The lonely shopping cart

Mothers often talk of tears in their eyes as they send their youngest child off to pre-school, or kindergarten, but I never felt particularly vulnerable to such sentiments. Earlier this fall, as my youngest child (age 3.5) finally headed off to a 5 day preschool, I never stopped to wonder if I would feel a pang. I was ready to have time to myself, to go for a run, meet someone for coffee, and most of all, I was ready to move on to the next stage.

The days are long, but the years are short, yadda, yadda, yadda. I didn’t think I would be lamenting the change. Until now. Surprisingly, I find myself uneasy with the quiet mornings, the silence in the car, and most of all, I feel lonesome on companionless trips to the grocery store. I miss the child in the cart, sometimes grabbing, wiggling, screaming, but more often chatty, lovable, and genuine good company.

I know: It’s only preschool. I have years of milestones to come: kindergarten, sleep away camp, first mobile phone, the list goes on. But I also know it feels like only a year or two has passed since my 7th grader started pre-school. So yes, those years are short, no matter how long the days seem.

*photo taken my me, this very morning, as I shopped behind a mother with 3 children in tow and actually found myself feeling nostalgic.

Friday Frivolity - Yoga and the Modern Mother

The tendency of suburban mothers to partake regularly in yoga classes has been noted by marketers, scoffed at by some, defended by others, and by most accounts become a fixture of the suburban motherhood experience, much like taking up tennis, taking on home renovations, or subjecting oneself to hours at a hockey rink/indoor pool/soccer field for the sake of youth sports. So, when the New York Times published an article describing the tantric sex cult origins of yoga, and claiming that unknowing practitioners might become victims of "libidinal surprise," those of us who haven’t done a downward-facing dog in years had to wonder, Wow, maybe all those other mothers trotting about in yoga pants are on to something. Then again, maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re just too tired or too late to put on some actual pants. After all, no one has documented what percentage of people wearing yoga pants actually participate in yoga.

*image from someecards. 

Please Excuse the Brattling

After stumbling across That Should Be a Word, in the most recent New York Times magazine, a modern mother might feel a mixture of amusement, curiosity and chagrin. The column offers three neologisms: (1) brattle (to discuss one’s children at length), (2) spamily (Facebook or Twitter updates about kids) and (3) spawntourage (a group of approaching strollers). All these terms are admittedly funny. Who hasn’t had to pinch herself to stay awake through a fellow parent's enumeration of nap schedules and dietary preferences? Who hasn’t scrolled right by the Facebook photos of a college acquaintance’s children? Who hasn't felt pushed aside by multiple strollers spanning a narrow sidewalk?

The modern mother snickers, but she might also frown at the tinge of hostility towards children and families. Are there really people out there who roll their eyes at the sight of several strollers passing? Who are these anti-children people? Do they sit around in cafes smoking, writing screenplays, and snarling at passing infants? Do they wear berets? Trucker hats? Do they have bushy hipster beards? Do they all live in Manhattan? (Because, last we heard Brooklyn had been taken over by young families, come to think of it, Manhattan too.)

Whatever the authors of these neologisms are like, wherever they live, anti-child sentiments are not frequently visible in the suburban enclaves inhabited by this modern mother. Perhaps that's a good thing. Or possibly not.

Being cocooned in a child-centric culture just might leave many parents vulnerable to the impression that their darlings are universally adored and admired. Could it give modern parents the idea that it’s appropriate to bring children to any and all events? Does it leave some parents unaware of the possibility that the view of a toddler smearing his dinner across table linens might detract from another diner’s fine dining experience? Or worse.

Perhaps it is just such cluelessness that has incited any child-hostile sentiments lurking in the child-free majority. So, thank you, New York Times, for that little bit of humor and that small reality check to parents out there. Or at least the ones who have the time to read the Sunday magazine.

The Do Over Day

Sometimes, a Tuesday morning doesn't go as planned, or even as usual. The toast doesn’t just burn; the toaster catches fire. It’s school spirit day, but no one can find the right spirit-showing shirts, hats, socks. Someone is touching someone else, or singing or just looking the wrong way. And by the end, a modern mother could find herself yelling something along the lines of, "I don't care who did what to whom, just get out the door! Now!" She might have lost her cool, her temper, and her marbles but at least she used correct grammar.

Then, just as the kids scuttle off to school, the modern mother regains her equanimity, only to be consumed by profound regret. "Wait!" She wants to call after the bobbing backpacks. Wait! Let's start over without the frustration and bickering. Let's have a happy morning or even a typical morning (with grumbling and a forgotten lunch box or two.) Let’s just rewind and do it over.

Luckily for her, of course, she’ll have hundreds more chances to usher her children out of bed and off to school. But in the moment of ringing silence after they are out the door, knowing this does little to staunch her remorse. A trying day might seem endless, but the days of childhood are finite, or, as the adage goes, the days are long but the years are short. This modern mother is not foolish enough to believe she can make all days perfect, or even pleasant, but she can’t help but want to try. She can’t help but try to prevent another do-over day. 

*image from Snazzy Style

Color Me Hyper?

A nutritionally conscious modern mother will no doubt be aware of recent media chatter surrounding artificial food colorings. The FDA recently convened a panel to look at artificial food colorings and their potential role in behavioral problems in children. What did the panel of experts recommend? More research.

This modern mother is hardly on the vanguard of nutritional correctness and has been known, in a pinch, to serve her children artificially orange mac and cheese or sometimes permit the consumption of blue cotton candy. (Gag.) Yet, she can’t help but wonder, do we really need to spend millions of dollars on this? Do we need a mountain of research telling us that something leads to asthma, or obesity, or hyperactivity, or grotesque warts before we decide to avoid it?

Here is where we might want to review a few facts:  (1) artificial colorings are derived from petroleum; (2) though science has not conclusively shown them to be linked to adverse health effects, they add no nutritional value; (3) they do not change or enhance the flavor of food. So, what is the upside? The value of these colorings lies in their ability to make mediocre food more appealing; the winner is not those who are duped into ingesting FD&C Yellow No. 6, but the companies who use food colorings to sell their processed products.

We shouldn’t need the government to ban artificial food colorings; we should all just have the common sense to avoid them. Imagine a world where we collectively said no. The FDA could save its research money for some thing else. (Maybe they could work on approving some life saving drugs?) Seeing no demand for chemically colored foodstuffs, food industry would see no reason to make them and could send their research staff scurrying off to invent new “food products” to entice the American consumer.  And we wouldn’t have to read another news story about it. 

Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods are able to stock entire grocery stores with a panoply of products while eschewing artificial food coloring, shouldn’t we be able to kit out our kitchens? Maybe our gummy bears and jelly beans would glow a little less brightly, but no doubt we would all adjust.  Think perspective, and be strong as the time for Easter candy approaches. 

P.S. To anyone who might claim that Cheetos without artificial orange don’t taste good, can we suggest they try a sample of Pirate's Booty?  

* photo from the fabulous food blog, Out Best Bites. 

Here's to You, Mrs. Robinson

When a well mannered mother recently saw the term “MILF” in a mainstream, albeit regional, publication, she nearly choked on her cup of morning tea. Excuse me? Did I just read “MILF” on the printed page? On the page of a magazine for which I actually paid money? 

The uninitiated can check MILF in the Urban Dictionary here, and we can move on to agree that the term is a vulgar acronym for a crass sentiment, and as usage spreads, this mother, at least, must protest.

To some, becoming a mother means changing from sexually desirable “hot” woman to... well, somebody’s “mom.” Possibly even one who wears the dreaded mom jeans: "I'm not a woman anymore, I'm a mom!" Yes, nobody checks you out when you’re driving a minivan.

But there have always been exceptions. Mrs. Robinson of The Graduate might be the original sexy, desirable older woman, who also happened to be someone's mother. Saucy seductress she might have been but she was not labeled with such a graphic acronym. She remained Mrs. Robinson.

Now, we live in the age of hot, sexy mothers: Heidi Klum, Angelina Jolie, and Desperate Housewives. While most mothers might be happy to know that being a mother and being attractive are not considered mutually exclusive, no woman wants to be defined only by her desirability. Or in such a crass way.

Really, Boston Magazine, couldn’t you do better?  We suspect the term was used as shorthand for the well heeled, well groomed woman, of a certain age, frequently seen roving around high end shopping malls. But for the future, may we suggest the slightly less vulgar term, yummy mummy? The term did originate in Britian, so it must be more tasteful and refined. We suspect that Mrs. Robinson might approve.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Husbands

Many modern mothers might enjoy a good rant about spousal domestic ineptitude, but when a husband travels for work, his absence is felt. For him, travel might be tedious and unpleasant, but for a mother staying at home with a houseful of children it can be exhausting. 

With one less adult in the house, family chaos looms closer on the horizon. Life becomes a whirlwind of routines: school, dinner, laundry, sports, homework, more laundry, pack lunches, bath time, bedtime. The same routines, yes, but different without Daddy.

Sometimes, different in a good way.  Family life is streamlined, pared down to essentials. Everyone cleans up when supposed to, brushes teeth without being asked, the spelling test is postponed until next week!

Other times, well.... The family dog inexplicably vomits on the carpet. Someone forgets homework but there’s no time to go get it. A sibling squabble at dinner ends with a plateful of food falling to the floor. Someone loses a tooth and then loses the lost tooth. (Frantic search for lost tooth follows.)  The smoke detector malfunctions at 3 am. And someone always seems to get sick. Any or all of these things can happen in a given week, but why do they so often seem to happen when husbands are away? 

When friend mentions, “John’s travelling all week.” We nod knowingly.  We’ve been there. We understand. We’re part of the sisterhood of the traveling husbands. We can carpool more, offer to host a play date, provide a sympathetic ear, or just have a good laugh about the absurdity of it all. We do what we can to stay connected and supportive, even if there is no set of magical pants for mothers to pass around. 

Could parenting advice from celebrities ever be a good idea?

At Manners for Modern Mothers, we might be slow to catch up with trends in celebrity culture. In fact, celebrity news might only come to our attention due to a long line at a “conventional” grocery store, a wait in a well-subscribed dentist's office, or, in this case, much chatter in the blogosphere. 

And so, we have only recently discovered a controversy surrounding Gwyneth Paltrow and her purported penchant for administering parenting advice via her blog, GOOP, specifically her recent advice for working mothers, which includes such recommendations as: (1) "condense" your appointments by having weekly spa treatments simultaneously (e.g., manicure, pedicure, facial all at once) (2) don't forget your hands free mobile phone device so you can return calls after dropping kids off at school. 

Reactions appear to range from sarcastic, to disbelieving eye-roll, to partly obscene and potentially offensive (you have been warned), to “great, another reason to feel OK about making fun of her.” 

Since we are not celebrities, but nevertheless frequently share our own thoughts on parenting via this blog, we should probably be the last to ask why anyone would consider a film star a good source for parenting tips. Nor would it be mannerly to incite wanton celebrity criticism, but we are curious. Readers, do you find her annoying?  Do you support Gwyneth as a role model? Or, are you just wondering how people find the time to form such strong opinions of public figures? 

* image from instyle.com

It's Not About the Book

It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a suburban mother, in possession of a young family, must be in want of a book club.* And to what end? Will they peruse Pride and Prejudice? Take on The Happiness Project ? Will they read David Foster Wallace or stick with Danielle Steele? The list of literary possibilities goes on. Luckily, the choice is hers and the variety of book clubs is endless, though most involve some drinking of wine, talking about schools, families, and husbands, as well as discussion of an actual book. Sometimes even a book about something besides schools, families, husbands.

Admittedly, there can sometimes be negatives: having to read yet another book about Afghanistan, the one member who vociferously hates every book or domineers discussions, or even the scheduling and organizational email mayhem involved with getting a group of 8 to 10 adults together these days. But the modern mother who finds herself, joining a group of intelligent, like-minded adults for dinner and conversation once a month can count herself lucky, even if she doesn’t always love the book.

Some modern mothers may choose to become conscientious objectors and eschew all book clubs. Perhaps they would rather curl up on front of The Millionaire Matchmaker. More likely, they don’t want to be obligated to spend precious time reading dubious books selected by committee. Whatever her reasons, the conscientious objector will doubtless find alternative reasons to get out of the house in the evening, mingle with her peers and satisfy her curiosity about the larger world: a lecture? a film festival? a gathering to learn about local non-profits? a consciousness raising? (Well, maybe not that last one.)

Like it or not, book clubs come with the territory of suburban motherhood, much like kitchen renovations, trunk shows, and summer house rentals. And since it's not really about the book, the well mannered mother can embrace her book club as an opportunity to stay current on topics fit for adult conversation, all while enjoying some camaraderie and a cocktail, if she is so inclined.

*with apologies to Jane Austen, the patron saint of women's book clubs, and author of Pride and Prejudice, which opens with the inimitable line, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

Vacation, all I ever wanted?

For many mothers, summer “vacation” is no holiday. Never is this more true than when she decides to take a trip (yes, a “vacation”), say, for example, to a beach house filled with her own extended family. She is lucky to be there, lucky to have access, lucky to spend time at a scenic waterfront spot. Lucky indeed. So, how can it feel like such drudgery? Is it the endless cycle of changing into swimsuits, applying sunscreen, preparing snacks, dragging chairs, buckets, bags across the sand, supplying drinks of water, supplying clean towels, wiping sand out of eyes, and then cleaning everyone and everything up only to do it all again the next day? Is it the difficulty (exacerbated by the new setting) of keeping track of all the swimsuits, coloring books, hats, sunglasses, and favorite stuffed animals? Is it the exhaustion of letting the kids stay up later than normal, only to have them wake with the sun, ready for another busy day of vacation? Whatever it is, it can leave a modern mother feeling fatigued and, well, in need of a vacation from her vacation. But of course there is no time off from motherhood. Perhaps the modern mother can take solace in the fact that she is not alone, and the U.S. has recently been called “No Vacation Nation” for the paltry vacation time Americans typically receive and take from their paid jobs. Better consolation might be found by curling up with her digital camera after everyone is in bed, and flipping through the photos of the day: frolicking in the surf, sandcastles, learning to body surf. Her children’s happiness in the photos should help put the schlepping in perspective. These luminous and gritty days at the beach are quintessential childhood summer memories.  The modern mother can cling to their brightness and shake off the fatigue as she shakes the sand out of her beach bag.

Winning the Busy Contest

At this very moment, there is a contest raging in cities, towns and suburbs all across America. Not a contest of strength, endurance, or athleticism; not a contest of skill, intellect, or talent; not a contest of wealth or power. Whether they know it or not, many modern mothers have been entered into a busy contest.

With the winding down of the school year, the months of May and June can be packed with year-end recitals, sports tournaments, PTO wrap ups, year-end picnics, graduations, planning for the summer, planning for the next school year. The list goes on. All on top of typical family homework-housework-sports-and-activities routines. It’s enough to make a modern mother’s head spin. When she overhears rapid fire accounting of busy-ness passing as conversation ("Things are just sooooo crazy!), it’s enough to make her realize that sadly, the contemporary stereotype of the frenetic family is all too true.
What could possibly be behind all this busy-ness? And why would anyone want to glorify it? In a bygone era, one celebrated success and prosperity by lolling about on the French Riviera, or at the very least relaxing on the porch with a mint julep. But in today’s world, a tycoon keeps a busy schedule. Oprah, Bill Gates, Warren Buffett, they all seem so busy. In today’s world, busy is status. And so the modern mother must keep with the times and stick to her schedule. But must she?

While there may be a variety of mother who smugly equates busy-ness with quality of life, viewing a packed schedule as a sign of success, prosperity, or a thriving family life, we suspect that many of our gentle readers may feel “crazy busy” to the point of being overwhelmed during this end-of-the-school-year season, wondering how exactly did things get this way? What can she do to make it stop?

Though we really don’t have big answers to these big questions (been pretty busy, you know), we can offer a few thoughts on coping with the frenetic feelings of spring. First, do not compete in the busy contest; do not engage in discussions of busy-ness -- your own, your neighbor’s, or Oprah’s. It will only make you feel more anxious. Should someone begin to enumerate her own busy-ness, suppress any impulse (however momentary) to "one-up" her by detailing your own crazy schedule. Second, keep things in perspective. If you’re crazy busy because you have an appointment for a haircut, followed by a thank-you-for-volunteering luncheon, followed by ferrying kids to various and sundry activities, that’s still a pretty nice life, even if it is hard to find time to squeeze in a work out. Finally, like so many things in motherhood, this too shall pass. The sleepless nights of parenting a newborn, the willful tantrums of toddlerhood, and the “crazy busy” season that is spring and fall for parents of school- age children.

With the onset of summer, a well mannered mother can say good bye to the spring busy contest, and hello to the “time for more sunscreen” season, the "sure, you can have a hot dog again" season, or the "maybe, possibly, have time to read a book" season. May we recommend CrazyBusy: Overstretched, Overbooked, and About to Snap!, by Edward M. Hallowell?

Swearing like a Sailor... at Seven?

Some rainy afternoon, a well mannered mother may come upon her children whispering conspiratorially, while listening to the Black Eyed Peas' “My Humps” on a CD she foolishly allowed them to borrow from the public library. “Shhh… here… its here! Listen!” one child says to the other and they bend their heads close to the speaker, and their eyes flicker in recognition, when they hear the lyric, “…all that ass inside those jeans...” Never mind that the song is dreadfully inappropriate for so many reasons besides the language. Never mind that this is probably not the first time they’ve heard a swear word. Never mind that the song is just really, really bad. Even annoying.

The mother recognizes her children are focused on the language and this is a “teachable moment.” Though she may be tempted to pretend she doesn’t see them, she has no excuse. The house is reasonably quiet; its not bedtime, homework time, or get-out-the-door-we’re late-for-school time. The only problem is that she’s not entirely sure how, exactly, she should address swearing.

She briefly considers confiscating the CD, disapproving loudly and continuing about her business, imagining that her children’s world is and will remain PBS kids, Raffi, and homemade cookies. Next, she considers postponing any discussions with a deft “re-direct,” and a comment like, “Oh you want to hear funny song? Have you ever heard of Weird Al Yankovic?” But she decides to save the powerful tool of Weird Al for a more desperate parenting occasion.

So she takes her mother in-law’s advice (really!) and tries to address the language issue head on. Casually as possible, she asks, “oh are you listening for the part where they say, ‘ass’?” (Yes, if your mother can say “ass,” it can’t be that cool or dangerous.) Then she explains, “Most adults find swear word offensive, especially coming from children,” adding, “I don’t care if you use those words, but I would be really disappointed if you were to use those words in front of other children and adults.” Voila! Words (hopefully) de-mystified, expectations defined. The well mannered mother can only hope that they are met. Meanwhile, she braces herself for the moment when her toddler, eavesdropping from the next room, starts swearing like a sailor.