Decoding an Early Rising

March 3, 2012 in Parenting | Leave a comment

Back in the day with Mr. Early Riser.

It’s Saturday morning. 5:06 a.m. I curse at the clock and look into the monitor. Twelve-month-old Ian is tucked into the corner of his crib. Tushy in the air.

His being awake and in this position could mean one of two things: He’s cold. Or he’s wet. At 5:06 a.m., neither of them is good. It’s also thundering outside. Option three: he’s scared.

I feel an elbow in my back from Max, who trotted into bed with us a little earlier when awoken by the storm.

I start wiggling my toes. It’s like yoga, I tell myself. You slowly start to move your extremities, and then the rest will follow.

Then I’m up.

Sure enough, Ian is wet. And petrified. He cries and cries from the change table like a baby possessed. He’s not still asleep. It’s not a nightmare. But he needs. Something.

When he’s dry again and his new PJs zipped, I pick him up and he settles into my chest. He hasn’t done this since he was an infant. My pajamas dip down a little, and he’s found a warm patch of skin. I imagine he’s listening to my heartbeat. Perhaps I’m listening to it, too. It feels so good to hold him like this. I almost don’t mind being up at 5:00 am on a Saturday morning. Almost.

He whimpers once or twice more and then exhales. Ahhh. Comfort. When his breathing settles, I put him back down. He sleeps again until 6:40 am, when he’s up for good. No need to decode that one. He’s just an early riser.

Organic CSA: Veggie Philanthropy

February 29, 2012 in Daily Life, Health, Parenting | Leave a comment

What we purchased this weekend at the farm.

I just spent $456 on vegetables. I signed up for an organic CSA. Basically, I bought a ½ share of a farm’s summer crop. Every other week from May through October, a box of local, freshly picked, certified organic produce will be delivered to my temple – where I happen to work, anyway. How great is that?

Josh and I took the family to the farm this past weekend to take a tour and go shopping at their market. It was windy and we were late, so we pretty much missed the tour. But in our brief time there, we saw all we needed to: Drip irrigation (which was created in Israel!), vibrant mixed greens sprouting, a huge compost, and beautiful communal buildings for events and group dinners.

The clincher was learning that the farm sends out an e-newsletter on Thursdays before deliveries. It lists the foods that will be in the next delivery and gives recipes for cooking some of the more obscure items. This way I can still plan ahead and shop over the weekend.

A few of our friends have signed up too, and we’re going to share best practices. A CSA support group of sorts. Veggies united!

I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited about produce before. But it’s more than that. It’s Jewish ethics. Reducing our carbon footprint. Supporting a wonderful, local farm. Veggie philanthropy! And it’s an interactive way to teach our children where their food comes from.

Hopefully, Max will actually try the collards next time. He turned them away this week, even though they were covered in peanut sauce. But I wasn’t upset. It meant more for me! Who knew collards and crunchy peanut butter would make such delicious partners. Can’t wait to see what else I learn this summer!

Recipe for Greens in Peanut Sauce

Care of Poplar Ridge Farm

 

1 medium onion (I didn’t have one on hand, so I didn’t use it)

2-3 cloves of garlic

1 medium tomato, diced (optional, I used it)

½ tsp ground coriander (I didn’t have this, cumin or cloves, so I left them out)

½ tsp ground cumin

¼ tsp salt

1/8 tsp ground cloves

1 lb kale, collards or turnip greens (I used collards, I think. It may have been kale…I’m a veggie in training!)

2-3 tbsp chunky peanut butter

1-2 tsp hot water

In a large pot, sauté onion and garlic in 1 tbsp oil. Add tomato and simmer 2-4 minutes.

Add greens and steam until greens are soft but not mushy. Avoid overcooking. Stir occasionally to coat greens with the spices.

Combine peanut butter and water and add to greens at the end of the cooking.

Enjoy!

www.poplarridgefarmnc.com

Crackberry, Interrupted

February 6, 2012 in Daily Life, Parenting | Leave a comment

My phone got run over by a car last Sunday. I discovered it at night, my car’s headlights shining down on the bright pink case as though it were a throbbing heart. Only, it was a heart no longer beating.

My obsession was gone. Just like that. No warning. Little backup. My calendar and lists – including medical ones – had vanished. You could call it a divine Crackberry intervention. I called it annoying. The humorous hindsight would come later.

Fortunately, I had insurance. Unfortunately, the insurance company sent me a defective replacement. So, for the better part of a week, I found myself a computer’s reach away from all things immediate and organizational. How did we function 15 years ago? Driving without cell phones, walking around without the ability to reach each other – and our calendars – constantly?

For the first time since I became addicted to Facebook while nursing baby Ian, I found myself free from the constant check-in. Free from feeling like I ought to be accessible to my part-time job at all times. Free to focus on my kids without feeling like they were pulling me away from THE DEVICE.

Besides for being physically run down and mentally scattered last week, I have to say I felt healthier. I actually sat down to write a little. I took a few cat naps. The kids and I watched less TV, too. Coincidences? I’m not so sure.

Yes, my bright pink temptation has started functioning properly again. Will I have the willpower to stick to my resolution – to check email and status updates only twice a day, in the morning and at night? Only time will tell.

But God, please grant me the courage to change the things I can…

Scallops and Stress Relief

December 2, 2011 in Daily Life | 1 comment

This was a first. We had just returned from my mother-in-law’s fish market on Cape Cod, and she needed to run back out to the pharmacy. It was 4:30 pm. Dinnertime was approaching. “How can I help?” I asked. “Actually,” she said, and she pulled out the plastic container of fresh scallops. With her fingers, she showed me how to remove the side-muscle, or the remaining tissue where the scallop had once been connected to the shell. And then she left. There I was with a paper towel and the shellfish.

Yes, I have eaten my fair share of shellfish; just, usually out at a restaurant. Coming from a long line of kosher kitchens on both sides of my family, I had never before handled it. I sat down at the island in my mother-in-law’s kitchen and got to work.

You know what? Pulling off the side muscle felt like an easy accomplishment. Like crossing something off a list. Or vacuuming. It was a mindless task that left a smooth, ready-to-grill pile of round sea mollusks. You could say the scallops and I bonded. Later, I watched my mother-in-law season and grill the fish – my favorite for her to make for us when we visit – and I felt at ease. Scallops combating stress. Who knew?

Ps- Josh, if you’re reading this: Don’t get your hopes up. Our kitchen will remain shellfish free. Xoxo, me

Happy Valley Weeps

November 14, 2011 in Penn State | 1 comment

Future Nittany Lion?

When I first visited Penn State, in 1991, we were touring schools for my older sister. All I remember from that first look at Happy Valley, besides for thinking the campus was beautiful, was what happened during the walking part of the tour.

I was walking near another tour participant when he dropped something on the ground. He littered. Or he just dropped something accidentally and kept walking. But a random Penn Stater walking in the opposite direction stopped that person on our tour and encouraged him pick it up. The message: We don’t litter at Penn State. I was impressed. This place must really mean something to people.

My sister, and then I, both attended the school. For me, it had nothing to do with football. The English department was stellar, and they let me waffle for two years before declaring my major. I took graphic design, economics, cinema studies, ballroom dance and lots of writing classes. I had a blast.

I attended most football games during my four years there, as well as a wrestling match, volleyball games and swim and diving meets. I volunteered for the overall communications team of Dance Marathon, the large student-run philanthropy in the country. (Permit me one moment to brag: The students raised $9.56 million last year alone for The Four Diamonds Fund at Penn State Hershey Children’s Hospital, which helps kids with cancer and their families.)

I remember thinking Penn State was the New York City of colleges: Whatever you’re interested in, there’s a good chance you’ll find the best of it there.

Which isn’t to say you won’t also find the worst. As we all came to learn this past week, there was some heinous stuff going on behind the scenes at Penn State. While it’s hard to still think about Penn State as a Utopia, I can’t forget the Utopian experience I had there for four years. Or the tens of thousands of hard-earned dollars my family invested in my and my sister’s education there. Or how the reputation of my college degree is now on the line.

Pride and memory and the demand for justice make for awkward bedfellows. We did not ask for this new reality of Penn State, just like those boys didn’t ask to be abused. And yet that’s what we got. I know I can speak for countless alumni and students when I say we are going to help restore the sense of honor at our school and make sure the wrongs get righted…to the extent, of course, that we can.

For nothing is going to restore those boys’ innocence. Nothing is going to turn back time and have the leaders we all trusted do the right and honorable thing. But we can help prevent this from happening again. Our eyes have been opened to horrors, and now we all must heal…and move forward.

In 1996, while I was on campus, a State College resident named Jillian Robbins opened fire on the HUB lawn, killed student Melanie Spalla and wounded student Nicholas Mensah. From the depths of our despair at that time emerged a hero: An honors student, Brendon Malovrh, saw what Robbins was doing and disarmed her before she could shoot more people. When Robbins tried to stab Malovrh and stabbed herself instead, Malovrh created a tourniquet out of his own belt and treated her leg. I was in the honors college at the time, and yes, I felt proud of Malovrh.

JoePa was Penn State’s hero for six decades, but a new Penn State hero will rise out of this situation as well. One positive outcome already: A number of alumni have mobilized to raise money for RAINN: Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network. Their goal is to raise more than $500,000, or $1 for each Penn State alum. They’re already at more than $350,000.

Like most Penn Staters, I have been devouring the media coverage. The other day my sister forwarded me an interesting piece from the Daily Collegian, Penn State’s student paper. It mentions how the victims are feeling about JoePa’s termination and the community’s response.

Ben Andreozzi, the lawyer representing some of the alleged victims, said, “These victims do not live in a bubble.” They too are effected by JoePa’s brash dismissal, by the students’ rioting, by the excessive media coverage. “The school let the victims down once,” he said, “and I think they owed it to the victims to at least gauge how the immediate termination decision would impact them as opposed to Mr. Paterno’s resignation at the end of the year.”

The psychology involved in this case is complex. The “right” course of action during the aftermath is and will continue to be different for different parties involved. My head is spinning when I think about the victims, the leaders, the many, many thousands of people affected – personally, and tangentially. And it’s only going to get more prickly from here, as further details emerge and legal proceedings continue.

Penn State pride is a wonderful, albeit tricky thing. It can inspire greatness in people and organizations; yet, it must not be allowed to cloud our judgment. We owe it to ourselves, and to those entrusted in our care, to ensure that Happy Valley also remains High Road Valley.

As a friend and fellow alumna told me the other night: Even with the tarnish, the embarrassment and downfall this past week, when pictures of downtown State College come on national TV, her heart surges, and she can’t help but smile. It’s just that special of a place.

Do we defend the alleged abuse of those boys and the actions our leaders failed to take? In no way, shape or form. Do we defend the rest of the school and its efforts from here forward to rebuild its reputation? Absolutely.

Links to other pieces of potential interest:

A letter to our Members – from the Penn State Alumni Association

Grand Jury Report

To non-Staters, By Beth Painter – from Facebook

Lawyer criticizes Board of Trustees’ decision to fire Joe Paterno – from the Daily Collegian

Proud to Be a Penn Stater – grassroots alumni fundraiser for RAINN

Cranial Bandmates

November 6, 2011 in Health, Parenting | Leave a comment

Ian and his Paddington Bear-painted cranial band.

When my older son, Max, was about eight months old, we had a play date in the children’s section of Barnes & Noble, near the Thomas the Train table. The other boy was a toddler and was busy at play with the trains. I held Max as I chatted with the toddler’s mom. At one point, the boy took a train in his hand, and in his excitement to show it to Max, chugged it at full force into Max’s head. I saw it coming with maybe a second to spare, and I braced both Max and myself for the impact. With my eyes squeezed tight I heard the thunk of metal against…plastic. For Max was wearing his cranial band, and it saved the day.

When my husband and I first learned Max needed a cranial band, we had many worries: Was the flatness at the back of his head really just a cosmetic concern? Would re-molding his skull affect his brain, too? What did we do wrong? Could it have been uterine positioning? Too much sleeping on his back and reclining in the bouncy seat?  Would people make fun of him while he wears it? Would they wonder what’s wrong with our precious child?

We learned over time and from the birth of a second flat-headed son, that yes, my funky, T-shaped uterus could be blamed for squashing my sons’ heads. (Add it to the list of things they’ll blame me for in the future.) And no, the reshaping of their crania does not appear to have changed our sons’ behaviors or mental capacities, not one bit. (Max is still too smart and mechanical a three year old for his own good…turning on the TV and stereo equipment himself, reciting prayers in Hebrew, I could continue bragging, but I’ll stop now.)

We’ve found that most people don’t poke fun at the bands; they just ask a lot of questions. They call them helmets. Head bands. They bless my sons’ hearts. And they wonder about the bands. What they’re for.

As a result, I’ve become a novice cranial band educator. I explain its length of wear (about 3 months, at least for our kids) and other details. Did you know, for example, that the American Academy of Pediatrics’ Back to Sleep Campaign in 1992, which re-directed parents to put their kids to sleep on their backs instead of their tummies, has resulted in a dramatic increase in cases of plagiocephaly, the medical term for malformation of the head?

I also commiserate with parents whose children wear the bands. We find each other, sigh in relief and smile. We chuckle together about our initial worries. We agree: It’s really not that bad once you get used to it.

Now that I am used to it and almost finished with two experiences, my worries are smaller in scale, though more numerous (as I guess it is with all parents as they gain more experience and their families expand). I worry about Ian sleeping with un-socked feet. Since air can’t flow out of his covered head, it must escape from his feet. Will he therefore be cold now that it’s autumn?

Cranial bands, like all unexpected but necessary medical devices, are shocks at first but then settle in to normalcy. Ian hardly notices he’s wearing it. When I take off the band, he’s enamored by it and wants to chew on it. The hardship often lands more on parents of band-wearing infants than on the infants themselves.

To reduce the stark whiteness of the naked bands, we found a wonderful local artist to paint them. I convinced myself both times that the bands were more like wearable artwork than medical devices. (By the way, the brand name is “Doc Band” and it’s generically called a cranial orthosis. So essentially, my kids wore orthotics on their heads instead of in their shoes!)

Max took to the band seamlessly, mid-winter. Ian got his over the summer in the Southeast, so we struggled to keep him cool, and he had a few tough nights learning how to sleep in it. We made several mad dashes to baby stores to get lightweight sleep sacks and long footless PJs, which were equally hard to find. (The Children’s Place and Buy Buy Baby, FYI, were most helpful.)

Similar to the other kind of orthotics, the band can smell like stinky feet if perspiration isn’t wiped away every several hours and cleaned with alcohol daily. But those tasks become part of diaper change and bathing routines, and are hardly remarkable after a while.

Ian is now down to his last week. His band therapist has reached plastic; there is no more foam for her to carve away. The molding of his head is complete.  The curve to the base of his neck looks somewhat constructed, not wholly natural or full. But it’s within the realm of normal. If he chooses to shave his head as an adult, it will look as handsome as the rest of him. And that’s what we wanted.

The funny thing about Max and Ian both having had flat infant heads that were corrected, is that their heads will still have similar shapes. Their somewhat curved noggins will be one more thing for them to have in common as brothers.

The experience could have been much worse: Our insurance was stellar three years ago, so with Max I believe we paid a co-pay for a band normally running several thousand dollars. For Ian as well, even though the economy has greatly changed our insurance coverage (among many other things in life and the world) the fees were still nominal, several hundred dollars, in comparison to the full cost.

We live only 25 minutes away from the Cranial Technologies office www.cranialtech.com, so the commute to the initial weekly then biweekly adjustments weren’t that much of a hassle. A decade ago, initial measurements were taken by plaster molding: A torturous process with lots of screaming, I assume by both infants and their parents. Now, children are fitted digitally. They wear stockings over their faces looking like robbers, as five digital cameras make picture composites of their heads.

Our therapists were lovely. One is the daughter of a cancer patient and a parent of a young son. We had plenty to talk about during the brief check-in appointments.

If you are reading this blog post anticipating your child needing a band, or struggling through initial sleep or other adjustments, take a deep breath. You will all get used to it. A friend whose son is a cranial band graduate now rests the retired band on a teddy bear in her son’s bedroom. It has become part of her family’s folklore, one of those things that make her child unique. Your child’s band will, too.

Max recently asked me of Ian’s band, “Can he play football in it, Mom-Mom?” And I informed him that cranial band or not, neither of them will be playing football for as long as I can help it. (Have you seen those players carted off fields with injuries so bad they can’t walk off themselves? Back in my high school cheerleading days, we had to move aside more than once for ambulances to reach athletes.)

“But I like playing football with Daddy,” Max replied.

Max at 7 months in his Dr. Seuss-themed band

See what I mean? As a parent I have bigger things to worry about than my infant sons wearing cranial bands. Max doesn’t even remember his; that’s how big of a scar it left on him. And now he says he wants to play football. Real, scary, football. Remolding infant heads is the least of it.

As a worried mom, I know I won’t always be able to protect my boys. I know there are bigger things than Thomas toy trains that could potentially hurt them. And that their problems won’t always be fixable in three short months, as with the cranial band. So I’m looking to these experiences as moments to take pause and be thankful for fixable problems, small moldable heads and cranial orthotics.

‘Bout Time

October 3, 2011 in About | 1 comment

My husband and I joke that our older son, Max, is going to spend his third and fourth years in time out. He’s independent, curious and stubborn. It’s likely a winning combination for a successful life, but also one that results in his spending many extended bouts fidgeting in time out.

Sure, the time outs are as much for us as they are for him. They’re breaks from the whining, from the frustration, from each other. And it affords us a fresh start. Often, Max’s time-out-inducing behavior mirrors our own. Or funny mirrors it. But it’s a reflection. If I’m hormonal, tired, cranky, he’s going to be needy, clingy, stomping. He’ll want me to play with him. Now. Across the room. No matter that I have taken my first, blissful bite of breakfast. And so things heat up. And then they cool down, in time out.

This blog is meant to be my own version of time out. While I no longer have whole days to get lost in creative writing, I do have 35 minutes, which is (ahem) my age, and therefore the length of my time outs. (That’s the way it works in our house: Max is 3, so he gets 3 minutes.)

Some days I’ll spend my 35 minutes analyzing my kids’ latest escapades. Other days I’ll ponder the juggling life of mom, employee, wife, family member, volunteer, etc. Occasionally, I’ll look back to when I was a kid, or a teen, or a young adult, when I was also spending moments in self-inflicted time outs, but focusing instead on writing poetry… or pining over boys. Or both. (Stories for another time.) I will try to incorporate local, national or international angles. But right now, the personal is often political enough.

Thank you for spending these moments with me. I hope they will help you cool off from your life, too.

Jodi Werner Greenwald

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The boys.