Alabama is my husband’s team. He grew up during the glory days of Bear Bryant, and he still remembers seeing the mighty coach standing on the sidelines or watching him eat Golden Flake potato chips on TV. If you think Alabama fans have put the Bear years behind them, you haven’t met my husband.

My son is an LSU fan. We’re not sure how it happened. Truman pledged his allegiance to the purple-and-gold a few weeks before the 2007 football season. That was the year they took home the national championship. This was when my son was his most clairvoyant. He almost always picked the winning baseball team or Nascar driver. When he predicted Obama would be president long before the Democratic primary, well, it was just freaky.

Here’s how much my husband loves our son – he bought Truman an LSU jersey. Truman wears it from time to time, especially when he and Daddy play football in the yard. Rick is willing to be most any team Truman makes him be, except Tennessee and Auburn. Last week Rick was Iowa. (Truman pronounces it eye-OH-uh.)

Sure, we bought Truman Alabama caps and jerseys even before he was born. We assumed we would raise an Alabama fan simply through osmosis. But for some reason, our son preferred choosing his own favorites. As much as it pains Rick, he is willing to let Truman be his own man when it comes to choosing sports teams. Rick is an avid New York Yankees fan; Truman prefers the Red Sox. Rick loves the Lakers; Truman likes the Celtics.

When we told Truman last week that we were going to see Alabama play LSU, Rick told our darling son that he could wear any jersey he wanted, including his LSU jersey. Truman said, “That’s OK, Daddy. I’m going to wear my Alabama jersey just for you.” My husband gushed with pride.

Those words alone from my psychic son led me to believe that Alabama would continue its winning streak. But at times it was hard to keep the faith. Thankfully, Alabama pulled off the win. Roll Tide!

We drove home that evening with our son strapped in the backseat. He was wearing his Alabama jersey and ROLL TIDE eye blacks, holding a crimson-and-white shaker and a paper hounds tooth hat fan, and shouting “Roll Tide” to passing cars. My husband turned to me, a proud papa, and said, “I think we’ve finally made him a Bama fan.”

Truman suddenly paused from his Bama chants. “You know, Daddy,” he chimed in. “I like Alabama, but I still like LSU more.”

Photo, JWJourney

Post from: Blisstree

Can You Influence Your Son’s Choice in Team

Parents I knew who had lived through years of carpool lines shook their heads at us through rolled-down car windows. They said it wouldn’t be this bad once we got the hang of things. Words I can trust, considering the first day we cued up in the wrong line and 20 minutes into our wait were sent around the block and to the back of the proper line.

So far, the mornings have been a breeze. The afternoons, as I said, are a nightmare. Sometimes I’m not sure where to turn or if I can pass a car that is taking too long to load up his child. So I actually Googled “school carpool etiquette,” because such things do not come naturally to me. And I got some damn good advice that I thought I’d pass along.

Not surprising, it takes about a week to learn each school’s particular car line rules, protocol and etiquette, according to a story in Traverse City Record-Eagle, a paper in Northern Michigan, which leads me to believe that Alabama and Michigan have something in common besides car manufacturing plants. It seems my son’s school isn’t the only one with an efficient, streamlined drop-off process. Apparently PTO members o’ the past have worked out most of the kinks and have shared the secrets of effective carpooling to other PTOs in the world.

I also found a wealth of information on ParentDish. A story there recognizes that some carpooling parents are just plain rude and as a result are frowned on by, well, at least the woman who wrote the piece. She offers tips on how to how not to be that annoying parent in the carpool line. I’m heeding this advice, and sharing with you to heed as well:

• Follow the established traffic pattern. If everyone drives around the school from east to west, don’t cut in at the west end because it’s closer or easier. For the first semester of this school year, there was one mom at Henry’s school who came in the wrong way EVERY SINGLE MORNING, driving against the traffic, to drop off her son. I don’t know how she avoided a head-on collision, but it was NOT safe.

• Keep your kids in their seats until they are ready to get out of the car. I’ve seen kids hanging out windows and standing up through open sunroofs in the carpool line. Again, not safe. Buckle up.

• Get off your cell phone, especially during carpool pick-up. Seriously, take five minutes to wish your child a pleasant day or say hello and ask what he did at school. You can call people back. Really.

• Pay attention. One day last week, another mom nearly backed into my car in the pick-up line. A teacher standing next to my car laughed and said, “Oh, on Tuesday she hit that post over there!” Yesterday, the SAME mom nearly hit a kid. I don’t know what’s going on there, but when you’re in the carpool line, particularly at schools where kids and parents and teachers are milling around, keep your eye on what’s going on.

• If for any reason you need to park your car, park it in a designated space, not the carpool line. I visit with my son’s teachers on a regular basis, usually at the end of the day. If the conversation is going to last longer than a general “How was his day?” while he’s buckling his seat belt, I park the car and walk up to get him. If your child is too small to buckle her own seat belt or she needs a snack or she just wants to hug you when she gets out of school, park and walk. Please.

• Finally, be patient and be polite. Different schools have different rules about carpool pick up, most of which are designed to promote a safe, efficient system for drop off and pick up. When you follow the rules respectfully, you teach your child a good lesson about being polite and being safe, and about how those two things can go hand in hand.

Photo, Flickr, CP

Post from: Blisstree

School Carpool Etiquette for Dummies

While Rick put in time at the TV station’s booth, Truman and I explored the festival. We found the drum circle immediately and since Truman is destined to be the next drummer for Kiss, we stayed there for a long while. When the activity ended, Truman stayed on, pounding every available drum to his heart’s content. I learned they do birthday parties and I’m totally considering that option when Truman hits the bit 6.

I managed to lure Truman past the fountains (where large WARNING signs advised kids not to wade in them) to the kids’ area. Fresh Air Family had a tent full of snakes for public handling and we spent several minutes touching and handling every snake available. It was his favorite spot by far. Truman paid some attention to Roger Day but preferred listing to him while painting the wall mural at the Publix booth. Once we got the paint off most of his body, we ended up back at the snake pit – big surprise there – before ending back up at the drum circle and finding Dad, who had just gotten off work.

After a round of family drumming, we decided to grab some non-festival fare for dinner. Truman insisted we go to Chez Fon Fon and play bocce ball. Who could resist such an offer? Afterwards Rick dropped us at home and went back to City Stages where he has the honor of interviewing and introducing the Neville Brothers. The sad thing is that he had backstage passes for me too, but we had sitter issues, so I stayed home and watched Phineas and Ferb with Truman. I love the Nevilles, but … it was a small price to pay.

We’re headed back to City Stages Sunday to sweat and listen to music and touch snakes. Should be oodles of fun. Wish you were here.

Photos, JWJourney

Post from: Blisstree

City Stages – Really Cool Weekend Fun

The market just opened for the season. Years ago we were just one of a few folks who headed out there every Saturday, but it’s since become hugely popular here. Which is a good thing for the farmers.

Today we bought a bunch of strawberries, because Truman would choose to eat strawberries over any other food on earth. We also bought tomatoes from one of the few vendors who had ripe ones to choose from. Then we went home and made Ina Garten’s Greek Gazpacho for dinner.

Our Publix didn’t have Sacramento tomatoes so V8 had to do (oh hush, Ina), and I did without the olives because I have an aversion. I also used panko instead of day-old bread just because I had it on hand. And I love panko. 

I plopped a generous hunk of nice goat cheese over the top, which was one thing my old recipe didn’t call for.It was to-die-for. Even Truman devoured it. Well, he mostly devoured the toasted bread crisps I served with it. Then we paired it with a nice bottle of Cotes du Rhone.

For dessert we had a generous serving of Adam Lambert performing with Rick’s childhood favorite band Kiss – DVR’d from Wednesday night’s awesome American Idol finale. Sigh…makes me wonder how the rest of the world is faring this Memorial Day weekend.

Photos, JWJourney

Post from: Blisstree

Farmers Markets a Sign of Summer

1. Locate a box. Most any box will do. Ours was pretty big so the end result was too big to work as a guitar…but we found another use for our instrument. (See #9).

2. Tape the box closed and cut a hole in the middle.

3. Using a hole-punch, punch 3-5 holes on opposite sides of the hole you made in the box.

4. Thread clips through each hole and …

… then wrap a colorful rubber band between two opposite clips.

5. Slide popsicle sticks along each set of clips. You can decorate your popsicle sticks if you want. Or buy colored ones. 

6. Take a flat side of another box and roll it into the shape of a handle, or guitar neck. Cut a hole on the side of the box and slide the tip of the neck into the base and tape it in place.

7. Paint your masterpiece. (On second thought it may have been best to paint the guitar before installing the strings.)

8. Set the guitar aside to dry and clean the paint off your hands as best as possible.

9. Once the paint is dry, enjoy your new box guitar or, as in our case, standup bass!

Photos, JWJourney

Post from: Blisstree

How to Make a Box Guitar Toy

Earlier this week Michael K. McLendon, armed with a Bushmaster AR-15 and an SKS – both military-bred assault rifles developed for the specific purpose of killing humans quickly and efficiently, went on a shooting spree in a small, south Alabama community. Because of him, two young children will never see their mother again, and the 18-month-old daughter she was cradling will never grow up.

And that’s just two of the gunman’s 10 victims.

In response to the shootings, the Brady Campaign issued this statement:

“(Tuesday’s) shooting is only the latest addition to a string of preventable tragedies committed with these military-style weapons. America needs an effective federal assault weapons ban to stop the mass production and marketing by the gun industry of these anti-personnel weapons. Today we call on the U.S. Congress to pass a federal assault weapons ban modeled on California’s effective law that would ban these weapons once and for all.”

Don’t we owe this to our families?

More on JWJourney

(photo: AP)

Post from: Blisstree

America Needs A Federal Assault Rifle Ban

My family had lunch with my friend Suzanne and her crew the other day. The last time I saw her was two years ago, when Truman and I drove two hours to her small town to visit with her and her two boys. Truman was barely 3 then and he tornadoed through their house, destroying a lamp and nearly giving her 2-year-old a concussion when he lobbed a toy across the room, narrowly missing the little tike. That was bad enough, but when Truman threw one of his stellar temper tantrums and swung his arms at me, actually making contact with my head, Suzanne was visibly appalled. And true to her form, she told me so. How could I let my son do such a thing?

I drove home in tears while Truman slept in the back seat. I’ve never claimed to be a perfect parent, but surely I wasn’t a complete failure. Why couldn’t I contain my son’s outbursts, or at the very least, keep him from beating the crap out of me? We never got calls from preschool about his behavior, and he rarely turned violent against my husband. I was his favorite punching bag.

Suzanne called the next week to tell me that she had told her friend how my son decked me and asked her friend (whom she called a perfect mother) how she would handle such an outburst. Suzanne agreed with her friend that I should “snatch him up so fast and teach him a lesson,” or something like that. I forget the actual words but the image that came to mind was the same. I said weakly, “But, I scolded him and I spanked him.” I’m not sure what made me more upset – knowing she shared my plight with a complete stranger or hearing her bring up my failure as a mother once again.

Perhaps that is why I began to shy away from my good friend Suzanne. It was my fault, really. I needed to get a tougher skin – both as a mother and a disciplinarian. I actually called my pediatrician during this time – shortly after a rabid temper tantrum at the grocery store that landed me a few scratches on the cheek. My doctor was unsympathetic. He said, “You’re stronger than him. Just make him stop. Say no! Be firm and assertive.” But how? How could I hold down his flailing arms and haul him out of a grocery store? How do I raise my voice above his wails without bursting the veins in my neck? Sounds easy until you live it.

We eventually resolved this issue – somewhat – through education. I know, stellar concept. I have to admit that I listened to Dr. Phil and “defined my child’s currency,” the stuff my child seemed to most value. And when he misbehaved, we took that thing away. At that time we would take away his cars or, when he acted up just before bedtime, cuddle time with Mommy. (That was more difficult for me, I think!)

Even though Dr. Phil tends to get on my nerves, he does offer good “Steps to Disciplining Your Kids.” And I especially appreciate the “Age-Appropriate Discipline Techniques.” If you are a less-than-perfect parent like I am, then you should check out those pointers.

Anyway, thanks to the glories of Facebook, I reacquainted with my old friend Suzanne a few months ago. I was really happy to do so, because we shared an enjoyable history in our single years. We maintained that friendship while she lived outside the country and in faraway (and not-so-faraway) states. And now that she was back in Alabama – albeit two hours away – there was no reason why my insecurities should squash a perfectly fine friendship. She called the other day to say her family was coming in town for the circus and did we want to get together? So we met for lunch.

As we sat around the table, our boys sandwiched in the booth and doing things that boys do, Suzanne turned to me and confided, “Joseph is a terror. An absolute terror!” This, the boy my son nearly gave a concussion two years prior. She said he was active and aggressive – nothing like her older son, who was a complete cherub. I told her I understood. Truman had always been that way and, thankfully, had grown out of his vicious temper tantrums. Suzanne said when her boys misbehave, “I threaten my boys with the wooden spoon. And it works!”

I figured threatening a child with a wooden spoon wouldn’t work unless then child knew what kind of pain a wooden spoon could inflict. She said of course they knew. She had no qualms about spanking her boys with the spoon if they got out of hand. Granted, she said, she used a gentle hand. She wasn’t beating the kids, by any means. Not inflicting real physical pain. She said it caused more hurt feelings than anything else.

I recall as a child my father’s leather belt. I’m not sure if my sister and I ever were spanked with it or if it was the notion of being spanked with it that riddled us with fear. We were, indeed, spanked by hand as children. Neither my sister nor I appeared to have been damaged by the physical discipline. And neither of us has gone on to find pleasure in spankings as adults, as some sources claim. Ummm…

My husband, too, was spanked as a child, so we didn’t mind using it as a punishment for our own son. I think it ultimately pained us more to give them than for our son to receive them. But we quickly learned that spankings often made him laugh while taking away the Hotwheels brought pathetic bawls and pleads for improved behavior.

I didn’t think twice about the wooden spoon comment from my friend Suzanne until a week after our lunch. She called one morning to say she jolted awake the previous night worried that I’d share her Spoon Discipline secret on my blog. I laughed and said “paybacks are hell.” But I also promised I would assure readers that she isn’t a child beater.

I know the trend these days is to steer clear of physical punishment for children, but as my friend Emily tells me, different children react to different types of punishment. One of her boys responds to spankings while the other seems to listen better when she threatens to take away his game time.

I’m curious to hear how other parents approach discipline for children. Do you spank your kids? Do you use another effective means to discipline? Why or why not?

(photo: Flickr, HA! Designs)

Post from: Blisstree

Discipline – is spanking really all that bad?

My husband has been with the TV station so long that the only time they call him in on weekends is if there is a big story, like when Birmingham abortion clinic bomber Eric Robert Rudolph was finally captured. So when the station called him Saturday and asked him to co-anchor the Sunday morning news, I knew big news was expected. Mother Nature didn’t let us down.

When Truman and I finally rolled out of our beds Sunday morning (Rick had to be at the station at 6 a.m.) the yard was covered with snow! I haven’t seen snow in so long I forgot what it looked like. Truman saw flurries two years ago but hardly remembers that. And last year when we got a dusting of the white stuff here in Birmingham, we were in New Orleans and missed it. I think we got about four inches Sunday. It was just above freezing outside so the streets and walkways were pretty clear. But since the overpasses were icing over, many of the streets closed. And you know it’s a big deal in Alabama if churches cancel services, which most did.

We had a blizzard here in 1993. We got something like 12 inches and it literally shut down the city for a week. Power outages lasted for days and it was pretty miserable by the end. Rick was a cub reporter then and worked 48 hours straight. He dreads snow for that very reason. But in comparison, this snowfall is awesome. The power is on, which means the heat is on. And Rick came home once the morning news went off – which means he could relieve me of the snow-playing duties.

Truman was ecstatic. He leaped out of bed and of course the first thing we had to do was run outside, make a snow angel and throw snowballs at each other. Truman ate a wad of snow (hope MIL doesn’t read this!) and then we made our mini snowman. Of course, neither of us really knew what to do so we used sticks for arms, the tip of a carrot for a nose, parsley for hair, dried currants for eyes and a piece of a cinnamon stick for a mouth. Then we jazzed him up with some colored sugar sprinkles. And no masterpiece is complete until the artist partakes in eating the decorations!

Post from: Blisstree

NEWS FLASH: Snow in Alabama!

I’m going somewhat regularly to my small, all-girl gym and – though I’m not a gym-class kind of girl – I’m taking body pump. The other mums there are sort of cliqued together because they have been taking the class with each other for a while. They all have muscles and lean bods to show for it and they probably worry that if they talk to me they might catch the cottagecheesethighs virus. So I’m cool with just being the quiet girl in the corner. I look a fright anyway. I wear the same look-a-fright black shorts and the same husband-shirt and maybe mascara. So the Lulu will be a welcome addition. I love that Lulu names its clothes like “be still pant” and stuff. I hope Penny sent me an ankle-to-wrist-to-neck body suit. I need everything to be still.

It’s not that I’m fat. The best word might be chubby, I guess. I’m not the size 2 I was two decades ago, or the size 4 I was just one decade ago. Even then I was still disproportionate. Bottom heavy, they call it. Just last week a man stopped me at the grocery store and said, “woo” (that was how he introduced himself to me), “you are built like a brick house,” whatever that means. I credit that to a misjudged bra size (confirmed by a recent bra-fitting) and going up a jeans size (for which obviously my entire community gave a huge sigh of relief with me and for me).

I am waiting by the door for the Lulu. When it gets here, I’ll let you know how it looks. Penny tells me she sent the falsie inserts with it and then said she wanted me to send those back, given my new bra-sizing that confirmed I’m not quite as disproportionate as I thought I was. (Yes, I alerted all my girlfriends to that!) The Lulu is supposed to inspire me to burn-baby-fat-burn. So keep your fingers crossed for me. I’ll be hooking up with Penny and four other of my sorority sisters, the rest of whom are scattered about the South, in May for our annual girls trip. So, I can’t disappoint. Once I get my Lulu, the pressure is on.

Post from: Blisstree

Baby fat makes me – and the people who see me – totally Lulu

Hi, I’m Jennifer, or Jen to my friends. I’m your new Inside Motherhood blogger. I’m excited to be here, and thrilled to have the opportunity to write about a subject I’m passionate about – motherhood.

First, let me tell you a bit about me. I was born in California but my hippy/academia parents moved me away from there as a baby. We ultimately ended up in Memphis, Tennessee when I was 5. After college, I moved deeper South and eventually settled in Birmingham, Alabama. I married the absolute love of my life, who I met in a bar and married a year later. He is a longtime local television news anchor, which means in my hometown my identity is somewhat overshadowed by his. We have one son, Truman, who is THE most beautiful child in the world. Really. I’m not biased. That’s not to say he can’t be an absolute terror at times. I suppose you’d say he is normal.

I have written for a few old-fashioned ink-on-paper newspapers and magazines, but my crash-landing into the modern blogging world was with a law firm, Beasley Allen, which happens to be one of the rock star plaintiffs firms in the Southeast. I blog on several of the firm’s sites, including one focused on raising awareness of Stevens Johnson Syndrome. I also started a personal blog where I mostly lament about my unsightly weight gain and the perils of being the weakest and most uncoordinated person in my Body Pump class.

I hope I can share some stories of interest and tips to make your motherhood experience more fulfilled. But I also want to hear how you weather this season of our lives. Feel free to share comments, suggestions and ideas for other posts. After all, I’ve found the most valuable advice comes from other moms.

Jen

Post from: Blisstree

A bit about me