Sibling revelry

In honor of Thanksgiving and the good family time that accompanies it, NPR is reporting on siblings all week. Yesterday's piece discusses why siblings raised in the same environment have such different personalities, while today's story looks at how birth order shapes our lives. Nothing groundbreaking in either, but both are worth a read. The articles don't really address the topic of spacing between kids, but I wonder how much that plays into the equation. Is the relationship between kids who are very close in age more intense?

Also on the topic of siblings, I've been meaning to post about NBC's Parenthood (Thanksgiving episode tonight!). It's clever, funny, relevant and makes me tear up at least once an episode. For lighter family fare, I'm a huge fan of Modern Family on ABC. In short, it's hysterical. In fact, I'll be so bold as to declare it funnier than 30 Rock. So, set your DVR if you haven't already. You'll be thankful you did.

Banking on cord blood

Here's an interesting CNN article on banking cord blood. There seems to be a lot of confusion surrounding this topic, and while this piece answers a lot of questions, I'm still unclear on a few things. For one, if many cases require additional bone marrow, how do public banks handle that?

The topic of private banks' marketing is also one worth discussing. Parents, especially first-time parents, face so many choices--about childcare, and feeding, diapering and transporting the baby, to name but a few. In addition to that, the unthinkable: the idea that someday this tiny, not-yet-born person might fall very sick. Deciding to take an action--one that can be quite expensive--based on that emotionally charged hypothetical is tricky to say the least.

Did you find the decision to bank cord blood or not a difficult one? Did you feel you were marketed to in an inappropriate way?

Bang a Jong

Ok while I was dithering around with bullying, I missed the big story, by Erica Jong, from the Wall Street Journal. She's trying to inflame, which is her thing, and evidently she did, judging by a guest-post response on the Times's Motherlode blog.

I am tempted to file this under tempest-in-an-herbal-teapot, but I must say I appreciate what Jong says about the cult of celebrity motherhood and the tabloids that feed it, and "treating children like expensive accessories." (Does anyone else feel like baby bumps started blooming on magazine covers everywhere literally right around the time we all started having kids? I would love to participate in a discussion about the cultural factors that contributed to why that happened when it did.)

I also like her hypothesis about exerting control at home as a proxy for feeling desperate about the world at large, to wit: "Our obsession with parenting is an avoidance strategy. It allows us to substitute our own small world for the world as a whole." (I definitely feel at times that focusing inward on being a mother is akin to willfully burying my head in the sand. Or, maybe it's that I just can't worry about everything, so I worry about Drew.)

There's also a very entertaining sidebar with quotes from parenting manuals of old, and Molly Jong-Fast's charming response essay about her own mother.

So, all in all, it's Sieve-worthy. Enjoy.

Feel-Good Follow-Up

Ok here's some hope in the face of the last bullying post: A very heartwarming story about how babies in the classroom can increase kids' empathy and decrease aggression.

The comments are good, too; several people make the very valid point that today's smaller families, greater distance from extended family members, and various social structures and institutions that segregate people by age probably don't do us any favors in terms of teaching empathy or nuanced social skills.

Anyone witnessed positive changes in older children's behavior when a sibling comes along? Experienced a great mixed-age school or playgroup? Sought out time at a nursing home or other place where kids could encounter older folks?

Pick On Me

Ok it's been a long hiatus but I've just read something I have to share. Again, from the Times, a piece about bullying, specifically girl bullies, even more specifically, little-teeny-girl bullies. What do you think? Is it worse now than it was when we were young? What's to blame? Who are these boors that condone bullying in their children as signs of strength, and who raised them?

Seems to me that being mean to other people might be hard-wired, something some or most people go through from time to time, especially when young, to test limits and establish social hierarchies, which, let's face it, are part of life. And in many cases, it's a revolving door: You're picked on, then you pick on, and so on and so forth. You learn from both experiences and hopefully don't grow up damaged or a total jerk.

How it's dealt with by adults, though, and whether it's reinforced or discouraged by the larger culture, may indeed have changed.

What have you seen? And can you draw a distinction down gender lines? Just last week, at the playground, I did see two little girls shun a third, telling her she couldn't play with them. They couldn't have been more than four. All were wearing some form of tiara; two with marabou accents. The shunned girl, who was, incidentally, taller and prettier than the other two (there I go making judgments, but I think it's worth pointing out) cried and hung back, but eventually followed along, and soon enough they were all playing together peacefully. A group of babysitters nearby gave the two tyrants a cursory admonishment to be nice, and the victim a standard, gentle "get back in there" push. All in all, a pretty typical scene, and no one overreacted. I wonder whether if there had been parents nearby the reaction would have been the same.

A few minutes later, Drew wandered up to them and they weren't having any of that, either. Which I totally understand. That's not bullying, not everyone has to play with everyone else, and kids aren't always civil or controlled in how they express their feelings. (Drew has been known to shout "DON'T SAY HI TO ME!" to kindly old people who say hello to him on the street. Mortifying, but true.) We should strive for kindness, of course, but sometimes it eludes all of us.

So, thoughts? I've put those of you who contribute or comment regularly on an e-mail list to be notified when there's a new post. Drop a comment if you'd like to be added to the list!

Time Out

This is going to seem a little strident on the heels of Mary's sweet Globe column, but I read it late last week and have been trying to find the time to post it here. It's the story of a boy who was put on antipsychotic meds when he was two. The whole thing is sickening, and sad, but when I read the part about the Legos with the Risperdal logo on them, I got really angry. I'm sorry: A drug not approved by the FDA for use on children under age 5 being marketed via a "promotional item" that is "not intended for children to play with" that happens to be LEGOS?!?

But since this is not a place for me to air my disgust with our pharmaceutical industry, nor even really to discuss extreme cases like Kyle Warren and his family's, let's move on to kernel in this story that applies to all of us: What Kyle really needed was overall parenting advice and support for Kyle's mom, with particular insight into her child's emotions and tips on dealing with them.

Which is exactly what I need, too, as Drew moves into the middle of his third year and becomes a little person who gets angry, sad, scared, and frustrated from time to time, and Jonathan and I are faced with helping him cope, managing the feelings that his emotions trigger in us, and trying to avoid the dreaded feedback loop, which is so real I can almost see it thrumming in the air between us. So I'll throw a question out there: Has anyone read any good books or articles about young kids and emotions, or emotionally sensitive discipline, or related subjects?

I've heard good things about "The Emotional Life of the Toddler," though I haven't read it. My very savvy Aunt Carrie bought me a couple goodies that I dip into and keep meaning to read start to finish: "Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child," and "Parenting from the Inside Out." And my mom's friend Karen bought me "200 Ways to Raise a Boy's Emotional Intelligence," which is helpful, in its Chicken-Soupy way.

Another parenting author whose work I stumbled upon (at a used bookstore on the Jersey Shore!) and appreciate for her no-nonsense, common sense style and focus on seeing the world through the child's eyes is Penelope Leach.

Overall, it seems to me the task at hand is to acknowledge the negative emotion and pause there for a moment without sweeping it under the rug, with the goal of teaching him that it's normal to feel bad from time to time, and then of course helping him find a healthy way to deal with the ickiness, and/or offering comfort and reassurance, but again, in the right measure, so he becomes self-reliant. And without minimizing whatever it is he's feeling. While getting out the door on time. It's tricky, right? Or is it just me?

Any recommendations? Or stories to share about "a ha" moments with your own kids?

By the way, the comments on Kyle's story are really good--including one from a mom who went on an anti-depressant herself to make it easier for her to deal with her son's tantrums!

Back to school

Here's a column from The Boston Globe to tug at the heartstrings as summer comes to an end. Thank you to my sister Debbie for passing it along.

Off the grid

Earlier this year, five brain researchers journeyed deep into the recesses of southern Utah, to an area along the San Juan River so remote that cell phones don’t work. (That cell phones don’t work in the middle of nowhere is not really shocking; why they don’t work in certain pockets of major metropolitan areas, or certain corners of my condo for that matter, remains a mystery to me. But I digress…) The scientists left behind their laptops, spent their days rafting and hiking, and camped at night under endless stars. Their goal was to understand how digital devices affect the way our brains work and to determine if taking a break from technology can reverse those effects. The group’s experience is the subject of the latest article in the NY Times “Your Brain on Computers” series, and it’s fascinating.

The trip’s organizer, David Strayer, a psychology professor at the University of Utah, studies the effect technology has on attention, memory and learning. Understanding how attention works could help in treating things like ADD and depression, he says. Strayer also posits that too much digital stimulation can put otherwise normally functioning people “in a range where they’re not psychologically healthy.”

The scientists at one point discuss a University of Michigan study that found people better learn after walking in the woods than after walking on a busy street. “The study indicates that learning centers in the brain become taxed when asked to process information, even during the relatively passive experience of taking in an urban setting. By extension, some scientists believe heavy multitasking fatigues the brain, draining it of the ability to focus.”

That’s potentially significant stuff in an age where more kids--particularly in big cities, it seems--are being diagnosed with attention and sensory processing disorders. There’s the debate, of course, about whether these are new challenges or they’re just being diagnosed more, but regardless, Strayer argues that being in nature can give the brain the break it needs: “Our senses change. They kind of recalibrate — you notice sounds, like these crickets chirping; you hear the river, the sounds, the smells, you become more connected to the physical environment, the earth, rather than the artificial environment.”

Another point worth noting is the idea that technology has changed our perception of what’s urgent. That little red light on the mobile device has been blinking so much in the past few years that we find ourselves constantly looking to it for the next e-mail message. According to these scientists, that expectation eats into the brain’s working memory. (Finally, a reasonable explanation for where my mind has gone! Of course, there are other possible culprits--lack of sleep, a recent switch to half-caffeinated coffee, early-onset dementia…)

Such distractions have important implications for the way we parent, naturally, a topic discussed in an earlier article (“The Risks of Parenting While Plugged In”) from the same NYT series. Not surprisingly, the more distracted we are by our phones and laptops, the less engaged we are as parents and the less quality time our kids get.

What to do? If we listen to our camping scientist friends, a family vacation in the middle of nowhere might be in order (ever been to Cherry County, Nebraska?). And in terms of addressing the problem on a daily basis, the mom at the end of the Plugged-In Parents article had what seems to me to be a pretty workable solution: establishing an e-mail and Internet ban for a few hours each day. I’ve also toyed with the idea of cutting Web and e-mail service on my cell phone and using it only for calls—a decent way to save more than a few bucks each month, too--though I’m not sure I’m prepared to take that plunge. Either way, I know I want to try to get a grip on this “device distraction” now. My kids are little, so it’s only a one-sided battle (with myself) as of now. It won’t be long before they, too, will be distracted by the phone, the computer, the TV, the iPod and whatever else is on its way.

How concerned are you about the effect technology has on you and your little one(s)? Do you do anything to take a break from it? Does it require traveling to a remote locale, or are there ways to give ourselves some time off each day?

Serenity Now

This New York magazine feature by Jennifer Senior--“All Joy and No Fun: Why parents hate parenting”—is a month old now, but it’s caused a big stir and is worth a read.

The article sums up a bunch of dismal research about parental happiness, or lack thereof: “As a rule, most studies show that mothers are less happy than fathers, that single parents are less happy still, that babies and toddlers are the hardest, and that each successive child produces diminishing returns.”

Why such widespread dissatisfaction? Senior argues that parenting has changed dramatically; we have more choices than previous generations did--whether to have kids, when, how many—and our expectations are too high. Plus, kids are now projects to be perfected. Government and social programs leave families to fend for themselves. Parents have less leisure time. (As an interesting counterpoint, this article from The Atlantic argues that parents, or mothers at least, have always been miserable.)

For me, it’s not really a question of being more or less happy than before I had kids. It’s less cut and dry: I’m infinitely more fulfilled but also exponentially more frazzled. I tend to agree with Senior, blaming life as we know it in 2010, and often think about the ways our parents’ generation had it easier—less time at the office, no smart phones, more family around to help (though yes, our parents had it harder in many ways, too).

But of course, those things aren’t going to change. So the question is: How do I deal with it? Let the more intense moments, when two kids are crying at once, wash over me? Breathe and, if it’s not too much to ask, get to take a shower in peace once in a while? I’d like some sort of mantra to guide me in those moments, but all I’ve got so far is Frank Castanza’s “Serenity Now.”

The other thing worth discussing about this article isn’t in the piece itself—it’s the hundreds of comments, many nasty and judgmental, in response to the article. Parenting is right up there with politics and religion in its ability to spark vitriol.

So, a few questions to ponder: What did you think of this article? Is parenting harder for our generation? How do you deal with the intense moments? Why can’t we all just get along (at least in online parenting chat rooms)?

"I'm Telling You Your Life"

The title of this post is a quote from the movie Moonstruck. It's from the scene where Loretta (Cher) is telling Ronny (Nic Cage) the truth about himself, that he's "a wolf! A wolf who is willing to chew off his own foot to save himself from the trap of the wrong love!" And he doesn't want to hear it but then he heaves over the kitchen table and the spaghetti and steak and whiskey fly everywhere and they go to bed.

"The Erlking" has nothing at all to do with any of this except that while I was reading it I felt overwhelmingly like Ronny to the author's Loretta: Bynum was painting quite clearly the picture I couldn't quite see on my own, because I'm living inside it.

I guess that's what's so great about fiction: unburdened by a responsibility to "facts," it's free to be true on a much higher level.

I think this story gets right to the heart of the anxiety we feel about the decisions we make on behalf of our kids, and about our kids themselves. Preschool admissions! Bedtimes! Weissbluth! (Did anyone else want to throw that P.O.S. out the window? I found it especially infuriating because I know he's onto something, but I found the text incomprehensible, especially when I was incredibly sleep-deprived myself.)

There's an undercurrent of anxiety that we might be screwing them up at every turn. And, while their little personalities are still emerging, that there might be something inherently wrong with them. How can you not worry, with autism statistics as grim as they are, and so many wee ones in one kind of therapy or another, or even on meds?

And so you turn to the light: "Tonight she'll do a little research on the Internet."

Particularly re: preschool, which is perhaps the first big philosophical choice, or maybe just the first deliberate, public choice, since you've already made or slid into decisions about eating, sleeping, discipline, and TV-watching, not to mention whether and how much you work, and what you do for childcare. But this choice pulls everything together, and feels like an inflection point.

Bynum skewers the whole process, of preschool admissions and modern parenting in general, but does so respectfully, poignantly. And the gut bomb, of course, is that we should be worried, because we ARE at risk of failing...failing to connect, in some essential way, because we're so worried, distracted, busy, rushing, tugging our kids along by the hand.

It's often very difficult for me to slow down to the speed of childhood. (Which may also be the natural speed for humans of any age.) And, as I mentioned in my first post, to trust my instincts, like Kate and Ruthie "falling asleep side by side...in defiance of Dr. Weissbluth's guidelines." They do it because it feels good, feels right to them, and restores them to a "feeling of not knowing who is leading, whether it's the grownup or the child." (I think that's a pretty perfect way to describe what raising a child can feel like, or maybe the way raising a child ought to be.)

Looking at "The Erlking" as a piece of writing, I love the double helix structure, which works for the storytelling as well as the truth-telling. Kate and Ruthie are together in body but having completely separate experiences.

(Again, this just feels so true to life. For example, when Ruthie is verging on a tantrum. From Kate's perspective, it came out of nowhere. How many times has that happened to all of us? How unknowable is the mind of a child? Or any mind other than our own, for that matter?)

There's other apt cultural criticism here, like Ruthie's manipulation re: the wooden giraffe, so skillfully played, learned so young, so irresistible to all of us, our consumer culture. Kate goes through the same loop later, with the daydream about the Ikea shelf. We are all one Ikea shelf away from being perfect parents.

I'm also really interested in Bynum's use of a Waldorf school as the setting for this story. I'd love to hear others' firsthand experiences with Waldorf. My own investigation into it included a query on a listserv here in Brooklyn that produced some vague, strange responses; an open house, which was dreamy, and made me very much want to try at least their parent/child program; then finally a "winter fair," which was a little overwhelming for Drew, and too crunchy by half for Jonathan. He came out strongly anti-Waldorf then and there, and I had enough reservations of my own that I didn't feel it was something worth going to the mat over.

I did, however, have a lady I found on Etsy make Drew a Waldorf doll in his likeness for his second birthday, and while it's darling, it's a re-do, because the first one she made wasn't just from a "dear, blunt-nosed family," it literally had no nose whatsoever. I guess it had an imaginary nose. But while Drew has a good imagination, he also has strong noses on both sides of his family (gentile and Jewish), and I just didn't think a noseless Drew doll sent the right message. (Kate's heartbreaking search for a brown doll!)

OK I've gone on much too long already and haven't even gotten into the poetic and fairy-tale roots of this story, which are fascinating, or talked at all about how fear might be an important formative force in childhood, like the way Bynum describes Ruthie loving to be tickled (by the way, did anyone see that study where kids whose parents roughhouse with them wind up more popular? will post the link if I can find it), or mentioned that there's a Q&A with the author on newyorker.com. But I'll stop. Did you like it? What struck you? Does any of it feel like it's telling you your life?

Little Holes, Big Ideas

Any mother worth her salt has at least a couple catchphrases, most of them cautionary, or at least concerned. My own mom's include "watch out for black ice!" (while driving in winter) "do you have enough light?" (while reading) and my brother Brad's favorite, "chocolate is liquid at 85 degrees!" Which, of course, is 13.6 degrees lower than body temperature, so that translates to "don't come anywhere near my upholstery."

But my mother also has signature phrases that don't have anything to do with keeping her children in line, or to do with her children at all—at least not directly. For example: "My mind is like a sieve!" It pops out when she's frustrated by some elusive piece of information or misplaced item. I didn't really get it, however, until I had Drew. Your first baby: sleeplessness, stress, the all-consuming nature of this new challenge, the still trying to have a semblance of a life beyond. Your brain as you knew it erodes—or explodes—but either way its contours are never the same. Things pour in; things pour out.

So when Mary called to ask me if I wanted to start blogging with her as a means of talking across the miles about being a parent and loving and raising our children, and perhaps capturing some things from the media that feel interesting and true (or dangerous and false!) and looking at them more closely, all I could think of was "my mind is like a sieve!"

But what if having a few holes in your brain is not all bad? After all, a sieve is meant to catch the good stuff, and let the dreck run through. And wow is there a lot of parenting dreck out there. We're all bombarded by information and noise these days, about everything under the sun, but parenting is an especially noisy quarter. And, I have come to believe, an especially dangerous place in which to let anything in the headlines drown out that little voice in your head.

Still, we all need a good think now and again, spurred by a good poke to the gray matter. The human race did not evolve by staring at the walls of the cave. And we are raising little humans, after all, and owe them the example, and the fruit, of enlightened dialogue. (And I imagine—and hope—we'll also discuss a few things not related to raising children. As hard as it can be to think or talk about anything other than our kids, parents need to be whole people, too!)

So, my first offering. It's the short story Mary mentioned in her intro post: "The Erlking," by Sarah Shun-lien Bynum, from the July 5 issue of The New Yorker. Have a read, and I'll kick off the discussion in my next post.

Welcome to The Sieve

A few weeks ago, Kelly sent me a powerful piece of short fiction that ran in a recent issue of The New Yorker. She wanted to know my thoughts on it, I wanted to know hers.

We got to talking about how there's a lot of content about parenting out there--not all good, unfortunately--and I found myself wishing (again) that I belonged to some sort of magazine-article version of a book club. Sure, a weekly in-person event with wine and hors d'oeuvres would be ideal, but many of my most favorite people are scattered across time zones, so we decided to start a blog instead.

Kelly coined the name "The Sieve" (read on to hear about her inspiration, and for more on that New Yorker piece) and here we are. Our goal is simple: Discuss compelling articles, books, blog posts, etc., about the issues facing parents today. We hope you'll join in.