To Vaccinate or Not to Vaccinate?

If you think the only question being argued is "to vaccinate or not to vaccinate," you're mistaken. In fact, there are a number of questions being raised; those about a parent's right to choose what's right for her child, those about informed consent and those about the ethics of government-mandated vaccination programs.

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I'm a Twittering Idiot (or just an idiot?)

Okay, so I finally did it. I broke down and joined Twitter. (follow me? please? It's lonely...) I've whined and resisted, both privately and publicly on my About.com site about my fear of Twitter and other social networking sites, but have decided it's a necessity.

The problem is this: I'm a Twittering idiot. Yes, it makes for a good pun--two of them actually since with a last name like Morin I can easily also become a Twittering Morin as opposed to moron--but it's also true. I have NO IDEA how to use the blasted site!

How do I get people to follow me? Can I invite them the same way I can on LinkedIn? What kinds of updates am I supposed to post and when?

Is there a Dumb-Dumb's Guide to Twitter out there?

Call For Parenting Stories: Are you a Professional Parent?

I am looking to have conversations with parents or hear anecdotes of child-rearing in our increasingly child-oriented society.

There are more and more professional parents out there. Not parents who happen to be professionals, too, but professional parents. Women (primarily) whose life's ambition is to be the "best" mother and have the "best" kids who have the "right" friends, participate in the "best" activities and have perfectly planned lives.

I've had a variety of conversations with professionals around the concepts of this type of child-centered parenting. Dr. Alvin Rosenfeld calls it "hyper-parenting," Dr. Aaron Cooper calls it "The Happiness Creed," and Dr. Jean Ilsley Clarke calls it "overindulgence." Whatever you call this phenomenon, I'm putting together an in-depth work regarding it, how it's affecting children's resiliency and, to a degree, their ability to become integrated members of society as they come into adulthood.

But more than that, I want to know how it's affecting parents:

• Is their happiness scarified?
• Or are parents finding happiness as a professional parent?
• What happens to the parent who eschews the idea that her job is to put her child first at all cost?

I want to know what people think of the prevailing attitude that no child is average, that all children can excel at anything they set their mind to and that it's a parent's responsibility to provide the opportunity to explore as many activities as possible? Have parents found this to be encouraging to their children or have some children been overwhelmed by this vast array of choices?

Please know that all replies will be held in confidence, will not be shared and will not be used without your permission. I will be happy to provide links to articles I have written about parenting to anyone who requests them.

Please contact Amanda at: myparentingstory@gmail.com

Note: This request for information and any details contained herein are considered to be property of the requester. This document, whether in its entirety or excerpts therein may not be re-distributed without permission.

Treating "Super Lice"

There have been numerous articles lately about a new, Nix-resistant strain of lice running rampant through schools. They're being called "super lice." It's really not a surprise that these buggers are resisting the chemical products; like any other vermin (including microscopic ones: think MRSA) lice will adapt to survive.

However, there are remedies that work, as I found out last year when my middle-schooler contracted lice for the first time ever. Was I grossed out? Sure, incredibly so. But, the shampoos didn't work. What did? An old-fashioned remedy suggested by the school nurse. Olive oil.

Makes sense, I suppose. Lice have been around since the biblicial times and they didn't have pesticides and pediculide-containing products back then.

Here's what worked for us:

• Saturate your child's dry hair and scalp with olive oil.

• Pile her hair on top of her head and cover with a shower cap, which you should leave on no less than 3 hours and up to 8 hours. The longer you leave the cap on, the better.

• Position a chair near a bright light and have a bowl of warm, soapy water to have nearby. You'll need it to swish the lice comb between combings.

• Remove the shower cap and separate hair into four sections. We found using bobby pins to separate each of those sections into 1- to 2-inch locks of hair was helpful. (Twist each lock like a rope so you can loop the "rope" over and pin it to the scalp once it's been combed)

• Use a metal lice comb to comb each section of hair. Hold the lock out straight and comb from the scalp to the end of the hair. Swish the comb in the soapy water to remove any dead lice or nits and keep going until all the hair has been combed.

• Wash hair with dish detergent to remove the olive oil, without wetting it first. Then shampoo with regular shampoo.

• Dry with a hair dryer, starting at the scalp and working outward. The heat of the hair dryer will help to kill any remaining lice and blow away some of the empty nit casings. Then use the lice comb one more time.

• Most importantly, repeat very 3 to 4 days for at least 2 weeks. It's the only way to make sure you've caught all the lice.

Good luck! And know this is not a cleanliness issue, nor anything to be ashamed of.

Pondering Mad Genius: The Beyonds of Life

Since I heard the news of David Foster Wallace's death, I've been thinking a lot about the connection between creativity and mental illness or the "mad genius" by which it is so often referred. It makes me wonder about the "beyonds of my life."

Most days I am fine. Well, that’s probably an exaggeration. Most days I am okay. I function well as a professional, as a mother and as a wife. Those are the good days, the days I don’t have to actually think about propelling myself forward.

But other days are harder. Those are the days when I wake up dreading the day, not certain how I am going to slog my way through the sludgy tiredness of my own mind. Those are the days I resort to living I hours, minutes, even seconds sometimes.

If I can make it to lunch I will be halfway there, I tell myself. Or, if the mind-numbing, limb-deadening, inexplicable sadness is just unbearable: just the shower, just stand up and take a shower, I promise myself. Of course, somewhere in my foggy mind I know there will always be something I have to face beyond the shower, beyond lunch, beyond…the beyonds of my life never seem to end.

One such day sticks in my mind and knifes in my heart. Well, maybe not so much a day as an episode. A paralyzing episode of sadness and despair so deep and mysterious that I find myself propped on the floor of my daughter’s bedroom, my back to her bed, tears leaking from my eyes.

Mama, are you sad? She asks me.

Yes. Sad. I can barely form the words on my weary lips.

Why?

I don’t know. No reason really. It’s not you or your brother. It’s nothing, my body, my brain…Faltering, not sure how to explain further.

Mama, did you take your medicine today? asks my wise, then not-yet-nine-years old daughter.

Medicine. A lifetime of daily doses of antidepressants, mood stabilizers and anti-anxiety pills that work fine most of the time. Medicine that I explain to my daughter and later on, perhaps, to my son, as providing my body with chemicals which my brain does not do on its own. A simplistic and perhaps inaccurate explanation. It is the best I can do.

Medicine that, unlike generations before me, I do not have to hide in shame, do not have to, in fact, should not, explain away as nothing to my children. Because, although I hope against hope that my children escape this legacy, it is very possible that they, too, may need to take such medicine for this disease. Bipolar disease, my genetic legacy.

If I cannot avoid passing this disease on to them I have vowed that I can at least be vigilant in recognizing its earliest tentacles taking hold. I watch my daughter, holding my breath with every mood swing, my ears perking up at the smallest suggestion that she finds her body image unacceptable. Is she okay? I wonder, Is this normal? Should I worry?

Building Generational Bonds

Grandma and Grandpa, Grammy and Grampy, Mimi and Poppa ... Whatever your kids call their grandparents, they probably know that these people are Mom and Dad's parents. But do they know that they're people with interests of their own, with histories and great stories to tell?

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The Art of Apology

"But I didn't mean to do it" or "she did it first." How many times have you heard your child say these words? Probably too many times to count. You've probably even followed up with your own insistent words: "Say you're sorry!"

Apology really is an art and like any other art form, good training is needed. Many adults aren't able to apologize. They hedge, they mumble, they try to say "sorry" with actions instead of words. Should we expect anything more from our children? Yes. We should.

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