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Last year I began a more rigorous effort to detox our lives and do even more to reduce our waste/protect the environment. It is daunting to see the deep dive of things to change in one’s life once you get started down this path. From toothpaste and lotions, to food & food storage, light bulbs, cordless phones, everything, really, needs to change.

I started by removing cordless phones from the house last spring to reduce our exposure to electromagnetic fields (EMFs) and it went on from there. Bye-bye wireless computer mice, headphones and, just sayin’ “no,” to any new—unnecessary—devices that I was considering, for example the iRobot Roomba sweeper sounded great, but I’ve crossed that one off the list. And sorry Alexa, no can do. I’ll turn on the music myself, thanks.

Next to go were the compact fluorescent light bulbs (CFLs) that have Mercury in them and also emit EMFs. If one of these twisty bulbs breaks in your house it’s recommended that you leave the house for 30 minutes to avoid breathing in the toxic vapors. What?! The Environmental Protection Agency offers instructions on how to deal with a broken CFL and I’ll tell ya, I’m not liking the sound of any of this, so out they went, too. I’m back to traditional incandescent bulbs that are not as energy efficient, true, but we use low wattage as much as possible and lights out when we leave a room.

And the list goes on, below are a few other detox adjustments I’ve made during 2018. The main point here is do what works for you. Do your own research to decide what you are willing to believe, accept, and apply to your life. Don’t expect bottles of product to warn you that its contents may be dangerous to your health, your skin, linked to disease, etc.  You have to look this stuff up yourself. As I tell my daughter all the time, we have to be our own Super Heros. Companies are not going to offer this stuff up. They want to sell you their products.

MY DETOX REPLACEMENTS

Plastics containers

I removed all plastic containers in the kitchen, so our food is stored (fridge, freezer, cupboard) exclusively in glass or stainless steel. No more plastics containers; they’re okay for storing none food items, but I gave them the pink slip for use in the kitchen.

Plastic wrap

Is on the way out at our house! I’ve replaced plastic bags/wraps with paper and wax paper bags primarily. I bought a roll of butcher paper and tape and use that to wrap food, too. I am hoping that soon no more plastic bags are used in our kitchen (or to line trash) and any plastic-like bags are made of plants and are biodegradable.

Straws

Since we like to use straws, I bought J. and I stainless steel and silicon straws that we wash and reuse. We take them with us. We say no to straws in restaurants. No way!

Antiperspirant vs Deodorant

Deodorant wins! Why? I don’t want the aluminum that antiperspirants contain to help plug our pores so we don’t sweat as much. Come on, sweating is good! Skin needs to breathe—push the bad stuff out, bring the good stuff in. And there are two main health issues usually cited when talking about aluminum fears: breast cancer and Alzheimer’s disease. You’ll have to read up on this and come to your own conclusions, but I’d looked into it myself and would rather not increase my chances of developing either of those diseases for the sake of dry underarms.

I use any deodorant like Tom’s of Maine that uses naturally derived ingredients. At first when I made the switch from antiperspirant to deodorant I developed a rash and learned it was from sweating and my skin rubbing together. Makes sense. So I added powder (I use a mix of organic corn starch and baking soda and dab it on with a big fat make-up brush after applying the deodorant. Works perfectly well. No rash, dry underarms, it’s all good.

Toothpaste

We are fluoride-free now. Enough of that f stuff. It’s controversial. Studies show that fluoride accumulates in the body, may damage the brain, affect thyroid function, lower IQ, and may be responsible for other health problems as well, and get this: studies show it does not help prevent tooth decay. Do your research on this one, too, and come to your own conclusions, but as far as I am concerned, it’s nothing I want in our lives.

iPhone

I bought “Safesleeve” cases for our phones. These offer radiation protection from cell phones, tablets, and laptops. They’re great and give peace of mind.

Nail polish

Not just nail polish, have you ever looked closely at the list of ingredients in all of your toiletries, lotions and shampoo for starters. You’ll find long lists of who knows what? Look up those ingredients and I guarantee you will be surprised at what you find. As for nail polish, I’ve switched to a vegan/cruelty free product. I take my bottles to the nail salon, too.

Vegan/Cruelty free

Ahhh I seek out, promote, praise and Tweet about vegan and cruelty-free products and restaurants that make patrons ask for straws, by the way. Fortunately, and yahoo! vegan and cruelty-free products are becoming easier and very convenient to find. The make-up brand I’ve switched to? Urban Decay—love the stuff and love to know that none of it was sprayed in the eyes of rabbits or other animals to determine it was safe for humans. Ask at the make up counter if the line is cruelty free. Get that out there! If some companies can produce make up cruelty free, why can’t they all? Right?

And here is something that struck me as very off-putting. I bought the Johnson & Johnson’s baby powder that says “Pure Cornstarch” on front of the container to avoid talc, which led me to believe the bottle contained pure cornstarch, nothing else. Not so. Look on the back and you’ll find there are in fact other ingredients in there, too. I felt deceived. Maybe there is pure cornstarch in the bottle but not mentioning the other ingredients and claiming “Pure Cornstarch” is false advertising in my book. And by the way, what is in “fragrance?” That ingredient usually stands alone as this is all you need to know about that, but there’s stuff in fragrance, what is it?

Read up, detox, and be your own Super Hero! You only have one body …and we only have one planet.

—SBM

After the rush of the holidays and the race to get everything done, bought, baked, wrapped, given, written and sent,  January burn out comes around. All I want to do is sleep. It’s raining. The tree and decorations are still up. The lights are still wrapped around the Italian cypress trees in the front and draped on the bushes—strands and strands of them, which were more fun to wind around in anticipation of how they’d look all lighted up this year.

The “holiday put away,” I call it, is when everything goes back, in bins, labeled and (sigh) I don’t have the energy to do any of it.

How many Christmas ornaments are too many? Last year we bought a gold/bronzey-ish metallic artificial tree and I did it in all gold, silver, and dusty pink Christmas balls. I didn’t have enough of these colors so I bought more. This year, same tree, multicolored though, with lots of over-sized balls, again, I didn’t have enough had to buy more. These, added to my already too many Christmas balls that live in giant stacked bins in the garage off-season, are what we have to walk around every day when we leave the house.

How many  mini Christmas trees that one places on, say, a mantle, is too many to own? Last year we did a theme of silver trees. Once again I didn’t have enough and I was back in the stores getting, dang it, more.

Not to mention, here and there, new Christmas ornaments that come out every year that we can’t pass up at 50 percent off,  resulting in …more bins and balls. How many bins of Christmas stuff in one’s garage are too many?

Considering we have next to zero storage space at our house, everything ends up in the garage because there is no other place for it. I bought myself a Rubbermaid plastic storage shed last year. It does the work, but it’s nothing spectacular. And what a hoot putting that thing together was. It said on the directions: “installation requires two people.” Humm. I don’t have two people, she said. Turns out one people is plenty. But it wasn’t exactly fun and a little dicey at times.

January Mondays.  The toughest Mondays of the year.  Just sayin.  Maybe a hot bath is in order with Epson salts and some essential oil. Maybe taking a day off—like on a Wednesday (never take a Tuesday off, that week will seem to never end) or wandering around 4^th Street in Berkeley, at leisure, with hours on end to burn.  Washing the car? Love the clean car thang. Eh, I’ll think of something before I tackle my holiday put away…one day at a time.

Cheers.

—SBM

Possibly the best book I’ve read so far on parenting is “Permission to Parent” by Robin Berman. This is an excellent book on how to raise your children with love and limits and a very worthwhile read.  It’s eye-opening. The author talks of the evolution of parenting styles and how we went from too strict (children are seen not heard, with fear and shame baked in to gain parental control—all bad and not a recipe for healthy self-esteem) to the other end of the spectrum. The children of the former parenting style went on to shower their kids with praise and support and dare I say it, helicoptering over them constantly to ensure they don’t get hurt, have everything they need, and get plenty of encouragement. And trophies.

Both ways of parenting are extreme and neither effective, according to the author. Robin offers great practical advice on how to build self- esteem in your kids, how giving them responsibility for themselves as early as possible builds their confidence and emotional security. Let them make mistakes! Like let them forget to take their violin to class and experience the consequences of their oversight firsthand. This teaches them a much better cause-and-effect lesson than if you were to race home, grab the forgotten instrument, and race back to school to deliver it to your child. No, not good.

Think about it: ultimately, we’re raising our kids to live without us. Sad as that sounds, this is what we need to do. That doesn’t mean this process happens without love, caring, and support. It does mean that kids need to make choices about their lives, the sooner the better—with parental guidance of course. And they need to feel the results of those choices.

This approach really works, but there is so much more the author has to offer. Get the book. Read the book. I promise that you won’t be disappointed.

—SBM

On Saturday, I said to J. “Five more minutes on the device then meet me in the downstairs bathroom.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. If I tell her I face  “Noooooo…” requests for more minutes, complaints, then “My life is so boring” remarks  or worse tears and a full on revolt in which case I have to start throwing out possible consequences if I don’t get compliance. “Consequences” is a great word, if you don’t use this one you should. It gets an immediate reaction that you mean business. And it let’s them see how their behavior results in a consequence, a great life lesson!

So I was ready to pitch my standby consequences: “no devices” is one or “no playdates” is another. I can usually stop there, but to my surprise it wasn’t necessary this time.

“We’re cleaning the bathroom,” I said.

It took her by surprise, probably because we had never done this before. She came over and I told her what we needed  to do, breaking it down into simple steps. I offered her a pair of rubber gloves, but she refused. First thing I said, was everything off the floor and out of the bathroom (toilet paper holder, waste basket, etc.), then vacuum, even behind the door, the toilet, along the sides, all the dust, up!  I showed her how to connect the brush attachment to the hose to get into the small spaces and how to get the cat fur off the brush that would build up as she went. She watched curiously.

“Then you clean the sink, I’ll do the toilet,” I said.  “Yay!” she said.

“I won’t make you do the toilet…” I said. “We’ll get to that another time.”

We got started. She vacuumed. “I’m done!”

“Let’s see!” I said. First attempt, I gave her a good solid three on a scale of one to 10 (but I didn’t tell her that). Instead I bent down and showed her what she missed: behind the door, baseboards, just anywhere you see dirt and dust told her. But I congratulated her on a good first effort.

Then we got to the sink. I showed her how to conserve water as she cleaned and how to get the soap off by rinsing out the sponge and squeezing the clean (cold) water on top of the faucet and handles, and as we were doing all of this a wonderful thing happened. She told me that Sophie told her that Conner likes her and she is so happy because she has liked Connor since kindergarten, which I knew. She told me about what Gillian did that day and how she hates how Gillian treats her all of the time.  “Why are you friends with her?” I asked as I wiped the toilet seat. “You don’t have to be, you know.”

“I know, she said,” and then, “Can we still talk about Gillian? Yes, I told her. These are the things I ask her about after school each day and quite often I don’t get answers, but in the process of doing something else together without so much of the focus directly on her, she opened up.

And in no time, the bathroom was done. “That was fun!” she said. “Good,” I said! “We have two more bathrooms upstairs…ha ha.. just kidding,” I told her. “The bathroom is clean and we are done, doesn’t it feel good? And now you know how to clean a bathroom!”

—Good work, SBM

Now that school is in full swing, I am back to the daily struggle of balancing the school schedule, dance classes, homework, and the dreaded screen time with J who is now 10 and in 5^th grade. Every day I fight the battle of limitation: her desire to watch people narrating as they play “virtual worlds” video games on YouTube, play the game herself, or make a Musical.ly videos, and honestly none of these I like one bit.

Devices have taken the place of TV and even movies to a large extent as far as our kids are concerned. YouTube has become the new TV and reality TV has spawned a new generation of “me, too” (not that one). Kids can create and post anything online they want and anyone can watch it. They can make videos in which they open toys, put on make-up, make satisfying slime, take part in challenges, produce their renditions of the latest pop songs and  more, much, much  more. The trends on YouTube change constantly. It’s an addiction for young minds with a lot of free time but not yet the maturity to manage the power in their little hands.

I constantly wonder as I am in the kitchen doing the dishes what she is seeing as she scrolls down on my old iPhone nearby that has Wi-Fi—a term she could utter and understand—long ago. Where is she going on YouTube, which offers an endless stream of similar videos you’re already watching, but can quickly veer off and go down egregious paths that can progressively become more shocking and inappropriate as each new video is viewed. How do I control this without sitting and looking over her shoulder and approving her every next click.

Sure there are parental controls and restrictions available, but aren’t our kids just going to find a way to do and see what they want online anyway? We’re talking 5^th grade, playdates, and computers at the library. Many of their friends may have phones and tablets.  If we restrict them from sites they want to access, won’t that make the forbidden fruit more alluring?

And what about just basic common sense stuff that kids just don’t know yet? For example: use a different password with every site, change your password  from time to time, be sure to log out of your account particularly when you are on any computer other than your own.

Some parents I know have provided their kids phones at way too early of an age, in my opinion, like third grade for example. These are babysitters, not phones. Meanwhile the parents are downstairs watching their shows on TV and the eight-year old child is upstairs in his or her room is with the phone, watching, seeing, and  likely posting anything. You okay with that?

Moments ago I went on YouTube to see the latest video my child watched along with a column to the right of videos that will play next—she doesn’t even have to click anything.  Here is a collection of the titles I saw:  “My little sister and I ran away from home,” “They were embarrassed of their ugly baby,”  “Sneaking out of school with my boyfriend,” and, “Roblox School Shooter,” yes, you read that last one right. Click on the game and your jaw will drop.

I figure my best line of defense is a multifaceted-approach: teach J. the dangers of the internet while keeping a close eye on where she goes and what she watches, and then set limits on usage. And in an age-appropriate way but not to instill an unhealthy level of fear, let her know what is out there. For example, her new anonymous “friend” might not be who she says she is. Sophie, who says she is a 10 year-old girl from Maine might really be a man in LA.

When I was a kid—I tell my kid—there were no cell phones. Remember, 2007 was not that long ago, the year the iPhone was introduced. Look at how far things have progressed since then, at everyone’s finger tips.

J. will be a teenager soon with the need for a phone so she can call me any time. But what happens then? She’ll have a phone but not be under my watchful eye. I am hopeful that when this day comes, which it will, I’ll have coached her well enough on the dangers of online and she will make good decisions on her own.

Ahhh, I hope.

—SBM

 

 

There is never time or hardly a time when, as a SBM, with your little one at home you can allocate “me time.” The second you go into the bathroom to take a 5-minute breather, “Mommy” rings, “Where are you?… Mommy?” The 5-minute me time is reduced to 5 seconds and then zero. And you are back getting the chicken nuggets out of the oven or ketchup.

But there are those times that, if seized, provide a quickie—when you least expect it. Grab these! For example, imagine you just changed the sheets on your bed and everything is fresh and clean and smooth. Fall onto that bed and take five! You might continue reading an article you started at the beginning of the year, you might lay with your eyes closed and dream about being 25, or you might just lay there and think of nothing …whatever it is, do it. These are our moments. They are few. They are unexpected. They are opportunities that must be seized before they are gone forever. It might be 5 minutes, but it could be longer, whatever it is take it. This is your time to recharge. And in no time you’ll hear, “Mommy?” “Come down here.” And, off you’ll go.

—SBM

It is amazing one little thing you do for yourself can change your life and your outlook.

Yesterday after work, I painted a wall in my garage a deep Bing cherry red. I have wanted to do this for months but it was a process. I had to endure parking the car on the street, moving everything in the garage around, purging, cleaning, dusting, then prepping the wall with spackle, sanding, more spackle, a coat of dry wall primer, and then finally the red paint! Of course since this SBM has all the time in the world to devote to these steps so all of this occurred over weeks and weeks, not days. Parking on the street—a pain—so it served as incentive to get this done.

Why red? I love red. And I love red shiny New York-penthouse-looking walls (I must have seen in a movie at one point). This wall, in my garage is a way to turn a section of it into a “woman cave,” a backdrop for the table and art supplies in front of it. Previously in this spot I had hastily constructed a make shift art studio, but it was just tables that ended up collecting junk, piles of papers, and a bed for the cat. It wasn’t inviting, it was daunting. I had to move things around just to get a work space, push the cat off the chair, and look at the chaos around me. I hated the clutter and the chaos and would always feel the pressure to clean and get rid of stuff when what I really wanted to be doing is, well, art.

Our house has almost no storage space, so everything ends up on the garage—a plastic bin of J’s old clothes I can’t part with, a box of my dad’s collection of art plaques he created at one point as a hobby, etc. Everyone has this stuff you can’t get rid of but takes up space …that could be more inspiring.

Ahhh but I had no idea how incredible I would feel after the wall was complete, touch ups done, and I started moving into my red cave.

I can’t emphasize enough how one red wall has completely changed my outlook. I have a space now, and it’s mine. I am giving a section to J. for her creations, but I know no one will love the red wall, my red cave as much as moi!

—SBM

I hadn’t noticed him at first when I stepped outside, half asleep, and walked directly to the cat bowl to bring it inside for a refill. As I turned to take the empty dish I first saw the damp gray mouse, presumably dropped from Pete’s mouth moments earlier.

It laid there still, dead I thought. It was tiny, a baby. Its eyes closed and it was on its side, legs extended. I ran inside to get something to scoop it up then ran back outside with two paper towels and knelt down to pick it up when I saw its legs move ever so slightly and its tummy rise. I wasn’t prepared for it to be alive and immediately drew in a breath, feeling an instant urge to scream and climb up onto a chair. But the little one did nothing, just continued to live there in the most vulnerable way possible, on the cement, out in the open with a cat nearby.

I called for Pete and grabbed him. Back inside, I secluded him in a room, shut the door, and headed up the stairs to get a shoebox. I had just one. I poked a few holes in the lid, added a small towel and ran back downstairs to fetch my teeny patient. He hadn’t moved. With the help of the shoebox lid, I gently pushed him into the box and onto the towel. I put the lid on and took him out into the garage where it was cool as meanwhile, my daughter watched TV in the other room oblivious to my rescue effort.

He appeared to be in a deep sleep, I thought looking down at him in the box. When I gently nudged him with a pencil, his legs moved very slowly, like slow motion footage and I could see his belly gently go up and down. There was no blood, no wounds, but his fur was matted down wet with Pete’s spit.  Everything seemed to be in good working order, so I left him there in the garage and went back inside.

I checked on him every 15 to 20 minutes or so. His condition had not changed. Either he was sleeping it off or dying. I couldn’t tell which, but he didn’t appear to be in pain or under any duress, maybe just shock I thought. I contemplated CPR with my pinky finger, but it didn’t seem necessary. He was breathing.

I had to leave the house so I transferred him to my closet upstairs, turned on a light and left alone in the quiet small room. Just in case, I placed some crumbled cheese and water in the box. It was hard to find a water dish small enough for an about inch-long critter- not including a skinny tail. I thought of a cap of something, but even with that, I couldn’t find one small enough. A small dish would have to do. He’d figure it out, I thought, if he got well enough to want a drink at all.

When I returned a couple hours later, I discovered he had moved to a new spot. He was awake, on all fours but not moving. Good! This is a good sign, I thought! I had to leave again for J’s dance performance and when we got back and I walked into the closet I immediately noticed that one of the puncture holes I had crudely made jabbing a pair a closed scissors into the lid of the shoe box was a little larger and looked nibbled on. I lifted the lid and to my surprise my little buddy’s fur was dry and fluffy! He scurried and hid into a fold in the towel as any mouse would do. I couldn’t tell of he had eaten any of the cheese or drank the water, but this was a completely different mouse than the one I saw that morning nearly dead.

Thrilled over his recovery and my successful emergency room care, I took him outside, opened the lid, tilted the box and in a flash he scurried off into the bushes, flapping leaves as he quickly ran over them. He was gone. I smiled.

Pete was still in the house at this point, so any threat that I was aware of I kept away to give my little boy a second chance. It was his lucky day! Had I not seen him, Pete would likely had returned to finish him off. Had someone else saw what appeared to be a dead mouse in their courtyard, they would have probably scooped him up and throw him into the trash without noticing that he was still alive.

I had to be there to notice him at that precise moment and observe his condition. It was his only chance. I could have been at work, out for the day, and then it would have been too late.

He is the luckiest mouse in the world, as least for today.

—SBM

Watching over my shoulder as my daughter watches a You Tube tutorial featuring a Australian girl trying “American candy” for the first time, I’m amazed at how much it has never occurred to me how suggestive some American candy names are. Some sound like passed over porn titles. You be the judge: Butterfinger, Sugar Daddy, Sweet Tarts, Mr. Goodbar…Blow pops, Nips, Baby Ruth, Hubba Bubba, Fast Break (okay, maybe this one is a stretch), Three Musketeers, Mounds, Hershey Kisses, and O’Henry!

Just sayin.

—SBM