Babyproofing

As a parent, there is no limit to what you can spend for a little peace of mind.  I recently read a negative review for a baby-proofing company in which the parents were upset because they paid $1000 for nothing but a toilet clamp, a couple plug covers,  and a broken baby gate. 

First of all, I didn't know baby-proofing companies were actual businesses. 

Second of all, if someone paid me $1000 to baby-proof their home I would bolt all the furniture to the floor, super glue everything else into place, and lock all the doors. 

A Wise Mother's Perspective

Sage advice from Mika, mother of five (three of them triplets).  This was the conclusion of a post Mika offered in response to another mother's request for advice, which appeared on the online parenting forum Twins by the Bay. 


If my kids go to bed without any major injuries, whether or not they may be still a little hungry, miss the bath (again), and hair tangled up still like characters in the movie, Croods, I told myself that I did a good job.  I just cannot be a super mom, who can clean a house well, cook amazing meals, look over kids homework perfectly, dress them neatly, and discipline my kids to be perfect.  Instead, I thank to the day if no one gets hurt, and everyone go to bed relatively happy.  This is still my daily goal.  
Also, though so busy and hard, I try to capture a brisk moment to tell kids that I love them.  It may be when they come to a kitchen to get a spoon for cereals, or are changing their clothes.  I just whisper to their ears that I really love them, and I am happy that they came to our lives.  Often this helps me remember how I felt when I found out about being pregnant with our trio, how I felt when I first became pregnant with my first son after series of miscarriages, and how happy I was when I became pregnant with my second son after another loss too.  They are giving me the kind of experience so unique to me that everyday feels like a roller coaster ride.  
-Mika

mom of Kai, highschool freshman, why... why....???

Tomo, 5th grader, who loves Math so much so that he forgot about the fact that writing is also important.

Aya, 6 years old, caring, lovely, and amazingly athletic

Koto, 6 tears old, who loves books, princesses, and being love with so many of his class mates.

Naoto, 6 years old, keen man, who loves to explain about the world from his unique observation.

The Economist's Guide to Parenting

Talk about the nitty gritty.......
As heard on Freakonomics Radio:

The Economist's Guide to Parenting

Minivan Rage

As many of you may know, I have a love/hate relationship with my minivan.  Until this week, however, I never realized the animosity it evoked in my fellow drivers.  Aside from the evil looks I received from two separate pedestrians, I was also berated by a young hipster gentleman for making a left turn slightly after the light had changed to red (after patiently waiting my turn in the intersection to avoid oncoming traffic).  Why do Bay Area drivers assume my name is Bitch, by the way?

After a week of such incidents, the experience culminated today as I waited in the passenger seat while my husband ran a quick errand.  There I was enjoying the charming wit of a Nora Ephron memoir and the soothing sounds of a crying baby when I glanced up and noticed a man shouting at me.  He was irate that my minivan was parked in a loading zone.  Normally, I would have agreed with him and been equally appalled at my inconsideration had it not been for the following facts:


#1 This was Sunday.  California drivers may legally park in a yellow loading zone on weekends and during non-business hours.

#2  There was an open parking spot directly in front of me.  Rather than parking in this available and equally convenient spot, Mr. Friendly chose to double part next to it, block all traffic, and yell at me. 

I would have affably moved the car had he simply asked.  I told him as much (though I tried to disarm his temper with my charm, it came out rather sarcastic).

Is it truly the minivan?  Do all drivers assume I'm some dimwitted, alcoholic soccer mom?

Well, as I drove around the block waiting for my husband to realize the car was not where he'd parked it, all the emotions I suppress on a daily basis in order to juggle three small kids and a career on no sleep suddenly convened and focused like the beam of a laser on that son-of-a-bitch who dared to assume that I was simply lazy and entitled and lounging in loading zones in my fancy minivan reading Nora Ephron on a Sunday afternoon.

The moral, if there is one, is lay off those mothers in their minivans.