December

New Year’s Resolutions for 2008: Get bathing-suit ready by springtime. Eat less bread and chocolate. When running errands, park minivan at farthest point away in lot and power-walk to door, strengthening biceps by dragging along protesting kids. Practice rhythmically clenching stomach muscles in line at supermarket while reading about Brangelina in tabloids.

Diary entry on 9:01 a.m. on January 1, 2008: Exhausted from long trudge to door of Whole Foods. Buy dark-chocolate bar (organic, though) to revive oneself. Whole Foods has no tabloids! How can this be? Buy dark-chocolate bar to console oneself.

How can it be springtime already?

My bathing suits have somehow all shrunk during their long winter hibernation. Time to whip myself into shape. Time for a diet.

One of the things I have learned from my involvement with the DC Urban Moms and Dads Mailing List and website is that parenting is a great equalizer. Individuals of all socioeconomic, racial, religious, and ethnic backgrounds deal with similar issues. Loss of sleep, anxiety about a baby's health, uncertainty about parenting choices, and the joy created by a baby's smile are not bound by any of the lines we often draw across our society.

I was reminded of this by reports that Lynne Spears's parenting book has been "delayed indefinitely". Lynne, of course, is the mother of Britney Spears. The book's delay cames amidst the news that Britney's 16-year-old sister, Jamie, is pregnant. The idea that Lynne Spears should have been given the opportunity to author a parenting book was greeted with derision by many. "[J]ust change the title to Raising Skanks the Spears Way" crowed one of my favorite bloggers. "[O]ne can't help wondering who was the genius who contracted the sisters' mother..." opined the Philadelphia Inquirer. My own first reaction — once I figured out who Lynne and Jamie Spears were — was also that Lynne might have been a poor choice for a parenting advice. But then I thought about it further.

I have a secret fantasy (no, not that one, you perverts). It’s this: Sometimes I dream about being one of those women in a J. Crew catalogue – you know, the kind who glides around with a sleek Golden Retriever at her heels, tossing a football to her sons (who are clad in crisp matching Oxford shirts) before retreating to the serenity of her living room, where glossy magazines arc across a gleaming coffee table.

Here’s the sad truth: My coffee table usually holds a few crumpled newspapers with half-finished Sudokus, a mug of coffee that’s so old even the flies turn up their noses at it, and a random, linty sock. It’s often one of the neater areas of my home.

I put the blame for this, like most things that have gone wrong in my life, squarely on the shoulders of my own parents. Once I helped my mother clear out her bedroom. Halfway through a tower of papers, I discovered a book entitled “Lighten Up! Free Yourself From Clutter.” We laughed merrily – oh, the delicious irony! – until, another foot or so down, when I unearthed the identical book.

I'd like to address an issue that was raised last month on the DC Urban Moms forums.  It began with a poster who was upset that her Jewish inlaws would not acknowledge Christmas or answer their grandson's questions about the holiday despite the fact that the poster and her husband had decided to raise their son in the Catholic faith.

As someone who was raised as a relatively religious Jew, my initial instinct was to side with the inlaws.  I posted a response saying that while I was not trying to condone hurtful behavior by the grandparents, some people (like me) feel very left out during the holiday season.  The ensuing dialogue on the forum  made me think more about my feelings on this issue, and led to a conversation with my husband about how to deal with the holidays when our newborn son becomes old enough to know what's going on.