A few weeks ago, my neighbor's infant daughter had an allergic reaction of unknown origin. She landed in the ER with hives and swelling, and my neighbors felt worried and overwhelmed. Understandably so. Raising a child with serious or potentially life-threatening allergies adds an extra layer of unpredictability and fear to parenthood. It's like having unmarked landmines in your back yard, and telling your kid to go outside and play. Your mission, should you choose to accept it. It's been almost six years since my son was diagnosed with food allergies to virtually all tree nuts, peanuts (FYI, peanuts don't grow on trees and aren't actually nuts), and sesame seeds. Thankfully we've never endured a second allergic reaction, but we're always ready just in case. This is how we manage his food allergies: Always carry emergency epinephrine When he was 10 months old, I gave my son some peanut butter and he developed a mild case of hives. Our pediatrici...

It turns out there's not a lot of logic involved in parenting. There's bravado, confusion, joy, and exhaustion, but very little logic. Sometimes I hear the words coming out of my mouth and think, "WTF did I just say?" I'm not sure what else I expected. After all, children are snack terrorists who have no filter and feel everything at 11. If it pops into their little brains, they do it. Or somebody does it. Because both of my children disavow all knowledge of the majority of the things that happen around here. So I began compiling a running list of Things I Never Thought I'd Have to Say. Things that make me shake my head and deepen that wrinkle between my eyebrows. Things that make me wonder if there's something wrong with me, with them, or both. In the early years, it was mostly about things that shouldn't be in the mouth. Please don't lick the dog. Please don't lick the trashcan. Stop letting the dog lick your tongue. We don...

This is for those people like me, who find Christmas neither holly nor jolly. To those for whom the season means staggering around under the weight of even more responsibilities while carrying a plateful of forced merriment...I get you. To those feeling clouded by disappointment or tearful memories of Christmas past; to those aching with loneliness for loved ones who are gone or were never really here...I'm with you. If you tire of being told to "remember the reason for the season!" when the very hate that savior preached against grows hourly in our world...I know how you feel. If visits to Santa Claus and trips on the Polar Express remind you of the lies we tell our children in hopes they won't grow up so fast; if you grieve for how long it's been since you believed...your melancholy sighs are mine too. If you can't suffer any more days of going to work in the dark and coming home in the dark; if the cold eats at your bones no matter how warm you a...

It's been just over two years since we made the heart-wrenching decision to withdraw our son  two weeks into his second year in a preschool program. They had declared him "atypical of his peers," insisted on having him evaluated despite advice to the contrary from his doctor and a former school psychologist, and told us they didn't have the services he needed (before knowing or caring what his actual needs were). Two years ago I was beside myself with outrage, displeasure, and anxiety. I knew we needed to get him out of there and onto a different path, even if I didn't know which direction to go. My job was merely to do the next right thing, one thing at a time, until we found where we were supposed to be. A banana and an orange are different, but both grow from flowers. The best choice we have made for our son was rejecting the school's pushes to have him labeled at such a young age, and enrolling him in a Montessori setting where he could blossom i...

The baby gates are long gone. The booster seat is gathering dust in the basement. And I just folded my last Winnie the Pooh sheet. After nearly seven years of familiarity, I solemnly packed away the classic Pooh sheets that each of my children slept on - first high in their cribs, then in low toddler beds. The sheets they must have stared at for hours waiting for sleep to come, the ones with simple E. H. Shepard sketches of Hundred Acre Wood residents playing together happily. My son was stripped of his Pooh decor when his sister came. Now almost 4, she too has moved into a "big girl bed" that no longer warrants (or fits) her baby items. My boy's walls are covered in super heroes now, and my daughter has graduated to butterflies and flowers. With a bit of sadness I didn't expect, I gently placed our A.A. Milne friends into a cardboard box. First the sheets. Then the best friends Pooh and Piglet artwork and embroidered wall hangings came down. Next into the box w...

Me: *clicks new message icon" "Hello again, Karen. I hope things are going well for you. Our giveaway contest is going extremely well. Thanks again for helping get that set up. I'm reaching out for two reasons" 3yo, in the living room: Momma! Me, from the office: What? 3yo: The dog won't stop licking me Me, yelling: Chappy, STOP LICKING HER "After this current lickaway"  backspace  " giveaway is over, we're going to run a second one for Q4" 3yo, suddenly in office: Momma! Me, startled: ACK. What? 3yo *hands me a lavender ball of tulle and fake velvet*: Will you put on my princess dress Me: Okay, but then you have to go have quiet time so Momma can work *struggles to find dress's neck hole, which won't fit over child's head because she's trying to put her head and arms through the neck hole at the same time while also holding her dolly* 3yo, muffled: Ma dis dresh doeshnt fet Me: *forces head t...

Andy Williams had it all wrong . Thanksgiving is the most wonderful time of the year. Unless you're a turkey. As a poor kid growing up in rural Southeast Texas , Christmas was hard. While my parents fought over the "right" way to string lights on an anemic artificial tree, our seven television stations broadcast non-stop messages of unaffordable presents and unattainable family happiness. Toys R Us burst with more games, more toys, oh boy. Homes dripped with decorations and lights. Everyone was happy and nothing ever went wrong (except for that time Kevin got left home alone). Even the long-distance phone commercials were sappy and soaked with the kind of togetherness my parents -- mostly estranged from their own families in the Midwest -- didn't long for. I couldn't relate to most of what surrounded me. Walking the tightrope that is the poverty line, my family wavered on and off of traditional welfare. The government provided cash benefits back then for ...