ML Interest Tag: throat

5 Children’s Books That Illustrate the Importance of Friendship

By Jon Hoefer

I reflect fondly on the nights reading bedtime stories with my two boys. I loved watching them scurry and giggle in their pajamas as I asked them to go pick out two or three of their favorite books from their bookshelf. Looking back, the stories that I loved reading the most were the ones which initiated a conversation that ultimately lasted longer than reading the book itself.

With that in mind, here are five children’s books (some old, some new), that touch on the importance of friendship and love and can easily spark an interesting discussion between a parent and child:

1. The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein: 
This Shel Silverstein classic focuses on the relationship that develops between a tall tree and a young boy. With simple words and black-line illustrations, Silverstein quickly draws the reader in as a believer of this unconventional friendship. It’s a warm and wonderful story, yet it is quite sad on some levels. The tree is so giving and loves the boy unconditionally. The boy takes what he is able to from this generous tree throughout his entire life. But who is happiest at the end: the individual who gives or the one that takes? It’s truly open to interpretation, which makes for a nice conversation. Parents and kids can talk about the importance of giving, equally weighted friendships, and the benefits of showing appreciation.

2. Love You Forever by Robert Munsch:
Our copy of Love You Forever is probably the most tattered of all our children’s books. Maybe it’s the colorful illustrations or the repetitive rhyming chorus, but it is a story that can be read over and over again. It is a confirmation of the heart-felt relationship parents have with their children and vice-versa. Life can be funny and each stage has a way of being awkward or self-serving, especially when we are kids. The text taps into how parents both “love” and “like” their kids, which in itself is a good conversation topic. The lump-in-the-throat moment is at the end of the book, when he rocks his mother, and then introduces the song to his infant daughter. After reading the book—plan on singing the song together, be prepared to talk about family dynamics, the concept of growing older, and how love (and like) endures the circle of life.

3. Avery’s Gift by Jonathan Hoefer: 
Waking up in a dream-like setting, and discovering that she has lost all of her colors, Avery goes on a quest to find them with a new friend, Dalton. Though the story of Avery’s Gift is inspired by a heavier topic, this modern fable can be used to discuss the importance of love and friendship. After reading the story, parents can discuss the feeling of being lost or “colorless.” The journey within the story not only shows the importance of being open to making new friends, it also demonstrates how being generous and kind can bring “colors” into another person’s life. This book contains many metaphors of love and loss, with the opportunity for dialog to run deeper if the parent so chooses.

4. The Sandwich Swap by Kelly DiPucchio:
Friendships are built on strong foundations, especially in grade school. Forming true friendships is a wonderful process, though sometimes challenging. Through our formative years, we are introduced to many people with different families, backgrounds, and cultures. As simple as showing the oddities of a hummus sandwich and a PB&J, The Sandwich Swap embraces the beauty of friendship by appreciating the differences we all possess, not just recognizing what we have in common. In today’s climate, it is nice to point out what makes us unique and how these individual qualities can be the building blocks for a solid and true friendship. Let this book spark a conversation with your children about what makes them unique and what interesting aspects of their culture or heritage would they want to share with a new friend? What food do you serve as a family that could be viewed as odd to another person?

5. The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams:
The Velveteen Rabbit is a classic tale of friendship, love, and becoming Real. The version illustrated by Don Daily is especially intricate and mesmerizing. There are so many life lessons that can be found inside this iconic story, but an interesting thing to point out is that the letter “R” is capitalized whenever the author uses the word ‘Real.’ The reason? According to the author, being Real is a very big deal, and worthy of its capitalization! The rabbit searched for friendship and love, and he found all of this with the boy who cherished him. This love created an abundance of self-worth in the rabbit, ultimately allowing him to become Real. Ask your young reader how the book made them feel? Does your child have a favorite stuffed animal? What would it be like if they loved it so much – it became Real? Do they ever feel like the velveteen rabbit? Use this book as an opportunity to tell your young reader how much you love them – it can make a real difference.

Children’s books are full of beautiful imagery and wonderful words. But, I find, some of the most intriguing words come from the minds of young readers sharing their thoughts about what was just read. Feel free to create your own prompts after reading your child’s favorite book and wait for their response. It might just be the best story you’ve heard all day.

RELATED:
5 Friends We All Need In Our Lives
Why You Need to Make Time for Friendships

Jonathan Hoefer is an author, illustrator, and art director that has been involved in the printing and publishing industry for over 20 years. His new book, Avery's Gift, is available now.

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Failure to Thrive

By Cheryl Gottlieb Boxer

Photo: Cheryl Gottlieb Boxer

Recently I was going through some old papers in an effort to tidy up, and I came across a page from my son’s infant feeding log. This piece of paper was 22 years old, but seeing it still felt like a punch to my stomach.

Born six weeks early after a harrowing pregnancy, our son’s earliest days and weeks were filled with sadness, anxiety and desperation.

We literally fed that child around the clock, yet he would not gain weight. We tried breastfeeding, then formula feeding, then a variety of foul-smelling predigested formulas. Every ounce consumed was carefully logged. Everything that exited his body was meticulously noted.

There were doctor’s appointments, specialist referrals, blood tests and x-rays. I’d feed him before each weigh-in at the pediatrician’s office, and pray he wouldn’t poop just so he’d be an ounce or two heavier than he was the week before.

That scale became my greatest foe, and I hated it with a passion.

Yet nothing we did worked, and our son’s weight continued to falter. Until all we were left with was a hospital admission, and three ugly words: “Failure to Thrive.”

“Failure to Thrive” is a cruel diagnosis. It felt as much like a condemnation of my mothering as it was evident that something was wrong with my child. He was the one not meeting the goals on the growth chart, but I felt like the one who was not measuring up.

Well, all I can say is twenty-two years later, those dark days are a distant memory. That diagnosis did not define me as a mother, and it most certainly did not define my son.

Twenty-two years later, he is living his best life and is most assuredly not failing at thriving.

Twenty-two years later, “failure to thrive” is a boosted board-riding, roller coaster-loving, wants to jump from an airplane one day, thrill-seeking adventurer, who keeps his mom on her toes and her heart in her throat.

Twenty-two years later, “failure to thrive” is a deep voice and an even deeper soul who plays “Livin’ on a Prayer” on his guitar just because his mom loves it and sings on stage and loves the crowd and belts out a tune slightly off-key.

Twenty-two years later, “failure to thrive” is a meat-loving, raw fish-consuming, midnight snacker who wakes up in the morning and asks “What’s for dinner?”

Twenty-two years later, “failure to thrive” is a heart of gold who loves his grandma and teaches senior citizens how to use technology and plays with babies and is loved by ALL the dogs.

Twenty-two years later, “failure to thrive” offers the strongest hugs that lift me off my feet and melt my heart and make a mom wish this moment could last forever.

Twenty-two years later, “failure to thrive” is a college student too far away, missed by his sister and adored by his parents, finding his way, making the grade, reimagining the world, leaping with faith.

Thriving.

This post originally appeared on No Sick Days For Mom.
Feature image via iStock
Cheryl Gottlieb Boxer
Tinybeans Voices Contributor

Cheryl is the creator of the popular blog, No Sick Days For Mom, where she offers encouragement and support to moms muddling through marriage, motherhood, chronic illness and the empty nest. Cheryl resides in New Jersey where she micromanages her tolerant husband, her geriatric cockapoo and her two mostly grown children. 

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Dear Moms, Nannies Feel What You Feel

By Jada Rashawn

It’s a massive fear for any nanny: working while the parents are still in the house. But that’s what the pandemic has served up for most of us. Everyone within the same four walls. All the time. To say that I was extremely grateful to still have my new job is a fantastic understatement—but we (yes we: me, the parents, and the kids) were all about to undergo the biggest get-to-know-you test. Ever.

All I can do is all I can do.

The initial anxiety caught in my throat: every word, every choice I made with the kids was available to be observed. I’m confident in the work I do with children, but the thought of someone looking over my shoulder every minute made me unnecessarily question almost a decade of experience. (Why?!) Once I got past the feeling of trying to impress the parents by overtly demonstrating that I could do my job, what unfolded among us all has been a fresh lesson on something I preach as the most important thing for the parent/nanny relationship. Effective communication.

The silver lining to spending more time around your mom and dad bosses…is that you get to spend more time with your mom and dad bosses. Here’s what I mean. Pre-pandemic, the nanny and the parents are simply relay runners handing off the baton. We’re working towards the same goal, but we’re doing it separately. There’s not much time for real connection. For real teamwork.

Sure, we have our regularly scheduled check-ins to ensure we discuss what’s going on with the kids and if we need to adjust any schedules or address any behavioral issues. But the quality of time we had to connect as adults was limited. It’s the dedicated time that allows us to share how that tantrum the other day is still weighing on our hearts, or how a conversation with a friend is making us question everything lately. Over time that type of connection gets built, but with all of us in the same house, it blossomed much more quickly and deeply.

And it makes sense why.

We were IN IT. Together. In real-time. Especially with my mom boss, we sorted through the scientific guidelines and best practices to keep the kids and ourselves safe. We outfitted the house with spaces for the kids to learn and the parents to work. We set up new technology systems to make everything flow easier.

All while we each sorted through our own individual emotions after having all plans thrown out a window and our greatest fears challenged: will we and those we love be ok? You know, simple stuff.

So what did “effective communication” mean for us? It meant listening to each other. Like, REALLY LISTENING to feelings, fears, questions, and concerns. And what we discovered was that in so many ways, my mom boss and I have the same thought process.

The guilt that drives her to always know and feel the need to be a MOM (even when there’s someone there to help), that makes her feel like there’s always something more she could/should be doing, that doesn’t allow her to be “off” when she’s off.

As the nanny, I feel every single one of those things too. 

I’m thinking and worrying about the kids when I’m not on the clock, I find it difficult to accept a break when given one because I worry I haven’t done enough to earn one. I’m constantly nervous that I’m not living up to expectations or what the kids need me to be.

The commonality here is that we’re both carrying an unnecessary burden that we’ve placed on ourselves. It’s only the voices in our heads that are telling us we aren’t enough. One person can’t do it all—obviously—that’s why we’re a team.

You know how in most sports movies the team is filled with talented players who all have something to offer, but they still keep coming up short? The inspirational montage that typically follows involves them spending time to get to know each other—both in practice and in real life. It’s the time spent understanding how each teammate thinks and feels that allows everyone to support and encourage them to be their best selves and helps the team gel and work as one.

The work-from-home experience of the pandemic has provided the opportunity for me and my parent bosses to have our team-building montage much sooner and more quickly than a pre-pandemic experience. But the question is, once things are “back to normal,” how do parents and caregivers continue to connect in this way?

In thinking about the eventual next new family I’ll be working with, there are few things that I’ll be prioritizing even more. The first is a special kind of “first day of work.” Instead of only having an extra 30-60 minutes to transition things at the beginning of my first day of work, I’m going to coordinate a family experience in which we’re all just spending time together and having fun. This could be a group outing to the zoo, an evening of playing board games, or sitting around a fire pit making s’mores. It’s important that we start our relationship off on a personal foot

The next thing I’m going to prioritize is quality time with my mom boss. Whether this is staying for an hour after she gets home to have a glass of wine together, or coordinating with dad so we can spend an afternoon away together. Life is too short for us to silently process through the same struggles alone.

If there’s anyone that can truly relate to my struggles in caring for kids, it’s their mom. If there’s anyone that can truly relate to her womanhood and raising kids, it’s me. And when we’re at that level of understanding, we can better support each other by reminding ourselves that: All I can do is all I can do.

This post originally appeared on Sittercity.com.

For the past 11 years I’ve grown a career in the professional Nanny industry helping successful families thrive in the home and in the office by holding down the fort managing all things relative to their children.

My mission is to help others live a life of less stress and more joy by finding valuable products and resources for parents that help them achieve that very thing.

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Miscarriage: A Story of Hope

By Krissy Dieruf

 

Snow fell outside the hospital room window while my husband clasped my hand, and I worked to deliver our third child, a baby boy. The baby’s heart had stopped beating inside my body in the middle of the night, a pool of red blood, our signal that something was wrong. We had waited silently for hours for him to be born, 15 weeks old, unbreathing. When he finally arrived, tearing our hearts in half with his silent stillness, we held his tiny two-inch body in a gift box cradle, wrapped in a hand-knit sleeping bag the size of my palm, and cried.

Months later, in the spring, I wondered sometimes, was he ever really here? Or was the whole winter a horrible dream?

But that winter was real. It left its mark on me. It was so cold it burned me up, crept deep under my skin, my veins, my bones, filling every inch of me with a feeling that started with a sting and ended in numbness. But even that is not true. I only wished to be numb to get a break from the sharp points of the pain. That winter is over now, but remnants of snow and ice still linger and always will.

I could call it frostbite if there had to be a name. A “destruction of tissues,” as the English dictionary states. God, that is so heartbreakingly accurate that the connection elicits a strangled sob from my throat as the icy reach of winter seizes me up again.

There are other reminders. Comments from a well-intentioned stranger, a picture on a screen, a new baby cradled nearby, breathing: all needle-sharp and stinging deep, practically drawing blood. If someone looked closely enough, they could see the red stains I work hard to keep beneath my skin.

Time passed in a blur. We seemed to be holding our breath until fall when I discovered I was pregnant again. Our fourth child, a whisper on my tongue, a hope in my heart, created an endless hunger and wrenching bloat, neither to be satisfied. Fatigue and excitement plagued me while looking down a narrow hallway of time. You would think the dark skies would glow with golden rays of light, and the world would blaze shiny and new with the truth that empty space could be filled again.

You would think.

And yet, all there existed was fear. A terror so deep I could not face it in the light. It could not live in the light, for it brought such blackness it covered everything. It looked like blood, and while I shook with the idea of it, I saw it everywhere.

My oldest son corrected me one day, my sweet tender boy who cried the hardest on the way home from the hospital after telling him our baby went to heaven. “I have three siblings, mom,” he said. My heart beamed and bent with the truth that one of those siblings was already dead, and one had not yet been born. And I never said it, but I thought, might never be born. I fought for every day to come as I never knew I had to fight before by doing nothing but arguing with my fears and convincing my hope it had a right to sing and a place to dance. Hope was the only thing to conquer fear. And fear could not prepare me for the winter anyway.

Then spring arrived. I found myself lost inside; certain I was dreaming because I feared it wouldn’t last. Uncertain if the promises it made with its bright lights and new colors, its flowery scents lingering on the warm breeze, pimpling my skin with goosebumps, were real. Or would they disappear when I opened my eyes? Desperate for something concrete, I embraced spring so hard it took my breath away. Keep going, I repeated like a mantra until the hot tightening and sharp squeezing in my abdomen grabbed hold of me and told me something good.

In the final seconds of my fourth labor, the doctor said, “quick, what’s your guess, girl or boy?” And maybe because our lost baby had been a boy, or perhaps because my husband and I were exhausted, or because all we cared about was that our child would be alive, we both yelled, “Boy.”

And he was. Alive. He kicked and screamed, covered in a white layer of paste. We cried and tried to convince ourselves it was not a dream. That like spring, the moment held promises we dared to believe. Promises not of perfection but existence. Of being. Cares and concerns of being what, or who vanished months ago with the frostbite of winter.

He wasn’t a dream.

Frostbite can leave a scar. It can turn flesh into a permanent reddish-white, burn bone to black. And yet, there is always spring. No matter how many times the winter returns, spring whispers low that soon it will surely follow.

Krissy Dieruf is a licensed marriage and family therapist. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and three children, loves to sing and dance around the house and has a soft spot for rebels and crazy hair. 

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Why I Parent from a Place of Love & Not Fear

By Razia Meer

 

Like many others before me, I became a mom not fully grasping the responsibility I was accepting. I knew I would be a loving parent, but I didn’t know that that would only entail half of it.

Next week will mark 3 years since my 7-day-old baby passed on, with tomorrow being his birthday. His life and death taught me more than all the other years of parenting my surviving children could possibly have given me.

After my son was diagnosed at 14 weeks in utero with congenital heart defects, I lived in a state of permanent panic. I worked, I cooked, I homeschooled my daughter, I went out, but the taste of fear was a constant in my throat, choking me.

The worst thing any expecting parent could have imagined came to pass with a 9 p.m. phone call telling me that my baby in the NICU was in distress. We raced over there immediately, but 45 minutes of trying to resuscitate him were all for naught.

Losing my last born son has not made me coddle my remaining two children. Surprisingly, it has given me more confidence as a mother. I know what it’s like to lose a child, and I no longer fear death.

My daughter started high school last year and my son graduates at the end of 2021 with hopes of pursuing a rather dangerous career of being a game ranger. And I am no longer the helicopter parent I once was.

When the worst imaginable thing has already happened, you realize quickly that nothing is in your control. And this leads to an inevitable shift in parenting st‌yles—at least it did for me!

Whereas before, I parented from a place of fear, worrying about bullying and hypothetical scenarios, overthinking all the things that could go wrong, and the amount of emotional trauma that children can be exposed to, now I don’t.

I still have moments of anxiety where I worry if my child made it safely through the school gates, but it’s no longer the type that causes paranoia or takes me to the school an hour early or makes me call the principal to check.

When parenting from a place of love, you see your children as separate, autonomous beings. They may lack maturity and experience, but they’re still whole human beings, not pieces of yourself. You can love them enough to let go.

And I know what you’re going to say, having children is like watching your heart walk around outside your body. Yes. Totally. But one of my external hearts has already left the building and I don’t want to smother the two that are left.

So here I am, parenting from a place of love, allowing them to grow into their own people with new dreams, hopes, and ambitions—stuff they didn’t get from us—and I refuse to be afraid anymore.

Razia Meer is a Managing Editor at women's magazine, AmoMama, and a mother of two teens and an angel baby. With a passion for homeschooling and building wells in African countries; when she is not educating, fundraising, or editing, she writes about cryptocurrencies, families, and canines - not in that order!

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When Everything & Nothing Changes

By Chrystal Venator

It’s been four years since my son Stalen was diagnosed on the autism spectrum. He was 21 months old. I remember he was wild in the room as we waited for the doctor to come in and speak with us. He was throwing toys and picking crumbs from the carpet. He was pulling single plastic gloves from a box hanging on the wall. I was trying to hold myself together with strict composure but could feel the lump in my throat and the anxiety deep in the pit of my stomach.

The doctor calmly told me that Stalen was being diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder. I didn’t hear anything else even though I kept looking at the doctor and nodding and he kept talking. After a minute or two, he asked me if I had any questions. I smiled weakly and said no.

I had to sign a confirmation of diagnosis form which is forwarded on for services. My hand trembled as I wrote my name. I was so shook I didn’t even date the form like your supposed to. I took Stalen and high tailed it out of there.

I couldn’t wait for the solace of my vehicle. I remember the strong smell of a man’s cologne in the elevator. I was close to breaking. I remember fumbling through my purse for change for the parking pay Center. Ugh! Why do I always carry so much unnecessary crap in my purse?!?!

Finally, in the car, I grabbed my sunglasses even though it was a cloudy day in January. I wanted to conceal the tears slowly rolling down my cheeks. I looked in my rear-view mirror and there he was…my sweet baby. My whole world, in his own world. He was smiling, and staring off out the window. Oblivious to it all.

I took three exhilarating deep breaths. I felt them in my toes. Those minutes in that doctor’s office had completely drained me to my core, I was attempting to refill my tank.

I had known for a couple of months without a doubt that he was autistic. But I had also known forever that he was amazing.

At that moment, things were different but really the same.

I was still me and he was always him.

There was no more wondering, it was confirmed. We were going to get the supports and services we so desperately needed. He was my little boy to love and nurture and teach things to. I knew he would do it all, but he would just do it in a different way-his way, in a different time and space.

I didn’t know much about autism.

I didn’t know what the future would look like.

I didn’t have all the answers but hoped for clarity over time.

I was completely certain of only one thing though. On that day, I knew my son just like I had known him from the very moment he took his first breath into the world.

I knew he needed me and I knew I needed him and that was enough for me to start the car and take us home.

This post originally appeared on Stalen’s Way Blog.

I am a proud wife, ASD Mom, Step-Mom. At 21 months, my son was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder. He is 5 years old and non-verbal. I have become a full-time stay-at-home mom. I am 1000% focused on raising autism awareness and helping my son live a full and fun life. 

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Lockdown Made Me a Better Parent. Here’s Why

By Teigan Margetts

This year will be remembered as many things, but one of them will be the year that the word “lockdown” became a pervasive part of our lexicon. The world’s first glimpse into what life almost permanently inside might be like was when chilling photos emerged from China of apartment doors being welded shut. It could never happen to us, though, thought many of us, here in the West at the time. Boy, were we wrong. 

I’m from Melbourne, Australia, the city that has to date endured the world’s longest and strictest lockdowns. Right now, we have technically eliminated the coronavirus, an enviable achievement indeed. But what we had to endure to get here was crushing, oppressive and, quite frankly, one of the biggest challenges I think most parents have ever faced. Despite that, my main takeaway has been that it has made me a better parent. Here’s why. 

When our premier first announced that we would enter our second lockdown in July (after already having endured a 50-day lockdown earlier in the year), parents everywhere in my state let out a collective moan. The lockdown we entered, which became increasingly stricter over the weeks that would follow, involved all children learning from home, all parents working from home, the closure of all restaurants, and the closure of most outdoor public spaces (including all playgrounds, which were taped shut with barricade tape). Initially, the lockdown was meant to last 42 days. 42 days at home with the kids and not much to do, I bemoaned. Netflix will get a workout, I thought to myself.

Unlike the first lockdown, which had a sense of novelty to it, this second lockdown, which it seemed only Melbourne was experiencing, was deeply depressing. As days melted into weeks and weeks melted into months, it became obvious that we weren’t beating the coronavirus. As such, our government made the lockdown even stricter. After about five weeks, we were only allowed out of our house for one hour a day, and we were not to go more than five kilometers from our homes (and we weren’t allowed to drive to the local park, either. Driving to exercise wasn’t allowed). We were only allowed to go to the grocery store once a day and we had to go alone. Councils even taped off local park benches so we couldn’t sit on them. 

In the beginning, I have to say, I was a terrible parent. Every morning I would be glued to my phone, checking the latest coronavirus numbers and getting stressed about our lack of progress, all the while totally ignoring my children. After I’d checked the news, I’d inevitably get trapped in a cycle of feeling sorry for myself. Everyone in Australia (and seemingly, the world) was out enjoying their summers and living their lives, while I couldn’t even go back to the grocery store if I forgot something. My children, aged two and four, would inevitably get sick of their toys, books, and YouTube by lunchtime, and we’d all spend the afternoon frustrated and over it. It seemed like we’d tried every craft activity, we’d baked every cake, and we had built every blanket fort there was to build. They were over it. I was over it. I started to get a tiny bit resentful of all the non-parents in my network. They could get fit, learn a new skill, or even write a book! I remember thinking, while I’m stuck at home arranging toy cars in a line for the twenty billionth time. 

About six weeks after the lockdown started, I woke up with a bit of scratchy throat. Throughout the day, it got quite a bit worse. I was absolutely terrified that I had caught the virus, and even more terrified that I’d somehow passed it to my unwell father, who I had been caring for and would be considered high risk if he caught it. I also knew that if I had it, I’d have to quarantine myself in a bedroom for two weeks so I wouldn’t pass it on to my family. That thought terrified me too. My husband’s job didn’t enable him to look after the kids and at that time, babysitters weren’t allowed, so I had no idea what we would do. 

I lined up for three hours that afternoon and got the test. They said it would only take 24 hours to get the results. I went straight home to bed and didn’t sleep at all that night. What if? 

The next morning, my test results arrived. Negative. I was so relieved. And suddenly, what stretched out in front of me didn’t seem like such an ordinary day. It seemed like a day where I could be profoundly grateful for what I did have. 

After my coronavirus scare, my attitude toward being stuck at home did change for the better. There were many days where we did the same things and I can’t say I found them any more interesting. But there were also some quiet moments when my children were playing together where instead of feeling frustrated, I just felt lucky. Lucky to have two healthy children. Lucky that my family was safe. And lucky, I think, that when the lockdown did eventually end after a punishing 112 days, the outside world waiting for me would seem even more vivid and exciting than ever before. 

In our most frustrating moments, when every day is the same and it feels like there is no hope in sight, it is difficult to be a great parent. But what lockdown taught me was that my children were better—and I felt better—when we tried to be grateful.

Teigan is a passionate nature lover, traveller, ballet dancer, writer, mom, wife and the proud co-founder of Ethicool Books. After losing her mom when her son was five weeks old, she's determined to make the world a better place by encouraging children to take action on the world's big issues.

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What Being a Dr. Mom Has Taught Me About Gratitude

By elham raker

I have the privilege of being a doctor, I have the distinct honor of taking care of people, little (very cute) people to be precise. I don’t take this task lightly but much of what I do is run of the mill colds and cases of flu, earaches and throat aches. I work with a population which, for the most part, is healthy and I’m happy about that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see my share of badness.

Bad things happen to good people, bad things happen to little people—babies and young children that live and unfortunately die in hospitals. As a doctor, we sometimes have to develop these hard shells to deal with it, to be able to keep going, to see another patient and then go home and hug our families. A recent visit melted my shell and shook me to the core. 

The patient was a newborn baby boy and he was doing just fine. His mother, on the other hand, was a young mother of two boys with a new diagnosis of terminal cancer, she was diagnosed only one month before giving birth to her second son. A son she may never see walk or talk. 

As she told me her story, she started crying and tears sprang to my eyes as well. My shell was gone and in its place was fear, anger, sadness, hope and most of all gratitude. Gratitude was my first thought as she shared her diagnosis.

I was doing a home visit and felt so fortunate that I could have the time to spend with her, that she didn’t have to sit in a waiting room full of germs, that I didn’t have to rush her because I had a roomful of patients waiting. All I had to give her was my time and support and my prayers.

So why does it take this tremendous tragedy to make me feel gratitude? I wake up every morning (wishing I could go back to bed) checking my Facebook/Instagram and email, thinking about my day ahead, my errands, my schedule, my kids’ schedule, who needs to be where and when and how I’m going to get them there, what am I making for dinner and whether I had time to sneak in a nap (I never do but I like to dream I do). Of all those thoughts I have first thing in the morning, none of them are thoughts of gratitude. 

First I should be grateful to be awake, that I have another day to live, to dream, to be, to love. Then I could list 100 or more things I should be grateful for on a daily basis (don’t worry, I won’t). But if you are reading this then that means your list will be pretty long too!

I get so bogged down every day with mundane things and even get angry about them, why? Because I’m human, because this is my world and sometimes I need to feel the petty things and then I need to let go of the petty things. I’m working on the second part.

I told this mother that she was doing a great job, she had a beautiful healthy baby boy and she was instrumental in bringing him into this world. She said to me she is blessed to have supportive family around her. Let me repeat that, she said she is BLESSED to have a supportive family. 

At that moment, I was in awe, in her darkest times this woman was able to see her life as blessed. I stayed for a while and answered her questions, reassured her of how wonderful of a job she was doing and left with a heavy heart and only one thought in my head, gratitude.

This does not mean I will now forever wakeup with only thoughts of gratitude, I wish it would, but I’m human. I still get mad, sad, angry and frustrated even about the petty stuff. But I will strive every day to live in gratitude. I will strive to always feel blessed as this courageous woman did. 

How do you stay in gratitude? How do you deal with the petty things?

This post originally appeared on A Doctor Mom and a Blog.

 I'm a mom to 2 busy kids and a pediatrician. My blog is about all things mom, doctor and how the two come together. My goal is to help you find your voice while I find mine and help you become your best version while I become mine!

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Can You Survive Working From Home With Kids? These 4 Tips Can Help

By Tara Williams

Photo: Tara Williams

Just six short months ago it was unfathomable that we would be working from home while trying to juggle distance learning and taking care of babies. The reality of COVID-19 sticking around a lot longer than we thought is starting to set in for most people. I remember my naive, mid-March self thinking; by May 1st kids will be back in school and all will be right again in the world.

Prior to the global pandemic, I was a full-time mom and the sole full-time employee at Dreamland Baby. I was juggling four kids’ schedules but we had a really good routine and the kids were in school for 6 hours a day. My baby was still young enough that he was taking a super long day nap or would hang out next to me while I was working.

Fast forward six months and now I have a kindergartener, first grader and second grader who are all doing distance learning from home and a two and a half year old who literally does not stop talking. I’ve had to adjust, hire help and add a weekly “mom’s night off” to get me through. I want to share my top four sanity tips for working from home with kids.

Tip 1: Ask for help, hire help, just get help.
You guys, I was drowning. It was mid July where I hit my working-from-home mom rock bottom. While on the 10,000th Zoom call of that day, my 7 year old daughter walked in and was trying to ask me something. I was doing the hand wave to have her get out but she wasn’t listening. She kept talking and I kept waving. Realizing this wasn’t working I decided to shut off my Zoom camera and scream, at the top of my lungs, “GET OUT!” This wasn’t just any scream it was animalistic, like my throat actually hurt after. I immediately sat down, put a half smile on my face and put myself back on video. I saw a stunned group of faces and someone asked; everything OK over there? I hadn’t muted myself. I called a nanny agency and we hired someone the next week. Recognizing when you need help is critical.

Tip 2: Keep a morning routine.
This is something I swear by religiously. Prior to taking time to making this practice a core part of my day I would stay up late, then sleep in and be woken up by my children every morning. This sounds terrible but I use to dread hearing their voices in the morning while I was trying to get just 10 more minutes of sleep. My problem was always going to bed too late. I got on track by taking melatonin every night for two weeks until my body was use to going to bed at 10 p.m. I need a full 8 hours of sleep (my husband jokes my ideal sleep pattern is 10 hours) so knowing I couldn’t comprise on the number of hours I had to find a way to go to sleep earlier. Now I wake up, take 10 minutes to pray, write in my notebook the top three things that need to be accomplished that day and what I am grateful for, take a green shot, drink a glass of water then get a 30 minute work out in. My kids wake up right about this time and I am able to greet them, feeling happy and accomplished. We eat breakfast together then I shower and start my work day at 9 a.m. Having a morning routine sets the tone for my day, prioritize my goals, and dramatically increase work productivity.

Tip 3: Set work limits.
Being an entrepreneur (I am the Founder of Dreamland Baby) can lead to working endless hours. There was a time I use to work all day Saturday and Sunday but the burn out was real and finally had to cut back to just Monday-Friday. I am still guilty of working crazy hours during the week but trying to be better about setting and end time to my day and actually sticking with it.

I see this with my husband and my friends who traditionally worked in an office. You get in at 9 a.m. and you leave at 5 p.m. and you leave your work behind. Well now your work is inside your home. My husband’s work station is set up inside our bedroom. There are so many nights we are winding down and relaxing but instead of spending time with me he drifts back to his “office” to finish up one more email. It is tempting to keep going but ultimately you are doing more harm than good if you don’t take a break.

Tip 4: Don’t forget to be social.
Having a solid social life might feel like a thing of the past but if you put it as a priority and effort you can make it happen. I am naturally extroverted and love getting together with my girlfriends. When I have a few hours away from my home, laughing and connecting with friends I come back a better mom, wife and more productive in work. I live in California and we began shelter in place very early. I was basically inside my home from March to July. I was going a little (or a lot) stir crazy. I asked my husband if I could have one night off during the week that was a “me” night. I let all my girlfriends know and now we have a girl’s night out every Wednesday. We do things like walk the neighborhood, meet for dinner outdoors or just hang out in someone’s back yard and chat. If you aren’t in a place where you can meet in person, try a weekly zoom call with friends. It has been so nourishing for my soul and ultimately makes me such a better employee because I am shutting off my work brain and just having fun for a few hours every week.

Tara met Rob after a career move to the Bay Area; they’ve been married for almost 9 years and have 4 children. Tara worked for a number of medical startups before creating wearable weighted blankets for infants. Tara launched Dreamland Baby in 2019 and adoringly refers to it as her 5th baby! 

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Tips & Tricks to Treating Seasonal Allergies in Children

By Dr. Natasha Burgert

Even within the chaos of this pandemic, kids are still experiencing usual “kid stuff.” In my pediatric office, we are still seeing children for typical bumps, bruises, and bellyaches. It is also the time of year when kids are beginning to experience seasonal allergy symptoms. Different than previous allergy seasons, however, is that this year’s symptoms are causing more anxiety. Parents are (appropriately) worrying that any cough or sniffle is coronavirus. Now is the time to be reminded of the critical distinctions between viral illnesses and seasonal allergies.

If you can remember life just a few short weeks ago, you were calling your pediatrician when your child “looked sick.” And this shouldn’t change. We are expecting you to call our offices when you are worried. Things like sudden onset of fever, extreme fatigue, aches and pains, decreased eating, and trouble sleeping are signs concerning of a viral illness. Although children with coronavirus are typically experiencing milder symptoms than older individuals, a child with these symptoms should trigger a call to your child’s doctor for advice. 

The key difference between allergies versus viral illnesses is the absence of fever and the presence of itch. Kids with allergies will have itchy or swollen eyes, itching or runny nose, and sneezing. Some kids will even get a sore throat or cough when pollen counts get high. In short, allergy kids look uncomfortable, but they don’t “look sick.” To help your child feel better, you should feel comfortable and confident using simple modifications at home and over-the-counter medications.  

Here are a few other things to know about seasonal allergies: 

Babies and toddlers do not suffer from seasonal allergies. Since young children are exposed to trees, grasses, and flowers for only a few weeks each year, it takes many seasons to react to various types of pollen. Also, sneezing during the first weeks of life is a healthy way babies can clear mucous from their nose and throat. A baby sneeze is not an allergic sneeze. 

Parents underestimate the significance of untreated seasonal allergies in kids. Uncontrolled allergies can lead to inattention at home and school, poor academic performance, worsened athletic performance, and less quality sleep. If your child seems to more fatigued or having an unexpected lower performance at home, school, or after playing outside, consider seasonal allergies as a possible cause.

Great seasonal allergy control starts with keeping pollen outside of your house. When local pollen counts are high, a few changes to the daily routine can prevent sticky pollen from getting into the places children sleep and play. Changing your child’s clothes after spending time outside, washing her face and hair every night, and keeping the window closed (especially on windy days) will help to keep the pollen out. Don’t worry about air purifiers or gadgets that promise to reduce indoor pollen levels. The best practice is to keep pollen out of your house from the start. 

Not all over-the-counter medications work the same. Some allergy treatments can result in undesired drowsiness or “zombie”-like behavior during the waking hours. Nasal steroid sprays help nasal congestion and watery eyes but can take up to a week to work. For fast and effective control of intermittent seasonal allergy symptoms, doctors recommend long-acting, non-drowsy antihistamines like Children’s Allegra. These medications are safe and effective on sneezing, drippy noses, itching eyes, and lasts throughout the entire day.

Pediatricians around the country have made impressive changes in their offices to keep kids and parents safe, and most are willing to talk through action plans virtually. If you have any questions or worry about any symptoms your child is showing, please reach out. We are ready and willing to help. 

Dr. Natasha Burgert
Tinybeans Voices Contributor

Dr. Natasha Burgert is a board-certified pediatrician, nationally recognized child health expert, writer, and mom of two. After completing pediatric training at Cincinnati Children's Hospital Medical Center, she now lives in Kansas City. She provides full-time patient care at Pediatric Associates in Overland Park, KS and serves on the Board of Directors.

 

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