonder if it even exists. I've explained to them that, if they're lucky, they'll never have to find out.

I asked a few other moms to share their fave warning phrases with me, and, when they did, I was surprised at how much each saying made me want to chuckle.

"You're on the edge, mister."

"Watch it, young lady."

"Do I need to put you to bed early?"

I can picture the mom screwing up her face, brows knitted, arms akimbo, delivering her message with the utmost in HUMORLESS VOICE. Warning phrases are serious business.

As it turns out, they also seem to fall neatly into categories.

The first type of warning is the Probing Question. These warnings focus on logic, with moms trying to get their children to think through how they are behaving.

"Are you making a good choice right now?"

"Do you want to rethink that?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

Next, is the old-school Meaningless Threat of Bodily Harm. "Don't make me beat you" would fall squarely into this category. These also are included:

"I'm gonna take you to Whoopin' Town."

"I will knock you into next week."

Some are slightly more subtle and don't even get to the type of harm that will come about.

"Don't make me come in there."

"If I have to tell you again, this day isn't gonna be fun anymore."

We don't know what will happen when she goes in there, or why the day won't be fun, but it sure sounds ominous.

Then there is the time-tested Name Call. This approach involves simply calling the child's name, usually with the voice starting out low and rising quickly at the end. Some moms call the full name. Some just use the first and middle. Some even do the first name and middle initial. I have yet to come across anyone who uses the first name only, but I did find one who just goes with the generic "Child!"

About as popular as the Name Call is the Mathematical Caution. There are various iterations of this form of warning. Some moms count up:

"1, 2, 3."

Some moms count down.

"3, 2, 1."

Some go to three, some to go five and some even go all the way to 10. (Not sure what moms have against even numbers.) Some moms just warn that they might start counting if things don't improve.

"Don't make me count to three!"

There's the Guilt Inducement. This mom wants the kids to know their behavior is impacting her ability to find any sort of happiness, whatsoever.

"You're going to drive me to drinkin'."

"You're riding my last nerve."

"How much more do I have to do to get you to listen to me?"

I don't know why, but I find myself very fond of the Exhortation! The moms who use this warning phrase method are all so unique and so adept at using exclamation points.

"For the love of God!"

"For the love of Pete!"

"That's enough!"

"Knock it off!"

"Listen, Bucko!"

And finally, my last category of mom warning phrases is the Exasperation. I totally get where these mothers are coming from. Sometimes you just have nothing left. No names, exclamation points or numbers. No reasonable discussion about the merits of behaving. Just complete vexation.

"Really? Really, dude?"

"I'm done with you people."

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>mom warningsmothers dayKatherine StoneFri, 06 May 2011 15:30:00 ESTWhy I Quit Using the Word 'Retarded'http://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/29/word-retarded/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/29/word-retarded/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/29/word-retarded/#commentsFiled under:

I'm a child of the '80s. We had our own lexicon back then. Words we used the way people now use "holla" and "unfriend."

One of the words was "whale," as in, "Seniors Whale," as in, seniors are really cool and far superior to all other forms of young people. Sadly, those in my high school senior class didn't whale as much as they thought they did, given that they painted "Seniors Wail" along the fence leading to Deerfield High School. (Chicago suburbs, holla!)

Another word in major rotation at the time was "retarded," as in, "that is so retarded," as in, that is really kind of silly or not funny or very dumb. We used that word all the time and thought nothing of it. Friends' behavior was retarded. Certain TV shows were retarded. All of the teachers and younger siblings of the world were retarded.

Because words like "awesome" and "whale" and "retarded" had become such a normal part of every day speech, I kept using them. They would flow out of me without a thought, just like "it" and "is." As I matured, though, some of my words, such as "retarded" or "gay," would make me wince as they tumbled out of my mouth.

I'd still say them, but I began to feel a twinge of guilt because I knew someone could take offense. Someone might think I was being hurtful when, really, it was just a silly word and who cares because, of course I don't mean it the bad way.

You can justify most anything if you say you don't have any ill intent, right?

Besides, let's not get all thought police and political correctness on everyone. There's no need to go overboard. We don't need to walk around on eggshells all the time worrying about how each super-sensitive person might take offense at a sideways glance or unfortunate adjective, do we?

Perhaps we do.

I'm a parent now, and I see how much other parents who love their children as desperately as I do are hurt when certain words are used cavalierly. I've been moved by moms like Ellen Seidman of the blog Love That Max whose son is a special needs child and who writes so convincingly about why it's just not necessary, and even downright hurtful, to use the word "retard."

She recently conducted an experiment to see if she could persuade people to stop using the word "retarded", and was met with some pretty offensive responses. Reading about how the experience made her worry for her son when he grows up -- and she's not around to protect him -- just about broke my heart.

I can't imagine saying something that would harm the child of another woman. Perhaps some other argument against the R-word should have moved me, but that's what did it. Hurting a mother and her child is where I have to draw the line, so I have completely eliminated "retarded" from my vocabulary.

Shockingly, or maybe not that shockingly, I feel no loss of freedom of speech. We have 250 million words in the English language according to the Oxford Dictionary, so it shouldn't overtax me to find another to express my thoughts. If I can't find the right word, I can hop back over to Love That Max and read her piece on alternatives to the R-word.

It's OK to grow up and realize you can pick and choose how you express yourself. And, while it's good to be authentic and free to be you and me, it's also good to recognize how words and actions affect others.

Let me apologize to those I have hurt in the past when I chose to use words that hurt, child of the '80s or not. I'm trying to do better. You deserve the effort.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>autismr-wordretardedretarted no morespecial needsspecial needs parentsKatherine StoneFri, 29 Apr 2011 13:00:00 ESTDoes Parenting Make Being Healthy - and Thin - Too Hard?http://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/22/healthy-parenting/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/22/healthy-parenting/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/22/healthy-parenting/#commentsFiled under:

They say nothing really changes when you turn 40. It's true. It's 41 that's the kicker.

I turned 41 last December and have since experienced all sorts of surprising changes, like hair where once there was none and eyes -- eyes which have always seen everything perfectly for four decades -- no longer able to process anything smaller than 14-point type.

Nothing has bothered me more, though, than watching my metabolism rapidly transform from Screaming Mimi to Slow Flo. I have gained 15 pounds in little more than a year-and-a-half. Fifteen!

How is that even possible? Wouldn't you need to eat ice cream, like, every day? Oh ... Wait a minute ...

I have always had the great fortune of having a good metabolism. I have regularly sampled the world's great ice creams, my favorite food, with abandon, never realizing that it wasn't normal to be able to consume so much sugar and high-fat dairy without blowing up like a balloon.

But the great gift I never realized I had been given has now expired. I have watched myself go up a size, and then another, and then another, to the point that I'd be much happier if I could go everywhere wearing an over-sized robe.

And it's not the numbers on the scale that matter. I'm not fat. I don't even like the word fat. It's all relative. We all have a weight range that, for us, feels most comfortable. What your range is has never mattered to me because I don't judge people by what they weigh. I do judge myself though, strangely. Now that I've left my comfortable range behind and lost the ability to wear 98 percent of my wardrobe, I'm not a happy camper.

Or eater.

This week, the Internet would have us believe that, for many moms, it is their kids that are making them mushy. As reported widely, and here on ParentDish, a new study has found that women with children younger than 5, eat more calories and get less exercise than those without children.

You're shocked, I know.

I've recently started a diet, and I'd like to point out that the study has it wrong. It's not just moms with kids younger than 5 who have it bad. My kids are 5 and 9, and it's very hard for me to eat properly with their ice-cream bars calling my name from the freezer and their yummy little snack cakes nearly spilling out of the snack drawer every time I walk by.

Both of them are naturally very thin, so I find myself cooking them delicious-smelling dinners using ingredients like butter and cream and cheese and bacon and then sitting down to a pile of lettuce, raw veggies and chicken with a scant smattering of oil and vinegar. Yuck.

It makes me want to rip my hair out. Or my palate.

I don't know how other women do it. I have actually avoided dieting because I knew I'd have to make two dinners, one for them and one for me, and I didn't want the hassle -- or the heartbreak -- of not being able to eat the good stuff.

And don't get me wrong, I am not blaming my kids. It is my responsibility alone to keep myself a healthy parent and find the time to exercise. I don't do it, though, and I do find that it is harder to get it done when one has so many other responsibilities, including raising children. How much can a woman do in one day?

What about you? Are you one of those people who rises at the crack of dawn to get exercise? Have you been able to steel yourself against the pleasures of food? Or are you, like this mom, learning to be happy with the skin you are in, and accepting of your body no matter the weight?

Tell me your story, mamas.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>baby weightdietinghealthhealthyhealthy parenthealthy parentingmom weightparentparentingweight gainKatherine StoneFri, 22 Apr 2011 10:00:00 ESTHow I Barely Survived When My Hard Drive Diedhttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/06/my-hard-drive-died/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/06/my-hard-drive-died/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/04/06/my-hard-drive-died/#commentsFiled under:

Hard drives can die, apparently.

Mine did this week, without any warning. It's not like it had been suffering a cough for a while, or experiencing aches and pains, or giving off some other indication that it wasn't feeling well.

The entire headquarters of everything I do every single day -- my blog and advocacy work, my kids' Halloween pictures, lots of files of things I probably don't need anymore but obsessively save -- went toes up suddenly -- without even giving me a chance to say goodbye.

I suppose I should know already how much I rely on technology. My smartphone and my laptop are cherished belongings because they allow me to accomplish anything at any time and in fairly short order. In a matter of minutes, I can help a mom with postpartum depression in New Zealand, email my mom, download educational apps for the kids and order a pizza for dinner and a pair of galoshes (well, not really galoshes, but I could).

I'm so accustomed to this way of living that I've forgotten there is any other way. I sometimes go to the bank, realize I've left my ATM card at home, and then leave because I have forgotten that it is possible to conduct transactions with pen and paper. Oh yeah, I could fill out a withdrawal slip. How quaint.

My children are oblivious to how easy their lives are because of technology. My 9-year-old son asked me the other day if I had a video game player when I was young.

"Nope. No game players. We didn't even have home computers. Your dad and I didn't have a computer in the house until we were married. At that time, if you wanted to go to a website on the Internet, you had to type in the URL and then leave the computer for a while until the page loaded. And when I say a while, I mean several hours. You could go have dinner and come back and the site might not be up yet."

"What about DirecTV?"

"When I was your age we only had three channels to choose from."

"But you had cellphones, right?"

"No. If you wanted to make a call, you had to stay home and stand fairly close to a wall in order to use a phone."

He was incredulous. I can't believe it either. I used to be perfectly capable of living my life without satellite television, satellite radio, a 4G phone, printer and late-model laptop. Yet, when my hard drive died I nearly did, too, from sheer fright. I had no idea how I would get any work done.

I called my husband, crying, when it looked like things were going south. I conducted virus scans, uninstalled large programs, ran patches and tweeted anguished tweets. I wrote on my Facebook wall asking friends for emotional support. I called my mom.

And, when, after every last-ditch attempt had been made, yet the laptop wouldn't even start up anymore, I shook my fist at the sky and asked the universe "Why?!" All this, and I had a back-up. Essentially, I was freaking out over how long it would take me to restore all the files to a new computer. (It ended up taking one day.)

Last week, my husband and I instituted video game-free Wednesdays with the kids. No iPad or Nintendo DS or Sony PSP or Wii. No technology. We are already pretty good about limiting their usage to short periods on other days, but we wanted them to see that they could live without this stuff entirely since they seemed so engrossed in it.

My daughter freaked out in the car ride to school on Wednesday, screeching, "But I have NOTHING TO DO!!!"

"Look out the window," I said. "Make up a story in your head. Think about what you see outside. Relax."

Clearly I need to be taking my own advice.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>hard drivetechnologyKatherine StoneWed, 06 Apr 2011 11:00:00 ESTDads Want Workplace Flexibility, Too, Expert Sayshttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/30/dads-want-workplace-flexibility-too-expert-says/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/30/dads-want-workplace-flexibility-too-expert-says/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/30/dads-want-workplace-flexibility-too-expert-says/#commentsFiled under: ,

When I wrote last week about workplace flexibility and my frustration that so many mothers have to drop out of their careers because of the lack of it, you had a lot to say.

Some of you have experienced the same frustration, while others vented that mothers shouldn't get special treatment at the office over and above other employees.

Your comments inspired me to look at this topic more closely. Are women asking too much of their employers? Is a flexible job limited to higher-paid employees only? Do men wish they had more flexibility to work from home or work different hours, or is this just a "mommy problem?" How should an employee propose a more flexible position to his or her boss?

I was fortunate to have a conversation with Lois Backon, senior vice president of the Families and Work Institute and co-director of When Work Works, a nationwide initiative to bring research on workplace effectiveness and flexibility into community and business practice. She helped me separate myth from reality.

Q: Several ParentDish readers expressed aggravation that non-parent workers have to "pick up the slack" when mothers ask to leave early or want more flexible hours or the ability to work from home. Are mothers asking for unfair special treatment?

Backon: Our research shows that 87 percent of all employees -- men, women, younger, older, salaried or hourly -- put workplace flexibility as the top consideration when looking at a new job. It's not just mothers who are asking for and want flexibility. A big driver of flexibility right now is the aging workforce, people who can't afford to retire and are finding it tough to straddle work, eldercare responsibilities, grandparenting and their own physical health issues.

Q: Still, based on the comments, a lot of people consider flexible hours and similar kinds of practices a special accommodation.

Backon: Our data show that it's a smart business practice. If you look at companies that are highly effective, with flexible workplace practices, they are doing better than their counterparts. They have much higher employee retention rates, employee job satisfaction and employee engagement. We found that 79 percent of employees who work at flexible companies report excellent or good health, while only 21 percent of employees working at companies with poor or fair flexibility report good health. Think of the impact that could have on a company's health insurance costs.

Q: A few men raised their voices to point out that I shouldn't have limited my piece to mothers who need to be able to care for their kids. What about men? Do they want flexibility, too?

Backon: Men are definitely seeking more balance, too -- 70 percent of all couples are now dual-earners, and men are now sharing more of the household duties than ever before, including childcare. In fact, more men say they are experiencing high levels of work-life conflict than women.

Q: Is workplace flexibility something to which only white collar or salaried employees have access? What about hourly workers? Is it possible for service-oriented organizations, like stores that need people on the floor, to be flexible?

Backon: We are now seeing manufacturing and retail companies becoming more flexible, as well. One practice we've seen is allowing teams to come together to figure out scheduling that works for all of the team members. They are being creative and making things work and it benefits everyone, including the employer.

Q: Whether it's a mom or dad or grandparent or anyone else that would like more flexibility at their job, what advice would you give them?

Backon: One idea is to propose a pilot. Tell your employer this doesn't have to be a permanent solution, but something you could do for a short trial to see if it works. Explain why your proposal would make you more productive and suggest ideas on how the effectiveness of the pilot would be measured. We offer a comprehensive list of tips and tools for employees that I would also encourage your readers to check out.

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>work life balanceworking momsworking parentsworkplace flexibilityKatherine StoneWed, 30 Mar 2011 12:00:00 ESTWhy Are Companies Still So Inflexible With Working Mothers?http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/23/companies-working-mothers/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/23/companies-working-mothers/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/23/companies-working-mothers/#commentsFiled under: ,

Many years ago, I commuted every day, 45 minutes each way, to downtown Atlanta for my job. I was fortunate that I could afford to put my son in a top-notch day care facility, one that he and I both loved.

The day care had a very low ratio of babies to workers compared to most places, which is what drew me to the place. Every morning, I'd drop him off and he would happily sit on the braided rug and start drooling all over all the toys, and I'd happily head off to a job I enjoyed.

Evening picks-ups, on the other hand, were not so happy. In fact, they were a nightmare that still haunts me to this day. This center had a rule that every child had to be picked up by 6 p.m. No later.

There were more than a few days when I'd find out at 5:15 p.m., as I was ready to head out the door, that some vice president wanted to have a marketing meeting at 5:30. Only, I was supposed to be leaving, like, now, because it was my only hope of getting to my son in time.

I remember one day in particular when it was the chief marketing officer who wanted to meet me and a few others at 5:30 p.m. It's not often you get face time with the CMO of your giant consumer marketing corporation. As little miss "climb-the-corporate-ladder," you can imagine my excitement. Yet, I had to say no, because I had to get home. My husband was out of town, as usual, and I had to take off like a jet. Of course, I got stuck in traffic, and was late to pick him up. Not only had I missed the meeting, but I was a total Mom failure for picking my kid up last.

Every evening I would experience the same painful trade-off. Either I would miss out on an important meeting or I'd press my luck and leave much later than I should have, only to get stuck in traffic and sit on the highway sobbing because I was so worried I wouldn't get to my sweet boy in time. It felt like I was playing Russian roulette.

For years after I left that job, I still had nightmares that involved picking my child up from day care. I'd dream that I forgot to pick him up, or that I was at the office and looked at the clock to find it was already 8 p.m. I'd arrive at the center and he'd be gone, and I had no idea who to call or where to go to find him. I'd search and search and search until my brain couldn't take the stress and I'd wake up covered in sweat, having heart palpitations.

At the time, I wondered why it was so important to my company that everyone work in the same place at the same time. Why did we have to arrive no later than 9 a.m. and leave no earlier than 5 p.m.? Couldn't I work at home sometimes? Couldn't I come in earlier, and then leave a little earlier, but also work at night? Did it matter where I was, as long as the work I was doing was excellent and I was available for necessary meetings?

I saw so many women leave my company once they had children, because there was very little flexibility. Sure, you could do a job share program with another person, but that was effectively a career killer and everyone knew it.

I'm not the only one who has faced such inflexibility, or the pretense of flexibility when it really didn't exist. A post by mom and astrophysicist Susan Niebur on her Toddler Planet blog reminds me of the daily sacrifices and choices from which I suffered.

"When I faced the choice to stay and run the amazing Discovery Program of new NASA missions to explore the planets or be home before my kids' bedtime, I wavered. I explored my options, and, after a time, there were none. No one at NASA headquarters allowed regular telecommuting at the time, and no one allowed part-time work. I know. I called in all my chits and went to talk to everyone I knew, in offices from Astrophysics to Heliophysics to Planetary, the Chief Scientist's Office and staff positions, but there was nothing. No options. No way to stay at the job of my dreams and also work less than 40 hours a week -- 50 including commuting time -- away from my infant. No one could even understand why I would want to."


Niebur left her dreams behind to stay home, and says she doesn't regret her decision, but she still wonders "what if?"

I don't regret leaving my career, either, yet, I still don't understand why organizations make it so hard for women who have children to succeed.

I find myself asking why companies work so hard to hire and train women, but are so willing to let these accomplished women, now filled with so much institutional knowledge, go down the road.

Companies need women, whether in the boardroom or the office or the store or the wherever. We are smart. We have different perspectives. We are good at what we do.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>parentingwork life balanceworking momsworking mothersWorkingMomsWorkingMothersWorkLifeBalanceKatherine StoneWed, 23 Mar 2011 13:30:00 ESTIf Money Doesn't Buy Happiness, What Does?http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/16/if-money-doesnt-buy-happiness-what-does/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/16/if-money-doesnt-buy-happiness-what-does/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/16/if-money-doesnt-buy-happiness-what-does/#commentsFiled under: , ,

About seven years ago, I was laid off from my job. I was a marketing director at a well-known corporation, and, after a wonderful career there, I ended up with a boss I didn't like who didn't like me back.

I'll never forget the day he invited me up to his office and told me I could either leave or accept a performance improvement plan.

What? Are you kidding? I've been promoted almost every year I have been at this company. I've won performance awards. My appraisals have always been stellar! Are you kidding?!

He wasn't kidding, and I refused to accept the performance improvement plan. Later that day, I was boxing up my picture frames and memorabilia and going home.

The next day I had no idea what to do. I was reeling. I recall sitting in a shopping mall parking lot in my car crying my eyes out because I didn't know who I was anymore or whether I had any remaining value. I wasn't sure how I could find happiness, because I had tied my self-worth so closely to my job.

Whenever I think of what I would wish for my children, two things always rise to the top: health and happiness. As a goal, health seems pretty clear -- no disease, no chronic suffering and an ability to use their bodies to do whatever they want.

Achieving happiness, however, is not so clear-cut.

Everybody wants it. There are more than a few best-selling books about it. People make life-changing decisions -- including getting married, breaking up, having babies, changing jobs and moving residences -- to try and get it. There's no single picture of what it looks like, though, and I imagine many of the things we do, thinking they will make us happy, fall pretty short of the destination.

Because I'm nerdy that way, I was reading a book last night about creating social change, "The Dragonfly Effect" by Jennifer Aaker and Andy Smith. While I should have been focused on what I need to do to make my new nonprofit effective, I was stopped in my tracks by the discussion of happiness in the book's introduction.

Apparently, if you are between the ages of 25 and 30, money is linked to happiness. After that, though, the shine wears off and people start looking for meaningfulness to make them happy. The authors define meaningfulness as "a change in direction that leads to more sustainable happiness, the kind that enriches lives, provides purpose and creates impact."

In other words, instead of expecting money and other people to make us happy, we should find ways to give to others and contribute to the greater good, and the meaning that is created by doing such things will bring us happiness.

They add that human beings have " ... three basic needs in terms of their self-worth: competence (feeling that we are effective and able), autonomy (feeling that we are able to dictate our own behavior) and relatedness (feeling that we are connected to others)."

To be honest, I made a boatload of money at my corporate job, had the freedom to buy and do whatever I wanted and wonderful friends who worked there with me. I had the competence and even the relatedness, at least for a while (but not much autonomy), but I doubt I was enriching that many lives with my work. I tried to find meaning in it, but it wasn't really there for me.

I never would have believed I'd become a full-time advocate for women with postpartum depression whose annual salary would be very close to zero dollars and zero cents. I no longer work in a high rise in an office with a door. I no longer have an administrative assistant. No annual bonus. No free BlackBerry. No expense account. No more flying business class to meetings in Europe's capitals.

Instead, I sit here in my sweats with my laptop, and the furthest I travel is to the bathroom or the kitchen. Yet, I am surprised at how competent, autonomous and connected I feel. I am happy!

I hear back from women who have been helped by Postpartum Progress and I can see the difference it is making. I am in charge of what I write and what I do on a daily basis. Thanks to a combination of my friends, family and social media, I always feel connected to interesting people and ideas. I love being able to get to know and talk to many of you each week via comments and Twitter.

I went into uncharted waters and, to my surprise, came out chock full of meaningfulness.

Perhaps that is the lesson I need to give my children on happiness. Don't worry as much about being happy, just do what you can to make meaning in your lives. Reach inside to understand what compels you and where you feel passion, and do something about it. Help others.

By no means will I suggest they forgo day jobs, sell their belongings and move to an ashram in India. I just want them to carve out a place, however large or small, where they can make an impact. It could be volunteer work, or a hobby they enjoy or group involvement of some sort that gives them purpose. Whatever it is, I hope they get it in enough doses that they have the happiness for which I pray daily.

What about you? Are you experiencing competence, autonomy and relatedness? Could you get them somehow? Where do you find purpose in your own life?

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>does money buy happinessDoesMoneyBuyHappinesshappinessjobsmoneyparentingKatherine StoneWed, 16 Mar 2011 11:00:00 ESTWork and Parenting: The Painful Pull Between Themhttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/09/work-and-parenting/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/09/work-and-parenting/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/09/work-and-parenting/#commentsFiled under:

Last week, my kids were off for five days for winter break. A month from now, they'll be off for another five days for spring break. And today and tomorrow, they have half days.

For a country that's got some problems in the education department, the kids sure get a lot of time off, and I don't know about you, but I don't have money to go skiing in Aspen and sunbathing in Antigua right now. Not only that, but I've got work to do.

When I was a kid, my parents divorced. Our dad gained custody of us, and became a single parent. Whenever we had time off, which was not as often as these days, he dragged us to work. He didn't think about it for a second. No guilt. No consideration of taking the day off and doing crafts with us. He had a job to do and money to make, and we were going to sit there all day at his office and behave and that was that.

It didn't bother us, probably because we knew there wasn't any other option. Plus ... office supplies! What kid doesn't love office supplies? We typed on the typewriter. (Yes, I said typewriter.) We played with Liquid Paper. (Yes, I said Liquid Paper. Do these things even exist anymore?) We stapled pieces of paper together, and bent paper clips into shapes. We put tape on our hands and pulled it off to see what would happen. We pressed buttons we shouldn't have pressed and ate candy out of the secretary's jar. It was a long day, but it was fine. We lived.

So why am I so freaked out by the fact that I only have three hours to work today and that I have no plans for the kids? Why do I have such a hard time thinking that when they get home from school I could just tell them to go outside and play and let me get my work done?

Is it a mom versus dad thing? Is it the fact that most of the work I do all day advocating for women with postpartum depression is unpaid, so it "doesn't count?" Is it because my dad didn't have a choice but to work, and technically my blogging and writing is a choice and not a necessity?

"Work-life conflict is a familiar feeling for most women -- the guilt and tension that happens when we need to switch gears between our professional and parenting roles. Forty-five percent of working mothers report feeling work-life conflict, and this has been true for years. I think this is because most women are still the 'default' parent, and also because society sends us such mixed messages about being working moms. What's interesting is that men now report feeling more work-life conflict than women! In 2008 when asked how much their jobs and family life are at odds, 59 percent of fathers in dual-income families reported conflict, while only 35 percent did in 1977, according to the Families and Work Institute," says Morra Aarons-Mele, a mom, blogger, work-life advocate and small business owner.

If my dad had something to do, that came first. Period. Perhaps it was because of the circumstances we were in, but we didn't feel slighted or unloved. That was just the deal. I think he must have been one of the 70 percent of men in the '70s who didn't feel pulled between parenting and working. If I make a choice to work on a half day when my kids are home, I feel bad. I feel like I'd be making the wrong choice and everyone will know it. I can feel the narrowing eyes looking at me and hear the tsk-tsks.

I know there's a balance. Sometimes you can say "sorry kids, I've got stuff to do" and sometimes you can say "let's play Candyland." In fact, that's what I do. I work a little and I play a little. It's the feeling bad about the former and feeling good about the latter that bugs me. What happened to me to make one choice okay and the other not? Is it society? Low self-esteem? The current trend in parenting philosophies?

"Only 20 percent of the actual workforce has the luxury of a stay-at-home parent, so we're all going to have to figure out how better to manage work and family. It takes a village to work and raise kids, but few of us have anything like a village. We're often alone to figure it all out. So I think we have to put less pressure on ourselves to be perfect parents, and make the most of the unfettered time we do have together," adds Aarons-Mele.

Parenting is hard work but I LOVE it. My work is hard work but I love it. I wish I felt more comfortable doing both and not feeling guilty about the choices I make.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>work and parentingWorkAndParentingKatherine StoneWed, 09 Mar 2011 11:00:00 ESTLet Go of Being the Perfect Mom With the Perfect Lifehttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/02/perfect-mom/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/02/perfect-mom/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/03/02/perfect-mom/#commentsFiled under:

I participated in a Twitter chat this week in which the topic was "the perfect mother."

I can feel you cringing already.

More than a few moms, in the process of this chat, mentioned that the blogs of other moms often make them feel bad about themselves. They see perfectly-lit photography of a perfectly decorated and completely spotless living room and they feel embarrassed about their old couches, scratched-up floors and piles of dirty laundry. They see an avatar of a beautiful mom with beautiful children who makes beautiful gourmet food on a nightly basis and they regret the piles of pizza boxes and fast food bags crammed into their overstuffed trash cans.

It made me think back to when Martha Stewart Living magazine first came out. I remember feeling pressure boiling up inside of me just looking at the pages.

I can't do that. I can't do that, either. Where the hell do you buy that? THAT would require an assistant. No, three assistants. Who is this Martha lady and why is she doing this to me??!?

I made the mistake of thinking that Martha expected me to do all of the things she did, all the time, with no help.

Same with award-winning blogger The Pioneer Woman. I met Ree Drummond briefly at a conference last year, in all her gorgeousness. She's tall and striking, homeschools her children, cooks from scratch, writes books, is an awesome photographer, lives in a beautiful home, appears on morning shows, and, and, AND ... wait for it ... raises cattle. It overwhelms me to think of what a glorious woman she is. Yet, she's just being herself. She hasn't asked any of us to be exactly like her or to do everything she does, and if you look carefully you'd realize she has a supporting cast that contributes to her success. (If you looked even more closely you'd see she displays "Keepin It Real" photos that show what things look like when her house is messy. God bless you for that, Ree.) I think Martha and Ree are living life to their version of its fullest, and encouraging us to give some of the things they like a try, without any judgment or expectation that we will become them.

There's always a story behind the story, anyway. What we see up front isn't everything. We don't see people having fights with their spouses, feeling guilty when they worked all day and had no time for their kids, spending three days in sweats with zit cream on only to be photographed like a model on day four. We don't see them in the bathroom. That's the problem with perfection. We convince ourselves it exists when it doesn't.

Blogger Jessica Rosenberg shared a list of her imperfections recently in a post entitled "I'm Not Superwoman." She divulged that her kids don't get a bath every night, her bills are often paid late and her house isn't pretending to be "... anything other than sanitary." I love it when people are willing to be vulnerable like that, because it allows us to see that someone we may envision is perfect really isn't. They're just like the rest of us.

I do my thing. I try to be the best I can be, and stop freaking myself out over not being the perfect weight, in the perfect outfit, with well-behaved genius children who volunteer each day for a different cause and only watch educational TV shows and a perfect husband, all living together in a House Beautiful home eating organic food that I grew in my backyard. That would make me so uncomfortable. I'm actually starting to like not being perfect, or even trying. Sometimes I probably swing too far in the other direction (these legs desperately need a shave), but it feels good to tell myself it's okay. I'm okay. No one else cares, and why should they?

They're all too busy freaking out about how they compare to their own seemingly perfect friends and neighbors.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>Katherine StoneWed, 02 Mar 2011 11:00:00 ESTNeed a Reason to Slow Down? Try Running Over Your Kid's Foothttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/23/need-a-reason-to-slow-down-try-running-over-your-kids-foot/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/23/need-a-reason-to-slow-down-try-running-over-your-kids-foot/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/23/need-a-reason-to-slow-down-try-running-over-your-kids-foot/#commentsFiled under:

We arrive at school every day at about 8 a.m. and slink along the car line. As we pull up to the front door, my 9-year-old son hops out. I look back and tell him to have a great day, and my daughter starts yelling "I love you, I love you" as he tries to ignore her and hopes none of his friends hear her.

The school drop-off line has a rhythm to it. Stop. Teacher opens car door. Son gets out. I look back to say goodbye. Door shuts. I pull away. Six steps. Six beats. It happens the same way every day, except for this day.

On this day I'm not sure I looked back. Did I? I pulled away because it was time, I thought. I've got to get my daughter to her building, zoom home, write that article, answer that email, there's a conference call at 11 and I still need to write that plan. And then I looked back, I think, only to hear the teacher yell stop. The door was still open. I knew because I could hear her so clearly.

Why is the door still open?

"You're on his foot."

What did she say?

"Your tire is on your son's foot."

Oh my God. How? Pull forward, right? I slowly pull forward to get the tire off, only ...

"You drove onto it more. It's on his foot more." She's motioning me to go backwards.

I can see her face and my son's. I'd expect shock and disbelief, but both of their faces look blank to me, as if in suspended animation.

"Reverse. Reverse, Katherine," I tell myself.

The tire moves off. My son hesitates for a moment and then drops back into his back seat. He starts to cry.

Minutes later, we are in the school lobby. "It was an accident," the teacher says, as tears stream down my face. "Believe it or not this has happened more than once."

I can't properly describe how it feels to harm your beloved.

I cried and cried. I cried on the phone with the doctor. I cried in the car on the way to the doctor. I cried in the waiting room, long after my son had stopped crying and told me he was fine. And he was. No broken bones. Not even a bruise. The doctor told me tires have a lot of give.

Sometimes I forget where I am and who I am with. I become so focused on getting to the next thing. We all do. School to grocery to sports to dry cleaners to work to wherever. Our schedules don't feel as though they have much give.

They do, though, just like the tires. I'm going to find it. I'm going to slow down.

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>Katherine StoneWed, 23 Feb 2011 11:00:00 ESTParenting Out Loud In the Age of the Internet (and Ignoring the Trolls)http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/16/parenting-out-loud/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/16/parenting-out-loud/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/16/parenting-out-loud/#commentsFiled under:

I love living in this age. I can't imagine what it must have been like to live in the time when it took weeks to get news or a return letter from someone. It must have been so isolating to be able to talk to so few so rarely.

Today women who have ideas or stories to share can do so via Facebook, Twitter, blogs, email and text messages. We can use our voices, whether it's to swap recipes or craft ideas, to try and improve our children's education, to raise funds for a cause we care about or to commiserate with people who have similar life struggles. It's thrilling to be able to connect with so many. And yet, you know there's a downside. If you raise your head up and out of the crowd, you might get judged. Or shot at.

I recently wrote a post here on ParentDish entitled "I Don't Like Babies." It was about the fact that parenting my children as infants made me terribly nervous. Their fragility scared the heck out of me and their inability to communicate with me was an unending frustration. I find that I hit my mothering stride once babies are past the first year. I wrote the piece thinking it was pretty normal for mothers to feel more comfortable during certain developmental stages and less comfortable during others. Imagine my surprise at how far some people took it.

One commenter said, "I'm thinking if you didn't love the bonding with your baby and all that goes with it maybe you should not have had them. Sounds more like you need friends not children!" Another wrote, "Something tells me she should not have had the two she did have. I feel sorry for the children and the damages that are being inflicted on them during their formative years ..." Still another suggested I should have had my ovaries cut out. Those were tough to read, even though I knew in my heart they were wrong.

Here is the one that really stood out to me: "Who the hell is this person, and who the hell cares about her so called insight? Does no one have a thought of their own, make a decision of their own? Why are we listening to all these no-names & so-called celebrities about everything?"

Brene Brown writes, in her book "The Gifts of Imperfection," that "most of us have shame triggers around being perceived as self-indulgent or self-focused. We don't want our authenticity to be perceived as selfish or narcissistic." She says that speaking out is a major shame trigger for women because culturally we are expected to "stay as small, quiet and attractive as possible."

I know that shame. I felt it when the commenter asked who the hell I was. My first reaction was, yes, who am I? I know I'm nobody special. So why am I writing this stuff? Nobody asked me to be honest about motherhood. No one cares what I think. I should just keep my mouth shut. Brown adds, "When we go against the grain and put ourselves and our work out in the world, some people will feel threatened and they will go after what hurts the most -- our appearance, our lovability and even our parenting."

She's right. I'm not the only one who gets reactions like these. If you've had the audacity to create a blog or share your opinion publicly even once, it's likely you've gotten them, too. Jennifer did, with her story on the difficulty of online dating after a divorce. Someone called her a "picky b*tch," and another told her, "You have no decency about you what-so-ever. Instead of looking for another mate or trying to rope your ex-husband back in maybe you should look to the porno film industry instead." My jaw is on the floor. Same thing happened to Amy, when she wrote a story about her daughter's struggles with eating. One had the gall to write, "Are you serious? Get a job and quit screwing up your child ... I am so sick of mothers without parenting skills." And that's one of the kinder ones.

I suppose they could take this as a sign to sit down and shut up, but Jennifer and Amy and many others just keep on trucking despite the negative reactions they receive. If so many people weren't willing to ignore the trolls of this world, where would we be? There would be no talk about the difficulties of divorce, or what it is like to raise a special needs child, or how common it is to have postpartum depression or how to help a kid with an eating disorder. I don't want to live in that world.

Every time I'm honest about my struggles as a parent, I hear from people who are grateful to know they aren't alone. I put myself out there not because I think anyone needs to pay attention to what I have to say (they don't), or because I think I have some magic secret about motherhood (I DEFINITELY don't), but because it helps me embrace my life and accept that I'm not perfect. I am able to write through my troubles, and if at the same time my words help someone else, I am doubly blessed. I plan to continue parenting out loud.

I hope those of you who feel that you have something to say bubbling up inside you are not stopped in your tracks by the unfortunate behavior of others. I hope you aren't led to shrink from being the full measure of who you are. As Ann Lamott wrote, "Lighthouses don't go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining."

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>Katherine StoneWed, 16 Feb 2011 11:00:00 ESTDo Today's Have-It-All Moms Regret Having So Many Choices?http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/09/do-todays-have-it-all-moms-regret-having-so-many-choices/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/09/do-todays-have-it-all-moms-regret-having-so-many-choices/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/09/do-todays-have-it-all-moms-regret-having-so-many-choices/#commentsFiled under:

I wear a lot of hats. Most mothers do.

We have children. We have dentist appointments to schedule, fridges to clean out, socks to find, birthday party RSVPs to make, coats to find, bills to mail, laundry to rewash because we forgot to dry it yesterday and now it stinks, grocery lists to make, hair to untangle, camps to sign up for, backpacks to find, dinner recipes to pick out, lunches to make, little fingernails that once again need clipping, play dates to arrange, bus stops we can't be late for but are going to be because NO ONE CAN FIND THEIR SHOES ...

On top of that, in my case, I've added a blog that I work on nearly every day. Lots of email to which I need to respond. Tweets to tweet. A Facebook fan page to update. Daily Hope messages to send out to women suffering from postpartum depression. A ParentDish column to write. A new nonprofit to get off the ground.

Every morning, I get up, get my kids ready and take them to school, and then I fly back home as fast as I can to start working. I work straight from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m.. I rarely get up from my desk, even to go to the bathroom. I'm on FI-YAH, fingers flitting across the keyboard. In fact, I'm so completely engrossed in working during those hours that I had to set an alarm on my phone to warn me when it's time to pick up the kids.

I love my work. It has enriched my life in ways that can't be measured. Every time I walk into my office I'm excited to get going. At the same time, though, I feel pressure. I've noticed that pressure hits its high point every day at about 2:30 p.m., when I start to feel the anxiety rising in my gut. Only 30 more minutes until the alarm goes off. I have so much to do. I'm way behind. Send that email, quick. Oh gosh, only 15 more minutes. What can I do in 15 minutes? Not much, at least not much that's done well anyway.

In the car on the way to the bus stop, I'm thinking about all the work I didn't accomplish, rather than all the things I did. Then it's homework time, snack time, empty-the-dishwasher time and play date time. My brain is still going, though: Crap, I missed that deadline. Wait, am I being present with my kids? Am I paying enough attention to them? Oh gosh. Stop thinking. Your babies. Important. Focus on the babies.

Do you have a time like that during the day, your own version of the 2:30 Anxiety Attack where all of your hats start competing for your attention and you feel overwhelmed and pulled in different directions? Is it when you are leaving work because you need to get home to your family but your boss wants you to stay to do something else because his or her boss needed it yesterday? Is it when you are playing with your kids but thoughts start creeping in about how you need to clean the house before so-and-so comes over? Is it when you're taking a shower and forget whether you've already washed your hair because you've been focused on composing blog posts or office memos in your head? Is it when you are so tired at the end of the day that you can barely manage a conversation with your spouse?

Sometimes I feel like I'm giving less than the whole me to everything that's important. I can't do it all. It's not possible to do it all. Yet I've been as yet unwilling to give up "it all."

Meagan Francis, author of the blog and forthcoming book "The Happiest Mom," says she's trying to do fewer things and do them better this year. In a recent blog post, she wrote this:

"I realized that I already know the things I need to do, which is different from all the things I could be doing. And here's the trick: It's more important to actually do those things that need to be done than to pursue the shiny new idea right around the corner ...

The truth is, every day brings with it plenty of opportunities for us to do better -- not perfect, but better -- at small, familiar things instead of chasing down the next new thing that will "make" us more: fulfilled, successful, better parents, more in shape. The more I try to do everything, the more elaborate a schedule I cook up -- the more I slack off, drop the ball, leave things hanging. Because I can't do everything and do it well."


Guilty as charged.

Meagan likens all of the options of things she can do to a buffet where everything looks so good you decide to pile your plate high, later regretting how much you ate and rummaging through the medicine cabinet for Pepto. That's me. I'm not sure how to stop eating, er, drinking from the fire hose, er, doing so much. What about you?

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>Katherine StoneWed, 09 Feb 2011 12:00:00 ESTDo You Have a Friend Who Would Move a Body for You?http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/02/do-you-have-a-friend-who-would-move-a-body-for-you/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/02/do-you-have-a-friend-who-would-move-a-body-for-you/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/02/02/do-you-have-a-friend-who-would-move-a-body-for-you/#comments
When you think of women you know who seem to be in the middle of it all, like that birthday girl, don't picture me.

I've tried making friends in my neighborhood. I know a couple of really cool moms whose kids my kids play with. They don't hang out with me a lot, though. I hear the women talking at the pool or the playground of having parties together and going on vacations together. Not me.

School moms? Nope. My kids go to private school (thank you, mom). There's no bus stop at which to stand around and chat, and there's no PTA, so I can't say I know any of the moms from school. I don't play tennis. In fact, I don't exercise at all at the moment, if you count the last two years as a moment, so I'm not getting to know any mothers at the gym either.

I'm not sure I know how to make friends well. When I was a kid my family moved all of the time. Dad would either get annoyed at his job or rise as high as he could on the ladder and so he would leave and we would move to wherever the next job on the rung was. Sixth grade in Shreveport, Louisiana. Seventh grade in Bloomfield, Michigan. Eighth grade in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Ninth grade in Deerfield, Illinois. I think I started not bothering. What's the point in really getting to know someone intimately if one or two years later you aren't going to see them anymore?

Plus, I'm an introvert. You might not think that, since I feel free to blab my mouth all over the internet, including here at ParentDish and at my blog Postpartum Progress, and I speak publicly at blog conferences. Yet, being around a crowd can really drain me, and I'm very nervous about meeting new people, tending to cling to the people I already know. I'm one of those "you have to get to know her" girls.

Thus I find myself a little wistful sometimes when I'm running by Starbucks to pick up a latte and I see a gaggle of women huddled close together. I imagine they're sharing stories about how cute their kids are or the annoying thing their husbands did yesterday. I often wonder what it would be like to be sitting there, too.

Then I heard Brene Brown speak at the recent Blissdom conference. She spoke about shame and imperfection and learning to embrace who you are. She said that you'll only have a handful of true friends in your life. Maybe two, or three if you're really lucky. She calls them friends "who'd move a body for you." As she spoke, I thought of three women right then who'd come to my aid, no questions asked, as long as they were able. That was a nice feeling.

I also realized that, while I may not have a gaggle, I do have a tribe. I realized I do want and need to be surrounded by women who inspire me, who I admire and who fill me with the feeling that I am enough. I am hungry for such company. That is why I go to blogging conferences. Last week at Blissdom I spent time with women that I truly adore. They are funny, brave, deep, kind, smart, honest and accomplished. I don't live anywhere near them, which bums me out to no end, but I get to see them two or three times a year and be refilled with a feeling that someone gets me. I have a tribe, a place where I belong. Instead of playing sports together or seeing each other every Friday for coffee, we tweet and we blog. No matter. They're my tribe.

So, thank you to Crystal and Suzanne and Erin for being my "move a body" girls. And thank you to Heather, Ellie, Meagan, Ria, Holly, Karen, Cecily, Rita, Ann, Arianne, Lucrecer, Julie, Ashleigh, Hollee, Laura, Amy, Annie, Allison, Megan, Casey, Janice, Beth Anne, Kristen and others for reminding me this weekend that I have value, that I should reach for my dreams, that I am beautiful and that I am worthy. I SO feel the same way about each of you.

What about you, ParentDish readers? Do you find you have trouble making friends, or are you one of those girls in the middle of it all? Do you have a tribe? How about someone who would move a body for you?

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>blissdomKatherine StoneWed, 02 Feb 2011 11:00:00 ESTMom Embraces the Wisdom of Aging, but Not the Wrinkleshttp://www.parentdish.com/2011/01/26/mom-embraces-the-wisdom-of-aging-but-not-the-wrinkles/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/01/26/mom-embraces-the-wisdom-of-aging-but-not-the-wrinkles/http://www.parentdish.com/2011/01/26/mom-embraces-the-wisdom-of-aging-but-not-the-wrinkles/#commentsFiled under:

I am 41 years old and, of all the things I've learned to accept in my life, aging has not yet become one of them.

The day my lipstick starts bleeding up the newly-formed lines on my upper lip is the day the astronauts will hear me screaming all the way from the International Space Station.

I know. Aging is a normal process of life. I should embrace it. It is abundantly clear, however, that I haven't found it within me to do that.

There are things I like about being older. I have more courage to try things, even if I might fail. I'm more confident as a parent. I don't care anymore what I look like at school drop off. (Just ask the people who see me there, without makeup, wearing the same sweatshirt for the third day in a row.) I have great friends who are mature and interesting and don't put on airs. We don't have to pretend to be something we're not with each other. It feels good to settle into yourself and get comfortable.

Yet the physical process of aging just peeves me to no end. How does it happen that I've looked almost the exact same way for a good two decades, and then in the space of one year I have wrinkles in places I didn't know wrinkles could form. Where did all these chin hairs come from? When did these deep frown lines suddenly appear? And the feathering above my upper lip? I'd be lying if I didn't say I outright despise it. I frantically rub creams and lotions there, hoping to evict what I know will only keep fighting its way into moving in forever.

Please don't tell me that I'm vain and shallow, or that I don't have anything more important to worry about. I have plenty of important things with which to be concerned, and they duly concern me. I realize my face doesn't hold a candle to those things, yet I'm still pissed off about what's happening to me.

I looked up the word vain in the dictionary, and Merriam-Webster says it means having or showing undue or excessive pride in one's appearance. I have a limited amount of pride, maybe a smidgen or slightly more, in my appearance. I don't think I'm a runway model and I don't think I'm the girl ogre in Shrek, either. Maybe somewhere in the middle. I highly doubt this would constitute excessive pride, so why can't I let go of the youth in my face?

I've had no problem letting go of the youth in my clothes. You won't find any short shorts, jumpsuits or rompers in my closet, and I'm not at all disappointed with letting go of the latest hip trends. I can still dress stylishly but with an eye to my own age group.

I've let go of the youth in my arts and entertainment, too. I laugh at the fact that I don't recognize half the celebrities in US Weekly, which I find fun to flip through whenever I'm on a plane. And the MTV Music Awards? No clue who these people are. I've never seen a Justin Bieber video.

I feel perfectly okay with every other change except those in my appearance. The transformation bums me out, which is odd, since I think older women are just as beautiful as young ones. It's just my own aging that bugs me.

Perhaps this is just one of those life transitions into which I will eventually settle. At this moment, though, if I had the money I can't say I wouldn't be at a dermatologist's at 9 a.m. tomorrow asking for Botox and line fillers. Have you seen Demi Moore or Jane Fonda lately? I'll be glad to make a deal with that devil.

For those of you in my same predicament, does it get easier? Does it bother you as much as it does me? What have you done to accept how your body changes as you get older?

Want to get the latest ParentDish news and advice? Sign up for our newsletter!

Permalink | Email this | Comments

]]>Katherine StoneWed, 26 Jan 2011 11:00:00 EST