Does a stay-at-home parent work? Or do they sit around all day watching TV? That seems to be the opinion of a superintendent of schools in Alabama who refused to allow a stay-at-home mom and her daughter to participate in Take Our Daughters And Sons To Work Day. He said that if stay-at-home parents participated, they would probably just let the kids watch TV all day.

I was so incensed after I read about homemaker Sandra Thompson on Salon.com, that I had to share it with you. You can also read another story about the topic on Womanist Musings and at this Alabama news station.

I imagine Thompson wanted to share skills, including how she chooses nutritional meals for her family of three kids, balances the household budget, keeps the house clean and tidy, manages everyone’s schedule, etc. These are complex tasks. (I know because I’m always falling behind in all of them.)  Having stay-at-home parents participate in the event, which was held yesterday, is even encouraged by the organization that sponsors Take Our Daughters And Sons To Work. The Web site has suggested activities like having the kids assist with making lunch and dinner, food shopping and similar tasks.

But the school’s chief told homemaker Sandra Thompson that her job was not “professional” enough. Now, first of all, what about all the parents who work in jobs like Wal-Mart cashier, waitress/waiter, wallpaper hanger, etc. Are they not allowed to participate because they are not “professional” enough?

I personally am angry about this because of the message it sends to Thompson’s children about the value of their mother’s chosen work. The superintendent even had the nerve to say Thompon’s job was important, that he admires it and that his own wife stays home with their children. What a double standard! It’s a great choice, but heaven forbid we should use it as an example to our sons and daughters.

In my life as parent and as a newspaper reporter, I meet lots of people who are former professionals who have given up careers in law, on Wall Street, in business and even medicine to be with their kids full time. I admire stay-at-home parents tremendously. (And, truth be told, often wish I could be one.)

I think we’ve amply seen in the case of Madlyn Primoff of Scarsdale — the mother who ordered her two daughters out of the car for fighting and ended up arrested for child endangerment — that being a lawyer or other “professional” doesn’t mean you are necessarily a great example to your kids.

What do you think? Should stay-at-home parents be encouraged to participate in Take Our Daughters And Sons To Work Day? If you are a SAHM or SAHD, would you keep your child home for the event to show what you do for your family?

Leave it to a dad’s blog to make this case, but the Examiner’s fatherhood blog has put out a list of five reasons why dad blogs are worth keeping an eye one. You can read the post here.

(Kathy Gardner/The Journal News)

Obviously, Parents Place is a general parenting blog, with capable dads AND moms in the mix. So, we’re more inclusive and take a wider view of parenting.

But I’ve always felt that there’s a need out here for more of a voice from fathers, whether it’s dads in traditional homes like my co-bloggers Jon and Len, or myself,  a father building a blended family. So it’s reassuring to see a list like this out there, especially with more dads involved in hands-on parenting.

And remember, there’s no shortage of good dad blogs on our blogroll, including Crazy Computer Dad and David Mott’s Dad’s House.

The number one topic of conversation where ever I’ve been in the past day is the Scarsdale mom who got so fed up with her two kids bickering in the back seat that she threw them out of the car in downtown White Plains.

If you’ve been living under a rock and haven’t read the “story”:http://www.lohud.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090421/NEWS02/904210347, here’s the short version: one of the kids, 12, ran back to the car and got in. The other, 10, stood on the side of the road, crying until a passerby bought her ice cream and called the cops.

When the mom, Madlyn Primoff, got home to Scarsdale, she called the police, who told her to go to White Plains PD to get her daughter. The mom did and was promptly arrested.

Then the outcry started. About half the people who have commented on the story on the LoHud forums think the mom, a high-powered New York City attorney, is terrible, deserves to be arrested and should count her lucky stars that nothing bad happened to her daughter while she was standing on the White Plains street corner.

The other half think the police over reacted. The mother was probably more than justified in her actions and the girls were probably brats who needed to be taught a lesson, they say.

I’m fascinated by this story. I find myself in the middle of the two groups. I think the mom lost her cool and probably regretted her actions as soon as she left the kid on the side of the road.

Would I have done the same if pushed hard enough? I’d like to think not. But unless you’re the parent of a 13-year-old, you really don’t understand how crazy they can make you.

I’ve never thrown my kids out of the car. But…..I remember once when my youngest daughter, now almost 8, was about 2 or 3. It was a freezing cold late afternoon, already dark, and I stopped at ShopRite to pick up some groceries before I had to get my older daughter at some activity.

As we were getting ready to leave the store, my charming little girl pitched a full-throttle temper tantrum because she didn’t want to put her jacket on. There she was, on the floor, kicking, screaming, refusing to put her jacket on even though it was probably 10 degrees outside.

What I’ll never forget about this particular temper tantrum was that for a couple of memorable seconds I contemplated—no dreamed of—leaving her there. On the floor. In ShopRite. Just walking out the door without her…..

Of course I didn’t. I struggled to stuff her squirming body into her jacket, then stuffed her into her car seat and drove off, with her.

But as I read about the Scarsdale mom, I remembered this incident. And I realized that most of us have, at least for a couple of seconds, dreamed of doing what the Scarsdale mom did. I guess the difference is that most of us don’t act on those impulses.

Last summer, one of my husband’s college friends, Steve, came to visit with his wife and two children, a little boy a bit older than my daughter and a baby. They stayed with us for a couple of days and we all had a nice time, visiting the Long Island Sound and just relaxing. It was the first time I met his wife, Jennifer, and we hit if off right away. The Pumpkin fell in love with the baby. A few months later, we found out they were expecting a new baby who was due in June. But something went wrong. They’ve spent the last several days in the hospital delivering the baby, who died. We’ve been getting e-mail updates about the experience, including a last e-mail that came at 2 a.m. this morning with details about the keepsake box with a lock of hair and some photos that they brought home instead of a baby.

It’s been hard to get Jennifer and Steve out of my mind. I could easily have ended up with a similar box if it weren’t for the life-saving treatment my daughter received at White Plains Hospital Center.

Four years ago on April 20, I went into the hospital showing symptoms of preeclampsia, a disease that affects about 5 percent of pregnancies and poses risk for both mother and baby. I hadn’t read about preeclampsia before and didn’t really know what the doctors were so concerned about. I had been showing the signs of preeclampsia for a couple of weeks and had even spent a weekend on bedrest, but the doctors didn’t use that word yet. Here’s a clue: If your hands are so swollen that you lose sensation, it’s time to worry. Swollen ankles in pregnancy: Not so much.

My first night I was dazed, suffering from a horrible cold, unable to sleep. Over the next few days, the signs were clear that the doctors expected me to deliver my daughter early, but wanted to wait as long as possible. I was given steroid shots to mature my daughter’s lungs, moved to a private room and ordered to rest on my left side. In retrospect, I think I went into a bit of denial. After my cold cleared up by the weekend, I actually felt really great. It was sunny outside and I didn’t feel like staying in bed. It seemed absurd that I would actually have the baby that early, and so I discounted the idea, especially since I felt so healthy. The swelling had gone down and I didn’t have other classic symptoms, like a headache or pain in my abdomen. (I found out later that these are important symptoms of something going wrong. At the time, I just knew that nurses came into my room every four hours to ask me, “Do you have a headache? Any pain in your abdomen?”)

Every day, I rode a wheelchair down to radiology and got a look at my baby, who was healthy but tiny. Things were going so well that after a week and a half, on May 2, my doctor during rounds that morning even talked about maybe letting me go home on bedrest for a while. That was before he got the results of that morning’s blood draw. (Oh yeah, every morning I gave about five vials. Fun stuff.)

Later that afternoon, I had just showered and was sitting up in bed, making phone calls and relaxing when a phalanx of nurses from labor and delivery strode into my room with a gurney and told me I was coming with them to deliver the baby. This was a shock. My own nurse came in behind them and said the doctor had been trying to reach me, but I had been on the phone. My bloodwork showed that I had developed a complication of preeclampsia called HELLP Syndrome, which basically meant that internal organs like my liver weren’t doing so hot. The baby had to come out, or else we both would be in trouble.

After panicked calls to reach my husband to come as quickly as possible and to my sister-in-law for reassurance, I was prepped for a C-section. That evening, my daughter was born at 26 weeks, five days, gestation. She weighed just 1 pound, 13.4 ounces, or 834 grams. I didn’t even get to see her born because I was so swollen the anesthesiologist couldn’t get a needle into my spine. I had general anesthesia. I didn’t get to see her for more than 24 hours because I was stuck in bed in a haze thanks to a magnesium sulfate drip. I didn’t hold her for almost a week because she was so delicate. I just sat by her incubator, lightly touching her with my hand and talking to her. Her entire hand was the size of the tip of my pinky finger. The first days were so scary that it’s hard to even describe what it was like. The first week of a preemie’s life will determine what happens for the rest of it. And for us, the news was all good. She didn’t need a ventilator, and was breathing with just positive air pressure. No bleeding in the brain. Lots of pee. A feisty attitude. (That hasn’t changed.) I got to hold her for the first time six days after she was born. It happened to be Mother’s Day. Part of me is still in that chair, holding my swaddled baby for the first time, oblivious to everything else. One of the neonatologists walked up to me and started to talk to me about how well she was doing, but I ignored him, repeating over and over, “My baby, my baby.”

Today, she weighs about 33 pounds and is as tall as some 5-year-olds. And when she climbs into my lap for snuggles, the world still disappears and my mind repeats, “My baby, my baby.”

On Sunday, for the fourth year, I will be lacing up my sneakers and heading to White Plains to walk with hundreds of other parents who know exactly how I felt in that first moment I held my daughter. Parents of preemies never take a day or a minute for granted. We know how easily we could have come home with nothing but heartbreak. We are thrilled for the chance to help out the March of Dimes, which is committed to making sure that more babies come home with their parents. I pester my family, friends and coworkers for donations because I know that every dollar raised will go to programs to prevent premature birth and to make sure that the ones who are born early, like my Pumpkin, will live.

While I was writing this, my daughter came over to me to give me a hug and show off the blue ponytail holder her grandmother put in her (long and messy) hair today. I have never cut her hair, which is below her waist. I hadn’t realized until this moment why I haven’t, even though I know that it would be nice to have a lock of the baby blond at the tips before the whole head turns darker. I don’t need a keepsake. I have my baby. I’m marching on Sunday so that other moms can say the same.

My father in-law, who is a brilliant doctor, worried a few months ago that his only grandchild might have a hearing problem. It seemed that when he and my mother-in-law sat with the little boy, he wouldn’t respond to the simplest of commands.

He has nothing to worry about. Turns out it was just stubbornness, not hearing impairment or disrespect.

Our toddler now sits in the living room of our 4th floor apartment and screams out each time he hears a city bus near the stop on the corner. It’s very impressive.

Now while hearing isn’t an issue, pronouncing the letter ’s’ might be. As the M7 or M11 approaches our block, my son breaks into a smile, points to the window and yells out ‘Bu, Bu’.

When did you teach your children about the dangers of “strangers”? We started earlier this year and have approached the topic in a measured fashion, trying not to freak her out but also hoping to instill caution.

This is on my mind this morning thanks to my colleague Janie Rosman’s article about a seminar on “stranger danger” held in Scarsdale. It’s well worth a read. I particularly liked the advice about helping children find “safe” strangers if they get lost. Telling your child to go up to a mom with children and ask for help is a great idea.

The Scarsdale mom who organized the workshop was inspired by a scare in a store when she lost track of her 5-year-old for a moment.

I’ve always kept pretty close tabs on the Pumpkin while we shop — which won’t surprise any of my friends and family who know my protective parenting style. But I have to admit that I used to relax some of my vigilance when we shopped in kids’ stores like Baby Gap and Gymboree, letting her wander around a bit while I browsed.

An experience I had in December put an end to that casual attitude.

I was shopping for Christmas gifts at Danbury mall with my daughter one evening just a few days before the holiday. It was a special trip just to buy her daddy’s presents. We first went to Lord & Taylor and spent about 45 minutes at the men’s fragrance counter with a very patient saleswoman who helped us pick out a shower gel and deodorant. Pumpkin must have smelled a dozen scents. Then we stopped at Pottery Barn to pick up two more place settings of our flatware to have enough for an upcoming party. Then we went to Jos. A. Bank to pick out a tie. Because my husband is tall, we asked where the long ties were displayed in the back of the store. I put down my Pottery Barn bag, which had the Lord & Taylor bag tucked inside, and both Pumpkin and I talked with the salesman. They were having a “buy one, get one” promotion, so we picked out two ties. Then we found out there was the same deal for dress shirts, so we picked out two of those as well, moving perhaps a total of eight feet from where the ties were displayed.

So, I go to the register to pay, and I realize I don’t have my bag. I head to the back where I left it, and it’s nowhere to be found. Now, this is a very small store that’s long and narrow. Even just days before Christmas, it had less than a half dozen customers in the store the whole time I was there. I proceeded to hunt for my bag, but it was nowhere to be found. I made the manager call mall security to report the theft. It took them 45 minutes to show up and they didn’t even write anything down. They were completely uninterested. I thought to myself that it was amazing that my bag could disappear in the few minutes that we were picking out ties and dress shirts. Maybe it was a customer who I hadn’t noticed in the very back of the store. But it seems hard to believe that the one or two customers in the vicinity just happened to be a thief. I’ll leave the reader of the blog to come to the other obvious conclusion about who else was in the vicinity, as my husband did when I told him the story.

After I left the store, and after I went back to Lord & Taylor to re-buy the bath stuff (we skipped a return trip to Pottery Barn, too depressing), I realized how lucky I was: Someone stole a bag with maybe $140 in merchandise inside. But holding my hand was my most precious person. If a bag can be stolen in a few minutes, so can a child.

So I asked the Pumpkin what she wanted me to make for her to eat on her fourth birthday. She said, “rice and cabbage.” Perhaps I’m taking the idea of teaching her healthy eating habits a bit too far.

Seriously, though, my child is as vulnerable to the allure of junk food as anyone’s. Even though dinner always includes at least two vegetables and her lunch is often a big plate of broccoli with parmesan cheese, she has a big sweet tooth and a taste for french fries. A taste, I’ll admit, that is my fault.

It all started last fall shortly after she began taking dance lessons on Saturdays. To say that her compliance in obeying the teacher was poor is an understatement (more on that another time). To encourage her to follow directions, I made a deal with her (we’re big on deals): If she obeys, she gets a treat of french fries at the neighboring cafe. Well, two seasons later and this reward is pretty firmly seated in her synapses. She knows that if she has a good class, she will be eating french fries.

It’s a big treat for her. I do feel a bit unhappy about it because I know she enjoys it so much, and I fear I am circuiting her brain to perceive food as reward. Next year, I am going to try introducing something different, like a trip to the bookstore. Though that has the problem of being expensive and teaches another problematic behavior: shopping. Maybe I can think about an experience as a reward that’s free and desirable.

In the meantime, I’ll make her the cabbage (purple) and rice on her birthday. (Though NOT at her party. I won’t subject our family to cabbage for a celebration!)

The folks at Child Care Aware sent out a reminder that next month will bring National Provider Appreciation Day, when child care providers we entrust with our kids get honorable mention.

Not a bad idea, depending on the care the kids receive. We’ve been lucky that way, so I figured I would send CCA’s press release along for your consumption:

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, there are 11.3 million children under the age of 5 that spend some part of their week in child care. If this number includes your family, chances are you’ve added an extended family member or two to your daily routine. And you’ve selected a person that you feel will provide the best care for your child.

Child care providers put a lot of love and hard work into their careers, and they’re often rewarded with little hugs and a “thank you” every now and then. As your child spends time with his/her child care provider, a special bond begins to form. This person is an additional teacher, friend and trusted caregiver. Your child shares many special moments with the child care provider, and you enoy the benefits of these relationships on a daily basis.

This year, take some time to show your child care provider how much you appreciate what she does for your family. On Friday, May 8, 2009, the nation will celebrate National Provider Appreciation Day – a day set aside each year to honor those who are caring for our young children.

For more information on Provider Appreciation Day, go to www.providerappreciationday.org.

YMCAs across the nation will hold free and fun activities for kids on Saturday as part of Healthy Kids Day. The event “celebrates making fitness fun, and  introduces kids to an array of YMCA programs and tools that teach healthy behaviors and healthy ways to play,” according to the group.

In Rockland, events will be held at two sites. Activities will start at the Y’s Beginnings Nursery School, 18 Parkside Drive, Suffern at 10 a.m.

At noon, the main YMCA center at 35 South Broadway in downtown Nyack will host Jeffrey Friedberg of the Bossy Frog Band. A  one-mile fun walk starts at 1 p.m., all youth walkers will receive a free t-shirt.

Other activities planned include: sports and games, a family boot camp, arts & crafts,  healthy snacks, face painting and a  2-hour family swim that begins at 2:45 p.m.

Admission is free, but YMCA staff will be collecting non-perishable food items for donation to People to People.

Call your local Y to see if it is participating.

We got back to our apartment yesterday afternoon following the longest trip away for our toddler, a five-day trip out of state to my parents’ house.

While there he went on several adventures and got to know his 6-month-old cousin. He climbed stairs which he doesn’t have at home. He grabbed a broom every chance he got and swept the kitchen floor – although it confused him a bit because it had a sponge on one side and a brush on the other. He scavenged under a glass table, bumping his head most times he emerged. And he leaned against the living-room window for peeks outside – with a relatively boring view considering the suburban block my parents live on can’t offer the Manhattan taxicabs, buses, firetrucks, and delivery men on bikes he’s used to.

He woke up so early Friday that it was still dark outside. When he couldn’t see anything beyond one window, he ambled over a few feet to look behind the next shade. Nope, same view of the dark.

We brought along his favorite toys and books. But he didn’t have his little kitchen, or his toy chest or his regular high chair or the neighbor kids playing in the hallway. 

So when the long drive ended and we walked back into the apartment, my 16-month-old had one plan: he walked straight over to his little blue chair, folded himself over the arm and buried his face in the seat. 

Today, he’ll probably have a play date with his favorite Swiffer broom.

Who wears the pants in a blended family? More to the point, who handles discipline?

According to blended-family blogger Cathy Meyer, the biological parent should discipline their own child or children. The stepparent should, in turn, deal with their own child.

Well, it’s an interesting dilema. I find that in our home my girlfriend and I often defer to the biological parent to dictate terms and punishment for misdeed by the kids. For us, this always entails a verbal reprimand and nothing more. But the tendency of both our children to be a tad more uneasy with the stepparent issuing the reprimand is part of a learning curve that I think takes time – and we’re still working on.

But I have never seen it as a black-and-white issue. We do consult each other regularly and we have gotten comfortable with correcting or issuing mild reprimands to the others’ child. If it’s still a learning process it is more so for our two boys, and they are coming along.

Still, Meyer seems to take a harder line in her blog:

“As a stepparent, you should avoid any decisions about the discipline of your stepchild. This can and does depend on the situation but in most cases, it is best to leave issues of discipline up to the biological parent. Your role as a stepparent is that of mentor and supporter, not parent. This is something many stepparents have a hard time coming to terms with.”

I don’t think it’s that rigid, and I think it is something that has to be overcome for a blended family to eventually succeed. What do you think?