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-the Honest Moms

Operation Buh-Bye Diapers

Summer is officially here!

Last Friday, I said au revoir to my students, finished grading the last of Le Petit Prince essays and the final exams, and cleaned up my classroom until I greet it again in August.

As I exited school on that sunny, gorgeous day, a smile was plastered across my tired face. Thoughts of picnics at the park, melting ice cream cones, sidewalk chalk and sun-kissed skin danced in my head. I cherish summer for all the fun moments that await with the girls.

Suddenly, one summer activity fired in my brain as if to say "Hey, don't forget about ME! You've put me on the back burner for way too long!"

Ugh. Not you again. 

No parent wants this activity on their much-anticipated Summer Bucket List.

These two words can instill more fear in a parent than any of the following two words in Parenthood:

• High fever
• Lost sippy (of milk)
• Test results
• Sugar overload

Coming in at number ONE on our summer to-do list and bringing the MOST FEAR is...

POTTY TRAINING.

Oh, the horror.

Olivia is three years and two months old, which is the same age that our older daughter, Madelyn, finally potty trained. Three years ago this summer, I was on month two as a mom of two, and I was prying my eyeballs open on a daily basis just to keep both girls alive due to severe sleep deprivation. Oh, and Olivia was nursing every two hours, so yeah, why not throw potty training for Madelyn into the insanity.

But as soon as Madelyn decided she was ready to ditch her diapers for good, it only took her three days to "get it." Of course, like many parents, we tried to encourage force Madelyn to potty train on Winter Break, when she was three months shy of turning three. Our endeavor was selfishly planned to try to avoid having two kiddos in diapers. She did not mince words. "NO, mommy! I wear diapers! Change me! I POOPED!"

We tried the same, futile attempt to potty train Olivia this past Winter Break, and she honestly laughed in our faces. She peed anywhere and everywhere except the little potty. She could care less that her coveted big-girl panties* were soaked. (*These were even her sister's big-girl panties, which we talked up for weeks, even making a spectacle of "releasing them" from the Rubbermaid storage bin in the basement for extra theatrical effect--you know, kinda like how people completely FREAK out when Disney releases a classic movie from "the vault" as a Diamond Edition Blu-Ray in order to make a few millions. We were hoping for that same reaction.)

Oh, and I am still trying to get used to uttering the word PANTIES without shuddering.

I'm an Honest Mom. I should be honest. The word panties is up there with the word moist as the worst words in the world. Oh, and rural. Because I can't pronounce it correctly.

I only got up enough courage to say "panties" because I have two girls, so I have to learn to accept and embrace this hideous word.

Turns out, the word undies just doesn't register with them. Sheesh.

Now, I am not going to say there is an end-all, be-all, fool-proof way to potty train. If any mom tries to tell you so, run away in the opposite direction. For real. I was recently at Target buying yet another box of Cruisers with Olivia in the cart, when a random woman thought it was her chance to befriend me in order to tell me the agonizingly awkward story about how she successfully potty trained her now 42-year-old-son. In 1975.

I know Amazon has a ton of appropriate books, DVDs, sticker charts, reinforcement tools, and even personalized rewards where you can embroider your child's name on a t-shirt to tell the world that "___(insert child's name here)____ peed/pooped on the POTTY!!"

Seriously. Go Google it. I can't make up this stuff.

The important thing to remember is that every child is different, so every child will decide when they are ready to potty train. Ignore that Mom at gymnastics who won't stop boasting about how her 15-month-old has been potty trained since his first birthday. Mom and Dad can't make this milestone occur any faster, unfortunately. Olivia stays dry during the day for hours, so we decided to take the plunge as soon as school was out and I could devote time to helping her.

The potty training method that has worked for us looks like this:

• Stay home for 3 days. 
• Child wears t-shirt and underwear. (We don't waste money on Pull Ups. They only confused Madelyn.)
• Set a timer and every 30 minutes, ask child to sit on the potty.
• Clean up accidents, but be persistent. Stick to the routine.
• Encourage child for doing something on the potty. (And hell, give 'em an M&M or five for her troubles.)
• Gently remind her what to do if an accident occurs. Don't punish, just redirect. Be positive!

So yesterday morning, on day one of summer vacay, I apprehensively greeted Olivia with a hug and kiss upon awakening, and I asked her if she'd like to pick out a cool pair of panties (EEEEK) to wear for the day.

"Because today, you're going to be a BIG GIRL!" 

"Sure, Mommy. Let's go! I want the princess Rapunzel panties that Sissy used to wear."

Um, what just happened? She's really on board. She's ready to do this.

Upon putting on the Rapunzel panties (Oh, GOSH), Olivia strutted over to the mirror to admire her cushy tush that was freaking CUTE. I couldn't stop laughing. She was turning around, hands on hips like a regular Victoria's Secret model.

"Look at me, Mommy! I love my panties!" (Get a GRIP, Amber.) 

She happily ran into the bathroom and plopped down on the little potty. She requested a book, and why was I not surprised? I fully anticipated her sitting there for 15 minutes without any pee or poop to show for it. After a few minutes of leafing through a Llama Llama book, she cried out,

"Mommy! Listen! I am going to make the Tinkle Song!"

I scampered in just in time to catch the last few notes of that little ditty. She was grinning from ear to ear, and sure enough, she had peed on the little potty, and she couldn't wait to show me the evidence. So much so that the Swiffer Wet Jet had to make an appearance.

After I finished cleaning both Olivia and the floor, and we had pulled up pants, washed hands with the new special foamy soap she had specifically chosen, and cleaned out the potty, I gave her a huge hug and kiss. I was so proud of her. In that moment, I realized how fast she is growing up... how much I want to bottle her up in order to freeze time.

Day one of summer vacay and potty training were both huge successes. She didn't have one single accident, and she said she was excited to keep trying tomorrow. We can do this.

Potty training can be a huge pain in the arse, but I'm trying to look at this necessary parenting endeavor through a different lens this time. The more positive encouragement I give, the better results Olivia gives. The more patience I model, a calmer Olivia arrives to the little potty, ready for business.  She is clearly ready to say "buh-bye, diapers," but she just needs a little guidance from us to be successful. It's amazing how much your kids can surprise you when you expect the worst outcome.

I'm looking forward to a summer where the "Tinkle Song" is the chart-topper in our house. 

I'm NOT looking forward to saying "panties" every 30 minutes. 

-Amber

Summer Bucket List

"Hope today goes okay," Greg whispered as he kissed my forehead goodbye this morning.

"It's day one," I said. "In the bag."

Summer break officially began today, and we hit the ground running--barber shop at 8:30 this morning was smooth sailing and things were going so well I just kept pushing that luck--Target AND Kroger. We made it home long enough to unload before what I assumed would be a quick trip to the vet with our newest kitty who is annoyingly peeing in baskets of clean laundry.

"Oh we will totally just run there and then eat lunch when we get home," I thought.

Only when we got there, sitting in the waiting room was an old couple with red-rimmed eyes and a pile of crumpled kleenex surrounding their very old cocker spaniel, and my boys immediately began using the dog scale as their own mini trampoline/body building pose stage and I knew we were doomed.

Doomed.

An hour later, we were home (and the old cocker spaniel was not) and since it was too early for wine, I made lunch.

Table ready, I wrangled the boys and then I put this in front of them:

We filled this little "summer bucket" a few weeks back on a Sunday evening when Greg asked me what I was going to do with them all summer.

So as a family of four we brainstormed a few ideas and they were horrific.

Like, seriously, am I really going to successfully do any of these?

Let's be honest: no. No I am not. Because the key word is "successfully." I am going to attempt the heck out of them, that I promise.

So on that brainstorming night, I asked Greg to go get me a piece of paper to write these awesome ideas down.

Generally, when you ask someone to get you a piece of paper, they return with a clean piece of paper that has space for which you can put words.

He returned with this:

I took it as an omen, that it was not only the crazed minion, but a drawing that Will had taken aggression out on and scribbled on angrily.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Why can't you use the back?" he replied.

Yeah no.

So I retrieved paper on my own and wrote down those (mostly) far-fetched summer bucket list ideas.

The idea is this: every Monday, the boys and I will select an idea to be completed at some point that week (most of the ideas are sort of a day-long adventure), and then each Monday, you can read about our adventure right here, all summer long.

Maybe we will inspire you to create a bucket list of your own.

Or not.

Maybe you have a bucket list full of ideas that are far easier than ours--do share in the comments below!

Let the summer begin!

-Kristin

Summer Safety by Doctor Mom

As someone who sees summer’s worst, it’s sometimes hard to celebrate Memorial Day--or, as we know it in the Emergency Department, the kick off of Trauma Season.

Here’s the thing about injuries: they happen all the time. Everywhere. When mom and dad aren’t paying attention…and when they are. I’m a pretty laissez-faire parent most of the time, as evidenced by the bruises and scrapes seen on my boys. That said, we have a few hard and fast rules in my house, and some of them revolve around summertime activities.

       1. If it has wheels, you better have a helmet on.

Listen, I don’t want to be Debbie Downer, but seriously, you guys: the number of kids with head injuries that I see is astounding. At best, they have a concussion. At worst, serious bad news. Current research is showing that concussions are bad on their own, but the cumulative concern? Lifelong cognitive problems. I’ve seen so many head injuries from bike/scooter/skateboard falls. And while we certainly can’t prevent all head injuries, I can tell you that the little annoyance of a helmet literally saves lives. And making it a habit means that my boys know not to even leave the garage without a helmet on. And if they leave it on when they run around back to play on the playset? Well, I’m not pointing it out. 

      2. Going outside? Slather on the sunscreen.

Admitting kids to the burn unit after a nasty sunburn makes me much more aware of this. The younger they are, the thinner their skin, and the more susceptible to sunburn. Earlier sunburns have been shown to be associated with significant skin cancer risk. Take away the future risk of skin cancer (clearly not enough to deter most of us), and insert the image of the six-week-old with burns bad enough to require admission to the burn unit. The drama of a whining four-year-old with red shoulders makes the sunscreen well worth it. Just like anything, do it for 30 days and it will be the new routine. 

       3. Pools, hot tubs, lakes, ponds--never alone, and always with tons of help and eyes.

Have you guys seen the video about what drowning looks like? It’s not the person waving their arms above water, screaming for help. Instead, it’s the six-year-old slipping under the water quietly at the family reunion, or the toddler sneaking outside and getting caught in the hot tub under the cover. It’s the teenager who dives into water to impress his friends, or the preschooler who trips while playing in the creek. Someone might realize it within a minute - if you're lucky. But say it takes two more minutes to mobilize help, two more minutes to find the child. Five minutes under water leaves me trying to force the water out of the kid’s lungs while hoping the brain hasn’t been compromised. 

Drowning happens SO commonly, especially in the summer. If there’s one thing that really scares me at my children’s current ages, it’s the risk of drowning. Swim lessons are the only activity that I’ll force my kids to do--I’m not looking for Micheal Phelps here, but my kids will learn to swim, even if they do it kicking and screaming (literally). Constant vigilance is absolutely necessary. This might be my soapbox, you guys, but please--make sure you have an eye on your kid, and are within a few steps of them. Drowning happens wicked fast. And by the time they get to me, it’s often too late.

As for "secondary drowning" and the terror that is making its way across the internet? It's certainly a real phenomenon, and it's something you don't want to miss. That said, it's not common. The story is scary: the child seems okay immediately after a submersion, but then becomes increasingly sleepy, sometimes with an odd, constant cough. Many parents chalk it up to a busy and stressful day, but the truth is the lungs are reacting to the injury by putting more fluid in to the lungs. This is why, if a kid comes into my emergency room after having gone under water during a swim that day, I'm going to observe him for awhile to watch for more symptoms. As a parent, you are key to catching this early.

Bottom line? Prevention is key for all of these injuries. Yes, we can offer some treatments and hopefully help with recovery, but prevention is SO much better than treatment.

Those are my rules, already in place before this year but just reinforced again after working yet another Memorial Day weekend and seeing it start not so fun for too many families. 

Wishing you all a summer of warm days at the pool and lazy evenings in the backyard--stay safe!

-Julia

The Garden of Weedin'

In my grandpa's backyard, beyond two pear trees where a garage should have stood, was a garden. The Garden of Weedin' to be more specific. I remember him chuckling at the small black sign with all capital white letters. I also remember laughing along, even though I didn't get the pun at the time, because I desperately wanted to be in on the joke. The garden was massive, row after row of neatly organized plants and flowers. And not a weed in sight. 

Rhubarb, pears, and dandelions were picked and turned into strawberry-rhubarb pies, dried pears, and dandelion wine. I remember walking through the garden, plants towering over my three foot frame, mesmerized. At that time, I felt as though I could get lost wandering through each section.

In actuality, the garden was the size of a very large two-car garage--the one that my grandpa had built when he realized his gardening and weeding days were winding down.

When we bought our home five years ago, the backyard had a garden. During our first summer we grew more tomatoes than we knew what to do with (especially since only one person in our house actually likes them...and it's not me).  We patted ourselves on the back for the successful season, and vowed to make next year's garden bigger and better. And...that's when kids came along. For the next four summers the garden took the back burner. Sure, we planted the obligatory tomatoes, even attempting to grow seeds indoors one winter. But life got in the way. Daily watering, weeding, and general tending was not a priority, so the deer that roam through our backyard were treated to a vegetable buffet several summers in a row.

Earlier this spring, over casual dinner conversation, Colin, my four-year-old, declared that this would be the summer to get that garden going again. He started rattling off the various outdoor chores we'd each be responsible for: he would be in charge of the garden, and most importantly, the hose, which undoubtedly will be turned from the garden and aimed at his little brother on more than one occasion this summer; Jack will need to mow the lawn, which certainly seems like a logical chore for a two-year-old; and me? My job, he said, will be to bring them both juice boxes and popsicles. He concluded that we'd be a team, and the backyard would look beautiful. How could I argue with that arrangement?

So over a very warm Memorial Day weekend we got to work: weeding, digging, and mulching our way through four years of neglect. What I thought would be a quick couple of hours turned into a full day's project--alright, it took two days. We planted tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries, beans, peas, basil, parsley, and peas, along with some very high netting to keep the deer from getting anywhere near OUR vegetable buffet.

I know this garden will be a huge undertaking. I have a black thumb, and am  notorious for planting shade plants in the full sun and vice versa...but maybe this year, this garden of weedin' will be different. 

While I'm not sure the corn will be "knee high by the 4th of July," I'm determined to make this garden a success--to honor my grandpa, to get my boys to eat more vegetables, and most importantly, to finish something I start, black thumb and all. 

-Laura

Right Where We Need To Be

Last week on the Honest Mom Instagram feed I posted a photo about not wanting to wallow in anymore sadness from the bad news that seems to be hitting our family from every angle. We unplugged from everything that night and drank orangeritas--heavy on the tequila--and made a dinner that we typically reserved for December holidays that made our house smell like home and familiar while a thunderstorm rocked the trees outside our house and I hoped that this little life storm would pass quickly. Reid put on goggles and danced his pants-less self around the family room with a pirate sword in hand and I let myself laugh from a place that wasn't anticipating the next piece of sadness.

But like this year has been, it found us again on Friday, and I began to wonder if this house we moved into not even a year ago was cursed. Did we pick a house that was full of rotten karma? Did we pick a spot in the world with a permanent gray cloud over it? And yeah, I blamed the house, because...Because!!

I spent the weekend with our neighbors--yard working, happy houring, brunching, laughing, crying, hugging; and I spent it with my momma friends--birthday partying, snow cone eating, nose wiping, band-aid applying; and I spent it with those extra special twenty-plus-year-long friends--coffee drinking, belly laughing, reminiscing, story-telling--and I had the most wonderful epiphany that I so desperately needed:

We are exactly where we need to be, bad year or not, placed just so because of the people that are nearby, that we share the life with.

I'm getting a lot of comfort from that.

Life and storms and dancing in the rain and blah blah blah--that's all grand to do by yourself, but who's going to hold your hand and do it with you? Who hands you the umbrella and the Wellies and finds the biggest puddles and brings the wireless Bose speaker with the pre-made iTunes thunderstorm soundtrack?

I need these people, and I'm feeling oh-so-grateful not just for them, but for this new mindset of weathering the storm with them.

-Kristin

Get Me Out of This Beehive

So I’m just over here in Pittsburgh, living the dream.

You know: Working three days a week from home, enjoying two days home alone with my boys and then partying up the weekends with the hubby and kids in the new city where we just settled.

Poppin’ bubbly every night, yo.

Six months ago, I would have told you that the situation I’m currently in would be perfect. A golden opportunity to embrace a fine balance of career, time with my kids, home management and exploration of our new town. I thought this was exactly what I wanted…and I got it!

But I’m lonely. My heart aches. I miss SO much. And I want things to be different.

Call me nuts, but I yearn to be in a workplace setting with other people. I want to have a time I have to should be at work so I’m forced to get up and (gasp!) take a shower and fix my stringy hair. I want to wear my cute summer work dresses and pink peep-toe pumps. I actually want to converse with strangers in the elevator about the stupid, mundane weather.

I miss my coworkers and — dare I say it? — MEETINGS. I miss knowing everything that is going on in our department and being part of a team and ‘getting stuff done.’ And feeling that sense of accomplishment at the end of the day when, although I undoubtedly didn’t get to everything, I at least chipped away at the mounting heap of never-ending projects.

I miss impromptu lunches, ‘Ah-ha!’ moments, walking amidst the hustle and bustle on the city streets and feeling that surge of I’m really good at what I do when someone calls or stops by my office to say, “We need you.”

Trust me, I know that working outside the home is not always peachy. I’ve done it for 13 years, since three months after college graduation. I don’t miss the crappy days when I royally screw up something, or a coworker is annoyed with me and talks behind my back, or there are a dozen fire drills thrown in my face before 10 a.m. (not literal fire drills — those only happen once per year and require us to walk down 32 flights of steps.)

No, I’m talking about the fire drills where someone bursts into your office with smoke coming out of their ears and their hands are all shaky, and they don’t know what needs to be done, but SOMETHING better be done within the hour to fix SOMETHING seemingly more important than the conversation I was just having with a coworker about the next season of Downton Abby.

And I don’t miss deadlines. And I don’t miss those people who wear ungodly amounts of perfume. Or those women who wear white sneakers all day because getting up from their desk to go to the bathroom apparently requires superior athletic skills. And I don’t miss office cattiness.

...or do I?

I think what this move with my family has taught me…well let’s be honest, I could go on for WEEKS about what this move has taught me about myself, my kids, my marriage, my priorities, my sanity…but in regards to my career, I’ve realized just how important it is to me. Yes, I’m currently still working — for the same company and people, just from afar and at reduced hours. But it’s so different not being there.

So at this point in my life, I know for certain that I love to work, and I want to work and I will choose to work. Outside of the home. With a scanner down the hallway, and humans walking down the hallway, and the need to sometimes yell profanity down the hallway.

And enjoy free Diet Coke whenever I want.*

*Please note that it is a prerequisite for any job I have. Each place I’ve ever worked has provided free soda. And I drink it. Not gallons of it like Rita downstairs, but it serves as my afternoon pick-me-up. (And I totally made up 'Rita,' but I know you know someone like her where you work. I think it’s Wal-Mart that sells those coolers cups the size of Graham’s head…which is about the same size as my adult head.)

What’s so freaking awesome about being a mom in 2014 is that there isn’t just one way to do it. Because that would be horribly, detrimentally boring. Whether we work inside or outside the home, with or without a pint-size crew in tow, we should own what we are doing and why we are doing it — and be darn tootin’ proud of it.

Because God knows wherever we are and whatever we’re doing — and if the kids are there or not — we’re all working. We’re always working. It’s a slight issue all of us moms have.

We’re worker bees.

And this little worker bee just can’t wait to buzzzzz around an office again. With a cold, sweet D.C. in hand.

-Melissa