Mom in the Mirror

McMom

McDonald's is clearly catering to mothers. We stopped there for lunch the other day and attached to the Mighty Kids meal bag was the first issue of a mini-magazine called "Relax" with "10 Quick Tips to Help Moms Find More Time."

There are ads, of course -- for Scott towels, Ford, K-Mart, and McDonald's -- but there are also 10 articles from Time Inc.'s family of magazines (the company created the bite-sized digest exclusively for McDonald's), including Real Simple, In Style, Parenting, Health, Time for Kids, and Teen People.

The topics range from the best way to load your child's backpack to sneaking some pampering into your shower routine. Each mini-article takes about a minute to read, if that, and offers bulleted lists of tips to make your life easier.

I'm tempted to say the magazine is yet another incentive to cram more into an already-busy life (after all, it practically begs to be read at stoplights). Except, it includes the idea of making a "Friday list" of chores so you can relax over the weekend.

So, if you're a mom who is living a drive-through life, like McMe, you'll eat it up.

Note: For a brief moment, I thought I coined the term McMom. To check, I Googled it and found this cute confession from another McMom on a site called Working Moms' Refuge.

Parenting unplugged

I was in Chicago with family for most of this past week and tried to stay off the laptop I brought along in case of a blogging emergency (no idea what that could be, but better safe than sorry). It was surprisingly easy to go relatively Internet free. I had scheduled items to post here for most of the time I was away, and figured a day or two with nothing new would be fine.

What I didn't count on was how out of the loop I would feel without making the reading rounds, checking pageviews, reviewing comments. So a time or two, early in the morning, I'd quickly log on, do my thing, and log off.

Then, on Friday we were visiting with a high school friend I hadn't seen in about 10 years. Apropos of nothing, Colter announced to her family and mine, "My mommy spends too much time in front of the computer. She doesn't spend enough time with me." I calmly asked Colter whether he really felt that way and when he said, "Yes," my friend said, "It's never enough."

Colter confirmed her opinion as soon as we arrived home tonight. I had agreed to set the timer and spend only 30 minutes online, then watch the "Rugrats" marathon with him. So, OK, I went a little over (40 minutes over), but it's been awhile, so I had a lot of spam to delete.

When I finished, I went into the living room and asked Colter, "So, how'd I do on vacation? Not too much time online, right?" And he said, "You did bad. Remember that one time you logged on? That morning?" I said, "One time? That's it?" He said, "Yes."

So, it's official. I can never be the mother Colter wants. What a relief. Does that mean I can stop trying? Maybe I can remember to be the mother he needs, instead.

Mom Mad Libs

Ready for a little fun? Print this out, then fill in the blanks with your kids and laugh at the story of your Thanksgiving.

Today's the day. __________ (relative) is coming from __________ (place) to __________ (verb) our Thanksgiving. Every year, s/he brings __________ (plural noun) for us to eat. And every year, we smile __________ (adverb) and eat them. This year, we plan to __________ (verb) them instead. Then, there's the rest of the meal. It's usually __________ (adjective) and __________ (adjective). After we finish eating, we all __________ (verb) around the table and wait to see who will be the first to __________ (verb). Then, I __________ (verb) the __________ (number) dishes in the sink. Well, after stuffing myself like a __________ (noun), I can at least look forward to the post-turkey day __________ (plural noun). Then, it's time to get ready for __________ (holiday).

There are a bunch of sites that let you create your own Mad Libs online. Here are a few I liked: Crazy Libs, eLibs.com, MadLibs.org, MIT's Story Fun, and Wacky Web Tales.

Submit your own "Mom Mad Lib" for others to play.

"Last writes" (with thanks to the St. Pete Times for the great headline)

It's one of the busiest -- and most dangerous -- travel days of the year, so naturally as you gather with family and friends, you're thinking about... death.

Here's a Web oddity you'll want handy for moments like these: a site that, after you die, sends people e-mail you've written just for that occasion. Mylastemail.com describes itself this way:

Coping with the death of someone close is always difficult – and usually unexpected. It is important to think now about what happens when you don't have the time to say goodbye properly to family and friends, who are left trying to cope with sudden loss. Mylastemail.com aims to help.

Until now, planning for your death has involved making a Will and putting some kind of insurance in place. Unlike a Will and financial planning, mylastemail.com deals with the emotional and compassionate aspects of taking care of the people you leave behind.

Would you use this service? If so, for whom? If not, why not?

The Gender Genie thinks I'm a man

You may have already discovered the online tool that uses an algorithm to determine whether an author is male or female, but I'd never tried it before.

So, I entered my post on "what thrills me" and the Gender Genie concluded I was male. This conclusion was based on the fact that in the passage, I used the word "good" three times and the word "like" only once. "Good" is apparently a masculine word, while "like" is a feminine one.

According to the accuracy results you see after telling the program whether you are, in fact, male or female, the Gender Genie "should" be right about 80 percent of the time, but has been right 68.37 percent of the time (or 107,090 times) and wrong 31.63 percent of the time (or 49,549 times). There have been 156,639 total responses since September 13, 2003.

Tired and wired

I spend so much time running around getting ready for a vacation that by the time it begins, I'm exhausted. Then, I try to cram so much in (whether we're visiting family or just going to the beach), that no matter how exhilirating it is, it's also draining. So, when exactly do I relax? I've learned to take a few days off after I return home so that I can unwind... and unpack... and -- unbelievably -- long for another vacation.

The big guns

Colter went to a birthday party today that was at a laser tag place. There was also an arcade, where the kids played until it was their turn in the "mine." My son (who has never been allowed to play with toy guns) headed immediately for the game with the biggest rifle he could find. He then proceeded down the line of consoles, from one shooting target to another.

I know -- it's parenting rule #17: whatever you forbid, they desire. I'd heard from other parents that this tactic often backfires; I'd just never seen such compelling evidence before.

After laser tag, we headed back to the birthday boy's house for cupcakes and gifts. Just before it was time to go, I saw Colter with a gun in each hand and one tucked into the back of his shirt. Maybe it's a gender thing, but I just don't get it. Where's the fun in guns? Or, as Elvis Costello put it, what's so funny 'bout peace, love and understanding?

You can't go home again... and yet you must

One of my aunts e-mailed me over the weekend to let me know that my childhood home had been torn down and a McMansion had been built in its place. I hadn't seen our old brick two-story on Beverly Drive in years, but still, knowing it's gone is really upsetting. I think in some tiny back mental room, I thought maybe I'd live there again someday.

I loved that house, and the few good childhood memories I have were made there. In many ways, I think I've been looking for that house ever since we moved into the slightly tonier neighborhood that became a violent backdrop to the explosive end of my parent's marriage.

So, when I return to Chicago tomorrow after another year away, it will be to a lonelier landscape that no longer includes my childhood home or my father. A landscape that looks a little more bereft because yet another possibility has died.

It makes me feel old and more certain that even when you go home again, you don't.

Hotel nights

I'm in Nashville, Tenn., for a work-related conference until tomorrow afternoon. And while I've become a really bad flyer (I look at Colter's picture during takeoff and landing), there are a few perks to being away from home for a short time. When I stay at a hotel, I can soak in a bathtub I didn't have to clean first. I can watch whatever I want on TV for as long as I'd like. I can read without interruption. And as an added bonus: there's room service. You gotta love it!

Labels and the lamebrains who love them

One of the first columns I ever wrote was about our parental struggle to get Colter medication for what was diagnosed as ADHD. Here's an abbreviated version:

He was almost 6 at the time and the psychologist we'd been working with for several years was confident that was the proper diagnosis, so she referred us to the psychiatrist in her office. The psychiatrist was worried that Colter might be predisposed to a bipolar disorder, given my family history (both my mother and sister have been treated and hospitalized for manic depression).

The challenge was that Colter was too young to be properly diagnosed or treated for bipolar, and the psychiatrist encouraged us to wait it out. At the time, Colter was extremely aggressive at home and unable to focus at school.

So we pushed for ADHD medication and it made an immediate and dramatic difference in his ability to settle down, follow directions, and be the kid he wanted to be.

Colter started taking the ADHD medication about a year and a half ago. Since then, he's been tested by his school for its gifted program and clearly fit the criteria (he's been thriving academically). He's formed better friendships and feels entirely confident about his ability to control himself. I've since discovered some interesting literature on the relationship between ADHD and giftedness (many of the characteristics overlap) and for the most part, we've been comfortable with how he's progressed.

Until Sunday, when I read something that still has me shivering. The story in my local paper (the St. Petersburg Times) was about a 12-year-old boy who was being treated for ADHD but was actually bipolar. The stimulant he was taking for his ADHD actually exacerbated his bipolar disorder, and he hanged himself in his bedroom with a belt.

I'm now agonizing over whether we should have Colter re-evaluated, which wouldn't be too difficult since he continues to see a psychiatrist for med checks. If it ain't broke, why fix it? Because there may be invisible cracks destroying the foundation he'll depend on for years to come.

Colter knows he takes medication to help him make better choices; he also knows it's still his responsibility, not the medicine's, to make those choices. And when we experimented with taking a break from the drugs on weekends, he asked to resume. He doesn't know he's been diagnosed with anything, and I don't see the value in him knowing right now. But I want to know as much as possible. I need to know.

And yet, how many labels can a sweet, smart, and energetic 7-year-old possibly carry?