From Plants to Ramps by Robin Gorman Newman

What does a day in the life of a “later” mom look like? Depends on the day of the week, but of late in particular, it's jam-packed and not altogether fun.

I feel like a chicken without a head. (A fitting expression.…but where did it come from?!) Jumping from one task to the next, many of which are unrelated, it's a wonder I can track everything. Thankfully, I excel at preparing copious TO DO lists...though in my effort to be organized, sometimes it feels overwhelming. My notes are handwritten. Not in my Blackberry. For me, there is something to be said for the tangibility of paper, even if it involves sporting around a clunky hard covered date book. No way I can be confused with a techie, but it works for me.

That said, one of my fellow “later” mom friends called me last week to touch base. She asked how my day was going.

I told her I was involved with plants and ramps. What? she asked.

It was a true representation of my sandwich generation life.

Though I’m not much of a PTA baby, I decided to join the Plant Sale committee. It is the biggest fundraiser for my son’s elementary school (who knew?!), and despite my not having a particularly green thumb, somehow it called out to me. An email was sent by the committee head to those who expressed interest in serving. There were about 15 names on the list. An initial meeting was planned, and it wound up being just three of us. I was surprised by the lack of present bodies. I was looking forward to a meeting where ideas would be shared. This turned out to be a session reviewing the plant catalog and deciding upon which planters to order. (Are you yawning yet?!) The committee head had already made the decisions for the most part, and was looking for confirmation re: her choices. The next meeting (don't get too excited) will be when the actual plant selection is done. And, I'll be volunteering at the sale itself in May.

Re: the ramp portion of my day. My father recently suffered a stroke and has been in rehab. Anticipating his return home in a couple of weeks, I’ve been conducting meetings with ramp companies to explore the preparation of his ranch house for wheelchair accessibility. In in a short period of time, I’ve learned more about ramps, lifts, etc. that I’ve ever thought necessary. Fortunately in the mix of meetings, a friend recommended a reasonably-priced contractor who proposed the most economical and what seems like the most feasible approach, so I’m grateful to have a direction that feels right.

It’s no surprise that there are nights I don’t sleep well…with visions of plants and ramps swirling through my mind. And, that was just for that particular week.

On any given day, I’m tackling a multitude of projects, not to mention professional pursuits. Can’t say the life of a work at home mom is boring, though choosing planters is a far cry from the career I once had in what feels like a lifetime ago….working as a public relations professional in NYC….the Vice President of a mid sized firm. (I later went on to open my own PR practice.)

I know that on the professional front there are exciting things ahead, but personally, a midlife mom's gotta do what she's gotta do, even if it means deliberating about wood vs. metal and hibiscus vs. herbs.

What do you have on your personal plate that isn't as exciting as you wish? Do share.....

Here He Grows Again by Margaret Hart

It's that time of year again. The time when the perennial flowers start to peak through the ground in New England. When the birds start to chirp loudly outside my bedroom window at dawn. And when my son goes through his annual growth spurt. But this time, the spurt is more like a season of change.

For years I've been complaining that my son doesn't eat enough. He eats two peas and he's full. I can hear my mother saying, "Well, just wait until he becomes a teenager and eats you out of house and home." First of all, that's redundant. Second, since when has anyone literally eaten everything there is to eat in their house? I get it. Everyone says teenage boys eat like mad. I'm half Italian. I love food. Bring me your appetite.

Over the years, I've been told by friends that I should be grateful my son is not a big eater. I am happy that I haven't had to deal with an overweight child, and my heart goes out to parents who have children who are struggling with their weight. It hasn't been easy, however, to raise a child who is a picky eater, and to worry that he's not getting enough nutrition. I remember my pediatrician advising not too long ago, after an annual wellness exam, to add a little extra butter and cheese to my son's food on occasion, and supplement his meals with Pediasure. She wasn't concerned, but said it couldn't hurt to sneak in a few extra calories. My son has always been consistent with his weight and height since birth. And my pediatrician also told me that she felt he was healthy, and was going to be tall and slender. And there's nothing wrong with that!

Somewhere along the way, he learned about healthy eating and good food choices. I like to think he got some of that knowledge from me. I also think the schools have done a really good job. Beginning with preschool. My son has never been one to eat a lot of salty snacks or sweets, and he didn't have his first ice cream cone until he was about 3 years old—he just wasn't interested. He eats a very small portion at every meal, and is full. He rarely finishes everything on his plate. This used to frustrate me until I figured out the secret: give him a small portion, he will usually eat it all, and it will make mom feel good seeing that he ate everything on his plate! And if he asks for more, mom will be even happier! And supplement his diet with vitamins and a daily "special milkshake"(aka Pediasure). This has gone on for the last five years.

The last few months, however, have been different. Even before he turned seven this past December, and more so since then, his appetite had increased dramatically. I began to notice that he was hungry more often, wanted to eat larger portions, asked for second helpings, and was "asking" for food—something he rarely did in the past. Now, half a sandwich for lunch is often not enough. He needs a whole sandwich! And despite the fact he gets less than 20 minutes for lunch, he manages to eat most everything in his lunchbox, which usually consists of a sandwich, a yogurt, a milk or juice, and a fruit (and sometimes a cookie). In the past, he'd typically come home with uneaten fruit and the cookie, but these days, the lunchbox is empty. And by the time he gets off the bus, he's asking for a snack.

Along with the increase in his appetite, there's been a noticeable growth in his height and shoe size—nearly two sizes in less than a year! The jeans I bought him in September are now good only for wading in ponds. And the expensive sneakers he "needed," are now too tight, and only slightly worn. Fortunately, there's a good consignment shop nearby where I hope to recoup a few dollars for the sneakers.
So now I wonder. Is it beginning? The "eating me out of house and home" thing? Maybe this is the first step in that direction. Tonight, the boy was really hungry. He ate an entire cheeseburger. For a child who eats two peas, and is full, this is big. It has only happened once or twice before. This is news I had to report to my husband right away. News flash: the boy ate an entire cheeseburger. Including the bun. Seriously. Can you believe it?

If my mom is right, and she usually is, forget the burger, next he'll be asking me for a side of beef!

The "H" Word by Robin Gorman Newman

Maybe I’m delusional.

Somehow I thought I’d never hear it.

To date I hadn’t.

And, even this week I didn’t….I read it.....in 8 year old scribbled penmanship.

A mom friend stopped by for short, but eventful stay, with her two kids, to give me the girl scout cookies we ordered to support her daughter.  Seth played a bit with her son Eric. They are the same age.

Next thing I knew, Eric ran anxiously to me and proclaimed that Seth had shown him how he wrote on the side of the black lacquer armoire in our living room with invisible ink (we had bought a special marker at a spy store in NYC during school break, for his birthday.) The scrawled words were……I hate my mom.

I was able to see it with a special flashlight that came with the marker. Seth said he didn’t write hate, he wrote nate (he has a good friend Nate)…but it sure didn’t look that way. My friend saw it too.

It’s bad enough he wrote on the furniture, but I was stunned and truly hurt. I honestly didn’t know how to handle it. At that moment, all I could think was that parenting is the most thankless job in the world. I was on the verge of tears and could barely bring myself to look at Seth or my friend. They exited quickly at that point.

Seth cried and said he was sorry, but an apology didn’t make me feel better.

I told him he badly hurt my feelings. That I thought we loved each other. He said he didn’t know why he did what he did.

My heart was in pain.  How could he hate me, with all that I do for him?

After he went to sleep, in an effort to understand, I surfed the web.

I looked up 8 year old behavior.

Then, I Googled “when your child says they hate you.”

What I discovered is that it’s a big topic of discussion. At least I knew I wasn’t alone.

On one site, I turned up the following anonymous comment from a mom……

I have 5 girls. My oldest is 24 and youngest is 5. They all told me at one point or another that they hated me. The last's one's dad was appalled that our little one said it, but my reaction surprised him more. He got angry at this little 3 year old, but I did what I always did, simply and calmly said, "Well, then I have done my job as a parent." Every child is going to "hate" their parents sometime, no matter what age. It doesn't mean that they really do, they are just angry about the rules and don't want to follow them. All my girls got the same response with a later talk about hate, love, anger, and how they fell if someone says it to them. It doesn't do any good to react to these words, except the one the child wants, you to be as upset as he/she is. Respond to them calmly and they will calm down and realize they don't mean it. All my girls eventually apologized to me with a big hug. Until the next time they didn't want to follow a rule.

This struck me as sage advice…from a wise fellow mom stranger…..but the source wasn’t important. It rang true.

Seth ultimately stated that he was angry because I got angry at him on some occasion. He couldn’t recall when or why.

What I was able to explain to him was that using the word hate isn’t the best way to go. You never want to say I Hate You to a person, whoever they are. What you hate is something they said or did. Perhaps how they behaved toward you or others.  Not them as a human being.

I said that it’s okay to feel hate, but better to express it. If there’s something that I or Marc do that upsets him, he should come to us. And, if that’s too hard and he wants to vent, he can write it in his journal. I used to journal growing up (now I blog).  It was an effective tool for self expression.  I assured him we won’t read it. It’s private (even though he lost the lock). Writing on furniture, even in invisible ink, isn’t an option.

I was glad to be able to turn this upsetting incident into a big learning lesson. Not just for Seth. But for myself. He immediately pushed buttons in me that were not a pretty sight. I got bent out of shape for days and went to a dark emotional place. Seth had never seen me that way before. Eventually, I realized I shouldn’t be taking it personally.

When I chose to forgive and move on from the incident, Seth was happy to see me warming up to him (we're typically fairly cuddly). He commented, “See, we’re happy with each other again.” He was acutely aware of my pain, and I wanted him to be so he wouldn’t upset me again. But, I know I have to develop a strong maternal backbone. This won’t be the first or last time he says something that both he and I may regret. Any seasoned parent will tell you so. It’s part of growing up and learning to speak out. He won’t always choose his words wisely, but I do want him to grasp that words have ramifications.

There are many angry people in this world who thrive on making others feel bad, and I have to believe they feel badly themselves, otherwise they wouldn’t have the need to lash out verbally. Misery loves company. I don’t want Seth to be one of those people. He’s a happy kid who has his moments. We all do.