CommuterMom: How Do I Scrap It?

I have a box in CommuterGirl’s room full of memorabilia from her first year – hair from her first hair cut, the newspaper from the day she was born, a picture of a very pregnant me. In the garage I have a plastic bin filled with pens, pretty papers, adhesive, stamps, etc. On my bookcase I have a one-year calendar that started the day CommuterGirl was born. There are notes on various days and months marking her milestones – her favorite song, first tooth, first rice cereal, first smile, first day at school. On the computer I have hundreds, maybe thousands, of pictures organized by month. Under CommuterGirl’s bureau I have a beautiful blank scrapbook from my aunt. In my head I have the most beautiful album chronicling CommuterGirl’s start in life. What an amazing baby book she’ll have…if I ever get it started.

It’s a project I am so excited about, and at the same time completely intimidated. I guess I just need to hold my breath and do the first page…any tips on how to get started?

NewMom: If I Don’t Love Your Kids, Will I Love My Own?

Our office has a child care center right on campus, just across the parking lot from where I work. NewGirl will be enrolled there when she’s about 4 months old, and I’m excited and comforted to know that she’ll be in a place where I already know so many of the teachers and staff. It’s just the kids that make me worry.

At Halloween they held a costume parade. All the people in our office were invited to come watch the little ones display with pride their fanciful outfits. Many of my colleagues’ own children were out there beaming with glee. I, on the other hand, was perfectly content to be on a conference call, missing all the hoopla.

Then Christmas came, and the preschoolers sang carols for all us hardworking office folk. I honestly just wasn’t all that interested or willing to brave the chilly air to poke my head outside to watch the display.

What will happen when NewGirl is on parade? Will my maternal instinct kick in? Will I drop everything and watch as someone pushes her in a buggy so everyone can see the fabulous costume I artfully fashioned for her out of three pieces of felt, five safety pins, and a pipe cleaner? Will I think the people back at their desks paying no mind at all to these adorable creatures are just scrooges at heart? I bet I will.

ModernMom: Embracing the Soccer Mom Within

It was bound to happen sooner or later. With two adults in the front seat and two car seats in the back, even our station wagon didn’t allow for an additional passenger. I tried cramming into the “way back” more than once (remember when station wagons had a real seat in the back?), and I always paid the price with a sore neck or shoulder afterwards.

So when our car broke down beyond repair, we decided it was time for the MINI-VAN. My friends who have yet to make this particular transition got a real laugh out of it. My neighbors flagged me down to either congratulate or ridicule me, depending on what they themselves drive. But you know what? I love it. I feel safe being so high up. I like that there are four temperature zones and I even appreciate the built-in sun shades in the back. We can comfortably fit seven people, and even have room for all of the strollers, books, snacks, extra clothes, and various other “necessities” that usually travel with us.

So when I pulled into the YMCA parking lot for my son’s first soccer game, I looked at the fleet of minivans through a different lens. I gave a knowing nod to the other parents. We may not be driving hip cars, but we are driving in style — family style.

CommuterMom: It’s a Box…No, It’s a Fort

A couple of months ago CommuterGirl discovered that she loves the Swiffer. We quickly took one of the sections out of the handle so that it was “CommuterGirl-size.” She loves it. Daughter and Daddy…swiffering side-by-side.

It got me thinking about how I use household/everyday items to entertain my daughter. Why spend $40 on a tent when you can make one out of pillows and a blanket? Our society is so quick to buy things and use them for one specific purpose rather than being creative and using our imagination.

I admit, I’m not very good at that type of creativity — CommuterDad has a much better imagination than I. He has taught me that pots and pans are drums and paper towel tubes make great horns. And, last night, CommuterGirl and I had a puppet show with socks.

What creative ideas do you have for everyday household items?

NewMom: How much is too much?

I’ve just learned that I’m having a few minor complications with my pregnancy. Nothing overly worrisome — or overly feminine (if you catch my drift). It’s nothing that’s restricting my work or activity, though it is likely among the reasons that the first trimester fatigue never quite went away.

I can talk about it all day long to girlfriends, sisters, and female colleagues, but why do I find it so difficult to share the details with my male boss? I’ve just told him now that I do have “a few medical issues that will require more frequent doctors visits.” Just a heads up so he’ll know why I’m not always available as quickly as I usually am. But I find myself almost physically unable to explain any further detail. I’m not concerned about my own medical privacy. And I don’t think it’s because I think he won’t care or empathize. He’s the father of young children himself and has been more than compassionate and concerned despite the little detail I’ve shared.

I think the real crux of the issue is this — pregnant or not, where are the boundaries between personal and professional information, and why do they feel so different for men than for women?

ModernMom: The Growth Fairy

Neither of my kids has lost a tooth yet, so our home has yet to be paid a nocturnal visit by the Tooth Fairy. In her place, it seems the Growth Fairy has been stopping by every few weeks. I have the following evidence to support this claim:

1. Yesterday, my daughter had a closet full of dresses; far more dresses, in fact, than any 2-year-old should rightfully have. This morning, I tried three different dresses on her, none of which closed properly. I put her in the first thing I could find that didn’t have buttons or a zipper…a blue floral number resembling a 1920s men’s bathing suit. It wasn’t a good look, let’s just say that. But it was stretchy and it fit, sort of.

2. My son prefers the surfer-type shorts that hit just above the knee. Somehow, in the space of a couple of days, all his shorts have become Daisy Dukes. It’s not cute.

Their maxis have become minis, their t-shirts are now crop tops. He’s sprouting vertically, while she’s growing horizontally. Their diets haven’t changed and with the beautiful weather they’re getting more exercise than ever. It must be the Growth Fairy, but I don’t mind…as long as she keeps her visits to the children and stays away from me.

CommuterMom: The Sky’s the Limit

I often wonder what CommuterGirl will be when she grows up.

Some days I think CommuterGirl will be a hair stylist — she loves to play with my hair. She will spend a good 10 minutes making sure each hair is in just the right place. And, I’ll never forget the hours that CommuterDad and I sat with the hair dryer running near her bouncy seat so that she would stop crying.

Maybe she’ll sell or design shoes. She certainly spends a lot of time bringing our shoes out of the closet every morning. She will proudly stomp around the room with an open-toe black dress shoe on one foot, and a brown flat on the other.

Maybe she will be a vet. She loves to play with the dog. Dressing him up, covering him with a blanket when he’s sleeping. Hours are spent outside “throwing” the ball for him. She frequently lifts his ear to see what’s going on inside. Oh, and we can’t forget how helpful she is when it comes time to feed the dog — she gets most of the food in his bowl.

She can be anything she wants to be, but what I hope for the most is that she is kind and loving, and a good person. I hope she will treat others the way she treats her baby doll. She wraps her up to keep her warm, cuddles and rocks her, takes her for walks, shares her food with her and teaches her everything she knows.

NewMom: Who’s Raising Your Children?

I just read this on The Washington Post’s On Balance Blog and I just can’t get it out of my mind. The author writes about the ability of herself and a former colleague to stay connected to and supportive of each other despite the fact the one chose to become a stay at home Mom while the other returned to work with the support of child care. That’s wonderful. I have lots of other friends who have lost touch when one decided to leave the workforce after having a child, so it’s really nice they were able to overcome that difference and to be supportive and respectful of the other’s choice.

But the author, who is the Working Mom in this case, talks about working motherhood in some of the most offensive terms. I won’t go into detail about her use of the term full-time Mom to describe stay at home Moms – Modern Mom did that very eloquently already. But her reference to the fact that someone else is "raising your child" because they're in child care strikes me as naïve and truly unfortunate if, as a parent with children in child care, you truly feel that way.

I know my world will turn inside out and upside down when NewGirl is here and starts child care. I’m sure it will be hard on her and on me. But I can’t help but feel, now at least, that choosing child care is one of the decisions I will make in raising MY OWN child. I hope that NewGirl’s teachers will love my child. I hope they will serve as a resource for me as a novice parent. I hope they will be able to give me insight into her development and growth. But I don’t expect them to raise her – to build her foundation of morals and values, to make decisions about her future, to teach her about her heritage, religion and family background, or to establish the simple traditions that will make us our own special family.

I suppose my feelings on this are really just speculation until I go through it all myself, but what do those of you who already have your children in child care think? Do you feel like someone else is “raising your child?”

NewMom: My Office Away From the Office

I have an office away from the office, and it’s not at home. It’s the waiting room in Suite 4B of a medical building downtown. My equipment consists only of a blackberry, and on rare occasion, a cell phone. And, quite frankly, the whole set-up embarrasses me.

Why can’t I just take the hour or two I need for a doctor’s appointment and consider it off limits to work? I have no problem doing that when I go home at night or on the weekends. I work in a place where everyone would understand, and no one would begrudge me the time. Frankly, I don’t think any of them would even notice if I waited until I was back at my desk before I responded to their e-mail.

But I’ve been going to the doctor once a week for several months now, and that will be ratcheting up to twice a week starting Monday. I have all the flexibility in the world to make and go to appointments whenever I need them with no consequence at work. My boss, my team, and my colleagues are all completely understanding.

I know thousands of women struggle without those freedoms from work, and I am proud to have a job and an employer that allow me the latitude I need. Why then can’t I let go and relax?