Today I had the pleasure of watching Jeanna’s daughter, Alexandra, who is understandably reluctant to be near our Malamute, Ayla, and resists the much friendlier Cooper's kisses. We typically put Ayla outside, and keep Cooper in his crate whenever he comes inside. But Alexandra had a better idea. She put herself in the crate! It didn’t take Olivia long to join her inside the jail…er…play house.

I couldn’t help being reminded of the time my sisters and I shared a hotel room with our little brother, Danny, and actually took turns changing in the bathroom – until we realized it made more sense for him to go to the bathroom while we changed!

In both cases, brilliant.

She’s the one left in the lurch due to “dead” cell phone, missing sneakers, forgotten homework, etc. Last Thursday, she left for school at 7 AM without considering she wouldn’t be home until after her track banquet. Lucky for Reiley, she caught me before I left the house, and asked me to bring her “skirt (she only has one that fits), a matching tee, and compression shorts (my long-legged Ms. Modesty still wears them under dresses/skirts).” I complied.

I picked Reiley up after school and took her to the gym down the street to change. Before she got out of the car, she asked if I had a razor. “Of course,” I said, opening a compartment in the center consul where I keep my emergency razor. Reiley grabbed it, thankfully, and ran into the gym.

Reiley re-emerged a few minutes later, climbed into the car, and asked if I also had deodorant. “Are you kidding?” I asked. “In the center pocket of my purse.” I’m not sure we’d even cleared the gym parking lot before Reiley was looking for lotion. I told her to check my purse or gym bag in the back.

Note that I also came through with change for the meter outside the convention center (we arrived at the banquet early for just a drop off and had to wait), and money for a blended coffee to sip during our pre-banquet walk around downtown.

What can I say? I was a First Class Girl Scout.

Or maybe I’ve just become my mother, who has won nearly every shower game I can remember on the theme of “how many things on this list are in your purse.”

This photo was taken at 5:30 AM,  after I’d been up for almost an hour trying to get the little guy back to sleep.

This child just doesn’t sleep when he should.  Sure, yesterday he slept through a chainsaw that was operating just 10 feet away from him, but heaven for bid I roll over in bed and BAM! he’s awake and fussing.  I do have to say, though, that last night he did sleep fairly well considering I only woke up once, maybe twice, to feed him before his final wake up call at 4:30 AM – thanks to a leaky diaper; his jammies were drenched . No amount of nursing could get him back to sleep, so while he was up, I figured I should go ahead and suction out his nose…I mean, he was already pissed about the jammies, so I thought I’d torture him some more and open up those nasal passages.

I gave up after an hour, and got up for the morning. I put the coffee on. I’ve just had a drank a few sips. With my usual luck, Everett will be ready to take a nap in about 30 minutes…just when the caffiene starts to kick in!

I think disgust followed jaw-dropping disbelief in my own case. If my mother had not backed up her story with a book by an actual doctor that included a series of remarkably convincing line drawings accompanied by descriptive text, I’m sure I would have walked away from our talk with my stork-filled sky variant on the facts of life well intact.

Contrary to current advice, my mother did not expound on the reasons anyone would want to do “it” – other than to make a baby, of course. “The talk” was heavy on anatomy and reproduction, including the basics of sexual intercourse and it’s primary purpose: pregnancy. It notably did not cover sexuality or sexual behavior more broadly defined, birth control, sexually transmitted diseases, or sexual decision making in the context of teens’ social lives. I credit my initial reaction to the idea of sex, underscored by more exposure to childbirth and more childcare experience before my first date than some people enjoy in a lifetime (my younger siblings numbered seven, with two still in diapers, on my 16th birthday), for effectively preventing teen sex and unintended pregnancy in my own case.

It worked so well that when my eldest daughter, Reiley, blurted, “That’s gotta hurt” upon learing that babies emerge naked from “a special opening between the mommy’s legs,” I went with it. “Yes, it does!” I agreed. And I confirmed her corresponding reluctance to welcome any intrusions into her “girl parts,” and prepubescent commitment to delay dating until she is 30. I could have seized the moment to discourse on the potential physiological, emotional, and social ills associated with sex, or to assure her that she would change her mind when the right “one” comes along. But I didn’t.

Rather, I chose to honor my daughter’s gut response to sex – empower her to say, “No” – not because I want Reiley to think sex is” sinful,” or so earthshaking that it requires waiting, but simply because she doesn’t want any part of it yet. Despite the likelihood that there is some super mature 14 year old out there who enjoys sex and is physically ready and protected as well as emotionally prepared for a sexual relationship, I think Reiley’s current ban on boys is both appropriate and healthy at her age.

This was the gist of my contribution to the shocking discussion during Jeanna’s Cinco de Drinko party Saturday – a truthful chat about the damage our parents’ efforts to instill their values about sex can do to us, about social pressure to form relationships and solidify them with sex, about how difficult it can be to make the “right” decision, about male prerogatives, about the embarrassment and stickiness of the physical act itself, and, yes, about the babies.

Susan Maushartargues that women need to drop the giddy “mask” of motherhood. I think sex deserves the same treatment. It’s time to talk about it.

~ Marilyn Yalom, History of the Breast

My latest reading includes science writer Florence Williams’s Breasts: A Natural and Unnatural History, which begins with the observation that breasts “can turn both babies and grown men into lunkheads.” Her history of this “evolutionary masterpiece” repeatedly juxtaposes the maternal and erotic role of breasts in contemporary, predominantly Western, culture. Williams situates her own lactating breasts squarely at the center of the toxic stew produced by modern, industrial economies developed to satisfy human desire, as opposed to ensuring its survival.

The list of ingredients in human breast milk? 4% fat, vitamins A, C, E, and K, sugars, essential minerals, proteins, enzymes, and antibodies – amounting to 100% of the recommended daily allowance of everything a baby needs to grow. In addition, there’s a proprietary mix of bonus ingredients evolved to moderate the nursling’s appetite, and thwart everything from the flu to cancer for her entire lifetime. The stuff is valued at 262 times the price of oil! Unfortunately, it also includes some geographically specific blend of DDT, PCBs, trichloroethylene, perchlorate, dibenzofurans, mercury, lead, benzene, and arsenic. No wonder, Williams’s agenda includes a call to "Save the Boobies."

What makes breasts so mercurial—and so vulnerable? The short answer is that they evolved to provide human infants with all the nutrition necessary to survive long enough to learn to carry themselves and to contribute to the family’s dinner table. (I continue to find this evolutionary tale far more persuasive than the alternative: female breasts grew large and round primarily to attract eligible mates.) They are particularly susceptible to disease – cancer, in particular – because they grow and change over the course of a woman’s lifetime, providing multiple points of exposure to our increasingly contaminated environment.

I’d like to believe that the research Williams marshals in the interest of saving women’s breasts (as opposed to preventing their deaths from breast cancer) will do the trick. Unfortunately, in the absence of resistance to market-based approach to breast cancer research, I think Williams herself might strike closer to the truth with her cynical comment that there is simply far less money to be made preventing breast cancer relative to treating it.

Ladies, are you willing to fight?

Naturally, I checked it out. Jenni Wiltz cites Carol Firenze’s The Passionate Olive
and Cal Orey’s The Healing Powers of Olive Oil in her history, which credits the Ancients with the first use of olive oil as a cleanser and emollient. In short, hormones, trapped bacteria, and dirt – NOT oil – causes oily skin and acne. Oil protects skin. When the skin’s natural oils are removed, the body reacts by producing MORE oil – hence, the familiar vicious cycle of ever more harsh astringents to combat oily and oilier skin. An oil based cleanser arguably provides a more effective way to remove unwanted bacteria and dirt, with far less drying.

With respect to adapting the use of olive oil to facial care regimens for contemporary women, the Beauty Bottle's Stephanie probably provides the most thorough discussion how to use olive oil as a treatment and moisturizer. Many others provide simpler instructions. I like The Simple Mom's Tsh Oxenreider’s, in particular.

Tsh advises:

1. Create: Mix selected oils together in a small bottle, give it a little shake, and you’ve got yourself an effective facial cleanser. The most popular blend of oils for this cleansing method is castor oil and extra-virgin olive oil. Castor oil draws dirt out of pores; olive oil moisturizes, helping heal and nourish the skin.

2. Rub: Pour a quarter-sized amount into your palm, rub your hands together, and slowly massage your skin with your fingertips. Don’t splash your face with water first — apply it dry. Work the oil into your skin for about a minute. Don’t scrub — just rub.

3. Steam: Wet a washcloth with hot water, and put it over your face until it’s about room temperature to remove impurities and dead skin cells. It’ll take about a minute.

4. Wipe off the oil: Take the washcloth, rinse and wring it, then gently wipe off the oil. Your skin will probably feel softer immediately.

Most sites advise using this cleansing routine once a day – preferably at night, splashing water on your face and following with a bit of olive oil or your favorite moisturizer in the morning. I’ve tried it for two days so far, and it appears to work. My face immediately felt smoother and, almost more importantly, it is much less red after washing – even when I add a bit of fine (so-called “baker’s”) sugar to create a natural scrub.

For those who want to give it a shot, but shy away from undiluted olive oil, a mix of water and oil also works and forms the basis for commercial olive oil washes currently available from DHC and Kiss My Face.

Come on, try it. After all, what do you have to lose? Unlike other cleansers and moisturizers you’ve tried, this one can become dinner if it doesn’t solve your skin issues.

California, here we come! This is almost seven-month-old Everett, weighing in at just over 12 lbs., with his 200+ pound daddy at the airport.  Just when I get used to the idea that my baby boy is really growing up, Maz provides a reality check.

I swear, every parent of a daughter, including those who don’t also have a son for comparison’s sake, has told me that boys are easier. Like hell! My lovable and adoring tween has grown into a tall, strong, mouthy, obstinate teen who acts as if his primary goal in life is to drive me right over the edge. If it’s not his refusal to do his negligible household chores punctually and without being asked, or to complete his school work until the last minute if at all, it’s his obsession with some combination of rock-climbing, Facebooking, Texting, and/or eating. No wonder I wasn’t kidding when, after receiving this photo in a text message from my loving spouse, I asked, “What? Did you take Quentin out into the desert and drive away?”

I wasn’t persuaded when my scrawny and precocious eldest son, Quentin, started school just a month after turning five years old. How could I be? The kid was already reading and had a vocabulary to rival some university students, considered two-digit arithmetic to be a game, and was the catalyst for chaos among the neighborhood children. Home-schooled through middle school, he “lapped” himself and skipped a grade. Quentin will just be 16 when he graduates in June.

Emphasis on the 16.

Quentin is an intelligent high school senior and IB candidate, with the goal-setting capacity of a 16-year-old. I’m not surprised that he’d rather climb than study, that a trip to Boulder, CO or Spain sounds more engaging than four more years of school, that there are times I can’t tell him apart from his 11-year-old brother. Frustrated, but not surprised.

I have been blind-sided by the criticism I’ve received to the tune of “you should have kept him ‘back’ with kids his age.” As a general rule, I disagree. While there may be something to the argument of keeping a physically small or socially immature child with his or her age-mates, I’d still err in favoring of educating a child with his or her intellectual peers. The risk that boredom will lead to misbehavior and/or underachievement remains too high.

In the wake of discussions on the merits of grade in school as a function of birth date or intellect, I asked Quentin if he wished I’d held him back or not encouraged him to skip a grade, and he said, “No!”

Quentin is easily as intellectually and socially ready for college as his mostly older high school peers.  What he’s lacking is a realistic appreciation for how the decisions he makes now could impact the opportunities available to him in the future. But that awareness can take even the most intelligent and mature high school graduate years to develop.

As most parents quickly learn, the hardest thing about heir children’s extracurricular activities is often the parents. My boys’ Scout troop recently devolved into two troops following yet another major disagreement on the administrative (parent) committee. While my eldest son, Quentin, opted to “Eagle out” of the old troop, his little brother, Parker, transferred to the new troop with the rest of the boys he’s been Scouting with since first grade! Their first meeting was last night. (Parker is the one wearing the hat.)