One of my Facebook “friends” recently posted an album with photos depicting a timeline of her labor and the birth of her baby. I wouldn’t call this person an actual friend of mine; she’s the sister of a college friend whom I rarely speak to anymore.

I have no idea what compelled me to look at these photos. Once I clicked on the album and saw the thumbnails, it was like a car accident. I didn’t want to look, but something wouldn’t let me not look. I was even more intrigued when I noticed she was at home and had some type of portable bathtub.

Home and water births are great for some people, but I need a hospital with my doctor, a bunch of nurses, an operating room and NICU (just in case), and a nursery.

I don’t know if I was mortified because I’m only a few weeks away from delivering my own baby or if I would be mortified even if I wasn’t pregnant.

The pictures showed her walking around outside her house trying to make the contractions speed up; gripping onto her kitchen counter in crazy pain; sitting in the water-filled, plastic-lined bathtub wearing nothing but a sports bra; squatting in the tub with her husband with captions like, “12:24 a.m., crowning” and “the last push”; and finally, her and the husband holding the baby. I’m just glad the photos were that antique black-and-white color so I couldn’t clearly see the water.

Continue reading "TMI: Vivid birth photos on Facebook" »

Day care often sends home memos in my son’s lunchbox. “Need more diapers, please.” “Tomorrow is pizza day.” “Please do not dress your child in superhero attire for school.” Wait. What was that?

My son doesn’t have any superhero T-shirts, but I was curious, so I asked the director about it. She said it affects the children’s behavior on the playground and in the classroom. They are more rambunctious and try to copy the actions of the particular superhero on their T-shirt.

I thought superheroes were supposed to teach us to love good and fight evil, so why are they making our children “evil” on the playground?

I don’t know about you, but most superhero movies I’ve seen are pretty mature and seem like they were made for adults. I haven’t watched many superhero cartoons, but the new Iron Man and Batman movies are most definitely adult movies.

What are the kids who watch these movies taking away from them? If they’re too young to grasp themes and concepts put forth in the movies, they must just be focusing on the action and violence. And if that’s the case, why are kids being allowed to see these movies?

The end of the memo reads, “Jesus is our superhero.” Sounds like a much more gentle approach.

Do you let your kids watch superhero movies? If so, do you notice any changes in their behavior?

I was busy at work when my phone rang. It was Pastor Chip, from Plantation Community Church. My church.

"Now don't be offended,'' he started out. I don't know about you, but I've never had anything good come after the words "now don't be offended.'' I braced myself for an insult. I had just volunteered to teach children's church classes, so immediately I wondered if Pastor Chip was calling to gently say that I hadn't passed the background check, so to speak.

"We got a prayer request,'' he delicately went on. Now I wondered if someone had suggested my family is so dysfunctional that we needed some extra attention from God. Which is true.

"Lily filled out a prayer card,'' he said. "She said she's hungry, and there's no food.''

What a relief!

I burst out laughing.

Lily, my 8-year-old daughter, had skipped breakfast that morning, looking forward to her church donut. But then she decided she was "starving'' and she wrote her concerns on a prayer card and dropped it in the offering plate. I had seen it and thought the church deacons would read it and chuckle.

Nope. My pastor was so concerned he showed up at my house the next day, ready to fill my cupboards. I wasn't home, so he called me at work.

Click here to read Lily's plea for food from God.

Even after I told the pastor what had happened, he wasn't sure. He pressed me again: If you need food, he said, we'd be happy to help.

Nice to know, isn't it?

He did. We're sure of it. Or at least, he meant to. When his mom tickled his belly, and when his big sister tossed him on the bed (gently, never exactly letting him go). "Dah-gin." We're sure it meant "Do it again." What else could it mean?

He's fast approaching the age of 18 months. I don't know why, but I figured at this stage he and I would be having profound discussions about the role of government envisioned by the founders, the existence of God, or at least the benefits of going potty rather than waiting for a diaper change.

"Bah-boo!"

We're not sure what it means, but we're sure it means something. I'm hoping it means "Cancer cure! I've figured out a cancer cure!" Somehow I doubt it, unless the cure for cancer is related to throwing plastic balls out of the makeshift ball pit in our living room.

Everyone's telling me not to worry and not to rush Leo's speech development. For one thing, I'm being a tad unrealistic. I mean, really, who wants to talk about Benjamin Franklin's political philosophy with a toddler (or with anyone else, for that matter)? And for another, children learn to talk at different paces. Before I know it, I'm assured, my wife and I will be falling into the same pattern as so many parents before us.

You know the pattern: "you spend the first 18 months trying to get them to stand up and talk, and the next 18 years trying to get them to sit down and shut up."

I don't know who first said that, but whoever it was deserves a Pulitzer.

Leo, can you spell "Pulitzer"?

Sigh.

And not a moment too soon. Motherlode, the parenting blog at the New York Times, ventured into somewhat similar territory with a post on a Chicago writer who, in a very serious story, used the term "ghetto parenting" to describe a particular kind of neglectful childrearing that produces everything from kids with their belts at their knees to young adults bound for prison.

Question: is the term "ghetto parenting" racist? Does it affect your answer to that question to learn that the writer who coined the term is, herself, black?

The next day, talk show host Rush Limbaugh stepped in it (actually, he gleefully jumped in it with both feet) by describing the late New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner as a "cracker" who made a lot of African Americans rich while firing a lot of white managers.

The comment seemed calculated to provoke outrage somewhere, somehow, from someone. Al Sharpton rose, or stooped, to the occasion by decrying the comment and suggesting an apology was in order.

Nonsense. The only thing that was offensive about Limbaugh's statement was that he neglected to mention the number of Hispanic millionaires Steinbrenner created. I hate when Latinos are left out of stories, especially when the stories are about millionaires.

I thought Limbaugh was rather clearly playing with people's perceptions of himself and making a serious point, too: while his detractors search vigorously for the smoking gun that proves his racism, he contends his real passion is not for white supremacy, but colorblind capitalism.

And it was funny. He calls it "illustrating absurdity by being absurd." Limbaugh calling someone a cracker is like me calling someone a hypersensitive p.c. cop (at least, according to MY critics).

My point is that we are bombarded daily by examples of people using words that provoke: sometimes they provoke pain, anger, hurt, or offense. Other times they provoke righteous indignation, resolve, determination and courage. At the very least, we can hope they provoke thought.

Did Rush Limbaugh go too far, using Steinbrenner's legacy to make a political point when the body wasn't even cold yet? Did Mary Mitchell go too far, coining the phrase "ghetto parenting" and not expecting race to overwhelm the ensuing discussion?

As parents, we are charged with the mission of teaching our kids right from wrong, good from bad, polite from rude. In doing so, we should also be able to see that intending offense is not always a matter of black or white.

It's funny how some words and phrases vanish as fads while others manage to stick around for decades. "Cool" stuck around for generations. "Bad" is, of course, good. And if something's really good, it's really bad... like "wicked."

Most terms suffer a quicker and more merciful death. Remember when the latest dance move was considered "fresh"? I'll never forget the day I went to see The Running Man at the movies in 1987. As I left, I overhead two guys about my age saying the movie was "dope." It was a compliment. "Dope" certainly outlived its 15 minutes, but I'm not sure it outlived the 1990s.

Sometime in the mid-to-late 1990s, I started to hear "that's so gay." Seriously, it was that long ago. I can document it: the phrase was used in the 1999 movie "South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut" (a hilarious picture you should hide from your children at all costs).

I care about language, and I care about the damage words can inflict on civil discourse. Some people call me politically correct, to which I normally argue that they're half-right. It's not about politics. It's about standing up for what's right.

I don't know how many teens have exercised the self-discipline to refrain from using this demeaning expression. I cringe when I hear it uttered by those who are close to me. I found a handful of public service announcements that try to deal with the issue, that try to show people how rude and disrespectful they're being when they use the term. And while I find myself in agreement with the PSA's, I seriously doubt they will have much of an impact.

People just don't seem to care. "That's so stupid. That's so dumb. That's so retarded. That's so blonde. That's so gay." It's just words, right? So what if it slowly but surely embeds in the speakers a coarse indifference to those around us? So what if it validates disrespect to the point that anyone who complains about it must have a problem. Must be a sympathizer. Must be one of them, secretly.

Look, I can't speak for or at everyone else, take the case to the world and convert people toward a more respectful manner of speech. Some crusades are doomed to fail: you just have to start in your own household, maybe let the people around you know what you're doing, and hope respect catches on.

I hope our girls see from my example, and my wife's, that there's something inappropriate about "that's so gay." And I hope my son, still too young to know bigotry and hate, never has to deal with this particular contemptuous expression of banality.

For this expression to last another 10-15 years? Why, that would be so...

I first noticed this phenomenon many years ago. It was a conversation with my nephew, and it went like this:

"How old are you?"
"I'm gonna be 7."
"You're gonna be 40. How old are you now?"

I'm struggling to figure out why it is that people, particularly kids, find themselves utterly unable to answer simple questions. These days, with my stepdaughters, the conversations usually go something like this:

"Have you done your school project?"
"It's not due until next week."
"Oh. I see. So... Have you done your school project?"

The answer is related to the question I asked, but it's actually the answer to a different question. I think it has to do with a desire to save time. When I asked the kid how old he was, he must have figured I was more interested in his next birthday than with his current age, so he skipped to the next question. And the girls must figure it's easier to tell me why their homework isn't done than it is to just say no, seeing as my next question will be "Why not?"

Why do people do that? It's not just kids, either. My wife does it all the time, and I'm sure I do, too.

"Are you hungry?"
"What's for dinner?"

See, the answer is related to the question I asked, but it's not an answer. Would you be hungry if I made pork chops but not hungry if I made liver? No, that's not how hunger works.

I wonder if life would be more interesting if we ran things a little more like a courtroom. That way, whenever someone failed to answer a simple question, someone else could jump up and say "Objection! Non-responsive." They do that in court. Then the judge gets to decide whether the response really answered the question. The judge can tell the witness to give a more direct answer. That might be cool.

Then again, it won't work, because I'd never get to be the judge. So I'd never win. And I'd never find out whether anyone wants dinner.

I'm not one of those moms who jumps into every spontaneous scene with a camera, and makes people line up and smile. I think it's much more fun, and less annoying, to capture what my kids are saying.

Someone bought me two blank, hard cover books. The covers are canvas, for a kid to draw on. I marked one for Creed, and one for Lily. And I've been writing their hilarious and ridiculous questions and comments in them for years.

When and if I ever deem them old enough and responsible enough to appreciate these keepsakes and not to lose them in a stack of school yearbooks, I will give them these treasures.

Lily gave me three more questions last week to add to her book:

"Why do we have to wear underwear, anyway? What does it do?''

"Has a dog ever peed on you?''

"Can a person be born with pierced ears?''

Hand me the pen!

“I’m stupid.”

What?

My 3-year-old son said this yesterday.

I said he is absolutely not stupid.

He said it again. Then just “stupid.”

Please stop saying that word, I said. Then I queried some. It seemed that a friend at school had called someone stupid, and it appeared the friend had said it to Alexander’s friend. It bothered him, clearly.

School can be tough, as we all know. I shudder to think of my kids hearing all the mean things that get tossed around schools every day.

But the word “stupid” isn’t confined to bullies in the lunchroom. We say it at work all the time.

It’s on TV (watch a few minutes of the AIG coverage today and you’ll hear it countless times, I’m sure). Questions are stupid, ideas are stupid, politicians are stupid. Really, can we escape this word? Is it realistic to tell a kid it’s a bad word not to be used?

So while it’s easy to tell my son that he’s not stupid, he’s smart, I found it much harder to explain “stupid.” I said it was a “bad word” because I knew that would make sense to him, but that wasn’t really accurate. Bad words are a different category. This word has value in certain contexts, but is just mean in others. It’s a difficult distinction to make to a kid.

It’s like the semantic equivalent of explaining that we bounce soccer balls outside, not in the house.

What’s terrible is hearing your kid says he’s stupid.

Baby needed a new pair of shoes, so I headed to Stride Rite at Broward Mall.

And before I could enter the store, I had a WTF moment. There was three shelves of shoes by Jessica Simpson, for girls.

GIRLS.

And, yes, I'm talking about that tart Jessica Simpson who has taken being blond, busty and a bumbling idiot to the bank.

What kind of message is this sending to our girls. Have you gotten these shoes as a gift from the clueless aunt? Or did you, gasp, buy them yourself for your little darling in a moment of weakness??

Let's talk!

The Sun Sentinel reported that a first-grader wielding a kitchen knife robbed a 6-year-old classmate of one dollar at a Pembroke Pines school.

What is wrong with our children, their parents?? I'm looking for seriously constructive advice, here. Parents of reformed bullies speak out: what did you learn from the experience?

"George Bush was the last president,'' Lily told me one day recently on the way to school.

I was impressed.

"George Lincoln is dead.''

Not impressed. I corrected her.

"Just let me say it the way I want,'' she insisted. "I'm not that smart.''

The same day, she asked me all of the following: "Can we go to Disney world?" "What does someday mean?" "Can we get a puppy?" "Why do farts smell so bad?''

I also had to explain the difference between a diary and diarrhea. I'm not kidding.

Saturday she advised me during a discussion about college that "I don't want a job. I want to get married and do nothing.''

I told her Sunday that, "we're going to get you the best doll house for Christmas.''

"You know what,'' she answered. "Tell Santa. I don't want you to have to spend your money.''

Last night she said I was distracting her from her Webkinz activities.

"I can't focustrate!'' she said.

This is what parenting is all about. Answering weird questions like "do ponies lay eggs.''

It's a lot more fun than answering the questions she'll probably ask when she's a teen, like, "Are you sure this dent wasn't in your car before I drove it?''' or "Who washed my cell phone?''

Something surprising happened the other day: my son commented on someone’s race.
He’s just over 2, but I had this fantasy it would have taken longer than this. That difficult conversation of “what is racism” must be just around the corner.
Here’s how it went:
The four of us were in the car, packing up after a trip to Fort Lauderdale beach. Just to make small talk, I asked Alexander what he saw out of the window.
“A tall, white man,” he said.
“Oh,” I said.
My wife and I looked at one another. Well, isn’t that interesting, we said.
Our sons are biracial. I’m white (although I wasn’t the man Alexander was referring to) and my wife is African American. We know from a certain Democratic presidential candidate how complicated this racial experience can be for a kid. They are likely to benefit from our new societal sensibilities about growing up with both black and white parents, but it's never going to be easy.

Still, despite all the talk about race this campaign season and the major role it plays in my life, I’m always queasy at the topic. Sure, I talk about race frequently, but it’s never easy. And when it comes to kids, I don’t know when it’s confusing and when it’s helpful to raise it. (Rowan is only 10 months, so I’ve got some time there.)

So when did your kids first ask about race? What did you say?

We've probably all had the experience of our young ones making some kind of rude observation that is best kept to oneself. (Such as when Lily looked at a woman in the Publix checkout next to me, and asked, "Mommy, is that a man?''')

Adults who don't have a self-censor have no friends. But we have to expect this kind of embarrassment from kids.

This weekend we went to visit the grandparents. They're in their 70s.

Lily and I and her grandmother were sitting at the kitchen table.

"Are you going to live in this house forever?'' Lily inquired.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe,'' her grandmother replied.

Lily paused for a great while.

And then she said, so innocently:

"How do you spell die?''

Great question, Lily. And why do you ask?

As a child, social networking involved a red kickball. All it took was the sight of the ball being launched in the air by a neighboring kid's foot to get me outdoors and socializing.

How pedestrian.

These days kids socialize by logining on to a MySpace, or Facebook or uploading a video of said selves to YouTube.

And in this new social structure enters TotSpot, a place for pre-school kids to swap virtually boogers.

Does your wee one use TotSpot? Lifestyle reporter Liz Doup would like to hear from you. Send her a note at ldoup@sun-sentinel.com.

Or perhaps you frequent the site, famzam that is geared more to families wanting to share photos, videos, recipes, etc. Either way, Liz would love to talk with you.

Stay-at-moms should be pulling in $117,000 a year, according to a study by Salary.com.

Is this a pittance or a boon? Tell us what you think about stay-at-home moms being worth $117,000 on the free market.

The video clip is hard to watch. A teen girl being punched, slammed into a wall, taunted to fight back.

The Lakeland, Fla., beating happened March 30, and was released to the media on Tuesday.

The six girls, ages 14 - 17, have been arrested and may face charges as an adult.

According to news reports, the victim was lured to the home for the beating, to be aired on YouTube, after allegedly posting an offensive remark on a MySpace page.

This horrific beating begs the question: Who's to blame?

Should the parents of these alleged bullies be held accountable? Was the victim in the wrong? Is the media to blame?

Let's start talking about how we can prevent our kids from being the victim or bully . . .

This falls into the category of something I never thought about on my way to parenthood. But it happened one day a few weeks ago.

Sometime back, my wife and I agreed on teaching our children the anatomical correct name for their body parts. It wasn't a big discussion, just something we sort of agreed on almost in passing.

Of course, most of this teaching goes on while I am at work. So I never really have given it that much thought until my daughter caught me off guard.

Her mother was at the doctor. And we were playing in the living room. She opened her mouth wide. I did the same. We did the aahhhh thing, each of us getting louder by the moment. Finally, I stopped and pointed in her mouth and said: "What's that in there? Is that China?"

That stopped Ana Isabel. "No, papa. That's not my China. This is my China," she said while doing a full-on Michael Jackson crotch grab. Vagina, China. It's all the same to a two and half year old. I just about fell out of the chair trying not to laugh.

I relayed the story to my wife. We laughed. It's better than the name her grandmother used to for the same body part, Carrie Ann said. Tootie. It confused her as a little girl when the sitcom "The Facts of Life" had a character with the same name.

So, how do you handle teaching your children about their body?

This week, the daycare my child attends celebrated St. Patrick's Day and Easter by asking parents to bring in plates, cheese, juice boxes and SWEETS: cupcakes, candies, cookies.

What the heck do children ages 1-2 need with candy???

Baby teeth are temporary, and can be difficult to clean if the baby is like mine and squirms and wails during the cleanings.

I was instructed via a note to bring candy for the Easter party. I brought grapes, lovingly divided into baby bite sizes, for the kids.

As a compromise, I brought in treat bags of candy and gum for the teachers.

How do you deal with your daycare provider plying your child with sweets?

Continue reading "Easter candy and baby teeth" »

Families have their own rhythm, their own cadences. They can speak to each other in ways outsiders can’t really relate.

When an outsider becomes a family member, as I did eight months ago, he quickly learns that the family language only bears a passing resemblance to his own.

I knock on the older girl’s bedroom door.

“What?” she calls out. It’s an impolite, get-lost kind of yell to my ears, regardless of whether she intends it to sound that way.

“Try again!” I yell through the door.

“Yes?” she replies, this time striking a you’ve-reached-Kay-how-may-I-help-you? tone.

That's more like it. The first response sounds like I have some nerve knocking on the door. The second strikes me as more polite. I'm happy.

The next morning, I knock on the younger girl’s door.

“What-ah?” she yells. When did the word “what” gain that extra syllable, anyway? “What-ah?” Sometimes-ah sounds-ah like you hear those-ah, old-time preachers-ah.

“Hey, I’m just checking to make sure you’re awake and getting ready for school. I don’t deserve the attitude.”

“I’m not giving you attitude!”

I love that. I get the attitude and the denial.

What I don’t get is that she’s telling me the absolute truth. She really doesn’t mean to be giving me attitude. Just like I don’t mean to sound like a holier-than-thou persnickety know-it-all who’s constantly correcting them.

They would know that if they spoke my language, and maybe I’ll go a little easier on them when I learn their language a little bit better. The good part? They’re comfortable enough with me that when they speak to me, it’s in their language.

Unfortunately, last night my husband and I discovered that our son Ryan's 2006 Christmas hamster, A.J., had departed to the great wheel in the sky.

After gently telling Ryan of A.J.'s untimely demise, we explained that A.J. was in heaven and that he had a loving and happy life here with us. Many tears and fond recollections later, we had a burial on the side of the house with my older son Erik giving a moving eulogy.

Later, Ryan began to fret. When I asked him what was wrong, he said "I hope God puts A.J. in the animal side of heaven. If he's in the people side, he'll get stepped on. Then he'll have to die twice."

--Doreen Christensen

Apparently my husband thinks its acceptable for our son to express his displeasure by uttering a certain curse word. We're not talking about the F-bomb here. And in the great scheme of things, it isn't considered one of the curse words that's so horrifying, but still. He's not even four years old yet.

Here's an example for you. We were in the restroom at the mall the other day and Evan was trying to wash his hands with soap but the dispenser was all out of soap.

"Damn it," Evan said.

"Honey, don't say that word, it's not a good word for us to use," I told him.

He got annoyed. My amused husband said that this simply illustrates how children easily pick things up and mimic their parents. Duh. And that it's not such a bad word and we shouldn't scold him for doing something that we do. Hmm. The dictionary defines it as "to condemn, especially to hell." I don't think a preschooler needs to be condeming the lack of soap in a bathroom with such finality.

So yes, we have to watch what we say. But I still don't think that gives our boys a free pass to drop the D word or worse.

I'm not going make the ol "wash your mouth out with soap" threat. Any suggestions on enforcing a no-cursing rule in the house and explaining why certain words shouldn't be used? I'm afraid I sometimes come up short after the constant "why" question when I issue an edict. "Because I said so" doesn't seem to cut it.

Went to Barnes and Noble last week with my sons. They really like playing with the Thomas the Train set in the children's section, and I really like checking out gossip rags while they do that, so it works out well.

Another mom walked in with her son and baby daughter in her arms. The woman had long, gorgeous hair and a husky voice.

My son walked over to me, stood close and said, "Mommy, I think that looks like a girl."
I looked at the baby, wearing all pink, and answered, "Yep, that's a girl."
He continued.
"But she kind of sounds like a guy," he said.
Horrified, I realized he was talking about the woman with the husky voice. I quickly glanced over but the woman either did not appear to hear Evan or was ignoring this comment.
"No, babe, that's a girl too," I whispered.

Thankfully, the conversation ended there. But that was my first brush with my 3-year-old's brutally honest observations in public. I don't want to muzzle him, but how do I talk to him about keeping this kind of stuff between us?

They are the stories our children will hear us tell time and time again as they grow up well into adulthood: Those unexpected moments when they open their mouths and say something truly amazing – or just plain funny.

We at transPARENT have plenty of those gems to share. We’d like to hear yours.

One of my favorites came around the New Year. My two-year-old son had just begun to understand the sights and sounds of fireworks. Dad had made a few demonstrations while my son and I soaked in the experience sitting on top of my car. There were plenty of “oh, wows” and “oohs.”

But the best moment came days later as I toweled off my son during bath time (and after a hearty dinner). His bare bottom on my lap, he let one rip. Then another. And another. He giggled, looked up at me and said with such innocent glee: “FIREWORKS!”

I can’t wait until the Fourth of July.