‘Good Enough is the New Perfect’

I first started following Hollee Schwartz Temple (the one on the left) on Twitter mainly because she’s an author and I loved the title of her book: Good Enough Is the New Perfect: Finding Happiness and Success in Modern Motherhood

Then I heard her speak at a conference on a panel about work-life balance. Hollee began by asking the audience, “How many of you were raised to believe you could do anything and be anything?” Most hands went up. “And how many of you took that to mean you should DO EVERYTHING and BE EVERYTHING?” Everyone laughed -- and raised their hands.

Her talk really hit home for me, so I was thrilled when she sent me a copy of her book. (Can you tell by the picture I found a thing or 2 of interest?)

FINALLY, someone has addressed the real issues that plague me and most of my mom friends these days. Why, when we have so many choices, are most of us still struggling? When the real world isn’t as clear-cut as working or staying home with your kids, where are all the role models who are successfully navigating the in-between? And why do so many of us feel like we’re going it alone?

While Hollee and her co-author, journalist Becky Beaupre Gillespie, surveyed over 900 women and conducted in-depth interviews with 100 of them, it’s the authors’ personal stories that resonated deeply with me. When Hollee describes counting down the minutes until bedtime when her boys were small, then feeling guilty for not appreciating them, I thought, That is me. And when Becky describes how she didn’t want anyone to think she was “just a mom,” so when someone asked her what she did, she described what she’d done BEFORE becoming a mom? Yeah, that’s me, too.

I’ll be honest: at first, several of the high-achieving women interviewed in the book sparked envy in me. Prominent lawyers, a VP for Christie’s, successful entrepreneurs. But then I read on, and discovered all their worries and frustrations sounded eerily similar to mine. Also? The women who weren’t happy were longing not for more prestige or bigger paychecks, but for more time with their families, more fulfilling work, more connection with friends and neighbors – all stuff I have in spades. Hmmm, so if you look at “success” in THAT light...maybe it’s not just the moms with the impressive business cards who can claim it.

If there’s one common theme I’ve noticed among all the moms I’ve met over the last 5 years since I became one myself, it’s that nearly every one of them -- stay-at-home, working, or somewhere in between -- is WAY too hard on herself. I’ve heard moms apologize for letting their kids eat an occasional donut, for their child not being potty trained yet, for not enrolling their second or third child in enough enriching activities. I’ve heard moms beat themselves up for working too much, earning too little, and needing more help. It’s madness, people. MADNESS.

Not only that, but it’s a terrible example for our kids. You’re not successful unless you’re awesome at everything? Gwyneth Paltrow notwithstanding, that’s an impossible goal for most of us mere mortals. (BTW, even Gwyn admits she’s bad at math. Possibly the only thing we have in common.) Personally, I’d like my kids to have a broader definition of success -- and to learn that it’s OK to define it for themselves.

Buy the book. It’s $9.41 on Amazon. You probably spend that much at Starbucks on a latte and overpriced baked goods. I guarantee you will come away with a new perspective on success, motherhood, and what “having it all” really means to you.

QUOTE O’ THE WEEK: “We do not need to be perfect to be successful moms, professionals or women.” - Becky Beaupre Gillespie and Hollee Schwartz Temple

A Working Mom's Wakeup Call

Back when I was single and childless, I got into a heated discussion with my future brother-in-law (also single and childless) in a cab on the way home from a bar one night. I don’t remember how we got into it, but we were discussing whether mothers should work or stay home to raise their children.

With the self-righteous conviction that only clueless 20-somethings can have, we were both convinced that we were completely right. My BIL was firmly in the SAHM camp; I was staunchly in favor of working moms.

Boy, was it a cruel wakeup call when I found out the issue wasn’t that black-and-white. I suppose I could’ve looked around the global media company where I was working then and noticed not a single person I knew was a mother of young kids.

There was a pregnant woman (what ever happened to her?) and there was one with school-age kids who lasted less than a year. But that’s it. In fact, the 3 most senior women in my department were all childless.

Marriage and kids weren’t even on my radar at that point, so I didn’t give it much thought. Though I do remember thinking that the on-site daycare they bragged about in those “best places to work” articles was kind of a joke. I’d heard ours was pricey and had a year-long waiting list.

That job was a bad fit for me for many reasons, not least of which was that while I ostensibly was hired for my editorial experience, I wrote almost nothing. Just a lot of e-mails and memos. I was essentially a highly-paid meeting attendee.

So when I got married and had a baby, I wasn’t all gung-ho to be that corporate working mom I’d argued so strenuously for in my 20’s. I’d found a nice little niche as a freelance writer and I got to spend time with my baby. And then I encountered another round of wakeup calls. Like how hard it was to work around a baby’s schedule and drum up assignments I could do from home. Also hard? Finding part-time affordable childcare.

Even now, years later, when I’ve finally found some semblance of balance, I am shocked at:

a) how many people think I don’t “really” work because I’m self-employed, don’t go to an office, and have irregular hours;

b) ask when I plan to get a “real job” (as if I could just waltz out and command a lucrative, flexible staff position in my field whenever I felt like it);

c) how many people still think staying home with your children full-time or working outside the home full-time are the only 2 options for moms.

This is all a long wind-up to telling you about an amazing new book, Good Enough Is the New Perfect: Finding Happiness and Success in Modern Motherhood It delves into all these issues and more, backed up by new research and extensive interviews with all sorts of working moms -- doctors, lawyers, pretzel entrepreneurs, mom bloggers, web-TV hosts.

I devoured my advance copy in 3 days. In another post, I’ll tell you more about the book. But for now, I’m happy just to report that it assured me I’m not crazy, I’m not alone, and I don’t have to choose between 2 oversimplified options that don’t fit my life.

QUOTE O’ THE WEEK: “I don't believe the world owes me a living, although for the amount I make, an apology would be nice.” -- Unknown

Baby Advice & Book Giveaway

If there’s anything I love as much as books and dispensing advice about motherhood, it’s a social media success story. So I was thrilled to discover someone who has combined all 3: meet Jennifer L. Cowart, author of “Baby Notes.”

A freelance writer and photographer and mother of 3 girls, Jen sat down to write up her best motherhood advice when her brother and his wife were expecting their first baby in 2009. She packaged it all up into a cute little homemade book and gave it to them for their baby shower.

As more of Jen’s friends began to have babies, she decided to share her list of advice on Facebook. “The response was overwhelming,” writes Jen. “Many of my friends wrote to me, asking if they could share my list with their daughters, granddaughters and nieces. The list had made them laugh and cry. They were happy to hear that other mothers felt the way they did, that they weren’t alone in the newness of motherhood.”

That list became “Baby Notes,” a pocket-sized book of tips, advice, and funny baby photos. (Many of which are Jen’s own family.) It’s like one of those Hallmark gift books people give you for Mother’s Day, only more realistic and not as sappy. A few of my favorite pieces of advice:

- Don’t be afraid to let Daddy be the favorite. That way, when they are crying in the middle of the night, they cry for Daddy, and Mommy can stay in bed.

- If you accidentally wake a sleeping baby, never make eye contact! [Seriously, people. It’s more dangerous than looking directly at the sun.]

- If something’s going to happen, it’ll always be on a night, a weekend, a major holiday, during a vacation or a natural disaster.

Throughout this blog, you can find hundreds of MY tips and observations, but I’ll list a few here:

- Don’t rush to change the baby’s diaper the minute it’s wet. He may not be “done” yet, and you’ll only waste a diaper.

- It’s a fact that if choosing between the newest award-winning educational toy and a random household object, the baby will always pick the measuring spoons or the toilet-paper tube.

- Most people who say their baby slept through the night from an early age are either flat-out lying or they’ve forgotten because it was so long ago.

So, moms, got any of your own advice to add? Leave a comment here by 5pm EST 4/3 for a chance to win a copy of “Baby Notes” signed by the author. (I’ll pick a winner at random.) If you want your advice to be considered for possible publication in the next book, you can submit your own baby note on Jen’s web site.

Happy Friday, everyone! Here’s hoping disaster doesn’t strike your house this weekend. ;)

Doing My Time: In the Pre-K Library

I’m as guilt-prone as the next mom, but there are some things I simply refuse to feel guilty about. Like hiring a pro to clean my house now and then and not volunteering at my son’s school. Look: I’ve got a 2yo, writing deadlines, and a mountain of laundry the size of Everest. So, sorry – I’m not using up my precious 2 hours and 45 min. a day that my older son’s in preschool to photocopy worksheets while I pay a babysitter to watch my toddler. If you do? Yay for you. You win.

The thing is, on Mondays the kids have library and almost ALL the parents have volunteered to read to the class. I know this because I’m cc’ed on e-mails listing the library schedule full of parents and caregivers more selfless than I. Although I tell myself if they’re on salary or have family to watch their other kids, what’s the big sacrifice?

ANYWAY... I could tell it would mean a lot to Miles if I volunteered to read. So on a day C. was off work to watch Riley, I did. My first mistake was getting all gussied up. I realized I needn’t have spent 20 min. flat-ironing my hair and choosing accessories when the other mom volunteer strolled in wearing workout gear. My second mistake was listening to my 4yo when he told me I didn’t have to bring in a book, because his class got to choose one for me to read.

So there I was, scrambling amidst the haphazardly organized books to find one I recognized. (Where is the Dewey decimal system when you need it?!) Aha! “Arthur Writes a Story.” Perfect, since, you know, I’m a writer. Just to be safe I picked a backup, some book about a hibernating bear. Lame.

The kids pile into the library, all bedhead and mismatched patterns. (So it’s not just MY kid. Whew!) Miles gives me a little smile, then slinks to the back, too cool for school. The girls start clamoring to show me their nail polish and sparkly shoes. I DO like a cute pair of Mary Janes...

I introduce myself as Mrs. So-and-So (even though the other parent said, “I usually just say ‘I’m Billy’s mom’”). Then I announce, all enthusiastically, “So, kids! I thought we could read this book about Arthur writing a story, because I’M actually a writer. Or, this book about a b—“

“The bear! The bear! Read that one! We have that book at home!”

Those kids could give a flying pig with a pancake that I’m a writer. Any ideas I had about impressing this crowd with my literary credentials went right out the flower-decaled window. Humph.

So I read the book about the dumb hibernating bear and they were enthralled. I did all the sound effects – I snored, I roared, I stomped my feet. I even threw in a fake burp. If I was giving up my morning to volunteer, I was damn sure gonna do it RIGHT.

And you know what? It was fun. I could tell the kids enjoyed it, even Miles. And it was a nice break from the laundry and my keyboard. In fact, I liked it so much...that I volunteered my husband to go in and read next week.

Tiny Tyrants

There’s a hilarious anecdote in Amy Wilson’s memoir –- “momoir,” if you prefer -- When Did I Get Like This?: The Screamer, the Worrier, the Dinosaur-Chicken-Nugget-Buyer, and Other Mothers I Swore I'd Never Be She’s describing how she figured out the one thing that calmed her colicky infant was bouncing on an exercise ball. So she did – 24/7. When her husband got home from work they’d trade off, not even stopping to eat: “I would shovel forkfuls of kung pao chicken into David’s mouth while he kept bouncing.”

Then there were 2 comments I read online on the same theme: one new mom said her 1yo doesn’t “allow” her to sit on the sofa. “She lets me know in no uncertain terms that she wants her mommy on the floor with her!” Another mom said her 2yo made her get up and sit on the other side of the room – and she did! (As would any mom not willing to risk a tantrum from an irrational toddler.)

Do you realize what this means, people? It means we are allowing ourselves to be ruled by the sticky iron fists of miniature dictators!! They’re despots in diapers! Bullies in bibs! Oppressors in overalls! (I could go all day; I have a thesaurus and I’m not afraid to use it.)

The sick part is, we willingly go along with this treatment to keep them happy. It’s like those mean girls in junior high you were desperate to have like you because they were popular. They’d be super-nice to your face but you were always afraid they’d go postal on you in the middle of the night at some slumber party.

Pissing off the people who determine whether you sleep through the night is NOT WORTH IT. Most parents will do anything to fend off that dinnertime tantrum, the meltdown in the candy aisle, the piercing air-raid siren that is their newborn’s wail. Even if it means risking indigestion, bad knees, or one’s own choice of seating.

Sometimes I’m ashamed that I, an intelligent, reasonably confident adult, allow myself to be bossed around by the shortest people in the house. Shouldn’t the person calling the shots at least be able to SAY “shots” without lisping?

However, what my children lack in articulation and height, they make up for in volume and stubbornness. I’m just not willing to launch World War III by taking a stand against the small stuff. So that means more often than not, when my kids say jump, I say, “Like a kangaroo or a bunny?”

The Naked Mom

That savvy Brooke Burke. How could a book by a gorgeous celebrity and former bikini model with “naked” in the title NOT be a hit? Sorry to disappoint, fellas, but here naked refers to being your authentic, true self as a woman and mother. Although Brooke does appear sans clothes on the cover.

It would be easy to write off Brooke Burke as just another perky, brunette celebrity. You might know her as the glamorous co-host of “Dancing with the Stars” (and Season 7 winner). She first got on my radar when she hosted “Rock Star: INXS,” a show about finding a new lead singer for one of C.’s and my favorite ‘80s bands. (RIP, Michael Hutchence.)

I didn’t give Brooke much thought, though, until she launched ModernMom.com and her own blog on the site. I read a few posts and darned if BB wasn’t just like the rest of us (except WAY better-looking, obviously). She’s sleep-deprived, pulled in a million different directions, wanting what’s best for her kids, struggling to find some me-time. Plus, she’s down-to-earth and pretty funny. For “Wordless Wednesday” one time she posted a pic of herself covered with baby spit-up. She's my people!

Her book is equally relatable and enjoyable. I found myself LOL’ing in recognition when she described the dinnertime craziness at her house, getting kung-fu kicked by squirmy little ones who’ve taken over your bed, and getting locked in a stairwell with a baby and a bloody foot. (Flip-flops and metal doors are a bad combo; I can attest to that.)

The book is best when it’s describing her day-to-day life as a working mom of 4 kids. She freely admits that her days are messy, chaotic, and far from perfect. She forgets her shoes, forgets her baby in the car, and falls on her butt during DWTS rehearsal. (BTW, she practiced the quickstep with her newborn son strapped to her chest.) My favorite quote is when she’s talking about how she’s always asked how she “balances it all.” Her answer: She doesn’t. “Balance is bullshit. End of story.”

Less successful are Brooke’s attempts to give advice on such topics as beauty and nutrition. I guess it’s interesting in a voyeuristic way to read about how she fits into those tiny costumes, but personally I flipped past her recipe for “Cleansing Veggie Soup” while plowing my way through a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs. In fact, those chapters made me thank my lucky stars I don’t live in Hollywood, where implants rule, carbs drool, and there’s paparazzi on every corner waiting to snap a pic of “stars without makeup.” Nightmare!

I finished the book wishing that a) Brooke Burke was my real-life mommy friend (even though I’d never be able to borrow her clothes), and barring that, b) she’ll hire me to write for her website. (It's on my bucket list!) ‘Cause I’ve got some things to say about motherhood, chaos, me-time, and even being naked. Call me, Brooke!

LINK O' THE WEEK: You can buy her book here: The Naked Mom: A Modern Mom's Fearless Revelations, Savvy Advice, and Soulful Reflections If you do, I get like 2 cents or something. Woo hoo!

"No Singing, Mama!"

We were sitting on the couch, flipping through the boys’ “Puff the Magic Dragon” picture book. I was singing along when Riley turned to me, held up his palm, and said, “Stop!” Fine. Point taken.

“I don’t like when you sing it either, Mama,” Miles chimes in. “Just read it.”

“What? You don’t like my singing voice?” I asked indignantly. I’m no Mariah Carey, but I can carry a tune.

“I DO like your voice, I just don’t like it singing that SONG,” Miles clarified. Humph. I wasn’t convinced. In fact, both kids have stopped me in the middle of lullabies and shushed me when I try to sing along with the “Little Einsteins” theme song. It’s enough to hurt a person’s feelings. Except that then I’m free to go read a magazine, so I’m not complaining.

There are SO many things I find myself doing now that I’m a mom of 2 that I never would have dreamed I’d do. Especially in public.

When I first had a baby, I was so self-conscious about every little thing. God forbid someone overhear me in the grocery store talking babytalk to my infant, or later, disciplining my toddler. How EMBARRASSING to sing nursery rhymes in public at Stroller Strides! Or to ask my son if he needed to use the potty during church.

Yeah, well, I got over it. I don’t know if it was through sheer repetition, or that I got more confident, or that the horror of my son having an accident right there on the pew overshadowed any awkwardness about using the word “potty” in front of other adults.

Lesson #57 that my kids have taught me: how to care less what other people think of you. (Don’t expect a post on the other 56 lessons anytime soon; I picked that number arbitrarily.)

They’re good for something, these kids. Just not so much for boosting their mom’s ego. I’ll try not to take it personally next time they cut me off in the middle of singing the “ABC’s.”

READ O’ THE WEEK: Sticking with books that don’t require singing along, my 4yo loves the “Adventures of Riley” series. Partly because they’re about a redheaded boy with the same name as his brother, and partly because they’re about exotic adventures and animals all over the world.

Is Being a WAHM Bad for Business?

OK, so I promised I would discuss That Chapter of the book I wrote about in a recent post. (Although, surprisingly, @UnMarketing has so far been UnResponsive to my review of his book. Hmm...)

Anyway, the chapter is titled “Why Being a Work-at-Home Mom Is Bad for Business.” In it, the author says “claiming that you work from home, especially if you have children, can give people the perception that they may not be your priority as clients.” He later adds, “If you mention you have three kids under six years old and you’re homeschooling them, then I question when the work for me, the work I need done and am paying you to do, is going to get done.”

The thing is: he’s not wrong. I do think it’s unprofessional to conduct business while your children run amok and shriek in the background. Hello? That’s what babysitters (and TV) are for.

That said, there are a lot of different work-at-home scenarios. For instance, you could be:

- A fulltime, salaried employee who works in an office except when your kid’s sick or you have a childcare crisis and are forced to work from home.*

- A salaried employee who works full- or part-time at home while your children are at school or being cared for by someone else.

- A freelancer or other self-employed person who works at home while your children are at school, asleep, or being cared for by someone else.

- A freelancer or other self-employed person who works at home but doesn’t see the need--or doesn’t want to pay for--childcare.

This last group seems to be the one the author is describing. And these people? Are delusional. (I'm talking about people in my situation who have toddlers, not teenagers.)

Look, I can understand the motivation. If you’re a freelancer, you essentially work on commission. Or, to put it another way, you only eat what you kill. It makes budgeting tough. So the strategy of trying to squeeze in as much work as you can with as little paid childcare as possible is understandable. But it’s hard. Trust me, I know.

If you work in a laid-back field or with other at-home parents, it might not be a big deal. You might even be blessed with understanding clients who don’t care if “Spongebob” blares in the background. I had one such client who said he didn’t mind. But *I* minded. I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate fully and give him the attention his project deserved. So I scheduled our call for another time.

I’ve had to make some serious sacrifices to be a WAHM. I gave up my office space, which I rented with a couple other self-employed folks. I work very limited hours right now, and feel the pinch in my paycheck. I have all but given up projects that require phone interviews, for the above reasons.

Also, when you work from home there’s always the chance that a snow day or a nap boycott will derail your day. If you’re on deadline, you’re up a creek. Remember the blizzard of 2010? I worked my BUTT off to make sure I met my deadlines and delivered what I’d promised my clients. It was hell. But I did it.

If you read the entire chapter in “UnMarketing” (all 2 pages of it), it’s clear the author is really saying, don’t lead with the fact that you’re a WAHM in your marketing materials. I agree. I said as much to fellow writer and WAHM Angie Mizzell in her latest article for Hybrid Mom: I don’t advertise the fact that I'm a WAHM, but if it comes up I'll mention it.

And it turns out it's not such a big deal if you meet your deadlines and do good work. Meetings with one of my favorite clients usually start with a discussion about our kids. It’s a great way to connect before we get down to business. And after all, as a wise man once said, people do business with people they know, trust, and like. ;)

*BTW, this group has provided some of my favorite blog posts ever. Check out Not Mommy of the Year’s “A Taste of Work at Home” and PineappleBabble’s “SAHM.” LOL!

Babies and Business Books

If you don’t know who Scott Stratten is, he’s like the Justin Bieber of social media. Except he’s an adult and his haircut doesn’t make me want to punch someone.

He’s what business-types call an “influencer,” which means he has a lot of followers on Twitter (@unmarketing). And you know how I love my Twitter. I forget how he got on my radar but I really started paying attention when he launched this video for one of his clients: www.ReflectionsofMotherhood.com

Stratten has a new book out called “UnMarketing.” I bought it for myself and my husband because we often sit up late at night discussing the Internet and how to be successful while remaining authentic to our true selves. And also, whose turn it is to empty the diaper pail.

You may be surprised that I read business books. After all, I spend much of my time chronicling my baby’s (ill-timed) bowel movements and making dance videos of my preschooler. What can I say? I’m a multifaceted person.

In addition to being a mom, I am self-employed as a freelance writer, editor, and writing instructor. My first boss -- who, incidentally, was also named Scott -- always told me I was destined to be an entrepreneur. Maybe it was because of my inappropriate office-wear (Doc Martens and mini kilts) rather than my passion and business savvy, but whatever.

In a way, he was right. Sure, he may have imagined me running a publishing empire like him rather than writing about baby poo in my pajamas. But to each her own, right?

Anyway, in between diapers, I read up on engaging with the marketplace and building my platform. I know how to throw around terms like “out of pocket” and “paradigm shift.” (Even though I really hate people who do.)

And part of what I like about Stratten’s book is that he DOESN’T bombard you with business jargon. (Except for the “pull and stay,” which sounds like a dog-training technique if you ask me.) He writes like (I imagine) he speaks, and it’s easy for regular people like me to understand. Also, he’s funny. Even his FOOTNOTES are funny. And I can tell you from years of copyediting, that’s a feat.

The book spends a lot of time discussing social media and why you should care about it. It also includes many eye-opening examples of what businesses like Walmart and Zappos.com are doing right… and wrong.

My one criticism is that it’s not clear exactly who the book’s intended audience is. As someone who considers herself more a creative type than a business person, I could’ve skipped the chapters on trade shows and teleseminars. But let’s face it: I’m as much a capitalist as the next gal. Baby needs a new pair of Crocs, people! And titanium strollers don’t grow on trees.

Stratten does use some examples that ARE relevant to me, like the Motrin mom ad campaign debacle, and how and why viral videos work. (Because I genuinely did wonder how a video could sell nursing bras.)

But my biggest take-away was from his chapter on experts. “When you position yourself as an expert with useful information for people,” writes Stratten, “your marketplace will always have a need for that information.” Notice he says AN expert, not THE expert.

I can get behind that. After all, I am something of an expert on this mom stuff. For instance:

• I know that orange juice needs to be served in a straw-top cup, not a sippy cup, because the pulp will block the holes.
  


• I know that there’s a big difference between creamy Desitin and original Desitin. (You want original, which is the thick, white paste.)
  


• I know that skipping a kid’s nap is ALWAYS a bad idea.
  

And after 14+ years as a freelance writer, yeah, I’d say I’m an expert on that, too. I know that I am a skilled wordsmith with something valuable to offer clients, even if I make PB&J’s between business calls.

So thanks, Scott(s), for the encouragement and insights. For a couple of business-types, you’re all right.

FIGHTIN’ WORDS O’ THE WEEK: Oh, we WILL talk about Stratten’s chapter, “Why Being a Work-at-Home-Mom Is Bad for Business,” mark my words. That’s a whole separate post...

Authors Agree: Marriage Is Hard

At various times, certain themes crop up in my life, when it seems like everything I read, hear, or see converges on a particular subject. The current theme is: marriage is hard.

Now, everyone calm down. I’m coming up on my 7th wedding anniversary and I have no plans to pull an “Eat Pray Love” maneuver and ditch my husband to flit around the world for a year. (Though I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind a time or 20.)

I mean, really, is it a newsflash to ANYONE that “happily ever after” is harder than it’s made out to be? Especially when you add 2 kids to the mix? Personally, I find it refreshing when people admit that. Which is probably why I enjoyed the following 2 books so much.

The novel Everyone Is Beautiful by Katherine Center follows a young mother of 3, Lanie, who reluctantly uproots her family and moves cross-country for her husband’s job. The descriptions of the pure chaos involved in raising small kids, the dicey playground politics, the challenges of being friends with other moms whose circumstances are vastly different from your own, and the constant grappling between spouses for free time rang SO true to life.

I can’t tell you how many times my husband and I have debated whether work happy hours “count” as leisure time. Just like I can’t tell you how many times people who say parenting may be challenging but not physically grueling change their tune after a couple hours with my kids. Anyway, you should read the book. And also, fellow blogger/writer Angie Mizzell's interview with the author.

On a very different but related note is Laura Munson’s memoir, This Is Not The Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness. Before I read the book, I read about this author’s long road to publication and found it hugely inspiring. Then I sought out her NYT “Modern Love” essay that the book is based on. (Especially interesting to me, since one of my students recently had an essay she developed in my online writing class published in Modern Love.) Then I bought the book.

Here’s the gist: what happens when your beloved husband of 15 years comes home one day and says, “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did”? I’m willing to bet 99% of us wouldn’t respond the way Munson did: “I don’t buy it.”

Even while reeling from shock and pain, she was able to recognize that this was more about him having a job-related midlife crisis than it was about her. The book covers the following year of Munson’s life as she turns to therapy, writing, mothering, cooking, friends, and nature to help her through this difficult time.

Like Center’s novel, it shows that even “good” marriages don’t guarantee happiness and personal fulfillment. Both books also explore what happens when women pursue their own passions. Honest, eye-opening, gut-wrenching, and yet also beautiful and even funny at times, Munson’s book was hard to put down.

Yep, marriage is hard, all right. Good thing there are writers out there willing to address the subject in such honest and uplifting stories.

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: Two things you don’t want to hear on a long family roadtrip: 1) "Do you smell throw-up?" 2) "Or is that poop?" Answer: Both.

I tackled one kid while my husband handled the other. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.

Alone Again, Unnaturally

We’re currently visiting my parents on the New England coast. It’s a beautiful place to be in the summertime -- beaches, rocky shoreline, sparkling water dotted with sailboats, open expanses of wind-blown grass, wild roses climbing over old stone walls.

Not that I’ve had much chance to enjoy it, mind you. I’ve been busy with my usual activities, like changing diapers, applying sunscreen, packing snacks, and visiting every playground in the area. I’m not complaining, exactly. It IS nice to have a change of scenery once in awhile. And the grandparents do take some of the pressure off me. Not least by serving delicious nightly meals with wine and candles (!!)

Yesterday I managed to go for a bike ride by myself. The baby was napping and his brother was coloring semi-quietly in his room. “Don’t come back until you’ve gone 5 miles,” ordered my mom. I’m not sure if she’s concerned about my fitness or my mental health. Either way, I appreciated the sentiment.

The first part of the ride, I half-noticed the scenery and the sea air while continuing my usual incessant brain-chatter: “I have to get back by 3:30 or the baby will sleep too long and won’t go to bed tonight, plus that’ll give me time to take a shower before we meet our friends at the playground, which I’m not sure I know how to find exactly and I wonder if they have bathrooms there and I have to remember to pack the green sippy cup that doesn’t leak and the sunblock that doesn’t run into the baby’s eyes and -- dammit! I forgot to get more Overnite diapers..."

Unconsciously, I pedaled to the edge of a park overlooking the ocean. I stopped for a water break and leaned my bike against a high stone wall. Far off, a boat silently trailed a streak of white, like sidewalk chalk on a driveway. I heard the drone of bees and noticed a woodchuck trundling along in the underbrush a few yards away. A butterfly circled lazily overhead. Aside from a guy mowing a lawn in the distance, I was alone. Alone!

You know in that Dr. Seuss book “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” there’s that line, “Alone is something you’ll be quite a lot”? I’m guessing he didn’t mean when you have 2 small kids. Because I am alone about as often as I make a nice, home-cooked family meal with wine and candles. Which is to say, almost never.

Not in the car, not in the house. Not in my bed, not in the kitchen. And especially, not in the bathroom. Going to the grocery store by myself doesn’t count. It just doesn’t. Technically, I guess you could say I’m alone on the treadmill when I go to the gym, but come on!

And I am a person who needs my alone time. Cherishes it. CRAVES it. I get to eat an entire cookie in peace. Listen to my own music. Think my own thoughts. (That part is key.) Ironic, since for a good part of my life I had too much alone time. If only it was something you could stock up on, like toilet paper at Costco. But that works about as well as stocking up on sleep before the baby comes, doesn’t it?

I know, I know. There will come a time, far too soon, when I am alone again. When my kids don’t need me as much. When I can take solo bike rides whenever the mood strikes. I wonder... will I appreciate them half as much when the time comes?

Nah. Just like I never fully appreciated "sleeping in" till 7 a.m. on a Saturday before I had kids.

READ O’ THE WEEK: After reading this article and the NYT essay that sparked the book (writers, take note!), I picked up Laura Munson’s This Is Not The Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness I am really, really enjoying it.

A Poop Post, Featuring Tori Spelling

Warning: this post may contain content that some readers find objectionable. Namely, readers without children or those who are especially sensitive to descriptions of certain bodily functions. (Translation: this is a post about poop.)

Last week I read Tori Spelling’s memoir, Mommywood. A quick, fun read, my reaction was equal parts “Thank God I’m not famous and don’t have to deal with THAT” and “Wow, celebrities ARE just like the rest of us.” Case in point: they have to deal with their babies' poop.

Oh, Tori may take her tot to private swim lessons in salt-water swimming pools, but when the sh*t hits the swim diaper, she’s left holding the diaper bag. I laughed out loud at her description of how poop loses its “structural integrity” underwater, and how she debated whether to throw away a poopy towel and risk being seen as a wasteful, spoiled brat or whether to stuff the mess in her bag and bring it home.

In a related story, my parents were visiting last weekend and generously agreed to babysit -- and bathe –- the boys one night. All was well until the poop hit the tub. Miles screamed, my parents panicked, and the baby was oblivious. To capture the true horror of the experience, here’s an excerpt from a post I wrote when Miles was small, “Month 16: Tub Torpedo.” Add in another kid and it’s even worse.

“There’s no way around it: being a mom means dealing with gross stuff. I knew this going into it. And I’m not a gal who likes gross. From the moment I got pregnant I was bombarded with icky words like mucous and discharge and placenta. And the birth itself? Just yuck, people. Y-U-C-K.

And newborns, as everyone knows, do little more than pee and poop and spit up. Gross, but not that big a deal. Yet in spite of all my exposure to extreme grossness in the past year, I encountered a new level of nastiness the other night: the dreaded tub poop.

Now, I have been warned of this phenomenon by other moms. It’s even happened to C., who usually gives Miles his baths. I’m actually shocked that I’ve avoided it this long.

But no, that fateful evening, the baby stopped splashing, stood up, gave a telltale grunt and … the rest is just too gory to go into. But why stop now? You know what they say about, um, "stuff" hitting the fan? Well it’s worse when it hits the water. It immediately starts to dissolve and scatter in every direction. I swooped Miles out of that tub like I was rescuing him from the Titanic. Mayhem ensued. Gags were stifled. Powerful disinfectants were administered after the offending party was put to bed.

So now baths are back to being solely Dad’s domain. Isn’t it bad enough I went through childbirth? I can’t deal with this kind of carnage.”

I don’t want to spoil the book for you, but there’s another part where Tori describes scooping up a “dead leaf” floating near her toddler son in a hotel pool. Suffice it to say, mayhem ensued.

Reading Round-Up

Wow, it’s been AGES since I did one of these, hasn’t it? But thanks to my newfound love of the library, I’ve actually been reading quite a bit lately. Turns out I DO have the time if I don’t cook, ignore my children, and stay off the computer. Who knew?

Seriously, though, one day when the baby was napping I told Miles he didn’t have to go to his room for quiet time if he entertained himself while I read. And he did! For a good 90 min. almost.

There really is no rhyme or reason to my reading selections. For instance, I read the July 19 Time magazine cover story, “The Only-Child Myth,” at the gym, even though I am not an only child and blew my chance to have an only child about 26 mos. ago. (That’s 17 mos. plus 9 mos., right?)

It was actually a fascinating article. It turns out that only children really aren’t socially stunted and selfish. (Seriously. The author cites an early study that claimed just that.) In fact, they’re better off because they get more of their parents’ attention and resources. Oh, well, too late for us! Sorry, Riley, there’s always community college. Moving on...

In that same issue, there’s a funny essay by Joel Stein about his trip to a spa with his mother.

At the library, I picked out two books in my usual fashion. First, I trolled the new releases, zeroing in on the biography and memoir sections. Then, I wandered down the aisles where the books on writing are shelved.

I came away with Cathy Alter’s Up for Renewal: What Magazines Taught Me About Love, Sex, and Starting Over. This 30-something, newly divorced freelance writer decides to make over her life by following the advice of women’s magazines for a year. (Note to writers: I’m convinced that anybody who commits to do anything for a year gets a book deal out of it.)

It’s an entertaining read, though I couldn’t help but wonder how Alter got away with being so candid about her friends and family without alienating everyone she knows. She’s a gutsier writer than I, that’s for sure. Anyway, anyone who loves magazines should check out this book.

If that memoir was like candy, then this was like a 5-course gourmet meal: Slow Love: How I Lost My Job, Put On My Pajamas & Found Happiness by Dominique Browning. The (50-something?) author loses her job as editor-in-chief of House & Garden (again with the magazines!), breaks up with her on-again, off-again beau, and has to put the pieces of her life back together.

With an empty nest and too much time on her hands (basically, the polar opposite of my own life), Browning rediscovers what’s important to her in elegantly written, thoughtful prose. I picked up this book after reading an excerpt in O magazine.

Well, that’s it, folks. Unless you want to read a synopsis of Carrie Underwood’s dream wedding, per People magazine. Or how Entertainment Weekly dubbed Lady Gaga’s costumes at a recent concert “Kinetic Snowflake” and “Vinyl Wonton.” Ha!

Now I’ve got to run. All this reading has put a serious damper on my Twitter time.

Ramona Made a Reader Out of Me

Anyone have a tween girl I can borrow? I’m dying to see “Ramona and Beezus.” Oh, trust me, I WILL see it, tween or no tween. As a kid, my love of Beverly Cleary’s Ramona was rivaled only by my affection for Lois Lowry’s Anastasia Krupnik.

The following anecdote will either a) reveal what a geek I was as a kid, or b) prove that I was destined to be a writer when I grew up.

One night I was reading in bed when I came across a particular passage. I honestly don’t remember whether it was a Ramona book or an Anastasia book, though I’d bet on the latter.

Anyway, this passage was describing the hapless protagonist’s humiliating turn at being forced to shimmy up a rope in gym class. She inevitably lost her grip, and plummeted to the floor in front of all her classmates.

Something about that word “plummet” sent me into gales of laughter. In fact, as my mother tells it, I laughed so hard I fell out of bed. So, writers? If you’ve ever doubted the power of word choice, let this be a lesson to you.

This past year my son’s preschool class made little booklets about themselves. They listed their likes and dislikes, favorite activities, foods, etc. Under “Favorite thing to do with Mommy” Miles listed “read books.” I’m not gonna lie, people. I teared up. Especially because that’s MY favorite thing to do with my kids.

Miles has loved books from Day 1 and is the type of kid who will read anything in front of him, including a cereal box. Now, I’ll admit I don’t always love his choice of reading material, like the mind-numbing “Cars” books based on the animated motion picture, or the encyclopedia of sharks. (Which is clearly not intended for 4y.o.’s since it includes detailed instructions on what to do if you are ever attacked by a shark. The gist: punch it in the nose and swim like hell.)

But we both love reading all the Dr. Seuss books (although we agree the guy could NOT draw horses) and Jane Yolen’s dinosaur books and David Shannon’s books.

Then there’s Riley. I know he’s only 16 mos. old, but I genuinely feared he was destined for a life of crime and illiteracy since he showed zero interest in books for much of his life. Then, all of a sudden, things changed, and now he climbs up on the couch next to his brother with his own book every time he sees Miles reading. And he does the backwards butt-scoot into my lap when he wants me to read to him.

My second-born is WAY pickier when it comes to reading material, however. He’s stuck on the same 6 or so board books, including a stupid one about a cow that came from the $1 section of Target and a non-age-appropriate book about tractors that’s of questionable literary value.

But what do I care? I’m just thrilled that my children are readers. (Even though I know that can change at some point.) It’s even inspired me to rediscover my OWN love of reading, which has withered up and died tapered off since I had a second baby.

I had stopped going to the library because the overdue fees were starting to cut into my kids’ college funds. I simply could not finish a book or manage to return them on time. But I’m giving it another go. Although, wouldn’t you know, I’m overly ambitious right out of the gate and am currently reading 3 books at the same time. I’m taking full advantage of the library’s online renewal policy.

Just think: with all the late fees I save, I can buy a movie ticket to see “Ramona and Beezus”! Who’s with me?

Gisele and New-Mom Body Issues

It was Gisele who put me over the edge. There I was, flipping through Vogue as I walked on the treadmill, feeling pretty good about myself for getting to the gym. The baby was at the sitter’s, since he has no love for the gym daycare.

Then I saw it: a softly lit, black & white photo of the Brazilian supermodel cradling her naked newborn. In the pic, Gisele is sporting cashmere boy-shorts and a bare midriff.

Let’s set aside for a moment the utter impracticality of cashmere underwear and focus on the really disturbing part: her perfectly toned BARE MIDRIFF. On a NEW MOM. I flew into a Google frenzy trying to find out when the photos were taken. Maybe the baby was 10 mos. old? Nope. I believe they were taken when he was about 3 mos. old.

This means Gisele hadn’t spent half a year on a high-intensity diet and exercise program. She didn’t have time for a tummy tuck. The photo didn’t appear to be excessively airbrushed. I couldn’t even claim she was wearing a triple-layer of Spanx under her clothes. Because she was flaunting her flat, BARE MIDRIFF.

Now, you should know that I’m not one of those people who’s against thin models. I don’t want to look at people like me in magazines. I don’t need to see any more stretch marks and stomach flab, thankyouverymuch. HOWEVER.

Showing a new mom who, I’d venture to guess, looks completely unlike 99% of the new-mom population is a low blow. I mean, yay for Gisele, but imagine all those normal, exhausted postpartum women reading her interview in which she chalks up her superhuman post-baby physique to “muscle memory.”

Right. I guess my muscles have amnesia, then, because even 15 mos. post-birth I am not ready to bare my midriff. In fact, my belly button will never again see the light of day in this LIFETIME, mark my words.

It was shortly after the Gisele incident that heard about a book called “Does This Pregnancy Make Me Look Fat? The Essential Guide to Loving Your Body Before and After Baby,” by Claire Mysko (a new mom herself) and Magali Amadeï (an international model, BTW).

Drawing from interviews with more than 400 women and men, as well as their own experiences, the authors set out to forewarn expectant moms “what to expect from your changing body, as well as a reality check for each stage of your pregnancy, exposing the myths, challenges, and insecurities you'll face throughout pregnancy and beyond—and what to do about them.”

I can tell you unequivocally that based on the search-engine traffic to my “Pregnancy Butt” post, those of us with pregnancy-related body issues are not alone. In fact, I’m so interested in this topic that I plan to do a Q&A with author Claire Mysko, former director of the American Anorexia Bulimia Association, in the near future. If there are any questions you’d like me to ask her, jot ’em down in the comments.

READ O’ THE WEEK: Pregnancy magazine ran an excerpt of the book recently, called “The Big Lies of the Bump Watch” Sample quote: “Airbrushed images of slim celebrity moms also give us a very warped view of what a new mother’s body really looks like. Short of wearing blinders or moving to a remote village, there’s no way to block out the baby-weight coverage completely, but for new moms and moms-to-be, it’s important to keep a healthy perspective.”

The Falafel Debacle

Did I ever tell you guys about the time I made falafel? No? Well, that’s probably because it was AWFUL. I had this idea that because both my kids like chickpeas I should kick it up a notch and make something fancier than our usual dinner fare (e.g. spaghetti and peas). Plus, I have golden memories of this amazing falafel I had in Montreal one summer when I was studying French there in college. It was legendary, people.

My falafel? Was nothing like that. I knew I’d gotten off to a bad start when the recipe said to use a food processor and, since we don’t own one, I decided to use a blender. Only the bottom third of the chickpea mixture was mixing, so I tried to shove it down with a rubber spatula. When that got chewed up, I picked out the pieces of plastic and tried a wooden spoon. When a chunk of that splintered off, I thought about giving up, but instead I transferred the whole mess in two batches to the Magic Bullet.

Then, it turned out we didn’t have enough vegetable oil to deep-fry the falafel patties so I added some olive oil to the pan, thinking I’d sauté them instead. Healthier, right? So here’s what happened: the falafel dissolved in the oil and I ended up with a pan full of chickpea sludge. Did I mention that I had invited our neighbors over for dinner and there were 5 hungry kids running around my house at that point?

I managed to salvage a few paltry falafel patties, which were gritty and too salty and contained shards of wooden spoon. My neighbor, ever the good sport, pronounced them “not that bad.” The girl is a terrible liar. But polite. Needless to say, the kids wouldn’t touch the stuff and ate chicken nuggets instead. And THAT is why I don’t cook much, people.

Someone who does is Matthew Amster-Burton, author of Hungry Monkey: A Food-Loving Father's Quest to Raise an Adventurous Eater. A food writer and dad in Seattle, he writes about his culinary adventures with his very funny and precocious daughter, Iris. The child was eating sushi at 10 mos. She once did a podcast about lobster. And her favorite food is some Szechuan dish with pork that her dad grinds himself. For real.

I loved this book, even though I am SO not the intended audience. For one thing, I’m a vegetarian. For another, my favorite cookbook is one he openly disparages (Desperation Dinners). And for another, I hate grocery shopping and only do it because I have to, whereas Amster-Burton goes food shopping at farmers’ markets and specialty grocery stores up to 8 times a week (!!).

But I’m a sucker for a good read, especially one about a devoted stay-at-home dad and his hilarious 3 y.o. I know ALL about hilarious 3 y.o.’s. Mine is a pretty good eater, but there’s no WAY he’d ever eat a fish eyeball like Iris does.

The book is very funny and includes recipes, 99% of which I will never make. With the possible exception of the Pad Thai. I laughed out loud at the chapter about his stint as preschool “Snack Dad.” He makes empanadas and Chinese dumplings for the class -- from scratch. I would HATE this guy if I were another parent at his school. As a point of comparison, I brought in prepackaged popcorn when it was my turn to do snack.

My poor children will never know what it’s like to grind their own spices, buy shrimp straight off the boat, or make sticky rice at home. Oh, well. Maybe when they’re in college they can study abroad one semester and get a taste of what good food is like.

READ O’ THE WEEK: Amster-Burton’s book includes a “recommended reading” section at the end, complete with food-related kids’ books. One of our favorites is Jamberry by Bruce Degen, a rollicking, rhyming fruit adventure. Mmmm, jam...

Birthday Blues

One of my former writing students wrote a scathing and hilarious essay about kids’ birthday parties. It began something like, “Do you enjoy standing around on Saturdays in your socks making small talk with strangers?” As someone who’s been to more than a few toddler parties, I could completely relate. I don’t HATE kids’ birthday parties, but they’re not my favorite way to spend a Saturday, either. Here’s why.

It starts with the guest list. In theory, I am all for the “one guest per year of your child’s age” policy. Certainly, I am not interested in hosting a 50-person throw-down every time one of my son’s birthdays rolls around. But here’s the thing. Once you start including parents and siblings (the norm for most of the little kids’ parties we’ve been to), you end up with a crowd.

Also, at my son’s school they have a policy that kids should invite all or none of their classmates to their birthday parties. I get it; they don’t want anyone to feel left out. But the WHOLE CLASS?? Good lord, people! Do you know how many goody bags that is?

Which brings me to the next thing: goody bags. When did these become the norm? Of course the kids love them. But now my son EXPECTS to leave every party with his own loot. And not just a lollipop and a couple of stickers. His gift bags have included coloring books, temporary tattoos, stamps, pens, balls, games, and of course, CANDY. Lots of it.

I actually considered shirking the trend for my 1 y.o.’s birthday party. After all, it was just a couple of family members and friends. Small, casual. I know for a fact most parents don’t want another bag of plastic crap from the Target $1 section. It’s cheap, it falls apart, it’s almost surely made in China and saturated with lead paint. But...

Some of those things are so darn CUTE. Have you seen the Easter stuff? And imagine the disappointment on those poor kids’ faces when they left the party empty-handed, with nothing but pizza stains and a killer sugar buzz to remember it by. I couldn’t do it. I compromised by giving them board books. Yep, I’m THAT mom. Next thing you know I’ll be handing out raisins on Halloween.

The next anxiety-causing issue is the gift. I am not a great gift-giver even when it comes to people I know and love. Ask my husband. To this day, my kids’ favorite gifts are things other people bought them. So the thought of buying something for some random kid I know nothing about besides their gender fills me with dread.

How am I supposed to know what they like? What they’ve read? What they already have? If they live in a TV-free or Barbie-free household? (They exist, I know for a fact.) God forbid I give some kid a Tinkerbell puzzle and incur the wrath of a feminist, anti-Disney parent.

I know, you’re thinking, “Just get a gift receipt.” Uh-uh. Because I have a place where I can get new, hardcover books for a steal. And another place where I buy things like hand-painted wooden toys from Germany for up to 70% off. No one needs to know my secret! (Except you guys, that is.) If they want to regift it, that’s their business.

So, yeah. I’m a little stressed about birthday parties. I thank my lucky STARS that my older son’s birthday falls after the school year. Until then, you can look for me on weekends at the gymnastics place, the inflatable jump house place, the bowling alley, or the art studio. I’ll be the one standing around in socks, making small talk with strangers.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: If you plan ahead, personalized stuff like this from Olive Kids is a foolproof gift. Super-cute, too.

*Thanks to my friend T for the photo!

The 5 Stages of a Family Roadtrip

You know how you feel the morning after a wild night of partying? (Think waaaay back, now.) You can’t believe how stupid you were to drink that much and stay out that late and boy, are you paying for it with a hangover from hell. You swear you will never again do something so foolish.

Well, I feel the same way after each trip to visit my extended family.


C. and I live 6 states away from our parents. The 7-hour drive has never been a picnic, but add 2 kids and an extra half-dozen stops along the way and it becomes a NIGHTMARE. Literally. The night before we leave I toss and turn dreaming of all the horrible accidents and traffic jams and germy rest stops and screaming meltdowns the trip might bring.

In fact, we’ve only attempted it one other time since Riley was born. But my FIL is turning 70 and, well, that seemed like a good enough reason to try it again. During the long, long, LONG drive, I had time to reflect on the 5 stages of a family roadtrip:

1) Anticipation. It will be good to see everyone. They won’t believe how much the kids have grown. And Riley HAS become a much better baby the older he’s gotten. He doesn’t scream or throw up nearly as often. Plus, Miles is SO looking forward to seeing his grandparents and cousins. Maybe the trip won’t be so bad.

2) Excitement. Off we go! The car is packed with snacks, drinks, toys, music, and plenty of DVDs for the portable player. The kids are in good moods, everyone’s healthy and moderately well-rested, and the sun is shining. This is actually kind of fun.

3) Irritation. The sun glare is unbearable. The brakes are making a weird crunching noise. And if I have to listen to another one of my husband’s skull-jarring rock bands or insipid kids’ CDs I will SCREAM. Wait? What? A 5-mile backup due to construction?! Are you freaking KIDDING me?!

4) Giddiness. Who WERE those people who said, “The kids will probably sleep the whole way”? Not in my world. My 3 y.o. is kicking my seat and shouting nonsensical phrases over and over -- “Take a glance at Mr. Pants!” And my poor, overtired 1 y.o. is giggling hysterically. His laugh IS really cute, though...

5) Recovery. 8 hours after we began our journey, we stumble into the house in a wave of snack wrappers, empty coffee cups, coloring books, and dirty laundry. We immediately split off in different directions, some of us collapsing on the couch, some of us sprinting deliriously around the house. We made it. We survived. We will never -- I repeat, NEVER – attempt that hellish trip again, so help me GPS.

At least, not until the next important family occasion.

QUOTE O’ THE WEEK: Miles: “We should take a plane.” Dad (driving): “Why?” Miles: “Because the plane knows how to get there.”

READ O’ THE WEEK: Pug in a Truck is a really cute book about, you guessed it. Introduces kids to trucker lingo like “dragon wagon” (tow truck) and “ground clouds” (fog).

Joy to the World, the Baby Slept!

Joy to the world, the baby slept!
He slept right through the night;
From 7 p.m. to 6 a.m.,
He let mama and dada sleep,
He let mama and dada sleep,
He let mama, poor mama, and dada sleep!

That’s right, people. Riley slept through the night for the FIRST. TIME. EVER. In his nearly 10 mos. of life, that’s an unprecedented event. (Except for that one time he had a fever and slept for 7 hrs. but that doesn’t count.) Not only that, but he’s done it 3 nights in a row.

It’s almost as if he KNEW I was at the end of my rope. Either that, or it was letting him cry for 45 min. straight the first night. Here’s what happened: I reread Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child by Dr. Marc Weissbluth. I really can’t recommend this book enough. It’s not light reading, but you don’t have to read it cover to cover, either. You can dip in and out as needed.

The book reinforced what I guess I already knew: that at 9 mos. old, Riley does not need to be waking up 1-4x/night. In fact, I’m doing him a disservice by responding to him, because I’m not allowing him to get the rest he needs. Also, Weissbluth is a bit of a nap nazi. So for 3 days straight, I made sure Riley was down at 9 a.m., 2 p.m. and in bed by 7 p.m. And it WORKED!!!

I don’t think it’s so much that the book was a miracle solution, but rather it’s due to a combination of factors, including stopping nursing, his age, and giving him more food. (I switched from 6 oz. to 8 oz. of formula at night and 1 jar of baby food per meal to 2.)

Anyway, I don’t need to tell you the thrill I felt when I heard him stirring -- first clue something was different: he was cooing, not crying -- and I looked at the clock expecting it to say 3 a.m. and it said 6:24 a.m. I immediately woke up my husband to tell him the good news! :)

I also don’t need to tell anybody who’s ever suffered an extended bout of sleep deprivation what a HUGE difference an uninterrupted night’s sleep makes to a person’s wellbeing. I was a ball of Christmas spirit the next day! Adding to my festive mood was the 16-inch snowfall (!!) we got. Made all the more wonderful because it happened on a weekend and Daddy was home to shovel it and take Miles out to play in it for hours!

Meanwhile, I policed Riley’s naps, got the house in order (including going through the foot-high stack of mail on the counter), organized and uploaded all the pictures and videos, displayed the Christmas cards, put away laundry, changed sheets. You know, all those things you don’t have time to do during the week with 2 hooligans underfoot. Also, C. prepared almost ALL the meals. Heaven! Of course, his fancy-schmancy strawberry French toast and tuna melts are going to be a tough act to follow, but whatever.

Now that I’m feeling rested and festive and grateful, I’d like to extend a sincere thank-you to all my faithful readers and commenters out there. Seriously, you don’t know (or maybe you do!) what a boost you give me. It really is like having a virtual community of moms who are in the trenches with you. Hugs all around!

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Writer and mom Holly Bowne shares 20 Tips for Savoring the Holidays. I commented that some days my gratitude list includes only “babysitters” and “wine.”

In All Honesty...

Spoiler alert: serious post ahead. Believe me, I’d love to write a light, upbeat entry about my “Seasonal Activity Disorder” flaring up again and our Christmas tree debacle. But it would take more energy than I’ve got right now.

Besides, I took a quiz on Oprah.com that told me my true destiny is to be an “adviser” and an “equalizer.” I took that to mean I’m here to help other moms in any way I can and show people that if I can do this motherhood thing, then any idiot can.

Except sometimes I can’t.

I’ve half-joked about quitting being a (mostly) SAHM and about my ongoing quest for optimism and balance. Though some (such as my spouse) might disagree, I do try to look on the bright side of disasters and not dwell on the ugly parts of life. I’m all for honesty, but I prefer to leave the all-cards-on-the-table confessional stuff to the Dooces and Anne Lamotts of the world.

But you know, sometimes motherhood isn’t funny or light. Sometimes -- a lot of times -- it’s the hardest f@#$%?!ing thing I’ve ever done in my life. And the scariest, too, because there are 2 human beings dependent on me for survival and I can’t quit or call in sick. EVER. For the REST OF MY LIFE.

There have been plenty of days I didn’t want to get out of bed and/or I didn’t want to go to sleep at night because that would make the morning come sooner. And then I’d have to get up and do it all again. There have been plenty of days that I cried when my husband left for work.

I’m not a big believer in medication (maybe because both my epidurals failed?!) especially the mood-altering kind. I did briefly seek help from a therapist, but since I believe my current state of mind is situational, not chronic or chemical, I eventually stopped. Besides, who has time to fit one more appointment into their schedule?!

One thing that does really help me is knowing that I’m not alone. I’m lucky that I have several close friends, family members, and neighbors who keep it real and help me out whenever they can. When a friend told me she nearly got divorced following the birth of her second child, I was grateful for her honesty. When a blogger I follow confessed she’d made “The Call” to her husband one day (as in, “Get home IMMEDIATELY if you care about the safety of your children”), I thought, thank God it’s not just me.

And when my writing students share essays about miscarriage and postpartum depression I admire their bravery and think about all the people they will touch with their words. (And they do, because many students have gotten their essays published and received heartfelt responses from readers.)

So I’ll admit here that I have been having some really bad days lately. Behavior issues, sleeping issues, teething, the holidays, too much sugar, not enough exercise or help -- all the usual stuff but all at once and without a break. There was one day in particular I really thought I was going to hurt somebody. REALLY HURT THEM. So I dumped the baby in his crib with some toys and put Miles in his room with a baby gate across the door. And I walked away.

And you know what happened? Absolutely nothing.

Everybody was fine. In fact, Riley had a blast. He was probably thrilled to have his brother off his back for 30 min. And even Miles, aside from calling mournfully down the stairs every few minutes, was fine playing by himself.

I related this anecdote to the kids’ pediatrician the other day. And you know what she said? “I’m so glad you did that.” And then she went on to ask if there was any way I could get some more help. It might be tough, but I’m going to work on it. Part of me wants to pretend that I’m a perfectly competent mom and writer who juggles it all by myself with grace. After all, I know plenty of people who do. But I am not one of them. And that’s OK.

READ O’ THE WEEK: Author Claudine Wolk sent me a review copy of her perfectly titled book, “It Gets Easier! … And Other Lies We Tell New Mothers.” It’s part “Girlfriends’ Guide” and part “What to Expect” with a healthy dose of humor and practical, real-world tips.

I think Wolk really hits her stride in Ch. 10: “How Did I Get Into This Mess?”, Ch. 11: “What is a Housewife & How Did I Become One?” and Ch. 12: ”The Most Frustrating Job on the Planet.” Unlike other books that gloss over the working vs. staying home topic in a couple of paragraphs, Wolk goes deeper into the real issues.

Like coming to grips with all the chores that accompany new motherhood. And how your marriage will change. And how neither working or at-home moms have a easy choice or often any choice at all. (She points out that working moms have TWO f.t. jobs.) In fact, Wolk’s is the most thorough and respectful discussion of this topic I’ve read.

This book deserves a place on the bookshelf alongside the other titles about this life-changing, gut-wrenching journey we call motherhood.