mothers on the verge

Let’s talk about allergy-moms. You know the ones – please don’t bring anything with eggs, wheat, citrus to school for shared snack because my child is allergic. Or the mom who managed to get milk snacks banned in our school, until a teacher grabbed a child's yogurt, sent him to the principal’s office, and his mom explained what she would do if her son didn’t get his yogurt back. That experiment ended. These were food freaks, as far I was concerned. And as long as they kept their freakdom to themselves I was fine. (I never threw peanut-allergies in there – that is terrifying, and a totally different situation.) But two months ago my daughter got diagnosed with the genetic condition, Celiac disease. We’re not talking ‘I’m not eating gluten because I hope I lose weight.’ Or ‘I can’t eat wheat while I’m nursing because my infant is allergic.’ Or even, ‘We’re hoping one day she outgrows it.’ I’m talking my kid can’t eat school lunch, can’t put her banana on a table if a sandwich sat...

YLM and I agree - becoming a mama can bring out the best in you, and the very worst. But neither of us were at all prepared for the horror that are the (s)mothers. Sure my own mama warned me. Told me to avoid the PTA like an e-coli infested melon cup. But did I listen? For me, if it's not personally experienced, it's not real. So after five years of experiencing (s)mothers, I have gleaned a few things that I feel compelled, much like a vaccine for yeast infections, to pass along to my fellow Mamas: How you too can pass through a pack of wild (s)mothers and not ever be detected. 1. Pack your child a homemade lunch. Preferably one that is organic, free-range, hormone-free and put into an environmentally appropriate container — perhaps a paper bag you have made by yourself by pulping newspapers and drying it in the sun. 2. Sign up for every damn field trip, PTA function, bake sale and fund raiser. Then complain — lightly — when asked how you do it all. Shrug, and take a sip of y...

Tonight was a movie, picnic dinner night. The Prince picked up some take out tidbits from Whole Foods (scary how much I love this place), and the three of us settled in to watch "The Last Mimzy." Yes, I know it's a little scary. Yes, I know it's based on a short story that's even scarier. But it's also a fairly amazing movie that has The Rabbit asking about genes, DNA and triangles. Until...night time comes. Bath time goes well. Book time? Lovely. We sing, we snuggle, we turn out the lights...and the shadows appeared. After the third request for "one last snuggle," I finally pry from The Rabbit that she just doesn't want to sleep in her room. Doesn't understand why she has to sleep alone when daddy and mommy get to sleep together. She's too young to understand that sheer joy of sleeping alone in a room, solo in a bed, able to twist and turn to your delight. Nor does she have any siblings to understand the sheer joy of knowing when you le...