Wordless Wednesday: Ms. Maddie Modeling :)

You've all met Aymee's little lady, Ms. Maddie :) She's my fav... and boy does she make a good model. Today you see her rockin' our new "Tree" onesie, and our brand spankin new wooden teething ring & holder! Its already been a huge hit, and as you can see here, Maddie loves it :) So far its been nothing but raving feedback about how much kiddies love it, and how universal it is!! You can take off the ring and attach it to a pacifier, toy, or anything else that you can think of...

Mentoring Monday: A Wonderful Life

Another Mentoring Monday post by Aymee! 

A Wonderful Life

      As we come off the heels of Christmas approach New Years, it is time to reflect. Adam and I have had a pretty trying go at it leading up to Christmas. On my end: it all started with failing my class. Then had a Clark Griswold jelly-of-the-month-club moment at work. Then I forgot my phone in my car overnight, which wouldn't have been such a big deal if my husband wouldn't have been locked out of the apartment building all night in the Minnesota winter, and had to sleep in his car--a situation in which people have died. More drama at work; then, the day before Christmas Eve we developed a substantial leak in our apartment from the roof. A steady stream of apple-juice colored water was making its way down my window and wall, and soaking the carpet--the carpet where our Christmas tree and presents were.

Figure 1: Making the best of it: love is all you need.

      In the Thurston household, we have a Christmas Eve tradition of watching It's a Wonderful Life over cocktails. This year, it couldn't have been more therapeutic. Before he left for work one night, Adam turned to me. His eyes looked beaten, his voice broken. “Could it get any worse?” Yes darling, yes it could. We have a healthy, smart, beautiful daughter. We're not making bank…hell, I wouldn't even say we're “comfortable,” but we're making it financially. Work is rough, but at least we have jobs. We may have had to live like ducks for a day, but we have a place to rest our heads at night. Sadly, and hardest to swallow during the holidays: we are away from our family. But we have “family” in our friends--and no man is a failure who has friends.

Wishing everyone the best this holiday season,

Love, The Thurstons

Mentoring Monday: Children are Water, We are the Glass

As usual, Monday welcomes another post by new mama to Maddie, Aymee. Leave her some love!

Our Children are Water, and we are the Glass

      H₂O: the single most important tangible substance for life on Earth. It is what allows all organisms to flourish. This naturally renewable source is a cure-all for when we are sick, tired, and run-down. Water is the most pliable element, taking the shape of whatever container it resides in. Take the simple image of a cool glass of water. What comes to mind? Rejuvenation, refreshment, mmm…a good feeling.
      If our children are water, then we are the glass that holds them. Some glasses are simple cylinders; some are artfully colorful or eye-catchingly shaped. But they all serve the same purpose: to provide a receptacle for water to do its job and reach its full potential. When one thinks of a glass of water, one focuses on the water. The glass is often taken for granted. But if the glass is structurally unstable (i.e. a crack in the side), precious liquid will helplessly leak out making a mess. Parenting is a lot like being a glass. We have a responsibility to stay structurally sound so our children can reach their full potential and fuel a better future.
      Originally, I did not plan to have children until I was finished with college. College-then-kids is the stereotypically expected plan in our culture because college-with-kids is damn hard. But late last year, a burning stillness rose within me to have a baby. Adam had been prodding for children for years. Six months into dating we went to see Jersey Girl in the theater. As the credits began to roll, he looked lovingly at me and said, “Let's have a baby.” --!!!-- “Get away from me!” I humorously thought. Working on my Associates degree, we weren't even married yet (not that you have to be married to have kids). I made him wait five and half years, and I'm lucky he's so patient. When I enrolled in school last fall, I still had every intention of finishing my Bachelors before getting pregnant. But in November, something changed within me. The time came, and I had a peace in my heart and my gut so strong: I knew I had to listen. My mom, who lovingly pressed me to finish college, softly questioned my judgment. “What about school?” she asked. In her head, it probably sounded more like, “ARE YOU CRAZY?! Do you have any idea what you're in for?” But I'm an extremely lucky individual. My mom is amazing, supportive, and keen enough to have always known her strong-willed daughter has to follow her heart, even if she sees otherwise.
      Following my heart paid off. As Adam puts it, “We hit the jackpot.” Our little girl is more wonderful in every way than I ever imagined. I like to think the stars aligned last November, my soul sensed it, and thank goodness I listened. Still, in the back of my mind I wonder if having my plate so full will have a negative impact on my parenting abilities? The conclusion I always come back to is this: the answer is up to me. The answer will lie in how I prioritize my obligations. It is a given that my child and husband come first. Then my job and school come next. And my sanity? Well…
      It would be easy to decline into a slippery slope of sacrificing my sanity for the sake of my responsibilities. But will that eventually make me a cracked glass? Certainly. In the circular method of doing what's best for my child, I have to take care of myself. The battle is figuring out how to deliver on all three planes without becoming overwhelmed and losing hope--but it's not impossible. At my college, forty percent of the student body are working parents. And like them, I am (somehow) still passing my classes and my child is thriving. Or take a lot of the working Moms on Etsy & Artfire: Brooke, Steph, and even our beloved Amber; multiple kids and successful stores they run by themselves. If they can do it and stay sane, so can I. With a positive mindset, it is amazing what we are capable of.
      I find taking pride in my struggle for Maddie yields further motivation. Taking comfort in doing the right thing for my family, regardless of how hard it may be, gives me the energy to press on. To get up before dawn, to stay calm when she's not, to attend class instead of go home and have a beer: all for my family. Yes, water fuels the future. But who knew it fueled the glass holding it?


Amber edit: Thanks Mee-Mee, this could have been more perfect today... today my friend, has been a total whirlwind.. cooking, cleaning, working, parenting, wifing, and i still have about 6 hours to go... its 7:30 (head/desk) doing it with my sanity? I dunno... some days (like today) I swear my heads gunna explode... other days? Piece of cake.. I just keep focusing on the next day... get as much done today because "the next day" will be easier... it seems to help me get buy and stay focused on the tasks at hand... if not, i get completely overwhelmed... i love you!

Mentoring MOnday: Cant live with em, cant live without em.

Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.

      Oy. All I have to say is “in-laws,” and you know exactly what I'm talking about. The strange and often delicate relationship we have with our significant others' parents. Even if you get along swimmingly with your in-laws, there will always be (at least) one thing about them that drives you crazy to the point of…well, insanity. That thing that makes you want to launch across the kitchen table and strangle them. Maybe it's the way they seem to live in their own parallel universe. Maybe it's the way they always seem to mockingly placate you, ever so subtly, when you assert yourself as a spouse or parent. Maybe it's the need you feel to prove to them you're good enough to partner their child, and parent their grandbaby. Maybe it's all of those, and more.
      According to Time Magazine (http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1863282,00.html), this is more of a wife-MIL issue than it is with men and their MILs, or women and their FILs. Adam and I both became stressed out when the other's mother came to visit Maddie. For Adam, I think it was more being overwhelmed with his new life and role as a father coupled with our crowded little apartment for a week (two guests = crowded--yes, it's that small of an apartment). Nothing that my Mom did or said was the issue; just that Adam's agoraphobia was turning on.
      Adam's Mom and I have always gotten along famously--even better than they get along themselves. Near the end of the pregnancy, she and I talked every day, and I think we both enjoyed the companionship. But something seemed to change once Maddie was born. A list of events on both our plates made for a stressful concoction, and in the end resulted in Adam and I feeling overwhelmed, asking (politely) for some space, and her feelings being hurt. Since then, there has been a disconnect between she and I, and sometimes I feel as if Adam is keeping two cats separated in opposite corners so they don't hiss at each other. Or maybe my imagination is getting the best of me.
      “In [Cambridge University psychologist Terri Apter's] study [of in-law tension], two-thirds of women said they felt their mothers-in-law were jealous of their relationships with the sons, while two-thirds of mothers-in-law said they felt excluded by their sons' wives.” (I hope that's not the case with my MIL.) I think whatever rifts we experience with our MILs stem from the intense bond each of us feel for our children. That fire that churns within us when we feel someone challenges our comfort zone, within which our parenting skills, relationship adroitness, and love for it all lie.
      You can't pick your family. But even when we're at odds, we love those crazy goons. What I do find comfort in is this: even at our worst odds, there is one link--one truth--that forever bonds us: the love, and willingness to do anything, for our children. In that, if nothing else, we can look at each other and share a genuine smile.

Mentorying Monday: Baby, Im blue...

Baby, I'm Blue

      Well, it happened. I have the baby blues. At least once a day, something makes me want to cry my eyes out: giving up my cat Daisy because I can't adequately care for her anymore with the new baby; saying bye to the boys, Amber, and Zaq when they were here to visit (before they decided to move back home); listening to “You Are the Best Thing” by Ray LaMontange and dancing with Maddie. Undoubtedly, my drop in hormones after delivery is playing a huge part in this. I read that while pregnant, a woman will produce more estrogen than she will her entire life otherwise. Once pregnancy is over, that estrogen level falls off the proverbial cliff. As a result, your hair falls out in chunks, your skin looks like crap, and you take an emotional roller-coaster ride. Check, check, and…check.
      I gained a little weight from pregnancy, which was to be expected. I mean, we're talking like eight pounds (after baby, fluid, etc.), so I feel guilty even being self-conscious about it. But I still feel two feet tall inside when I'm standing in front of the mirror. Growing up, the only battle I didn't face was weight. I had glasses, braces, acne, bad style, and greasy hair. But I never had to deal with wanting to be thinner (guess the forces that be felt I had enough on my plate). So, now that the glasses make me look smart instead of dorky, the braces are gone, the acne is under control, and I use the right shampoo, I guess it's my turn to go through the body image battle of trying to lose this baby weight. For me, it's not the quantity of pounds, but the size around that I care about. I just want Adam to still be attracted to me, look good naked, and fit into my non-maternity clothes. One down, two to go.
      On that note: yep, still wearing maternity pants. They were bearable while pregnant. I mean, what other option does a girl have when your belly turns the corner before you do? But now that mother and baby are two instead of one, I want that non-elastic waistline like I wanted that Slurpee during my second trimester. Currently, I am able to (literally) squeeze my butt into one pair of pre-pregnancy pants, but can't button or zip them up so I wear them with my belly band. I can't wear them for too long, however, because they cut into my lower stomach. Ouch! Funny what we women will do for fashion. *rolls eyes* Aunt Amber and I have a date to replace my wardrobe when she gets back home. I dream about this every free minute of every day, much like how a child looks forward to Christmas morning.
      I'm also looking forward to our shopping trip because it will be the first bona fide mommy time I will have had baby-free since her birth. I'm on a limited maternity leave, so I want to spend as much time with her as possible. But the flip-side to that is I don't get out much. I'm lucky if I remember to brush my teeth. It leaves me yearning for social interaction outside of our tiny apartment, and dare I wish for some alcohol too? I'm jealous of my husband's “daddy time:” going for a beer after work with friends, working on his book, etc. (To be fair: Adam doesn't get nearly as much “daddy-time” as he needs, or would like to.) My “mommy-time” consists of memorizing the structure of a balance sheet, or as my teacher refers to it: “death by power point.” I love my baby, but I miss my friend now more than ever. Thank god she's moving home.
      Post partum is like one minute you're enjoying the view from the summit you've climbed to and feeling proud of the accomplishment. Then the next minute you blink and find yourself at the bottom of the canyon between that mountain and the one next to it. Not for one minute do I regret getting pregnant, but in a way I am mourning the death of the old me--the individual me--all the while reveling in the joy that is being a parent. Everything I do and say now affects her: directly or indirectly. I am forever a different person.
      Is being a different person the reason I've done things I said I wouldn't do as a parent? For example, using a pacifier before six weeks, or co-sleeping. Have I done them? Yes. How do I feel about that? Mixed. I constantly question whether I'm making the right decision. It doesn't feel wrong, but to not follow the baby book's instructions doesn't make me feel like I'm getting an A+ in parenting either. What I keep coming back to is what I've heard and read many places: you're going to get bombarded with advice on how to rear your child, and it can be confusing and overwhelming. (1) There is nothing wrong with trial and error, and (2) listen to your baby and go with your instincts. I have a feeling I'll be doing that even into her teen years.

Mentoring Monday: Shit Monster

Shit Monster

      Ah, parenthood. I think I can say I've officially arrived. Tonight, Maddie shit her pants…and all over me.
      She let one go, and I congratulated her on her efforts as I usually do. “Nice one!” I laughed. I laugh because they're so loud and rumbling that they startle you. They might startle her too, because she always makes the Cupie doll face afterwards.

      I have heard stories of other parents getting pooped, peed, and projectile vomited on, so I always wait a few minutes after a poop to ensure she's finished her business before I go in to clean up. Ithought I was pretty smart. Well, she apparently found a way around my efforts to make sure I was initiated properly into the inner parent circle.
      Maddie was sitting up, snuggled into a corner I'd made with my chest, arm, and leg. We had been reading a book, so I finished the page and pulled her away from her cozy nook. To my horror, the seedy liquid breast milk stool had exploded up the back of her diaper, defying gravity and soaking the back of her onesie and my pants. Uggh. So, I cleaned her up, then set her in her crib to allow myself a little freedom to clean up myself. After changing pants, I treated all affected textiles with stain remover and washed my hands. My mind replaying the shit monster attack, and feeling like a terrible mother for letting her sit in it for the (literally) 90 seconds it took to finish the story page, I turned the corner into the bedroom.
      To my surprise, there was Maddie in her crib unaffected by the experience. I could tell she was not as traumatized by the shit monster as I was because she was hungry. I could tell she was hungry because she was mouthing her Sing and Sooth Seahorse. Not mouthing it just anywhere, but directly on the nose. It looked like she was planting a passionate kiss on the plush toy. And as quickly as the shit monster had struck to rattle my parenting confidence, it vanished in the joy of being the mom of such a silly, sweet child.
      Thank you Madeline--for reminding me that there will be hiccups and that they are okay. Whatever happens is a trip we will experience together, and being caught off-guard doesn't mean I'm a bad parent. Love, Mom.

Mentoring Monday: Welcome to the Family

Welcome to the Family

              Five days after your due date, I had one last checkup appointment with my Obstetrician. We were preparing to induce labor that following Sunday or Monday. At the time of the visit, I hadn’t dilated or effaced any since two weeks before. I left the doctor’s office with a sense of the end in sight, but still disappointed. This wasn’t how I wanted labor to be. I wanted you to come on your own; I wanted contractions to start naturally; to share the “Is this it?” moment of excitement and panic with your father, timing contractions, calling the doctor and hospital, etc. I wanted the drama that you see in the movies. However, it was beginning to look as though we were to have a lab labor instead: start it all through dripping chemicals into my arm via plastic tubing. I was torn. I was disappointed at the induction prospect, but had an overriding sense of satisfaction knowing one way or another I was going to meet you soon. In one last effort to kick start labor the old fashioned way, your father and I walked laps around the mall. I had spicy Chipotle for lunch, and we had fantastically greasy Five Guys burgers for dinner (not the ideal last meal before labor, but I was calling labor’s bluff). After dinner and Mommy-Daddy time, I went to sleep for the night. Around 11:45 pm, I awoke in pain. My middle felt like it was in a vice. It wasn’t unbearable, but rather just uncomfortable enough to wake me from a deep sleep. I got up, and came out into the living room where Dad was, still up on the computer. “You okay?” he asked.

              “I’m in pain,” I said holding my lower abdomen.

              “Like…labor pain?” We’d had a few false alarms, and he didn’t want to (again) get worked up over nothing.

              “I don’t know.” I couldn’t help but giddily smile through the discomfort. “We should see if we can time them.” And so we did. I was having contractions four and five minutes apart. Eee! The magic number! The hospital had us wait another hour before getting on the road to make sure it wasn’t false labor (it wasn’t). So at 1 am, Dad drove to the hospital, me in the backseat moaning through the contractions and giggling in between. The whole way there, the midnight sky lit up with a beautiful electrical storm stretching from one end of the horizon to the next. It then dawned on us: if this was it, you’d be a Friday the 13^th baby (you were).

              We arrived at the hospital. Upon entering the Emergency entrance, I commandeered a wheelchair, and was escorted up to the maternity floor. They checked my vitals: still not dilated or effaced. They escorted me to our room where I began to spend most of my time in the huge maternity tub, soaking in the warm water to ease the pain of contractions. At first, the nurse turned on a soothing CD of Native American flute songs. That quickly morphed into my custom playlist appropriately titled, “Labor? What Labor?” that included such hip-moving, feel-good music as The Temptations, The Jackson 5, and Marvin Gaye.

              The contractions got stronger as the hours wore on. I was dilating about a centimeter an hour, and completely effaced after about three. After six and a half hours, I asked for the epidural. The pain was excruciating, yes. But what made up my mind about getting the epidural, was knowing I didn’t have the energy to muster through the increasing contractions for another few hours and push the baby through when it came time.

              The Anesthesiologist came in and prepped for the epidural. I don’t remember much from that time because I was in so much pain during contractions, and exhausted in between them. I even dozed off a couple times in those few minute sanctuaries. He rapidly explained what he had to do, had me sign the necessary paperwork, and off we went. After the epidural, labor slowed significantly. But thankfully it allowed me to get some rest. After much needed sleep, they started Pitocin and a few hours later I was pushing. When you came out, your father exclaimed, “Babe, there she is!” Then the doctor laid you on my stomach, and I held you while Daddy cut your umbilical cord. You came out blinking your eyes and wobbling your head around; so strong and healthy. You scored high on your Apgar test (8 and 9), and latched on like a breastfeeding pro. That’s my girl. 

              Everyone was so impressed with you from the moment you were born. Every nurse wooed over you every chance they got; you were so beautiful from the start. I swear they were looking for reasons to come into our room to see you. Dad even got stopped in the hall at the hospital about how precious you were (you still are). You look just like your Dad, which still throws him for a loop. “She’s got my nose!” he said while holding you for the first time. You have just about everything from your old man: nose, mouth, chin, hands. You have my ears and dimples (one side more prominent than the other), and both of our long lashes. Your eyes are blue right now, so I’m interested to see if they stay blue or change. Your hair was dark brown when you were born, but every day it gets a bit lighter, and more and more red. Personality-wise, you’re an easy baby like your Dad was, but a total cuddle-bug like your Mom.

              So that’s how you came to be. We love you so much, and are happy you’re finally here darling. Welcome to the family.

Mentorying Monday: MADDIE!!!!!!!

SO - this is me writing in for Aymee & Adam this week!!! Maddie was born on Friday the 13th - (of August of course) She is beautiful as I knew that she would be... amazing long lashes and kiss worthy lips! Just a total doll... and I am just 1 week away from getting to kiss and squeeze and love on her...

(I got this shirt for Maddie from Small Threads and she wore it home from the hospital! I feel so special, lol)  Leave a comment with a big 'ol congrats to Aymee & Adam :)

Mentoring Monday: Are We There Yet?

One of the last posts from Aymee before she starts writing to Maddie on the OUTSIDE!! So excited to see her sooooooon!!!!

Are we there yet?

              As I’m writing this, it is Madeline’s due date. Today should mark the end of pregnancy and the beginning of a new life with our daughter. However, it doesn’t feel as special as it did in my imagination. It’s just another day without broken water, without contractions, without adrenaline rushes, without excited yet anxious phone calls. Since the 35^th week of pregnancy, I’ve been pining for this day (besides the obvious reasons). The first day of my 35^th week, I woke up and the euphoria I had been feeling about pregnancy had vanished. The last month realities hit me like a ton of bricks. My back hurt, my legs ached, simply walking from one place to another exhausted me, I began having trouble sleeping, the heartburn kicked into high gear, sciatic nerve pain began shooting down my back and legs, and in the last few weeks my belly exploded in size, mauling my skin with stretch marks. My belly looks like the surface of Venus. I long for regular jeans, lace-up shoes, hot non-pregnant sex with my husband, and after all that—a stiff drink. I want my body back, damnit.

              Today has felt like I’ve run a marathon, but the finish line is missing the ribbon garnish, confetti, photographers’ flashing cameras, and a cheering crowd. Instead, it’s just a bare road with the end hiding somewhere in front of me. What else is there to do but keep running forward?

              I want her here—not in here. I want to hold her, kiss her, sing to her, read to her, look into her eyes and watch her respond to my voice. I want to watch Adam do those things too. I want to watch him be a father. I want to sneak into the room and listen to him talk to her in the most honest way; to watch her turn him into mush in her tiny hand without him knowing I’m there.

              I just keep telling myself, “Patience is a virtue,” “Good things come to those who wait,” and “The longer you wait for something, the sweeter it is when you get it.” I know it’s true. I’ve had a wonderful pregnancy. I mean really, what a ride! I will forever cherish this time and these experiences. Every time I look at my daughter, I will remember the one-of-a-kind feeling of her rolling around inside; that special connection. But Maddie sweetheart, if I can give you some advice: the trick is to leave them wanting more…

Mentoring Monday: Sour Grapes of Risk

For those of you following, you know this is Aymee's special once a week spotlight... for those of you that are now... this is Aymee's special once a week spotlight... lol Its amazing... and always amazing and a great read :) Leave her some comment love...

Sour Grapes of Risk

Recently, we’ve heard nonstop about Abby Sunderland and her solo sailing attempt across the world, and everyone’s opinion on it: either the condemning of her parents, or the praise of Abby[1]. The whole situation touched on what Adam and I have been discussing between the two of us for a little while now: what is the right level of shelter for our child? Where do we draw the line between adequate parental protection and outright smothering? Too little protection will lead to a lack of growth at best, and injury or death at worst. However, smothering from us will also breed lack of growth, rebellion, and the potential for mental and emotional disorders such as excessive anxiety. Adam and I also feel many recent generations, including our own, have been coddled too much. Years ago, I read an article whose title summed it up beautifully: “The Pussification of the American…” It makes me think of the Grandpa cliché, “When I was your age, I had to walk 10 miles to school…in the snow…barefoot…uphill...” etc. Most of us rolled our eyes and thought, “Whatever, Grandpa.” While the story might be embellished, the moral is true. They had it rougher than we did, and I get it. Technological and social advances have made our lives easier in every way, and when we grow up knowing nothing else we take these things for granted. Grandpa was only trying to teach us to appreciate what we have. My grandparents were heartier than I am at my age, and I think admitting that is the first step towards gaining their wisdom and strength.

Adam is strongly opinionated on the subject of how much to shelter a child (quite opposed), while I am often more conflicted. I always like to error on the side of caution, and evaluate risks to the nth degree. Sometimes I can be too careful. But I also strongly believe in the old adage, “Everything in moderation.” This is the dynamic of our marriage: our opposites attract and we balance each other quite well. Once such discussion came about when Adam learned the suggested age/weight/height for the different stages of the car seat we chose (it’s a convertible seat—newborn through booster). Adam’s first response was, “What the hell is a booster seat?” After I explained, and he learned that Minnesota law requires a child to be in a booster seat up to 7 years old (that’s a second grader, mind you), 80 lbs, or 4’9” tall, he exploded in a rant about how outrageous the law is, and proceeded to passionately remind me how he didn’t start wearing a seatbelt until he was eight years old because Missouri law changed to require it. Sound familiar? “Whatever Grandpa…”

Many regulations and guidelines have come about in response to an ever-evolving society with new dangers and concerns, as well as in response to more accurate, advanced science (i.e. changes/additions to seatbelt laws). These are legitimate needs for change if we are to improve and survive. But then there is also the gradual dumbing down of social and parental guidelines over the years as the result of ignorance and laziness on the part of the lowest common denominator, and our culture’s inherent need to place blame. Yes, we as a society have a certain responsibility to look out for our fellow man and the right to protect ourselves from him, but where do we draw the line? In a culture of excess like ours, we simply don’t know when to say “that’s enough.” At what point do we say, “This is no longer government sanction territory. This is now individual parental responsibility?”

The other night, I heard a tragic news report about a local four year old who choked on a whole grape at her daycare[2]. The broadcaster ended the report by saying investigators were looking into “where the child got the grape.” …???...?!?!...”Where the child got the grape?” I thought, “What average four year old can’t handle chewing a whole grape (barring accidents like these)?! Shouldn’t the investigation be asking, ‘Was the child unsupervised? Was the staff of the daycare first aid certified in CPR and the Heimlich maneuver? If no, why not?” In the article, it mentions “‘The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) lists whole grapes as a choking hazard for young children. ‘Although children under age 4 are most at risk for choking on food and small objects, youngsters in their middle years can choke too,’ the AAP says on its website.” So can anyone else! I can choke on a small object, but that doesn’t mean I’m not mature enough to chew it. Accidents happen, and we should be responsible enough to educate ourselves on how to respond appropriately—like first aid techniques, especially if you’re looking after another person’s well-being. Furthermore, kids make mistakes, and sometimes do stupid things like cram their mouth full of food despite their parents/guardians teaching them otherwise. The article goes on to say, “The AAP urges parents and other caregivers to cut food for infants and small children into pieces no larger than a half-inch and then instruct the child to chew food thoroughly.” For the record, a half-inch is about the size of an average grape. Also, what parent doesn’t say, “Chew your food?” In discussing this with one of my co-workers, his response was, “Does that mean it was Perkins [Restaurant’s] fault when I choked on a piece of bacon when I was a kid? No. I was fat and scarfed my food too fast.”

Anyone who knows me knows I don’t see eye to eye with my dad on many things. But I am reminded of something he used to do when I was little, and I think it’s really smart. My dad hated shopping. Like most men, if he went to a store he had a purpose for being there. He was in, and out. Through virtue of this, he walked very fast—with purpose. Sometimes my little youngster legs had trouble keeping up, and sometimes my youngster attention span would steer me off course, resulting in me getting lost often. But I wasn’t lost to my dad. He would purposely let me get “lost” all the while standing off in a corner somewhere out of sight, watching me. Every time this happened I would get scared, then compose myself, find the front desk, tell them I was lost and ask them to page my dad. They would, and he’d then step out from the corner, revealing to me he’d been there the whole time. I learned at a very early age to take care of myself by being proactive, while he was still there in case something terrible happened. Kudos Dad.

How is it good parenting to try to protect our kids from every bad experience they might ever face in fear of the worst scenario? Isn’t it better to teach them morals, give them guidelines and boundaries, and be there to kiss the booboos? Furthermore: to let the booboos happen. To give them the space to ride by themselves, comfort them when they fall and skin their knee, but still be right there in case they fall off the deep end and need some real rescuing? Isn’t it our responsibility as caregivers to know the life-saving techniques of CPR and the Heimlich maneuver and to act immediately in an emergency rather than say four year olds aren’t developed enough to chew their food out of fear of an accident? Sometimes, we all have to learn the hard way. Some of us had to burn our hand on the stove because we were too stubborn to listen to our mother say, “Don’t touch that. It’s hot and will burn you.” If we protect our kids too much, they will never learn from their mistakes: be they embarrassing, painful, or scary. I believe it’s our responsibility, and pleasure, as parents to be the lighthouse, the band-aid, the emergency responder, the cleanup crew, and the safe house. How else are they supposed to learn to survive on their own, and become responsible adults?

Another less life-threatening example, although no less life-changing, is the argument of sex education in school. Regardless of one’s personal opinions and beliefs, the school should not be the only place our children learn about sex. Much in the same way school should not be the only place our children learn to read and speak. I am a big proponent of parents being involved in their child’s life. So, I am supportive of the parent who goes to PTA meetings, and voices their opinions about what the school should teach regarding sex and other subjects. If we do not voice our opinions, they will never have the chance to come to fruition. Schools have parent groups like PTA because they want us to contribute to the curriculum. But what if your values are in the minority of a majority vote? It is not a public school’s responsibility, much like it not being a government’s responsibility, to instill your family’s values in your child. That’s your family’s responsibility—AKA the parent’s responsibility. The parent who forfeits the opportunity to teach their child something—be it the alphabet or sex ed, regardless of whether or not the child learned about it in school, does so out of laziness and fear. How irresponsible of us!

All in all, I think the right answer is there is no right answer, for we are a melting pot of values and cultures. None of us fit into the cookie-cutter world of government regulations perfectly. These laws and guidelines are there to help us decide what’s best for our individual child. We should follow the laws and use the guidelines to educate ourselves toward a more informed decision that best fits our family, as well as keep a level head when it comes to whether or not to sanction every bad possible circumstance brought to the table because we’re afraid. Restricting our kids from doing things that involve risk instead of educating ourselves and our families on how to handle such risks will inevitably hold our children back. Coming back to Abby and her sailing adventure, Adam brought home a great article touching on this very thing. I think it’s a wonderful read for all parents: http://www.startribune.com/local/96344934.html?elr=KArksLckD8EQDUoaEyqyP4O:DW3ckUiD3aPc:_Yyc:aUnciaec8O7EyUsl

p.s. Amber's edit: Aymee... love this post... you know I am and i have crazy irrational fears... ie. If my kid sleeps past 8:15, hes probably dead... if he walks into the parking lot, he will most definitely get hit by a car... and if your standing at the top of a flight of stairs... someone is bound to fall down... im a panic'd anxious mess at any given time of any given day... thanks childhood/teen years PTSD is great. Anyways - most people having these fears go into freak out mode when confronted with "scary" situations... but not me... im so damn worried about being OVER protective because i'm crazy that Im the opposite... i may be panic'd on the inside... but on the outside im cool & collected (most the time) for example... yesterday we went swimming... me - and two toddler boys (that can't swim... imagine me, panic'd mess alone with two boys...)  and its a tough task, but its worth it getting them out daily for some fun in the sun...USUALLY both have arm floaties...  but zave's had a hole in it... shit  so I couldn't let him "swim" I carried him around and let him sit on my raft... I can't count how many times he tried to jump off the raft and into the water. I was getting so frustrated... finally I said one last calm & collected time... Zavery, if you jump off that raft your going to go under water (he hates that) Sure enough, he leaped off the raft. I let him go... he sunk like a rock and i swooped him back up... helped him catch his breath... said, ok... are you alright? (Yah, snort, whining, boo hoo) Are you gunna listen to me? (Yah, snort, whining, boo hoo) Are you gunna jump in the water again without your floaties? (No....) and he didn't. problem solved. I could have spent that whole damn pool trip fighting to keep him from jumping... sometimes they just gotta figure it out themselves.