LA Moms Blog

Chicken pox and lice

Few things invoke fear into the hearts of parents like hearing the words lice or chicken pox.  True, most of us have experienced them as children but it is a distant memory, something almost forgotten among the pages of the history of our lives.  I myself had all but forgotten, until I found out my kids were infected.  Then memories of childhood flooded back to me.  The pain of my mom pulling at my long hair for, it seemed, days.  Bagging up all my prized possessions, to be locked away from me for what seemed like an eternity, which actually, in adult time, turns out to be two weeks.  Being stuck at home for ever, itching and scratching, waiting for the time to pass so I could return to playing with my friends.

Jamiel Andre Shaw II 12/22/1990 - 3/2/2008

Jamiel “Jas” Shaw was on his was home from the Beverly Center exactly two years ago today.  He jumped off a city bus with a buddy a few blocks from his house near the 10 Freeway, said goodbye and started to walk the couple of blocks to his house.  His dad called him on the way to confirm their plans to head out and buy him a new pair of running shoes.  He was a standout member of the varsity track and football teams at Los Angeles High School.  That morning Jas had participated in an invitation only weekend football training program. A program that prepared top high school football players for college football and even the NFL.  Scouts from UCLA, Stanford and Rutgers had inquired about him.  It looked like Jas was really going places.  Sadly, he did not make it home that afternoon.

Three doors from his house, Jamiel Andre Shaw II was murdered.  Shot twice, although there were three entry wounds. The first bullet went through his hand and then entered his stomach. The second bullet hit Jamiel’s head.  Jamiel’s alleged murderer, Pedro Espinoza, an illegal alien gang member from Mexico, belongs to the 18th Street Gang.  Espinoza had been released from jail on a firearms charge the day before he murdered Jamiel.  The Shaw Family has been continually thwarted in its demands to know how this was allowed to happen.

Jamiel’s mom, Army Sgt. Anita Shaw was serving in Iraq at the time of her son’s murder.  This aspect has been the most painful for me in preparing this piece.  I cannot even put myself in her boots.  Fighting for freedom in Iraq and receiving the news that her son was killed on his way home from the mall.  Jas also left a little brother, Thomas, now ten.

You’d think that a young, promising black teenager, killed by an illegal alien gang member would get all kinds of attention from leaders of the black community.  The Shaw Family couldn’t even get a return call from Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton.  How about the elected officials representing the Shaw’s district?  Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, City Council member Herb Wesson, and Los Angeles County Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas have done nothing but throw up roadblocks.  Their Congresswoman, Diane Watson has also ignored them.  Clearly, there’s a mighty, mighty big elephant in the living room.

My son, doin' the "truffle shuffle"

Over the weekend our kids had soccer evals, so we hung out at the park for most of our Saturday morning.  My husband and I sat and watched as the kids moved from one group to another, testing out their sporting abilities.  They line up along the white line and "get ready, get set, go" as fast as they could to the cone and back. 

Some of the kids, dressed like athletes, sped there and back with beautiful form.  While others, dressed in mismatched t-shirts and shorts, were just trying to get their bodies moving.  My son was in this second category.  You see, we are not a sporty family and my son prefers to read books over riding a bike.  He doesn't have a backyard to run and play in nor do we feel safe for him to walk to the park alone.  So he mostly stays indoors and plays.  And his body is starting to show it. 

Now you must know, we are a healthy food family ( I am a natural foods chef and self-proclaimed foodie), so we do not do drive-thru or drink soda, and minimize our consumption of packaged/processed food.  We eat well, and often.  And the lack of activity is starting to pay its price on all of us.  Minus my 6 year old daughter, we all have a little extra belly. 

Storm Watch 2010

We have entered into what is predicted to be a week of rain here in Los Angeles.  The experts are even saying it’s going to be an El Niño year.  It doesn’t rain much in LA.  I think it rained once in October, not in November and maybe two days in December…Or something like that.  This is the first rain of January. 

Having grown up in Massachusetts, I feel I have a real appreciation for weather.  Weather that can really affect your life, kind of weather.  Our local Boston TV stations had real meteorologists reporting the weather from the in-studio weather center surrounded by radar screens and monitors.   Here in LA the weatherman might be found any given day doing traffic or entertainment gossip.

I was instructed at an early age on the need to keep a shovel, a pair of boots, a blanket and a trashcan full of rock salt in your trunk—or you might die.  I recall missing school due to blizzards, hurricanes and floods.  I remember storms where the thunder and lightning would be so intense it was terrifying.  Those storms were usually accompanied by tornado warnings and sometimes tornadoes.  The valley we lived in seemed to always be listed as an area in the tornado watch bulletins scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen.  After a snowstorm, my father would wake us kids up at the crack of dawn “to put a team together” to finish shoveling out the garage after the snowplow guy came.  To me weather in Los Angeles is pretty much non-existent.  It’s always about 70 degrees and sunny.  The fabulous Southern California weather was one of the chief selling points to my choosing to move here towards the end of the last century.  I still revel in how awesome it is to not be stuck in the icky weather of my youth.

What to do when Daddy's in jail?

The first time my X landed in jail, it was two days before the girls' birthday party (their bdays are 6 days apart), a party that he'd promised to attend. I had two choices: I could lie to the girls, tell them he couldn't make it which would make them question their own value if their father voluntarily did not attend, or I could tell them the truth.

After mulling it over, talking to friends, family and my own therapist (and wishing that someone had written a parenting book on the subject!), I opted for the truth.

They were turning 7 and 4 at the time. They were scared for him, they were sad, they were upset, and knowing the truth didn't stop them from looking for their dad every time the door opened at their party. Still, when caller id displayed "LA Prison" when he called them, I knew I'd done the right thing.

It was hard to explain check forgery to them...they didn't even understand the concept of checks at the time. It was easier to explain that they could go see a "feelings doctor."

Cookie Exchange Angst

I have come to accept the fact that I am an imposter among my peers.  Everyone I know has their domestic lives firmly in order, meanwhile the only cleaning supplies I own are a bottle of windex and baby wipes.  I recently received an e-mail that sent me so far over the edge that I’ve begun to question who I really am and where I came from.  The e-mail subject: You are invited to a Cookie Exchange.  I’d never heard of such a thing.  Me, who has lived in several foreign countries, considers herself fairly hip to American Culture and was on Jeopardy!  Somehow the cookie exchange never made it into my consciousness.  The e-mail said simply: You are invited to a cookie exchange, bring three dozen cookies.  Must be homemade.  Great, I thought, I don’t even know what this is and I can’t buy my way out of it either.  Of course, I proceeded to Google “cookie exchange” and became even more confused.  Seems like there are all kinds of variations.  Bring cookies beautifully wrapped, bring the recipe, bring several copies of the recipe, bring an elegant tin to exchange with another participant.  Interestingly, no where does it really explain what your end result is?  Do you eat cookies at the exchange?  Or do you just exchange them?  If you bring three dozen, do you leave with three dozen?  Here’s where I’m really confused: What do I then do with the three dozen cookies?  Yes, I know, I could eat them.  I could give them away.  I could throw them away.  I want to know what people do with their cookie exchange cookies.  Do all my domestic goddess friends live in idyllic neighborhoods where carolers come by and you happen to have hot cocoa and your cookie exchange cookies all arranged on a Christmas Tree shaped plate?  The carolers finish belting out “Silver Bells”, yank off their mittens and then huddle in your elegantly appointed foyer sipping and munching?

I have so many questions.  The questions beget more questions and then I find myself calling friends who I think are “in the know”.  Each friend I have called does in fact know of cookie exchanges.  Yet, each one has given me different scenarios.  None can really answer my questions, such as: How large a container do I bring?  What if everyone else has large or odd shaped cookies and they don’t fit in my container?  I have cookie exchange anxiety.  The words “Cookie Exchange” peer back at me from my calendar.  It is scheduled for next week.  I don’t cook.  I don’t bake.  I don’t have flour in my house.  Clearly, it doesn’t appear likely that I will be participating in the exchange.  The obstacles in my way are too great.  Yet, I’m oddly intrigued.  I even feel left out in advance.  Secretly, I want to just go and see what it is and not have to participate.  Or, maybe a friend will be like, “Hey, Liz, you wanna take a dozen cookies?  I can’t possibly take three dozen home especially with Artie on Atkins and all.”  Maybe I can be an “alternate” at the cookie exchange?  Taking the unwanted dozens and half dozens from my friends and acquaintances.  How can I pitch that to the host?  Is that even appropriate?  I mean, I could offer to be an alternate cookie-taker and sign a release that I’m fully aware I may not get any cookies.  Right?  Is that being fun and creative or just being annoying and freaky?

Call Me? Please? Yes, I am Begging You

So, the other night, I went out to this cafe to read an essay I’d written as part of an evening of storytelling which the cafe hosts on a weekly basis. In the past, several of my readings had gone well, meaning, people laughed in all the appropriate places. As a result, the couple who run the show, and I say that with no sarcasm, they really are lovely, decided to put me on last in the hopes of ending the night on a big BANG.

Well, they weren’t wrong to believe that I was up to the task since a good portion of my dating years also closed out with a big bang. However, I was never completely comfortable in that position, since the bang was rarely followed by a phone call inquiring as to my well being and my plans for that upcoming Saturday night.

The show had been running for close to two hours and the audience seemed to be pretty receptive. Finally, it was my turn. I had timed my piece at about eight minutes, including the pauses where I would have to wait for the laughter to die down. The maximum time permitted was exactly seven minutes and during the entire time I waited, I hoped I would be able to get through the entire essay.

Well, suffice it to say, in way less then eight minutes I was finished and stepping off the stage, feeling humiliated. There was barely a laugh to be heard. I think I even saw someone WITH TEARS IN THEIR EYES, and it wasn’t from too much giggling.

LAUSD: Can Parents Turn Their Kids' Schools Around?

I follow news of what happens in huge, admittedly troubled Los Angeles Unified School District pretty closely. Like Chicago, New York City, and DC, Los Angeles' school system is a lab for experimentation and reform. While many schools within the system are quietly doing a great job day-in and day-out, there are inevitably schools blighted by burned-out teachers and ineffectual administrators unable to reach a student population that lacks motivation and/or the right support. There's always a sense of urgency when it comes to underperforming schools--no one wants willy-nilly experimentation when a kid's education is at stake. And nobody wants mediocrity if we can help it. We all want the solution that works right away. Like, yesterday.

And though my own child attends public schools in a much smaller district, I'm always interested in what's happening in the USD next door; plenty of children and families are affected who are our friends and neighbors. I follow LAUSD just in case the trouble starts to seep into the USD my kid attends. What if we have to move back into LAUSD, or when my child gets older he shows abilities that would be better suited to a LAUSD magnet school, something our home USD doesn't offer? For these reasons, I like to keep a watchful eye open.

Middle-schoolers: the lost years

When I tell people that my oldest daughter is 12 and in 7th grade, I see their faces shape into horror and then pity. My own parents seem to delight in seeing me try to dissect this time. My friend that is now a grandparent just shakes her head. My friend that's a principal and spent many years with middle-schoolers assures me that it's all normal, and we'll get through it.

Still, that's pretty much all the support and advice I get. Just grin and bear it.

There is a multitude of resources available to learn about our children in the years from 0-5, and almost as much for the high school years, but the resources nearly dry out for our elementary graduates.

Instead of Spanking Kids--Another, Gentler Way?

There are a lot of third rails in parenting--I'd list some, but really, what isn't?--and I'm going to go ahead and mention one of them. Spanking.

We chose not to. I have to explain, I grew up with a somewhat traditional Chinese immigrant upbringing, as did my spouse. It's an authoritarian kind of parenting. None of this nonsense about being your child's friend. And certainly no positive reinforcement. It's all about results, and often this means grades. If you produce, you're rewarded, but if you don't, you find out how quickly approval becomes conditional. And spanking young kids to get them to behave is just something parents do to help get those results.

Huz and I delivered: we went to Ivy League schools, we got postgraduate degrees, we're reasonably well-employed, we've never been arrested...all the things nice Chinese American kids are supposed to do when they grow up. But when we discussed how we were going to raise our son, a discussion we had when kidlet was still in utero, we ruled out spanking. We thought it was unnecessarily harsh. And in my recollection, I could never remember *why* I'd gotten a smacking with a ruler on my hand, just that in the moment, I had very strong feelings, to be perfectly honest, of hate toward the person smacking me. Those feelings blocked out any message I was supposed to hear.

That seemed to undermine the whole point of "teaching a lesson" right there. Mind you, we weren't going to go whole hog in the other direction. We just wanted to ease up on the harsh immigrant thing a little.

Occasionally it took a lot of deep breathing exercises and on-the-spot meditation (sometimes serenity NOW through gritted teeth), but we got through my son's toddler and preschool years without ever having to hit him to make him behave. Through a lucky combination of his sweet temperament and our attempts to reason with him, he seems pretty well-behaved. It was hard, but I'm glad we tried to avoid outbursts and actions on our part that are hard to take back. And now it seems research on corporal punishment shows that it does influence children's behavior--just, maybe not in the desired way.