Breast is best. It’s a fact of nature endorsed by governments and parenting experts the world over. No one disputes the benefits of breastfeeding. What is objectionable, though, is the assumption that all mothers can and should do it. That moms who choose formula over breast milk are lazy and irresponsible, and clearly don’t have their baby’s best interests at heart.
Please click here to read the full article as featured on Real Zest.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The good news and the not-so-good news
Which do you want first? The good, of course. Little Green One will be sharing its wit and wonderment in pastures abroad. Down south, to be precise:
Real Zest -- Written by "some of the smartest, funniest, most thoughtful, strongest, incredibly vivacious and delightfully beautiful women on the planet!" No, really, I didn't write that myself, but I must admit, it does have a ring.
Parenting Squad -- Tips, hacks, and news for parents and their families. You guessed it, I'm one of the hacks.
The not-so-good news is that, for the time being at least, LGO the blog will cease to exist in its current state. Instead, I will update this site regularly, letting you know when my articles appear elsewhere, in the sincerest hope that you will follow my trail, of drool and Crayolas as it were.
Putting LGO on hiatus was a tough decision. But, contrary to popular belief, I can't be in more than one place at once AND plan a two year old's birthday party, AND write another novel, AND change stinky diapers, AND cook fabulous meals, AND feed those hungry dust bunnies... So much for Superwoman!
Please keep in touch, won't you?
Parenting Squad -- Tips, hacks, and news for parents and their families. You guessed it, I'm one of the hacks.
The not-so-good news is that, for the time being at least, LGO the blog will cease to exist in its current state. Instead, I will update this site regularly, letting you know when my articles appear elsewhere, in the sincerest hope that you will follow my trail, of drool and Crayolas as it were.
Putting LGO on hiatus was a tough decision. But, contrary to popular belief, I can't be in more than one place at once AND plan a two year old's birthday party, AND write another novel, AND change stinky diapers, AND cook fabulous meals, AND feed those hungry dust bunnies... So much for Superwoman!
Please keep in touch, won't you?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The brown diaries -- volume 1
I'm probably tempting fate here. Calling this post 'volume one' assumes there will be subsequent volumes. That this post is the first in a series. I so hope there won't be siblings, but I'm clued up enough to know that toilet training isn't done in a day.
Why I can't keep my (potty) mouth shut
Yes, friends, this is another story about the brown stuff. If you're a mom, no doubt you have your own stories from the training days which you gleefully regale at dinner parties, your own battle scars which you wear with pride. Still, you love nothing more than reminiscing, sharing secrets and triumphs, and you never tire of a good brown tale. I'm not sure why that is the case. But it is. Perhaps, after surviving your child's first year of life and all its wild range of movements -- from the tarry early days, to the tawny, to the just plain alien, conquering your child's many blowouts is a rite of passage. (I don't want to scare you with numbers, but let's say around 730, give or take, in that first year.)
Hall of horrors
Mr Green and I have an all time Top Ten which we are continually updating and revising. So it's telling that in the past 22 months, two of my Top Tens happened almost back to back as I embarked on training LGO recently. Let me backtrack just a little here before I get to the goods. After all, every writer worth their mustard (sorry, not the picture you need right now) knows how to build in a measure of suspense. The whole potty thing might as well be SWAT training as far as I'm concerned. Just considering it fills me with the same ball bearing-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach sensation. Just considering it was enough to put me off considering it for weeks. I mean, once you start there's no turning back, is there? Kind of like when I tear open a bag of Cadbury's mini eggs... I know you know what I mean.
The king assumes his throne
So, anyway, I dusted off the potty I bought weeks before and had hidden behind the couch so I wouldn't have to consider considering training. Well, my mom suspected LGO might be Ready, and so I stared my fear square in the face. Needless to say, it wasn't pretty. My son was happy enough to sit his cheeks down and read some stories. He is a male, after all. At first nothing much happened. Then he stood up to fetch a different book, and as he squatted, you guessed it: on the hardwood floor. I quickly returned him to the pot, and he promptly finished his business there. Mr Green and I chanted and cheered and created a great big hullabaloo about the accomplishment. LGO didn't look overly bothered either way. And in that not overly bothered expression I glimpsed his teenage self.
In the next 24 hours...
I saw his expression darken again in the telltale way. Again, I reacted like Jack Bauer. Another success story! Maybe, just maybe, my son really is ready, I thought. Practically delirious at the prospect of No More Dirty Diapers, I called him over to witness his triumph for himself. (I've read that for some kids it helps to see the No. Two in order to understand what it is and where it goes.) Anyway, my LGO, a little too enthused at this point, plunged his hand in the potty and gave his Mr Hanky a big affectionate squeeze. Gasping. Frantically reaching for the wipes. It was all I could do to keep his clean hand from touching the Hanky hand, and the Hanky hand from touching, well, anything else -- including my hair, his hair, my mouth, his mouth... I just managed to avoid cussing, but only because I was too busy hyperventilating.
A messy lesson, indeed
But then, aren't most of life's lessons messy? I long for the days when I can safely regain a measure of propriety and privacy in my own home. In the meantime I hope you've enjoyed the first instalment. Myself, I sincerely pray there won't be a sequel.
Why I can't keep my (potty) mouth shut
Yes, friends, this is another story about the brown stuff. If you're a mom, no doubt you have your own stories from the training days which you gleefully regale at dinner parties, your own battle scars which you wear with pride. Still, you love nothing more than reminiscing, sharing secrets and triumphs, and you never tire of a good brown tale. I'm not sure why that is the case. But it is. Perhaps, after surviving your child's first year of life and all its wild range of movements -- from the tarry early days, to the tawny, to the just plain alien, conquering your child's many blowouts is a rite of passage. (I don't want to scare you with numbers, but let's say around 730, give or take, in that first year.)
Hall of horrors
Mr Green and I have an all time Top Ten which we are continually updating and revising. So it's telling that in the past 22 months, two of my Top Tens happened almost back to back as I embarked on training LGO recently. Let me backtrack just a little here before I get to the goods. After all, every writer worth their mustard (sorry, not the picture you need right now) knows how to build in a measure of suspense. The whole potty thing might as well be SWAT training as far as I'm concerned. Just considering it fills me with the same ball bearing-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach sensation. Just considering it was enough to put me off considering it for weeks. I mean, once you start there's no turning back, is there? Kind of like when I tear open a bag of Cadbury's mini eggs... I know you know what I mean.
The king assumes his throne
So, anyway, I dusted off the potty I bought weeks before and had hidden behind the couch so I wouldn't have to consider considering training. Well, my mom suspected LGO might be Ready, and so I stared my fear square in the face. Needless to say, it wasn't pretty. My son was happy enough to sit his cheeks down and read some stories. He is a male, after all. At first nothing much happened. Then he stood up to fetch a different book, and as he squatted, you guessed it: on the hardwood floor. I quickly returned him to the pot, and he promptly finished his business there. Mr Green and I chanted and cheered and created a great big hullabaloo about the accomplishment. LGO didn't look overly bothered either way. And in that not overly bothered expression I glimpsed his teenage self.
In the next 24 hours...
I saw his expression darken again in the telltale way. Again, I reacted like Jack Bauer. Another success story! Maybe, just maybe, my son really is ready, I thought. Practically delirious at the prospect of No More Dirty Diapers, I called him over to witness his triumph for himself. (I've read that for some kids it helps to see the No. Two in order to understand what it is and where it goes.) Anyway, my LGO, a little too enthused at this point, plunged his hand in the potty and gave his Mr Hanky a big affectionate squeeze. Gasping. Frantically reaching for the wipes. It was all I could do to keep his clean hand from touching the Hanky hand, and the Hanky hand from touching, well, anything else -- including my hair, his hair, my mouth, his mouth... I just managed to avoid cussing, but only because I was too busy hyperventilating.
A messy lesson, indeed
But then, aren't most of life's lessons messy? I long for the days when I can safely regain a measure of propriety and privacy in my own home. In the meantime I hope you've enjoyed the first instalment. Myself, I sincerely pray there won't be a sequel.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Plump Fiction
If I had a buck for every time total strangers waxed lyrical about how fat my baby is, I’d have enough dinero to open up my own fast food franchise. I know the war on childhood obesity (or ‘globesity’ as it’s now known) is a worthy one, especially in this country. It is a bittersweet irony that in a world where kids are starving to death, ours are literally eating their way to an early grave. I’ve read time and again that obese children grow into obese adults with all kinds of health red alerts, from heart disease to diabetes and cancer...
Click here to read the full article. Big fat thanks to Seth at Real Zest for featuring this piece. Be sure to visit this great new site for some zesty writing by zesty women!
Click here to read the full article. Big fat thanks to Seth at Real Zest for featuring this piece. Be sure to visit this great new site for some zesty writing by zesty women!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
From flab to fab
Let's face it: baby fat is not cute. And by that, I don't mean your wee one's Dizzy Gillespie cheeks; I mean the stubborn cellulite-speckled deposits that cling to your thighs and add another cheek width to your already backhoe-wide butt. That's without even mentioning the never-setting ‘belly jelly' that makes you want to lock yourself in a darkened closet...
Click here to read the full article, which is featured in this month's issue of Oh Baby! Magazine (available in Sears, Once upon a Child, and various other locations in Canada).
Click here to read the full article, which is featured in this month's issue of Oh Baby! Magazine (available in Sears, Once upon a Child, and various other locations in Canada).
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