Didn't you know they sell magic at Target?

It was one of those my baby is so cranky we will both explode if we stay inside kind of days. My son, Oscar has been waking up early from his afternoon naps which results in an earlier bedtime. This of course means we all get up at the crack of dawn and the cycle repeats. So, I thought we would go for a nice long stroll at North Hills. We started at Chick-Fil-A, because 1) Ahem, we live in North Carolina, and 2)They were doing a food drive for free sandwiches. 

I'll trade my cans of Tuna for a chicken sandwich ALL DAY LONG. 

And can I stop right there and talk about how I LOVE that little fake grassy area outside at North Hills? I never understood why they didn't just put real grass there. I mean I guess it is easier to maintain. But it always seemed odd to me that there was astro-turf outside. However, now that I am the mom of a very curious crawler, I thank the Lord for synthetic nature! I can let him crawl and roll around to his heart's content. And crawl he did! It was a beautiful day. 

We walked around the plaza for a bit and headed back down to our parking spot, conveniently located next to Target. OK fine, you're twisting my arm, I'll go inside the store! I grabbed a couple super cheap items for myself off the clearance rack (because nothing in my current wardrobe cost more than $3.74) and headed for the Cheerios. At this point Oscar was starting to get cranky and I realized we were almost an hour past nap time. He had been really good and my plan was working, so we walked toward the checkout. 

Just then, in the home section I heard the loveliest music-box rendition of Jingle Bells and I had to find it. Lo and Behold there was a snow globe with a reindeer inside and the music was playing. I shook it and thought, I bet Oscar would think this is neat. I leaned down and wound it up and shook the globe and there he sat, absolutely entranced. His eyes lit up and he was tracing each little snow flake with his fingers. We looked at a few more, each with their own Christmas Carol and it occurred to me that even though I have known this is his first Christmas, I hadn't really considered what it would be like for HIM. He is the perfect age to really have fun with it and for the first time, I understood why parents get so into the holidays. It's not about the latest greatest toy. It's about the magic! Watching his eyes get wide and excited was just about the best thing in the world. I can't wait to create that magic for him as the holidays draw near. That day, I found magic at Target. And yes, this December Oscar will be unwrapping his very own snow globe.

An original Triangle Mamas post. When Andrea is not getting all mushy in the home goods aisle, she can be found blogging at Lil-Kid-Things or gabbing away on Twitter. 

Book Jackets

This year at the North Carolina State Fair, I wanted to do more than just eat. Which is unusual. I wanted to win something for Little Bird. Knowing full well that we would be paying about 1000% mark up on any stuffed animal we would win for him, I decided on shooting for what I felt like was a sure thing.

We would have a carnie guess Kevin's age.

I thought this was a sure fire way to win something for Bird for only $3. Here we were, a seemingly young couple with a young toddler and a baby on the way. There was no way anyone would guess Kevin was over 40.

Confidant in my husband's stunning good looks and our youthful aura, we stepped up and gave the carnie our $3. He offered to guess my due date, but I wanted to boost my husband's ego with the sure fire guess of 37 or 38 years old. Age guessing it was.

It only took a few seconds for the carnie to scribble down a number on his Post-It pad and after some meaningless banter with the people ignoring him as they passed by, he asked how old Kevin was.I smiled smugly and eyed a little stuffed dog that Bird would love.

The carnie had hit it dead on.

Poor Kevin's ego was bruised instead of stroked. I felt terrible about it, but found it hilarious all at the same time. I started teasing about what else that carnie could have told us like what kind of little sports car Kevin drives or that I stay at home with the kids. I joked that the carnie probably knew it was a second marriage and would probably be able to guess a few things about our ex's as well.

It was funny in a self deprecating kind of way; our favorite kind of way.

On the ride home, we chatted a little bit more seriously though about what people don't know about us. About the misconceptions and assumptions. No one would look at me and guess that I used to play in rock bands. They wouldn't assume that Kevin is a guitar collector, and amazing jazz guitarist, and is building most of our recording gear himself. Someone even told me recently that we looked like the kind of couple who would just want an OB and an epidural rather than an intervention free birth at the Birth Center. 

It's so cliche, judging a book by it's cover. I just hadn't looked at my own cover lately I guess. Who knew that I look like the suburban housewife waiting for medication and possibly a mid labor latte? Who knew that Kevin actually might look his age? Who knew that our covers, while giving some hints about us, would be so far off the mark?

Aside from being amusing, it makes me grateful too, for the people who have opened the book and taken the time to get to know us past the jacket.

To read a few more chapters about Marty, you can check out her personal blog, Don't Take the Repeats. To stick with the liner notes, follow her on Twitter.

Election Day: Local Elections Matter

I'm going to keep this one short so you can take the time to check out the links here.

This Tuesday, October 6, is election day.

Municipal elections don't get much media attention or ad spend, but they are critical to our local way of life. I admittedly bust a move on national elections and can lose sight of what happens in my own backyard. However, now that I am a mother of an elementary age son, I view my world a bit differently. Don't get me wrong, I always vote, no matter how "big" or "small" the race. I love to vote and cherish my right to do so. Since my boys have been born I have taken them with me to the polls, whether nestled into the baby carrier, strapped into the stroller, or walking hand in hand. I even let my then-five-year old fill out the ballot for the presidential election in 2008. Voting is a civic responsibility and honor that won't go unnoticed in my household.

This Tuesday we vote for important local offices. In Wake County we are voting on candidates for school board, mayor of Raleigh, and city council. Cary and Durham have city council races (Primary in Durham with the election November 3). These are the people whose legislation and policies directly affect our lives - schools, zoning, budgets, trash collection, recycling, public transportation, use of public space, green space, parks and recreation, public safety (police and fire) and a whole slew of other responsibilities. In a word, these elected officials matter. To all of us.

And please allow me a sidebar here: Just because I didn't have kids in public school before doesn't mean I didn't vote. All these issues, arguably education especially, affect us all.

So do me, and you, a favor. Please go vote on Tuesday. And have a look at the voter's guide here for more information. Voting is a right we take for granted. Make good use of your right on Tuesday, October 6.

Wake County Voter Information

Durham County Voter Information

And on November 3, there are elections in Durham, Angier, Apex, Fuquay-Varina, Garner, Holly Springs, Knightdale, Morrisville, Rolesville, Wake Forest, Wendell and Zebulon.

As for me, you'll see me at the polls on Tuesday with my two sons in tow. Because I'll be volunteering at the polls all day for Kids Voting, you won't see me in my normal election day partisan attire. But I'll be sporting a Kids Voting T-shirt, proudly supporting an organization that brings our civic process to life in and out of the classroom.

Ilina blogs at Dirt & Noise, where she unleashes her political fury when she's not waxing about her boys' latest mischief or sharing a cocktail recipe on her weekly 5:00 Fridays post.

The Public's Schools

I have a confession to make: As the mother of a rising kindergartner,
there's a tiny part of me that hopes all the "neighborhood schools" candidates get elected to the Wake County Board of Education on Oct. 6.
You see, as a mom, I'd really love for my son (and, in a few more
years, my daughter) to attend the elementary school in our neighborhood.

What's
not to love? We could walk to school in 20 minutes, joining with our
friends along the way to form a daily elementary school parade. He
would be in school with kids he knows, whose parents I know. He'd be at
a "good" school that's safe, familiar, stable and on a traditional
calendar. Norman Rockwell himself would probably want to paint a
picture of it all.

Even before I became a mom, I couldn't fault the parents who complain
about (and then form yet another group to fight) annual reassignments
that resulted in instability, uncertainty and sometimes long drives for
families around the county. Now that I am a mom, I understand their
concerns in a whole new way.

But I know too much. I am more than
a mom -- a former teacher, a public education advocate, a citizen, a
taxpayer -- and I cannot in good conscience support an approach that
will lead to the re-segregation of schools, no matter how lovely my
personal scenario might seem through the eyes of motherhood.

As
a parent, my job is to do what is in the best interest of my own child.
But the teachers, administrators and elected officials in our
community? Their job is to do what is in the best interest of ALL
children, regardless of what neighborhood they live in or who their
parents are.

There are plenty of arguments on all sides of the
debate around "supporting diverse schools" or "supporting neighborhood
schools" (which aren't mutually exclusive in theory, but generally are
opposites in practice). I don't have the time or energy or clarity of
thought to wade through them all. But here are few things that, from
research and personal experience, I know to be true:

• Schools
  with high concentrations of poverty have a harder time being successful
  than schools with fewer low-income students. It's not some kind of
  hogwash about having poor kids sit next to rich kids so they can learn
  better. It's simply that students living in poverty, no matter how
  smart they are, come with additional challenges (like being hungry or
  not having adequate health care or having a single parent who can't be
  home much because she's working two jobs) that schools must try to
  address.


• Schools with high concentrations of poverty
  tend to have higher rates of teacher turnover because they're tougher
  places to teach. That usually means more teachers with less experience
  and a general instability within the school culture, which means that
  teachers suffer and students suffer. And that's all students in the
  school, not just the poor ones. Studies suggest that students in poor
  and minority schools are twice as likely to have an inexperienced
  teacher and are 61 percent more likely to be assigned an uncertified
  teacher.


• Advocates for a "neighborhood schools"
  approach who claim that additional funding will be given to schools in
  poor neighborhoods to help them overcome their challenges are full of
  crap. Particularly in today's world of slashed budgets, the money won't
  be there -- or if it does come, it won't last long. And, unless you're
  Geoffrey Canada in the Harlem Children's Zone, it won't be enough to make a difference.


• Wake
  County's diversity policy is imperfect -- and I think the district
  sometimes does a poor job of implementing the policy, leaving families
  feeling ignored and snubbed -- but maintaining integrated schools is
  the right goal. The district is not "out to get" anyone and derives no
  pleasure from disrupting parents' vision of how school should be. They
  are simply wrestling with making the best decisions they can in support
  of the nearly 140,000 students in the district.

As for the
election on Oct. 6, unfortunately I don't get to vote because I don't
live in one of the districts on this year's ballot. If you are eligible
to vote, I certainly don't presume to tell you who to vote for and am
not endorsing any candidates. But I hope that, regardless of where you
live, you'll consider that, as parents, we have the luxury making
decisions based on our own children. Our school districts must consider
all the children at once.

* * *

If you'd like more information the role of diversity in maintaining healthy public schools, read Making Choices, a report I co-wrote in 2003 when I worked at Wake Education Partnership, or Striking a Balance, a 2008 report from the same organization. And feel free to comment, argue, debate -- just please be polite about it.

When Cyndi climbs down from her soapbox, she can be found blogging at Junius & Pippi Take the Cake.

Intolerance for Raymond Cook's Inebriation

When I was a little girl I had one of those jewelry boxes with a twinkling spinning ballerina inside. I vividly remember the light blue tulle of her tutu and the shimmering tune of Swan Lake
playing when I'd wind it up. I never took a dance class in my life but
I did daydream about being a ballerina. Didn't every little girl? From
when my oldest son Bird could talk he would always tell me that I
looked like a ballerina whenever I wore a skirt. Now at age six, he
still says it. It's as close to being a ballerina as I ever got. I was
not blessed with a lithe body, good posture, discipline, or grace.

But
Elena Shapiro was. I swear if you look up "ballerina" in the dictionary
Elena's picture was right there. Even her name was fit for a ballerina.
Grace embodied.

I am having a hard time wrapping my head around
the recent tragedy of Dr. Raymond Cook killing ballerina Elena Shapiro.
The irony of a reckless young doctor stealing the life of a vital young
woman is not lost on me.

I heard this news over the weekend
before the media extravaganza began. I was reeling then, and the
subsequent news reports continue to make me foam at the mouth. Disdain.
Disgust. I can't find the right words. A man who committed his life to
saving lives took an innocent life in a fleeting, irresponsible moment.
We often turn to doctors in the apex of our vulnerability. We don't
expect them to heighten our despair; we look to them to give us hope
and health. We take faith that they value their oath. First, do no
harm. We hope and assume that doctors above all value human life in and
out of the hospital, for they have seen the most profound and most
remarkable examples of our mortality.

Cook did more than make a
grave mistake; he sent an innocent young woman to her grave. This was
not a fluke accident for which I can empathize. This was not an
it-could-have-happened-to-me moment. If anything, any one of us could
have been Elena Shapiro. In fact, just moments after the accident,
friends of ours took that very same road en route home, their two
children ages 7 and 4 in tow. Sure, before Friday night Raymond Cook
was a regular guffawing golfing guy hanging out with his buddies on a
deserved afternoon off. Apart from the 300 grand salary, million dollar
home, and medical credentials, he could have been my very own husband.
He was a husband, father, son, friend; he wasn't a monster. But his
actions have made him so. The fact that he has a history of such dangerous reckless behavior makes this case even more reprehensible.

Any one of his choices jeopardized
the lives of those who shared the road with him. The combination was
deadly. He embarked on this irresponsible escapade knowingly, even turning down an offer to arrange a ride home from the bar manager who refused to serve him.
Surely cab fare was not out of his budget. And what responsibility do
his golfing buddies share? Is there shame to go around? How many of
them drove home drunk themselves? One hell of an I-told-you-so-lesson.
This is a 40-something year old man who knows the dangers of drinking
and driving. He knows the ramifications of driving nearly twice
the speed limit. Even when running late, I don't drive twice the posted
speed limit. And the cynic in me says that he wouldn't have been
running late if he had just left the bar earlier.

The image of
a wealthy, successful young doctor careening down the street in his
fancy Mercedes after an afternoon of golfing at the club is even too
cliche for a Jodi Piccoult
novel. The Dr. 90210 figure of the swashbuckling, entitled plastic
surgeon who is above the law fits Dr. Cook to a tee. He's surely not
helping the negative stereotypical light cast on his profession. For
the record, I have had reconstructive plastic surgery for medical, not
cosmetic, reasons. Twice. I am not a naysayer. I am not one who is
distrusting of doctors. We have close friends who are physicians, and I
would trust them with my life. Had I the muster to get into medical
school, medicine would have been my chosen profession too. I revere
doctors, which perhaps adds to the bile this case elicits in me. I
don't know Raymond Cook personally. I don't really give a damn what
kind of man his supporters purport him to be. On Friday, September 11,
a date that already has its gruesome share of mind in our collective
psyches, Raymond Cook became a different kind of man. He murdered a
young woman who posed him no threat. His car his weapon, his disregard
for the law and his overindulgence the fuel. The lifetime of shame and
pain Cook lives with pales exponentially to that of Elena Shapiro's
family. And to think of the future he has laid out for his own family.
I shudder.

Think I'm being too hard on the guy? What if Elena were your daughter?

Surely when you look up "hubris" in the dictionary you see Raymond Cook.

Disgrace embodied.

Ilina, a doting mother of two boys, blogs at Dirt & Noise.When she's not busy with her day job in her own marketing consulting business, she manages to inhale books, cook adventurous healthy creations, and window shop on Etsy. Though she posts a cocktail recipe in a weekly feature called 5:00 Fridays,
she is a vehement supporter of drinking responsibly. Having lost two
friends to a drunk driving accident in college, she has no tolerance
for driving while under the influence.

Ecdysis

Every now and then I come across blog posts or articles written by mothers who miss who they used to be. They long for their old freedoms and careers. They talk about what they used to look like and the trips they used to take. How they used to be someone else.

I have to admit, I never really related.

I was never so happy than to have my husband suggest that I leave my job when I got pregnant. It's not that I didn't enjoy working. I loved my job, but I was tired and ready to shed that skin.

I was ready to be needed by my family, not 100 different families. I didn't have the ability to distance myself while working in the non-profit sector and ended up self-extending my job description far beyond just providing music lessons for children from low-income families.

That part of my life was rewarding, and while Kevin admits he misses seeing me in a business suit and heels (he says with a "rawr)", we are both happy with me staying at home.

There is another part of my life, however, that didn't end with such a definitive line. It simply has faded away and before I realized what was happening, it was completely gone.

I will never be a rock star.

When I moved to the Triangle 11 years ago, the first thing I did after finding a job was to look for a band. Within six months, I had joined up with three amazing guys who actually wanted to play my songs. I was in heaven. Add that to the weekly open mics at the Berkeley Cafe, and I was honing my chops like never possible in Mississippi.

Over the next several years, I was in and out of different groups, hauling my Fender Rhodes mostly by myself, using a handtruck and a rather ingenious system my ex-husband designed for getting it in and out of our hatchback.

I liked walking into a club or a music store and being treated like a musician and not a groupie girl. I liked the spotlight. I even liked being behind the spotlight, trading my lead singer days for back up vocals and keys in the last group.

Last week, Kevin, Little Bird, and I went into Sam Ash just to see what they still had in stock during this dismal economy. As we walked through, it felt completely foreign to me. Even though I had worked there a decade ago when it was still Mars Music, nothing felt familiar. I realized as we were leaving that it was me who had changed, not the store.

I presented as a pregnant woman with her toddler in tow, following her musician husband through the racks of guitars. There was no reason for them to perceive me as anything but a mother.

I have a confession. Sometimes when I meet new people, either in real life or online, I wish they knew me when I was "cooler." You know, you might have caught me at The Pour House or The Cave, do you remember? Maybe we met at The Berkley? I'm sure we know some of the same people . . .

But that's not who I am. Not anymore. Granted, I still get to perform and record with a musician who holds my utmost respect. We get gigs in theaters where someone else lugs my gear, or better yet, I have a beautiful grand piano to use. We get to play with the North Carolina Symphony. We are home before 3:00 AM and don't smell like stale cigarette smoke. Oh, and we get paid well. There is that very distinctive difference.

Of course the whole rock star thing is tongue in cheek, but the realization that even though I love my new skin, I'm not entirely comfortable in it? That's pretty on the mark, and I guess I relate a little more than I originally thought.

Photo by Gail Anne Photography.

Marty blogs about mothering and music at Don't Take the Repeats and sings only phrases on Twitter.

Confession: I Do Love a Jon Jon

We all have our varying opinions on the jon jon. Before Little Bird was born, I imagined him wearing nothing but jon jons, romping across the playground in his little smocked coveralls. I'm not sure what I was drinking at the time, but his entrance into real life complete with poop, pee, drool, dirt, and general stickiness soon changed my mind on the jon jon.

Now, I reserve the jon jon for church on Sunday morning and other occasions where he needs to be a little more dressed up. We don't wear them to Marbles, and he won't be wearing them to Mother's Morning Out, no matter how many other little boys will.

For some reason though, Bird still has way more jon jons hanging in his closet than I have pride to admit. I blame Kelly for this. Kelly runs Divine Consign in Raleigh. Divine Consign hosts trunk shows of overstocks and consignment sales a few times a year. It's not your average consignment sale. You don't have to dig through to find things that aren't stained or that you could buy just as cheaply if you caught them on clearance. Kelly takes only high end, gently worn children's clothes, saving moms like me who only like to shop in front of a computer screen a lot of time and hassle.

If she hadn't made it easy enough for us, now she has also started a blog. This post on how to shop a consignment sale was incredibly helpful, and I thought worth passing along.The next show is August 31 through September 4 at Stonehenge Shopping Center in Raleigh.

What about you? Do you hit consignment sales for your kids' clothing? What other ones are worth a look? Do you sell at consignment sales? Do you have any additional shopping or selling tips?

Let's help each other continue to dress our children way way better than we dress ourselves. That is until What Not to Wear shows up on my doorstep and rescues me from myself.

An original Triangle Mamas post. This post was not sponsored by Divine Consign in any way. We just happen to like moms in business for themselves, especially when they do it so well. In fact, if you have a mom in business here in the Triangle who you think we should feature, please contact us. We don't do reviews, but we share our positive and negative experiences freely here.

When Marty isn't busy ironing jon jons, she writes about everyday things at Don't Take the Repeats and Deep South Moms. When she has less to say, she hangs out on Twitter.

On the Right Path

I don't want to sleep there, I'm not particularly interested in peeing there, and I certainly don't want to cook there, but I do love the woods. I love the Black Mountains specifically, and I love streams.

I'm not sure why we don't do more hiking. We have the dogs for it. We have the kid for it. We have the love for it. We just don't get around to it.

My husband, Kevin is a doer. There is always a project either in full swing or in planning mode. It is one thing I love about him. He finishes what he starts, and he starts big things. His plans are not lightly made nor are they easy to finish. Right now, he is adding onto the house. Just he and the contractor. When he comes home from work , he works some more. On the weekends, he's building. I'm excited for the new spaces, but I think I am more excited for him to finish so that I have some of his time and attention back.

All this to say, I think this is why we don't hike. We do things together as much as possible, but this is a stage in our life where Kevin is determined to get things in order. I love him for that. I miss him, but I love him.

While we were in the mountains recently, staying in Catawba Falls Preserve, I had him back to myself one day. He wanted to know what I wanted to do, and I chose this hike. We packed a backpack full of snacks, water, and diapers. The dogs got to tag along and tap into their inner hunters. Gibson, our chocolate lab, ran out about 10 feet ahead with his tail pointed straight up. He even helped corral Little Bird when he got too far ahead of us. Our English Setter, Aja, stayed on leash and ignored her bird dogs instincts in favor of reading the mail on the ground.

We missed a turn along the way - rather, I missed a turn, and we ended up about 40 minutes off track. Luckily, we had also packed our Babyhawk, so tired Bird could ride on his daddy's back when he got tired. And after playing nekkid in the creek for awhile?

Bird was really really tired.

It was a great day with my boys, my dogs, and a trail in the mountains.

When she isn't dreaming of her own mountain getaway, Marty blogs at Don't Take the Repeats. When she has less to say, she resorts to quipping on Twitter.

Leave the Road for Cars

I am a big proponent of walking. I have written about it before.  I find it ever so unfortunate to live in a city that is one of the least walkable areas I have ever lived in. Creating a lively, safe, walkable city is not even on the list of criteria for developers and urban planners around these parts. No sirree. We're all about the four-wheeled guzzling monster.  A subdivision north of town welcomes you with a fountain oddly resembling something from an ill-placed resort and signs that boast "26 miles of walking." Um, walking to where exactly? I prefer an organic community with its own pulse, hotspots, and places where you happen upon fellow dwellers in an unstaged, unscheduled manner. And by community, I mean neighborhood, not subdivision, development, planned community. But my beef with the lack of such neighborhoods in Raleigh is for another day.

It seems that others enjoy walking too, whether for exercise, errands, or the whole two birds one stone bit. There are walkers aplenty in a lovely area neighboring my old school neighborhood. I see them everyday, and I know they see me too. I can tell by the glares.

Read on from a letter of complaint I posted to Dirt & Noise.

Dear Walkers of White Oak Road,

Please do not glare at me as I
drive along at the posted speed limit. Did I mention that I have never
had a speeding ticket, much less a parking ticket, in 25 years of
driving? I drive a small SUV, not a Hummer that hogs the road. The
lanes are plenty wide for me. The yard services' trucks that regularly
line the street consume all the space on the tiny shoulder that is
smaller than Tinkerbell's haunches. I don't speed. I don't honk. I
don't swerve. I drive to the right of the line and obey the speed
limit. Always.

Yet you walk two, three, and even up to five in
a row as if you are Queen Bees ruling the high school halls shoulder to
shoulder. Plus, you push strollers (double joggers) and have a dog or
two on a leash. Your posse literally takes up more space than my
Highlander. I might curse you under my breath and keep my middle finger
firmly in place on the steering wheel but I never honk or jeer. I do
utter in disbelief that you'd be idiotic enough to take up all the room
on a road as narrow as a neocon's mind.

But I see you, in your
matching tennis skirts and visors, all turn in unison to glare at me as
I drive by. Me, the one who's obeying the law of the road. Here's a tip
to tuck in your tanned decolletage, don't walk two by two with a
stroller and a dog on a road that has no sidewalks.
I am all for pedestrian rights and respecting walkers, bikers, and the
like. But generally there's mutual respect and a healthy fear of, oh,
3000 pounds of steel coming around a blind curve.

I happen to be
a big fan of sidewalks and live in a neighborhood that has them. I walk
with my sons in my neighborhood. I pushed their strollers and walked
neighbor's dogs on those sidewalks. We decorate those sidewalks with
chalk drawings and hopscotch boxes. We never stray from the sidewalks;
that is a general tenet of city living. Roads are for cars. Sidewalks
are for people. There is no gray area here. One of the earliest lessons
we taught our sons was to stay off the road and on the sidewalk.
Danger! Danger! Danger!

From the myriad skateboarders, bikers,
scooters, and ripsticks I see on White Oak Road (sans helmets!), I
guess you are handing down road ownership to the next generation. Is
this a symptom of the general sense of entitlement plaguing America
these days or are you really that clueless? Let me reiterate, if the
road doesn't have a sidewalk, is narrow, and is peppered with blind
curves, don't walk on it. If
you must walk there, walk against traffic so you can see what's coming
and by all means, move to the freaking side when a car passes. That
means walk single file, gather your troops, and squeeze in tightly.

You might own one of those big fancy houses but you're a fool if you think you own the road.

Sincerely,

An Irritated Driver Who Doesn't Want to Play Frogger

Ilina walks, but refuses to run. You can find her walking to her favorite coffee shop, where she writes at Dirt & Noise and Foodie Mama when she's not busy being the voice of the consumer for clients of her marketing consulting business.

An Open Letter to a Tree

Dear New Pine Tree at the Koka Booth Amphitheater in Cary,

Congratulations on growing up in North Carolina, where you will be revered as an official state symbol. Nice work!

However, while I fully respect your right to live and grow and enhance the environment of the old North State, I question your specific location for putting down roots. Although it may not have been your personal choice, I hope you can understand my frustration.

Earlier this summer, my husband and I brought our almost-4-year-old son with us to see Cirque de la Symphonie. It was a fantastic show for the whole family, combining beautiful symphony music with spectacular acrobatics and circus performers -- but then, you already knew that since you had a much better view of the show than we did, as we were seated behind you and could barely see through or around your lovely fringed branches.

Yes, I know, we didn't get there the exact second the gates opened, as it seemed everyone else must have done. And I know we could still hear our wonderful state symphony no matter the view. But we arrived more than an hour and a half before the show was scheduled to begin, so it didn't seem like too much to ask that we be able to see the acrobats, dancers and jugglers as well. Sadly, the only spaces available were those with obstructed views (see photo -- note that we cannot see the stage at all).

Perhaps you may want to talk with your arbor crew about why they would intentionally plant a young, short and very full pine tree in the middle of the seating area? Seems like it's going to be a decade or more before you are tall enough to provide any noticeable shade without boxing out scores of people behind you. Not to mention that they planted you right between two other (much taller) pines, so I expect you're going to feel a bit crowded as you get older. Really, I'm only thinking of you.

I promise I am not opposed to trees, in fact I think they're quite lovely. And I'm not even opposed to trees at an amphitheater, provided they are tall enough that the branches don't block the view.

But seriously. It's an amphitheater. Why go out of your way to prevent guests from seeing the very stage they paid money to see?

Sincerely,
Cyndi

P.S. Very sorry about your 14 friends that were recently removed from my yard. It's nothing personal, I promise. I just really like an open view.

An original Triangle Mamas post. When Cyndi isn't complaining about nature or hiring lumberjacks, she can be found blogging about all sorts of non-tree-related things at Junius & Pippi Take the Cake.

Rules of Engagement

As a Rule...

I don't get my haircut at places where all the stylists are wearing Crocs.

I don't let anyone who looks like she's wearing make up give me a makeover at the Bobbi Brown counter.

I never dated a guy whose butt was smaller than mine.

I eat dessert every night (after the boys go to bed!).

I don't wear holiday themed sweaters, jewelry, or shoes.

I refuse to carry a diaper bag that looks like one.

I stick to stylish ensembles that work on playdates with the boys' friends or mine.

I make my kids eat food at the table. Water or milk in a lidded cup is the exception.

I consider myself a MILF...if I don't, no one else will.

I drink red or white depending on my mood or what's available, not based on what the wine snoots say.

I
stay far, far away from the Hudson jean wearing, blinged out cell phone
chatting, Burberry diaper bag toting, Prada loafer clad moms at the
park. Ditto for their uber-smocked children who are still wearing Keds
bumpers at age 5.

I read books. Real books. Like the kind without pictures, cardboard pages, or cellophane protective covers.

I serve two servings from the fruit and vegetable food group at dinner every night.

I make sure our family eats dinner together every single day. At the table. With no TV. No toys. No phone. No Crackberry.

I never vote Republican. EVER.

I embrace progressives, but really wish the earthy types would shave their legs and pits and bathe once in a while.

I take unposed photos of my children to document their myriad expressions of pure joy, utter defeat, and brotherly love.

I don't drive a minivan. No MILF does.

I buy myself fresh flowers for no reason. If I don't, only my dad will...twice a year anyway.

I surround myself with people who are smarter, funnier, handier, and kinder than I am.

I don't camp.

I don't like to touch nature. I just like to admire it from a porch with a Mojito in hand.

I don't stay in hotels that don't have internal hallways.

I don't let my boys go to school, or anywhere for that matter, in dirty clothes.

I carry Purell with me everywhere and use it incessantly.

I stash Chapstick in every purse, tote bag, glove compartment, drawer, and pocket I have.

I take Bird and Deal on an adventure of some kind or another every day.

I don't tolerate stupidity. Dumb people ruin everything.

I don't download music unless my friend Tony has endorsed it. Here's where you'll find him: http://www.croutonboy.typepad.com/

I
play regular music in the car. I would crash if I had to endure some
singalong children's chorus singing Barney faves. I am getting ill just
thinking about it. There's no reason the kids can't enjoy Jimmy Buffett
(minus "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw" of course), the B-52s, and
the Beatles.

I don't kiss Mac Daddy if he isn't clean shaven. If I do, I break into massive hives. Trust me on this. Odd but true.

I don't buy shoes or jeans that hurt. Looks above comfort is a crappy way to live.

I
slather on sunscreen. On myself. On my kids. Mac Daddy is more
resistant to it than a 2-year old, and he's the one who's so white he's
clear.

I leave painfully long, blabbering voicemail messages because the machine is a captive audience.

I don't take sleeping aids, though I haven't slept a straight seven hours in about 18 months now.

I have hardwood floors in my house.

I'm
going to see my friends Shan and Chris at least once a year. Our boys
became fast friends on our last visit to Minneapolis so I can't deny
them that. Plus, Chris and Deal share a birthday, and Mac Daddy and
Shan share a birthday. Our fates and friendship are inextricably
intertwined.

Cross posted at Dirt & Noise.

Music and Movies by Moonlight

Congratulations to Jo, who won our giveaway for Animal Planet's Emergency Vets for the Nintendo DS. Thank you to all who entered!

******************************************

If you haven�t been to the North Carolina Museum of Art for an evening out, add it to your list right now. Their summer series includes a variety of movies and concerts, all performed in the open-air theater beside the museum. You can bring a picnic, buy a bottle of wine when you arrive, and enjoy a lovely evening under the stars.

My husband and I used to go there regularly before we had kids �- we even went to see all three parts of the Lord of the Rings trilogy on a Thursday, Friday and Saturday night. At the time I had no idea that going out to see a movie on three consecutive nights would soon become a crazy luxury.

Last weekend was our first time back to the amphitheater in years when we went to see Pink Martini (and opening act Sneakin� Out ). It felt like old times in the best way �- the music was fantastic, the weather was beautiful, the picnic was tasty, the moon was full and the people-watching was highly entertaining.

Although we went without kids, we saw plenty of families with children of all ages. I was most impressed by those with new babies, strolling up and down the sidewalk trying to lull their little ones to sleep during the concert. When my firstborn was fresh, we were so overwhelmed and exhausted that we never took him out at night. It wasn�t until many months later that I realized we missed our window �- we weren�t sleeping anyway, so we should have just tucked him into the baby carrier while he was tiny and gone to every outdoor movie and concert we could find.

Now that our children are almost four and just turned one, it�s too hard on them (and us) to keep them up past their 7:30 bedtime. And since neither one of them turned out to be those kids who can fall asleep anywhere anytime, we can�t bring them along and tuck them into their blankets under the stars. I�m hopeful that will change in a few years and we�ll be able to take them to fun shows -� but for now, it�s nice to have the occasional night out without them.

Picnic with sushi and chocolate cake� $12
Two concert tickets� $40
Babysitting by the co-op� $0
Date night with my husband� priceless

An original Triangle Mamas post. When she�s not packing picnics and dressing up for date night, Cyndi can be found writing about why she wants to come back as China Forbes from Pink Martini at Junius & Pippi Take the Cake.

Win Animal Planet's Emergency Vets for the DS

One of my favorite events in Raleigh happens every October. It's the Dog Olympics at the North Carolina State School of Veterinary Medicine. I used to take my little American Eskimo mix, Chelsea, and watch her whoop up on the Labrador retrievers in the retrieving competition. Imagine my pride when she tied for 2nd amongst a big group of dogs whose name alone implied they should have beaten her.

I love that we have the vet school right here in the Triangle. I have taken my dogs there multiple times and always received phenomenal care. Our chocolate lab even presented with a good learning opportunity because he had some weirdo eye condition from where he pulled too hard on the leash. I sound proud, but I was actually embarrassed that he was so rude on a leash. Of course, we had only had him about 2 weeks at that point, which would be a great excuse if he wasn't still rude on a leash 18 months later.

Anyway, without disguise of a smooth segue, we have a copy of Animal Planet's Emergency Vets, a new game for the Nintendo DS that lets children play as a veterinarian in 15 vet mini-games. They can care for 30 different animal species cleaning teeth, grooming them, and even examining x-rays to diagnose problems.

Standard giveaway procedures apply. Earn an entry for each of these:

1. Leave a comment telling us about your pets.
2. Post a link on your blog about our little giveaway; leave another comment with the link.
3. Tweet a link to the giveaway; leave a comment with a link.
4. Follow us on Facebook; leave a comment letting us know.

Entries remain open until 11:00 PM on Tuesday, June 16, 2009. A winner will be chosen at random after the contest closes. Please make sure we can contact you in case you are the winner.

Good luck!   

Pharmacy Field Trips

(Four infected ears + four infected eyes) / two children = three pediatrician visits x one tired mommy.

Given that we've been making lots of trips to the pharmacy lately, I'm grateful that the people at the Hayes-Barton Pharmacy are so sweet and lovely. They help my children feel better by getting the medicine ready quickly, and they help me feel better by making it easy to patronize a local business. Plus Pippi likes the personal attention and Junius likes sitting near the counter to munch a bag of chips while we wait -- a small treat that goes a long way.

My father-in-law was a retail pharmacist for more than 40 years, and he sets a high standard for me in how I expect to be treated at the pharmacy. These days it's easy to drive through whatever Walgreens/Rite-Aid/CVS/Kerr drug store is on the nearest corner and never actually see your pharmacist.

But at Hayes-Barton Pharmacy, it's worth the walk inside to meet the pharmacists and assistants, to wander the small aisles and have someone know us by name. I figure they are as important to my children's health as their pediatricians -- and goodness knows we spend plenty of time in that office, too.

When she's not busy administering amoxicillin and augmentin, Cyndi can be found writing at Junius & Pippi Take the Cake.

Favorites at the Farmer's Market

One of my favorite things about living in Raleigh is having easy access to the State Farmer's Market. Lots of communities have local markets, but the one here is big and open seven days a week. You can find all sorts of things there, from flowers to fruit to framing to flags, and everything inbetween (whatever that might be).

I like to go on Sunday mornings after church -- it's not too crowded yet, although not all the vendors are open then either. If you've got time to spend, you can shop for veggies, wander through the crafts and then eat at one of the restaurants (our favorite is the seafood market -- get the shrimp sandwich and a side of fries).

The Farmer's Market is great year-round (and not just for pumpkins and Christmas trees), but here are five of my favorite foods you can get now (or at least soon):

   1. Strawberries -- Go ahead and buy the big basket. Eat some now (yogurt and granola, anyone?) and freeze some for later (perfect in smoothies).
   2. Peach salsa -- They also sell pineapple salsa and other tasty flavors, but the peach is the best and it's not too spicy.
   3. Sweet potatoes -- The state vegetable (what? you didn't know?) is so much better here than in stores. Wonderful flavor and beautiful orange color.
   4. Collards -- Good for you and taste good, too. Just don't boil them into oblivion. Slice them into strips with a little salt, water and olive oil, and cook until they're not crunchy but not soggy either (about 20 minutes).
   5. Peaches -- Not in yet, but they are oh-so-yummy. Ask for samples, but be sure to bring the wipes with you. You and your kids will be sticky.

Crossposted at Junius & Pippi Take the Cake, where you can find five of Cyndi's favorites every Friday.

Linger on the Sidewalk

Last Friday, I had coffee with a lady who became a friend through motherhood. You know, someone who is an acquaintance becomes a first time mom, and all of the sudden you have loads more in common. Motherhood, the great equalizer.

We met at The Morning Times in downtown Raleigh. I circled around Moore Square (twice) trying to find some street parking. There was some, but I was on the opposite side of the street from it. Both times. Parking in downtown Raleigh isn't impossible, but it also isn't easy.

After giving in and entering the parking deck off Wilmington Street, I found a spot on the seventh level and loaded Little Bird up in the Babyhawk. I called out for the woman in the elevator to please hold it, and jogged over to jump in with her. She was on her way to the courthouse, but didn't know where it was. I showed her how level three was actually street level and walked her down to where she could see how to get to Fayetteville Street Mall.

I am at home downtown. Having worked next door to the courthouse for six years, I know my way around well, and actually miss being there. I miss lunch at The Mecca, takeout from The Square Rabbit. I miss the man who lived at Sir Walter Raleigh and would walk his tiny terrier up and down the mall. I miss sitting outside on a day like today to have lunch in the sunshine and watch the people go by.

It's different now, and yet totally the same. The RBC tower is huge and intimidating, but just a block down is Stitch where you can hand pick a Holly Aiken bag of your very own. She left the lettering on the windows that says "Ladies Shop" from when it used to be a clothing boutique full of your Sunday best with hats included. A true Deep South downtown, the juxtoposition of the local art on one square and the huge commerce on the next square is still there.

It is what makes me feel at home.

As I weaved my way through the streets to the coffeeshop, with my baby strapped to me, it was all so close to me. I could have just as easily have been wearing a suit and heels as I could be wearing that toddler. It wasn't that long ago, and yet it was another lifetime. Or more honestly, it was another phase.

Downtown for me right now is a place to eat, to play, to shop, and to dream. A stay at home mom's point of view of the big city that I still love, even if I don't work there anymore.

An original Triangle Mamas post. Marty can also be found at Don't Take the Repeats, and for those of you with shorter attention spans, follow her on Twitter.

Breastfeeding Cafe

Although something about the name makes me giggle, there's a cool new thing going on in Wake County. La Leche League will be hosting a breastfeeding cafe every Friday at the Itsy Bitsy Baby Spa in Cary. Here are the details:

"Announcing the brand new LLL Breastfeeding Caf�Drop in any Friday at

lunch to have all your breastfeeding questions answered at no cost by

La Leche League breastfeeding counselors. All women are welcome, with

or without your babies and pregnant women are especially encouraged to

attend. Please feel free to bring your lunch.



What: an informal drop-in meeting where breastfeeding questions can be

answered and women can meet other breastfeeding moms. Feel free to

bring your lunch, or purchase something at Panera Bread next door.



When: every Friday 12:00 noon to 1:30 p.m.



Where: Itsy Bitsy Baby Spa, 1055 Darrington Dr., Cary (at the

intersection of James Jackson and Cary Parkway, next to Panera Bread)



Who: Pregnant women, breastfeeding women, any women with breastfeeding

questions, and babies.



Cost: Free!"

My experience with La Leche League has been mostly positive once I found the Raleigh Downtown group. The first group I attended, I went for five months, missed a meeting and then returned to be asked if I had ever been there before. Of course that was better than when I went last week for what would have been my 10th or 11th meeting - I've lost count - and no one was there. They dissolved the group, but apparently I didn't make the cut to be notified. Nice.

Still though, I think the informal setting of lunch and the possibility of one on one help is a great idea. It was too overwhelming for me to ask questions and get help in the group setting the first time I attended.

There is also a new toddler group in Wake County. If you are a breastfeeding mama of a toddler who is one year old or older, you are welcome to join a cool group of moms who promise not to ask, "So how long are you going to do that?" The group meets every fourth Monday at 10:30 AM at the Unitarian Church on Wade Avenue in Raleigh.

All meeting details can be found on the La Leche League website.

One Little Sheep

There is a story in the Bible about a shepherd with 100 sheep. One
night, he is putting all of the sheep back in their pen and only counts
99 of them. He secures the 99 sheep and then goes to search high and
low for the one missing sheep.

My heart hurts today for that one missing sheep.

Some of you know that I used to be the executive director for a
non-profit music school for children from low-income families. Hundreds
of children who were considered "at-risk" youth came through the school
while I worked there, and for the most part, I have all of these warm
fuzzy feelings about success stories. Children who decided to go to
college. Children who earned places in the premier youth orchestra here
in town. Children who got music scholarships to college. A clarinetist
who ended up the top player in the state and is now at Harvard.
Children who I when I bump into them, still give me a hug and have
something good to say about their experience at the school.

Funding was granted because of our successes and our mission. Who could say
no to giving music lessons and instruments to at-risk youth? Even the
White House thought the program was super and in 2004 I took one of our
students there to accept a Coming Up Taller Award from Laura Bush. I was proud of the work we did and the families we helped.

This morning, I turned on the news and saw the other side of the coin.

About
six years ago, there was a little boy who had all the cards stacked
against him. He was withdrawn. His mother got him to lessons late if
she
got him there at all. He was unresponsive with his teacher, although he
really really wanted to learn to play. He was 10 years old with a
tough guy attitude already trapping him behind a thick defensive wall.
When his lessons were over though, he would come see me while he waited
for his mother who often had to be called long after his lesson was
over and told to come pick him up. We would talk, rather, I would talk
and he would give
me one word answers and at least one smile every week. He was the kind
of boy that I knew had it in him to do great things, but had no support
system. I fought like crazy to keep him in the program. Convinced his
teacher weekly to be patient with him, rode his mother to get him there
and get him there on time, and skirted around the attendance rules so
that he wouldn't be kicked out. By the time he was 13, he disappeared.
Phone disconnected, mail returned. Lost from our radar.

Last night he was arrested for murder. He's 16 years old.

It
breaks my heart. It reminds me to look at the kids who
get into trouble with the law and remember that at some point, somebody
believed in them. It reminds me that most of the time, these are kids
who had insurmountable issues at home, if they even had a home. Sure,
they made their own choices and have to answer for them, but somewhere
along the way, he was let down by the people who should have done right
by him.

When I saw his mugshot on the news, I didn't see a murderer. I saw the
little boy who never lost his drumsticks and always wanted to have his
lesson even when his ride dropped him off so late that the next student
had already started.

This little boy had potential to succeed, and the adults in his life
failed him. Then he failed himself. I'm just so sad. I wish that I had
tried harder to find this one sheep and keep him with us. Keep him in a
program where he could learn self respect, good self esteem, and self
discipline.

The 99 continue to make it worth all the work, but my heart is broken today for the one little sheep.

Cross posted at Don't Take the Repeats.

When the World Stops for a Day

If you've come here from the North, you might say that the Triangle doesn't get much snow. If you've come here from the Deep South, then you have seen the biggest snows of your life here. No matter where you were before you lived in North Carolina, one thing is always amazing about the snow.

It stops everything. School, work, errands, meetings, whatever, are all put on hold while we gather our bread, batteries, and milk and snuggle in to watch the snow fall. Then, we all bundle up the family in snow gear likely only used once or twice, and we go outside to play.

Snow days are my favorite days.

From Triangle Mamas to you, Happy Snow Day!

Marty and her family

 

Abby and her family:

Nikki and her family:

An original Triangle Mamas post.

Rookie Parenting

Little Bird, my Christopher, is almost one. At the end of this month, we will stop counting months and start counting years. It has gone by quickly.

He has learned so much over the past year. When I think back on that helpless lump baby that had terrible gas and a difficult time nursing, I am in awe of how he will now just cruise on over and latch himself on without a care in the world. I am in awe of his motor skills and his communication skills. I am in awe of his reasoning ability. He has learned so much.

Me, on the other hand? I still feel like a complete novice.

My friend Boo is pregnant, due in February. I find myself wanting to preface anything I tell her with, "This is what worked for us sometimes," or "You probably want to get some other opinions on this," or "Watch out because my child is lucky I haven't completely ruined him by now."

Little Bird is confident. He stands up and looks around for the very next challenge to tackle. He doesn't look back, and when he falls, he gets right back up again.

I'm thinking he gets that from his dad, because it seems as though I'm never going to quit feeling like a rookie.

An original Triangle Mamas post. Marty also shares her ignorance on the matter at Don't Take the Repeats and Deep South Moms.