DotMoms

A touchy topic

By Amy Heesacker

I recently asked my 5-year-old what he would do if someone tried to touch him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable.

He responded sweetly, "Say, 'Please, don't do that, please?' "

Hmm. Well, I did tell him to always be polite and to remember to say please when he asked for something. But in this case, I was hoping for something a little less cordial.

My question didn't come out of nowhere. Javi and I have been talking about good touch and bad touch issues for some time now. I became keenly aware of the importance of starting the discussion early while working as a sex offender evaluator in my pre-parenthood professional life. In addition to sadly noting the young age of some of the victims, I observed that many of the offenders were regular looking men and women who were known to the victims and their parents, so I wanted to make sure to teach my son that even people who are friends or family members are not allowed to touch him on his private areas or to ask him to touch them in that way.

My recent question to my son was spurred by a letter sent home from his school saying that all kindergartners would be involved in a good touch/bad touch program this month facilitated by their school counselor. And I'm all for it. While I think the conversations should be taking place at home as well, it's a message that bears repeating and, unfortunately, not all kids may be getting that message at home.

Coincidentally, today, February 23, marks the ninth anniversary of Megan's Law being upheld by the Supreme Court. For those unfamiliar with Megan's Law, it made it possible for all parents to have Internet access to the National Sex Offender Registry so that you can find out where registered sex offenders are living in your community. A friend recently sent me a link to the website http://www.familywatchdog.us (a site featured on "Oprah" and "Dr. Phil:) that provides a map of sex offenders, by their particular crime, living and working near your address. However, as the Megan's Law Web site points out, most sex offenders know their victims and have had ongoing relationships with them.

So, I'm striving to teach my son to respect others while also empowering him to assert his own rights when someone is acting inappropriately. In the same breath I'm trying to teach him what I mean by inappropriate behavior without taking away his innocence.

It's a balancing act.

How are you handling the topic of touch?

Amy Heesacker is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

Through thick and thin

By Amy Heesacker

Perhaps it's because my husband has been focused on (and been very successful at) losing weight in recent months. Or maybe it's because my daughter is going through another growth spurt while my son is not. Whatever the reason, I've been very aware of the differences between my children's body shapes lately –- and I'm not at all comfortable with my own response.

My son's shape is short and skinny. He's not the smallest in his class (there is one other boy who is the youngest and the smallest), but his size was one of the factors I considered when determining the best year to start kindergarten. I ultimately decided to start him at the usual time, but I still have concerns about my choice. It's no secret that taller, stronger boys and men have an easier time in our society. There are plenty of exceptions, of course, but I've noticed that I am becoming hyper-vigilant about Javi's eating habits, hinting at the goal to "grow up big and strong," and constantly pushing food on him with this typical interaction:

"Javi, would you like some yogurt or maybe a cheese stick?" I ask pleadingly.
"Uhm, no thank you," he responds passively.
"I want yogurt AND a cheese stick, Mommy!" my daughter exclaims. "And a quesadilla!"

My daughter's shape is tall and burly. She's not the biggest in her class (there is one other girl that is the oldest and the largest), but her size is something I worry about lately and more than I'd like to admit.

I love that Isa is strong enough to easily kick through a board while imitating her brother's karate, but it's no secret that thin (and probably too thin!) is the hyper-idealized goal for girls in our society. I've noticed that I have an odd recurring fantasy that Javi and Isa could switch body shapes -– just to "make things easier" on both of them. And I don't feel good about this preoccupation of mine.

I don't want to contribute to any issues my children may develop about their bodies because of internalized prejudices that I've soaked up in my thirty-some years of exposure to Barbie and Ken. My kids are brilliant and therefore able to discern even the subtlest cues about my feelings. So I need to shape up; first, by reminding myself that my kids are healthy and happy in their adorable bodies, and second, by re-reading Dr. Seuss who once wisely declared, "Of all the shapes we might have been... I say 'Hooray!' for the shapes we're in!"

Amy Heesacker is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

An open letter to Mrs. Claus

Mrs. Claus
c/o North Polar-Santa Claus
P.O. Box 50699
North Pole, Alaska 99705-1099

Dear Mrs. Claus,

Can I call you Jessica? I just feel so close to you this time of year. I think we are basically living parallel lives at the moment. While our husbands are at their busiest (mine with grading, reading grad school applications and revising manuscripts, and yours with all that mall sitting, posing for photos and collecting gift requests) we are left to manage the usual household chores in addition to all of the extra gift list checking, shopping, baking, present wrapping, holiday newsletter writing and addressing, preparing boxes for shipping, trips to the post office, and don't even get me started on the additional events we have to attend for our little elves. It's a wonder that either of us have a spare second for the Starbucks' drive-thru!

But seriously, I just wanted to write to give you a pat on the back of sorts and to let you know that I think you are doing a marvelous job of being the strong, supportive, behind-the-scenes partner. Although I know that your husband is working overtime, it's clear that he is getting much of the credit for what certainly takes two to accomplish. I see his face EVERYWHERE these days, hear his name mentioned in advertising jingles every other minute, I even ate a cookie in his likeness. However, I know that behind every Santa getting all the attention and honor there is a busy collaborator and companion helping to make it all happen.

For example, I recently saw all the hard work you did negotiating with those beastly Meister brothers on your husband's behalf featured in that animated documentary, "The Year Without a Santa Claus." Based on your fast-talking, peace-keeping performance, the Bush administration should be contacting you to help out with that middle eastern business! Way to go!

Although the negotiation was important work, I know well that it is all of the little taken-for-granted tasks that make up your essential role as wife and mother -– rising at 3 a.m. to cuddle an elf with a leg ache, scheduling the quarterly tune-up of the sleigh, remembering to buy a little something for the carpentry tutor, making sure that everyone has coordinating outfits for the annual Claus photo, making sure that there are enough supplies on hand to decorate a gingerbread house, and finding just the right little something to fill everyone's stockings for Christmas morning.

For all of the many things that you (and all mothers do), I thank you and wish you a very happy holiday.

Sincerely,
Another busy DotMom

Amy Heesacker is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

Say cheese!

By Amy Heesacker

My children recently brought home their school pictures, a stranger's attempt to capture the essence of what makes each child unique and special in their parents' eyes. These professional photos will hang for years on the wall of our stairway, before we know it becoming two of many such posed portraits, and yet the whole collection representing only a few pixels worth of the high definition personalities we know and love.

My 5-year-old son is a vision in blue: blue background, blue shirt (chosen by me -- one of the last few times he'll probably let me get away with it) and the bluest of baby blue eyes. He looks off to his left at the unfamiliar photographer. His smile is forced, for sure, but sweet as a pot of honey. His expression hints at a kindergartner's innocent excitement, hopeful anticipation, and (could it be?) a growing sense of independent courage all preserved on Kodak paper with a matte finish.

My 2-year-old daughter's picture in pink makes me smirk because of how hard I know the photographer worked to get this one usable proof. While the father of her twin classmates had a stack of poses to choose from, we were given only one. Her eyes gleam with preschool mischief, and it is her eyes more so than her mouth that suggest a smile of a girl who is getting away with more than we suspect, the corners of her rosy lips slightly turned down. Someone (her teacher?) obviously combed her hair just prior to the shot because I've never seen her so well-groomed.

Can I find in my son's eyes a twinkle of the silly boy who loves to clown his sister into fits of giggles? Is that my little man's stubborn chin jutting out just a bit as he digs his feet in and stands his ground? Where is that dramatic love look I see in my daughter as she lunges at me for a bear hug and snuggle? Do I see a slight quiver in the lower lip of a girl whose cry could break the hardest of hearts? Perhaps my daughter's expression reflects her laughing at the photographer's attempt to confine her spirit and energy to one frame of film -– even she at two years old knows that this is absurd.

Many things were hidden in that split second flashbulb moment of school picture time, but a mommy can always find them.

Amy Heesacker is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

Snip Snip

By Amy H.

My husband and I have decided that we are done and, thus, that it is time to have "it" done. When we went to "the consultation," which by our southern State law I was required to attend, the doctor asked how long we had been thinking about having the "procedure."

"Well, let me see," I replied thoughtfully. "I'd have to say I started thinking about 'it' at the 20-week ultra-sound appointment with our second child. The technician said, 'It's a girl!' and I said, 'OK! One of each. I'm happy. We're done.' Then I really started thinking about 'it' again around week 35 when I found that I could no longer sleep without losing sensation in my extremities. I thought about 'it' pretty continuously during weeks 36 through 39 while I was whining about my sciatica, heartburn, shortness of breath, and on my way to the bathroom… all… night… long.

"I thought about 'it' every single time I tried to use my stomach muscles (like to sit up or to stand or to breathe) for about 4-6 weeks after my planned C-section. I thought about 'it' at 2 a.m. each morning during my daughter's first and second (and third!) month of life while I bounced her back and forth and back again across our bedroom carpet while she screamed her little heart out. She never really stopped screaming, so I've been thinking about 'it' pretty continuously for the past 2 years or so. She's a doll (you know, a little like those Edvard Munch dolls). But I'm done."

The doctor looked at me and smiled nervously, "OK, that's a bit more information than I needed, but clearly you've thought 'it' over."

Then the doctor jumped into his description of the "procedure" which is to include Valium, if needed, and an IV, if requested, but without a doubt will most definitely require a jock strap and a bag of frozen peas. I ignored my husband's pained expression and nodded enthusiastically at the doctor while promising to fulfill my wifely duties (i.e., signing the release –- and remembering the jock strap). He went on in great detail about the "injection," the "incision," the "cutting," the "cauterizing," the "clipping," and the "suturing." Turning a blind eye to my husband's strangely pale and sweaty appearance I eagerly inquired, "Yes, yes, Doctor, where do I sign?"

I'm joking, of course. I love my daughter. I loved being pregnant with her. I loved (almost) every moment with her since I learned of her very existence. I am a very happy mommy. And, I am done.

Snip. Snip.

How will you know when you are done?

Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

My so-called writing life

By Amy H.

For the first time since becoming a stay-at-home mom a little over five years ago I have both of my children in school for some of the time during the week. My big plan was to use those precious hours to work on establishing myself as a freelance writer. The first step in my plan was to send a query letter and writing sample to a parenting magazine. So far so good, right? I’ve got a plan and I’ve got a realistic goal and I’ve got child-free time to put the plan into action...

...and so far I have a really clean house…and a really clean van…and a really clean garage. If my writing career stays on this track I’ll soon be inviting you all over to witness the cleanest basement east of the Mississippi!

I’ve sorted toys in the kids’ rooms, mopped the laundry room floor, and kept so far ahead of the laundry that the hampers are beginning to collect dust – which reminds me, I need to go dust. The closest I’ve come to meeting my writing goal was when I sat down at my computer desk to begin work on the letter and realized that my desk needed to be organized. While taking care of this task I remembered that I had volunteered to send donation requests to all of my neighbors for a very worthy charity – so I did that too.

I’m actually beginning to think of things to add to my to-do list that I never before thought possible as a mother of two young children. Antiquing frames for the old-fashioned baby photos of my daughter suddenly seems like a reasonable activity. But that will have to wait until I’m finished with my landscaping design, which will incorporate a butterfly garden, imported tulip bulbs, Disney-quality topiaries and, of course, a koi pond.

If I were seeing myself in therapy, I would ask, “Amy, what are you avoiding by filling up your child-free time with all of these chores?” And I would answer, “Well…getting started as a freelance writer?” And I would supportively ask myself, “How do you feel about getting started as a freelance writer?” And I would mutter, “Uhm…scared?” And I would gently encourage, “Can you tell me what is scaring you about getting started?” And I would blush and say, “Being rejected and failing?” And I would give myself some small homework assignment that wouldn’t be too hard and would guarantee success, like writing the first line of the query letter. And it would all seem so simple, and I would feel better after I wrote that first sentence.

What do you do to stay on track with your personal goals?

Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

A solemn anniversary

By Amy H.

Five years ago I was enjoying a leisurely morning holding my 3-month-old baby boy in my arms. The sun was warming us as it shone down through the living room skylight onto our red flowered sofa where we sat for our morning feeding. I flipped on the "Today" show and looked down into the contented eyes of my nuzzling infant. I had no way of knowing at that quiet moment in September that what had initially looked like a tragic airline accident would forever change the sense of safety that we felt as a nation.

I called my husband at work and told him that something weird had just happened. A plane had just crashed into one of the World Trade Centers and it looked like the building was on fire. My husband was a counseling psychologist at the university where classes had just resumed, and I knew that many of the students had families in New York. We spoke for just a moment then he was off to a staff meeting. It was 9 a.m.

My son finished nursing and I laid him on his playmat where he peered up at himself in the dangling mirror. As he squirmed and cooed next to me, the unthinkable happened. A second plane hit the other tower while news cameras were rolling. My heart lurched and my hands began to shake as I sat mesmerized by the smoking buildings on the screen. This could not have been an accident. It was 9:03.

I called my husband again knowing that I would just be leaving a message and wondered if I should ask him to come right home. I told him what I'd seen and asked him to call me. I suddenly felt panicked and vulnerable and terribly alone. My son began to cry, so I picked him up and bounced him in my arms but kept my eye on those smoking towers and hugged him closer to my chest.

Soon the towers came crashing down in an enormous cloud of smoke and debris, and there were the reports of terrorism and a nation at war. What had started out as a tranquil morning at home with my baby became a day of horror that would be etched in my mind for a lifetime.

Five years ago, as my son slept in my arms I wrote these words in my journal: "You are sleeping, my sweet boy, safe in my arms, unaware of all the change in the air. You look so peaceful -- I wish you could always know such peace."

Where were you and your children the morning of Sept. 11, 2001?

Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

In the news: Oprah's School

By Amy H.

In 2002, Oprah Winfrey asked former South African President Nelson Mandela what he wanted from her as a gift to the nation. He asked only for Oprah to build him a school, and, boy, did she deliver! Funding the estimated $50 million project primarily through The Oprah Winfrey Foundation she established the Leadership Academy for Girls with school set to begin January 2, 2007.

I have been known to make a cynical comment or two about how Oprah's enormous wealth makes it difficult to relate to her at times (e.g., her 2005 "favorite things" list included a $2,000 diamond encrusted wristwatch while I check the time on my cell phone). However, you would be hard pressed to find another celebrity who is more generous with her earnings. According to Wikipedia, her 2005 estimated net worth of $1.4 billion made her the 235th richest person in American, and she was the 32nd most philanthropic; education is near and dear to her heart.

"Education is the way to move mountains, to build bridges, to change the world," Oprah said at the time of the school's groundbreaking. "Education is the path to the future. I believe that education is indeed freedom. With God's help, these girls will be the future leaders on the path to peace in South Africa and the world."

When CNN correspondent Jeff Koinange was asked to describe how the future looked for the South African female students before the Leadership Academy he responded, "In a word, dim. One of the girls, her mother died of AIDS about a year and a half ago. They live in a home with seven kids. And this is the average. After high school, they have nowhere to go, nothing to do, despite the fact that they're qualified, so smart, so brilliant and so eager to learn. The fact that they have this [academy] now opens up a whole new world."

Koinange reported that when Oprah announced to the South African girls on the finalist list that they would make up the first class of the Oprah Winfrey Leadership Academy, "The girls scream and shout and jump for joy for a good 15 minutes. Their parents, too, are screaming and shouting. Everyone's crying, Oprah's crying, I'm crying. It's an unbelievable scene."

While I was in the midst of the back-to-school rush of buying school supplies, scrambling to figure out pick-up/drop-off schedules, dealing with the repercussions of early morning wake-up calls and being bombarded with ads for the current fall fashions, this story made me stop and think about the reason behind the rush –- the world that opens up with education.

What role has education played in your life and the in the life of your family?

Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

Little eyes wide open

By Amy H.

This summer my husband and I made the long-awaited decision to dispense with the family bed. Although I could give you a lot of reasons why we maintained it as long as we did (believe me, I've had to justify it to many), and I could also offer plenty of reasons why this seemed like the right moment to evict the two minor occupants, it boils down to the fact that my husband and I wanted more alone time.

While any co-sleeping couple will tell you that you get pretty resourceful in such situations, the choices are rarely optimal -- the couch, the kids' beds, the walk-in closet (!). Also, since none of us are getting any younger or smaller and the thought of a twin bed with Buzz Lightyear sheets has lost some of its romantic charm, the timing seemed appropriate and welcome… at least to us.

My 2-year-old took to it quickly and most nights will sleep until 6 a.m. before wanting a snuggle in "mommydaddywoom." My 5-year-old is another story. He consistently fights sleeping in his own bed and often ends up in his doorway or the hallway at some point during the night. He also has developed the alarming habit of showing up in my face around 2 a.m., and it can take 30 minutes for my heart rate to return to normal.

I write all this as a prologue to the real subject of this post: our unexpected visitor. Suffice it to say that after 5 years of co-sleeping, my husband and I are new to the idea of closing and locking the door to "mommydaddywoom." When my husband and I realized with some giddy exuberance that the kids were asleep at 9 p.m. in their own beds (!) we decided to switch "date night" to that night and proceeded accordingly, without giving the door a second thought.

Well, one thing led to another thing, and that thing was progressing along quite satisfactorily when suddenly I spotted movement in my peripheral vision. A small someone, the same someone that has not adapted so easily to the change in bedroom policy, was there hidden by a well-placed silk flower arrangement (ala Stanley Kubrick's computer graphics in "Eyes Wide Shut") that probably saved us from a discussion that I hadn't planned to have with him for a number of years (like maybe 30).

My husband ushered our 3' 7" intruder back to Buzz's planet in the Gamma quadrant and date night ended with an anti-climactic discussion of what was almost seen by a certain space ranger and a sigh of relief that "the talk" could wait for another day.

Care to share how you handled your "little eyes wide open" moment (or are you wise to that new fangled invention called the door lock)?

Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.

In the news: Are you raising a wimp?

Are you willing to go to any length to take the bumps out of childhood for your children? According to a Psychology Today article, A nation of wimps by Hara Estroff Marano, your answer to that question is most likely, “Yes, ludicrous lengths,” and the gist of the article is that your hyperconcern for your children is making them “risk-averse,” “psychologically fragile [and] riddled with anxiety.” Want to rethink your answer?

As a professional with a doctoral degree in counseling and developmental psychology I agree with some of the points that the article makes, including the statement made by Michael Liebowitz, Columbia University psychiatry professor and head of the Anxiety Disorders Clinic at NY State Psychiatric Institute, that “children need to be gently encouraged to take risks and learn that nothing terrible happens.” I also understand the research of Harvard psychologist Jerome Kagan who found that high-strung, overexcitable infants (i.e., those likely to be at-risk for future anxiety issues) were not fearful as toddlers if they had parents who backed off and allowed them to find their own comfort levels (i.e., allowed them to develop coping mechanisms for dealing with anxiety as opposed to removing all the stressors in their lives).

However, as a mom I found it difficult to stomach the article’s repetitive blaming of parents for seemingly every problem related to modern childhood, adolescence and beyond. Marano blames overprotective parents for the increase in mental health and substance abuse problems on college campuses, grade inflation, removal of recess from the school day (I know you’ve all been working hard to make that happen!), allowing cell phones to destroy their children’s ability to plan ahead and self-regulate, rising rates of depression in young children, overexamining their children to the point of extreme self-consciousness, and even “weaken[ing] the whole fabric of society” by creating children who are too eager to fit in. Not long ago “experts” were blaming working parents for creating emotionally distressed latchkey kids, but now they are criticizing hovering parents for creating a nation of wimps – we can’t win!

I’ll add that the field of psychology has a long tradition of blaming parents, particularly mothers, for every problem with their children. Ironically, a Psychology Today article from 1986 addresses this issue specifically (how quickly they have forgotten!) and notes that, “mothers would be less readily scapegoated and more often supported in standing up to professional ‘experts' who wrongfully berate them if their child-rearing successes were more frequently acknowledged…mothers, despite their anxiety and guilt, manage to raise millions of reasonably well-adjusted kids. They deserve far more credit for this than they get.”

Your turn! In our well-meaning attempts to protect our children from failure and help them to become successful in life, are we inadvertently raising a nation wimps?

Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.