I live in a house with my husband, our five-year-old son, our three-year-old daughter and our four-month old baby and, I must admit, I can’t remember the last time I closed the bathroom door.*

Last week on Jezebel, Tracey Moore wrote about bringing her two-year-old daughter into the bathroom with her and even letting her sit on her lap while she peed. As icky/wrong/shocking as this may seem to some people, I think it’s just the natural outcome of the separation anxiety, post-baby bladder control and maternal nurturing trifecta.

You see, peeing while my daughter sits in my lap is not something I planned, per se, but, like my inadvertent collection of promotional earplugs, it just sort of happened slowly over time. It’s not like anyone explains to you that that you can either raise a baby with a healthy sense of attachment, or you can raise a little attachment pee-er. It’s just understood you’ll all be doing the peeing on your own time. It’s not covered in any of the books or anything, and if you try to search online for “baby insists on sitting on my lap while I pee” you just get a bunch of results about dogs.

I don’t know if I’ve ever peed with a two year old on my lap (although I might have!), but I do know that I pee with a baby all the time. My first time was in a public washroom on one of my first solo baby-wearing outings. I suddenly realized I had nowhere to put him, so I just kept wearing him. And you know what? It was fine. So I did it again and again and again. I know some public washrooms have wall-mounted baby seats, but excuse me while I take a shower in Purel just thinking about that.

Even at home, I’ll stop in for a quick pee, babe in arms, rather than leave her screaming in her crib down the hall. (Yeah, three vaginal births. I pee whenever I can, thank you very much.) (And now I’m Kegeling.) And it’s not just the baby and I in there half the time, either. There’s a better than even chance the three-year-old will also be clamouring to get on the toilet or to get a drink of water or to just be near me.

In fact, I still like to keep the door open when I’m by myself so I can continue to referee. (I really should wear vertical stripes more often — slimming!) Because as soon as I step out of a room all quiet activities will instantly cease and the grabbing/snatching/tackling/wrestling/crying/whining will begin. I need to be both within earshot and in calling out range, at all times.

I’m not even going to get into how many times a day I hear, “Mommy! I went poo!” Or how the three year old will make me escort her to the bathroom, but then make me wait in the hall while she closes the door and goes pee all by herself with pi-vacy. How nice for her.

I hate to break it to the novice parents, but diapers are the easy part. It’s not just me, is it? Come clean, bad moms. How many of you have long-since given up on bathroom boundaries? Open doors, open laps?

*I can’t remember the last time I closed the bathroom door to use the toilet or the shower. OBVIOUSLY I need to close it to eat a treat without sharing.

photo source 80n flickr

The least shocking news of 2012 broke this week, with deep South, deep-fat fryin’ down-home cooking guru Paula Deen admitting that she has type-2 diabetes, something the rags have been dishing on for years.

With signature recipes including Southern Fried Chicken, Cheese Biscuits, Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding and Paula’s Fried Butter Balls, as well as the admission in USA Today that she used to drink “sweet tea” from “… lunchtime … to bedtime,” I’m not sure how anybody – least of all, Paula, couldn’t have seen this coming.

Criticized heavily for promoting a fat- and sugar-laden diet – a diet which is linked to no shortage of health issues, from heart disease to obesity to diabetes – Deen famously once told Oprah, “I’m your cook, not your doctor,” and refuses even now to change her cooking show habits, insisting that she has always stressed moderation in eating.

Sure, Paula, and I’m sure that tobacco companies stress moderation in smoking. I hope Paula is ok, I really do, but the truth is, moderation would have put Paula out of business long ago. What does moderation constitute? Doing something 10% of the time? 25% of the time? I’m pretty sure that Paula would not stress moderation when it comes to people buying her heart-attack-waiting-to-happen recipe books, or the cooking implements she happily shills, which – the only real shocker here – does not include a signature deep fryer.

Also disturbing is the fact that Paula has kept the diagnosis close to her ample bosom for years, choosing only to come out of the deep fryer with her news as it coincides with her new appointment as spokesperson for Novo Nordisk, the pharmaceutical company that will be supplying Deen’s diabetes medication and implements. How quaint.

I am all for people taking responsibility for their own choices and for not playing the blame game when it comes to making the bad ones, but the critics have a point –Paula preaches a dangerous message to the throngs of the butter loving faithful.

It’s like Dr. Atkins developing heart disease, Ben Cohen (of Ben and Jerry’s) undergoing a quintuple (!) bypass, or the millionaire owner of Segway dying in a Segway accident – when you make your living dabbling in the unhealthy and stupid, it can eventually catch up with you.

It caught up with Deen, and as for the blame game, well, she has nobody to blame but herself.

This story tore my heart out and stomped it in to the living room floor.

A 19 year old woman walked in to a Chicago area fire station on Monday carrying a six month old baby. Miserable and wretched, she handed her baby to the firefighters and told them she couldn’t care for her child anymore. She needed to give them her baby.

She didn’t explain why.

She waited until the firefighters called an ambulance and that ambulance showed up to take her baby to the hospital. Then she walked away.

She knew that the firefighters would take her baby under the Safe Haven law. The law that means that a woman can drop off her baby with authorities, no questions asked, and walk away. The law for mothers who are overwhelmed and scared. The law for mothers who are worried, desperately worried about what they will do – or not do. Safe haven laws exist so that women can leave their babies in the hands of responsible authorities without facing judgment, recrimination, the shamed eyes of a court system or family.

The only problem? The safe haven law only technically applies for babies under 30 days old. And this baby was six months old.

Because apparently if women are going to decide to be overwhelmed and desperate and willing to leave their own child in the hands of strangers, they’d better decide to do it in a time limit. Your breakdown needs to be under strict parameters, lady. After that you’re just plain Bad. If they find this woman, she may even face charges, despite the fact that the Safe Haven law specifically says No Questions Asked. Her baby was too old, so they might arrest her. For ugly things.  Abandonment. Endangerment. Badness.

Except, isn’t handing your child over to people who will take care of him or her when you are incapable of doing so, being the best mother you could possibly be?

(I mean, sure, the woman who tried dropping off her 14 and 17 year old children under the law was pushing it. But let’s get real, here: 30 days isn’t the limit of difficult parenting or postpartum depression; of struggles, issues and any number of overwhelming problems that could cause a woman to believe she is unable to care properly for her child.)

So, Chicago, leave her alone. Or if you’re going to find her, then help her. Find out her story. Find out why she was so overwhelmed that she needed to leave her child at a fire station. And see if there’s something good that can come out of it, instead of shame and judgment.

Today, my kid starts school.

She’s two and a half. And she’s ready. She’s very, very, very ready. She watches and thinks and learns, her little brain working furiously behind her eyes as she stares fixatedly at me whenever I try to thwart her plans for world domination.

It’s time. She needs more than I am able to give her. And it tears my heart out to say that. I’m a stay at home mom. Shouldn’t I be able to give her everything she needs? Shouldn’t I be the one to teach her, to sit with her and read stories, help her learn words, songs, movements, how to use scissors, sparkles, glue, paint, how to bake cookies, how to fold laundry, everything of importance in a two year old’s world? Isn’t that my job?

I’ve had to face the fact: I’m not entirely cut out to be a stay at home mom. Being Avery’s Mom is the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. She is a gift, a delight. And yet, am I the right person to provide her with absolutely everything? Is there room for teachers, for peers, for friends?  Especially now, when I have Work, and A Job, and it is getting harder and harder to balance doing that work and parenting, especially since she Dropped Her Nap (capitalized because every parent knows exactly what Kind Of Torture dropping their last nap is) and Thomas or Mr Maker has to fill that gap whenever I have a con call or a deadline. And that’s not the parent I want to be.

So now she’s two and a half, and I have a lot of work to do in the next two months, and it’s the right time for her developmentally and for me career-wise for her to start school. I know this. This is fact.

But still, when I take her in there with her little backpack, with two changes of clothes and indoor shoes and extra diapers and my phone number plastered over everything she owns, I will feel like I’m leaving my heart in that room.

Because I am.

I know that this time of year is supposed to be all, happy happy joy joy, but the truth is, there is much about this season that just sucks. Between juggling family obligations, wrapping up school, work and all of those presents – which, of course you have to buy first, causing no amount of stress for well-meaning procrastinators like me – it’s enough to turn even the merriest of elves into a Grinch.

Add to that the emotional baggage that can come with the holidays – feuding families! Dead people we miss! Money we can’t spend! – and the season of joy can feel downright joyless.

But, since being in a bad mood for two weeks is no fun, and it kind of wrecks it for everybody else, I am here to offer a) sympathy and b) some easy ways to remedy the feelings of stress, sadness and punch-you-in-the-throat frustration that can so easily rear it’s muddled head at this time of year. Christmas doesn’t have to be blue.

Tips for Surviving the Holidays Without Ripping Anybody’s Head Off:

• Simply decide that you cannot and will not do it all this year. If making your own advent calendar and doing all the baking and making your kids’ stockings and cooking 175 latkes for the grade 1 Hanukkah party and hosting the holidays is going to kill you dead, cut something out. It’s ok, Martha – the kids will survive with store bought cookies.
• Pick your poison – and make sure you have it on hand, whether that means herbal tea, a bar of dark chocolate; whatever gets you through. I prefer coffee, with Baileys after six o’clock.
• Carve out a tiny bit of time for yourself. I know, this can sound ridiculous when you feel like you barely have time to go to the bathroom, but taking a few hours for yourself can be a lifesaver. Spend an afternoon at the gym or enjoying an evening out with your girls. Hell, a movie by yourself can be as relaxing as that spa treatment your husband had better get you.
• Remember the reason for the season. For me, that means family. The idea is to be together, to see people I don’t get to see often enough, to watch my children’s face light up when they open that present I stressed out about finding, paying for and wrapping. But whatever your reason for the season, try to keep it in mind.

“Cute”, says the mother dishing out the snacks to my eldest son.

The thing is, my son isn’t cute. And she and I both know it.

When she said cute, what she was really saying: I don’t know how to respond to this kid.  And I had a momentary shudder. It is something that I should be used to. I know that my 11-year old can inspire strong reactions in people.  He is smart and a smart alec and is constantly trying to prove that he is not a child. And he does not have to live by adult’s rules.

I understand him, and I appreciate his utterly adult view of the world, I enjoy the time I spend with him talking about current events or history or the lyrics of a particular song.

But sometimes he embarrasses me, because he doesn’t behave in a way that kids should behave. He states his opinion, he expects people to treat him like an equal, he questions everything.  He isn’t easy, he is a square peg. (And I should know, I thought the 80s sitcom was written about me. Now is an appropriate time to sing the theme song: Square Peg! Square Peg!)  He is a pain in the ass. He is work. He doesn’t really understand why he has to change his personality depending on who he is with, so he never puts on airs and does the Eddie Haskell routine with parents.

I can see it in the eyes of some of his friends’ parents. They aren’t sure how to take him, they aren’t sure if he is being rude, they aren’t sure what he is about.  But if they gave him a chance, if they asked him about something and were interested in the answer they would be surprised.

There are adults that adore him — adults who were once quirky, spare pegs themselves (not surprisingly my blogging friends love him).  Adults who are able to remember what it is like to not quite fit in; they often talk and interact with him on a completely different level.  When I find a parent like that, I am so grateful.

I expect a lot of the adults who meet him, that they give him a chance. And I wonder if I do that to other kids? Do I short-change them because they don’t go along with my expectations? Do I try and fit them in a box because they are different than what I think a child should be like?

I have been told by many of his teachers who have seen the likes of him before, that he will find his place. His nursery school teacher told me that he is going to be a wonderful adult. I hope so, that is what he has been waiting for since the day he was born.

Have you ever met a kid you don’t like? Do you have a square peg?

There’s a lot of baby talk and Mommy judging in the news this week and since we’re all about Bad Moms over here, we might as well tackle the topics at hand.

First up, Michelle Duggar. The Duggars went on the Today show with their nineteen (!) children and two grandchildren to announce that Michelle was pregnant with baby number 20th. This, of course, has led to a lot of criticism from all sides. She’s had health concerns with past pregnancies (pre-eclampsia), she had a premature baby, and she’s 45 which means her pregnancy would be considered “high risk” even if it were her first pregnancy.

While I love children and love my children more than words can express, there is no way on God’s green earth that I want to be pregnant again. My pregnancies weren’t horrible, but they weren’t awesome either. My third gave me the added bonus of spider veins on the front of my legs that make me look like I have a permanent bruise and while pregnant I suffered from varicose veins in an unmentionable area. Every time I went for a checkup my doctor would ask how it was going and upon hearing my response would say, “Each subsequent pregnancy is harder on your body.” Then she’d perform my checkup and say, “I’m so sorry.”

I’m guessing that Michelle must have easier pregnancies than I did (True confession: I have never watched the show), so I guess…good for her? They are debt-free and from what I hear have a pretty decent family life, so what is there to judge? I have a friend whose Dad comes from a family of 13 kids. They love the size of their extended family and have great times when they can all get together. Large families aren’t so bad, I think, so I can’t really understand the uproar.

Maybe one of you don’t agree with me and can tell me why so many people are up in arms.

For the second big headline, our very own Emma wrote about a woman who became a mother at 57 via IVF and now, at the age of 61, says that critics were right that the age limit for IVF should be 50. While I am all for people having the right to do whatever they want with their own bodies (see above), when you have to get a donor egg because your body can’t produce them anymore, maybe that’s a sign that you are too old to conceive? The rest of your body is aging as nature intended, so why make it do what it is clearly not able to do anymore? Yes, you want a baby, but at what cost?

As a Mom myself, I know how hard having babies can be on your body. I had my first baby when I was 27 and my third when I was 31. Three babies in four years is a recipe for exhaustion in itself, but even when I had one newborn at the age of 27, I was TIRED. Up every two hours or so in the night to nurse him, trying to balance a household and help with my husband’s self-employment. I was in a sleep-deprived state for a good 6-8 months. And then, of course, once it lifted I thought, “Let’s do this again!” Oh, how quickly the mind and body forgets.

Age and exhaustion aside, I think that the most important thing here are the kids in stories such as this. The Mother in the story said something that came to mind as soon as I started reading the article:

I get a great emotional feeling when I look at her and a sadness when I realise time’s running out. If I could change just one thing I would wish to be younger so I could enjoy watching Freya grow up, get married and have children of her own.

GAH. This little girl is going to grow up and probably not going to have her Mom see her graduate from high school, never mind get married and have kids of her own. I mean, I get the desire to have kids but at what cost to the kids that you bear? To have to bury your Mom while you are still a child? I know that this is a risk all parents take — we don’t know the future — but when you become a parent so late in life, the odds are really stacked against you. I feel for the little girl and I feel for the Mom who just wanted a baby and now realizes that she won’t be around for her daughter. It’s a sad story, really.

What do you think? Should there be an age limit for IVF? Should Michelle stop at twenty babies and call it a (busy) day?

Well, it’s the second week of November and the Halloween decorations have already been replaced by big red sleighs. That can only mean one thing: ready or not, Christmas is on its way. And that means, Christmas music is here. Already. Nearly two months out.

Now, I love a good O Holy Night or Good King Wenceslas as much as the next Jewish girl, but my relationship with Christmas music is unique. For one, all kidding about my latke-eating heritage aside, I actually love Christmas music. It is known fact that at our annual Hanukkah party, my sister and I always – always – indulge in a loud, raucous, Sweeny-sisteresque medley of our fave merry tunes. It is also a known fact that we actually made my infant child cry during one of our more robust recitals, but that is neither here nor there. I like the xmas tunes.

But the other thing you need to know about my special relationship with holiday hits is that I worked for a music company for more than 11 years; one that specialized in niche music, with Christmas being one of our biggest niches. Nothing can pervert the joy of Christmas music faster than having to listen to orchestral versions, Hawaiian versions, Spanish instrumental versions, a capella versions, 50s instrumental versions (not joking), Salsa versions (still not joking), kids’ versions, lullaby versions and Celtic versions of Christmas carols. And then write distinct liner notes extolling the virtues of each. In July, when Christmas music is typically produced.

All of my previous Christmas music experience has made me a very discerning customer when it comes to my Yuletide fare. I still want to listen to it, but it’s gotta be good. Really, really good.

So – here are a few of my favourite things when it comes to holiday music. Just, please, don’t turn it on until December 1, ok?

Karen’s Holiday Playlist

Good King Wenceslas – The Skydiggers

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen – Barenaked Ladies with Sarah McLachlan

The Hanukkah Song – Adam Sandler

Song for a Winter’s Night – Sarah McLachlan

Silent Night – Stevie Nicks

2000 Miles – The Pretenders

O Holy Night – Sufjan Stevens

O Holy Night – Ella Fitzgerald

Christmas Canon – Trans-Siberian Orchestra (shut up)

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town – Bruce Springsteen

Last Christmas – Wham

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas – Judy Garland

Fairytale of New York – The Pogues

Mary’s Boy Child – Boney M

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer – Jack Johnson

So what will be on your Christmas playlist DECEMBER 1 FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY?

How often have you found yourself packing up the baby stroller for a day on the town with the offspring only to curse the lack of a gun rack next to the cup holder and snack tray?

That’s right, never.*

* it is highly possible that maybe someone out there actually has cursed this ‘oversight’ of the baby stroller manufacturers but those are the parents that scare me even more than the judgmental good moms skulking around the playground waiting for you to do something ‘bad’.

Anyway. I tripped across this post of pictures from some some really scary folks who have taken the time to outfit strollers with gun racks.

I'd like you to meet my little friend.

Admittedly there was a whole whack of hysterical judgement before the WHY behind the designs was established and for a long minute my inner judgmental parent screamed out a battle cry, a battle cry that hopefully would fit in under 120 characters so it could go viral in RTs on Twitter so many unsuspecting Tweeple could share in my misguided outrage.

ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?

But a little digging around revealed that the people behind these parambulators from hell had made these modifications for transportation convenience during hunting expeditions and they (hopefully) had no intention of putting a baby in-between the semi-automatic rifles and AK-47s. So I guess these rides are okay. I think. Good god, what are these people hunting for… T-Rexes?

************************

Mind you, this wasn’t the strangest bad idea I found on the interwebs in recent days. Twin Rivers Police Association in California had a t-shirt for sale via the union website that offended people that discovered it and so far it has caused quite the uproar despite being removed from the site.

At first glance the t-shirt made me laugh out loud but I really do get why folks were upset. If my local Toronto Police pulled this stunt I’d be equally ticked off. Judge for yourself:

Way to instill faith in the parenting skills of the citizens you serve Twin Rivers. *shakes head* Hopefully the removal and apology for their actions will be enough to regain some respect from the families in their community. Sometimes bonehead moves are just that, bonehead moves. I hope the bonehead who approved this idea realizes that sometimes funny isn’t so funny outside the box.

Photo courtesy Ohio University

What are you going to be for Halloween?

It’s a question we ask and answer over and over again at this time of year, whether we will be taking our children trick-or-treating for the first time, or trying to out-do our friends at the annual costume party.  And there are many of us that put quite a bit of effort into Halloween costumes – making a child’s costume by hand, spending too much money on a store-bought outfit or wracking our brains to come up with something clever and original that will have people talking until next Halloween.

But this year, a group of students at Ohio University would like us to think about something else when we are planning our Halloween costumes, and have come out with a campaign to help us do just that.

We’re a Culture, Not a Costume is a poster campaign launched by Students Teaching Against Racism in Society (STARS), and has each of several posters featuring students of various cultural backgrounds holding pictures depicting people dressed up in stereotypical and racist garb. In one poster, a woman of Asian descent holds up a picture of somebody dressed as a Geisha. “This is not who I am and this is not OK” the poster proclaims. It’s a strong message, and not surprisingly, the campaign has gone viral, exploding on Facebook and in other social media channels.

And while many of the images are disturbing (the student of Arab descent holding up the poster of somebody dressed as a Sheik-come-suicide bomber is particularly unsettling), I have to admit, I am unsure of where exactly – when it comes to Halloween costumes at least – the line that separates parody and archetype from  racism, is drawn.

I would probably not have thought of somebody dressed up as a Geisha as somebody being insensitive to Japanese culture. Why that is, exactly, I’m not sure. Because the misogynistic or enslaving implications of Geisha culture outweigh the racist ones? Because Geisha is no longer widely practiced and therefore already in the realm of parody and history but not stereotype? Because I am too ignorant to fully understand the implication? Like I said, I’m not sure.

There are definitely costumes that should never be worn, for cultural reasons. Dressing up as a Nazi comes to mind as about offensive a costume as you can get, but how many cave-dwelling Osama Bin Ladens do you think there will be at the Legion this year? Anybody with access to some combat fatigues and wig can go as Gadhaffi, and I’m pretty sure he’d get a few good guffaws. Their death count may not have been as high or as swift as Hitler’s, but genocide is genocide and I doubt people need to see any despot’s party tricks.

Does intention or model, I wonder, have any bearing on precisely how racist one should perceive a costume? I would cringe at the site of an ‘Indian Chief’ costume, all headdress and war paint and animal skin pants, but what about the dress and raven-hued hair of the hero princess Pocahontas?  I’ve already said that I have an issue with somebody dressed as an Arab sheik (bombs or not), but what about a little girl donning the costume of her beloved Jasmine? Is it ok if Disney does it first?

Last year, I dressed up as one of four sister wives at the inaugural Blissdom Canada Costumes and Karaoke party, something that could have been seen as offensive to a member of the Mormon Church. We knew that was a possibility, but quite frankly, dismissed our uncertainties almost immediately because we felt that parody trumped cultural insensitivity, and we went on to become some of the most widely talked-about masqueraders there.

This year, my group went as Georgian zombies, which should probably have only offended the most die-hard of Jane Austen enthusiasts, but are we now to scrutinize every costume for potential of offense? Perhaps the answer is a resounding yes, but I also wonder about (note – wonder about, not condone) the notion of turning even the most innocent of intentions into cause for alarm. I’m just glad that my own kids’ Halloween costumes are already decided. Hopefully the dragon and Bat Girl won’t get anybody’s ire up.

So what do you think as Halloween draws ever nearer? Is this about cultural sensitivity, or are we just being oversensitive?