A Flashback to When My Boys Were Little:

Note: This Hip Mom Rule was originally written my oldest (who's now 12) was three and the middle child was still the youngest. I am posting it, however, because the less I learned that day has been a recurring theme in raising three lively and entertaining boys!

Hip Mom Rule #17: Ask for help

Having written an entire rule about being on time, this is hard for me to admit – I was running late. I was supposed to be at my friend’s house for dinner at 5:00. It was 4:40 and we were just getting our shoes on. Knowing that it would take about 15 minutes to bike over there (and five minutes to get the kids into the bike trailer), I knew had to get moving. Just jumping in the car was not an option since the car was on vacation with my husband.

Well, as the luck of any hip mom sometimes goes . . . my younger son couldn’t find his sandals. He is two, so they could have been anywhere. After madly searching for a couple of minutes, we found them under his bed (that was a new one!). Then, after successfully getting both boys buckled into the trailer, I realized that the air on the trailer tire was a little low. Have you ever tried pulling 90 pounds of kids in a bike trailer with low tires? I pulled out the air pump and went for the tire valve. Oh, the tire valve. It was wedged tightly against the tire rim. Frustrated, I tried to pry it out with pliers, only to hear a quick “phssssp.” Not even a whole second long, and every ounce of air came out of the tire. I guess I should have taken the 90 pounds of children out of the trailer to relieve the pressure on the tire first?

Now I didn’t know what to do. The tire was far too flat to limp to the nearest gas station for air, and my wimpy air pump was getting me nowhere. I was about to give in and call my friend to cancel our dinner date when my neighbor walked over. “Why don’t you just ask Jerry to air up your tire?” Betty asked. “Oh, I could never bother him,” I quickly replied. Jerry is our professional cyclist neighbor. His bike is worth more than my car. I did NOT want to ask him to put air in the tires of my piddly little bike trailer. But as options go, mine were limited, and Betty wasn’t about to let me stay home when a solution to my problem was so obvious and close. So, with my well-intentioned neighbor watching to make sure I followed through, I walked my bike, bike trailer, and two boys over and timidly knocked on Jerry’s door. And, as is generally the case, he was more than happy to help out.

Sometimes we confuse being hip with being able to do it all ourselves, but things often come up that prevent us from getting it done. I could have stayed home (and almost did), but instead, I took a very small risk and asked for help. The payoff was great. My tires were filled by an expert, my bike trailer has never pulled more smoothly, and I got to have a fabulous supper with one of my hippest friends.

Now if I could just figure out how to make that bike helmet look hip . . . 

Hip Mom Rule #15: Pay attention to warning signs

I was just picking my kids up from their childcare when the fire alarm went off, shattering the otherwise peaceful environment of the building. The first blare of the alarm took us a little by surprise. The second blare startled my youngest. The third blare set them all off, crying and screaming to leave. My 3-year-old had just watched the fire safety video from the library, and I’m sure visions of a burning down building, fire trucks, water hoses, and imminent disaster were racing through his brain faster than he could process the situation. He started to panic and began pulling his younger brother and me toward the door with as much determination as I’ve ever seen him muster.

Meanwhile, well-intentioned adults came over to try to console him. “Don’t worry, kiddo,” they said. “It’s just a fire alarm.” As I hustled to get out the door to pacify my son and, to be honest, to get away from the annoying blare of the alarm, I pondered what had just been said. Just a fire alarm. No worries here. Fire alarms just warn us when there is a fire. A FIRE!

Okay, granted, it was just an alarm. There was no fire, and no permanent harm was done. But there was harm in teaching my children that the warning should be ignored.

As a hip and informed mom, I know there are warning signs everywhere, and it is hard to know when to heed them and when to let time resolve the situation. Surely, a hip mom doesn’t have time to take every breaking news story about the dangers of your carseat/dish soap/bubble bath/cosmetics/car model, etc. seriously. Who wants to be the mom that the hospital receptionist knows by name because you run your kids in to the doctor at every sniffle? And you cannot live in constant fear of the worst possible outcome and still be a calm, collected, hip mom.

Still, warning signs exist for a reason – some danger is lurking that could endanger you or your family. The trick is to learn which warning signs are real and which ones you can ignore. More importantly, a hip mom will discern which warning signs she wants her kids to take seriously, knowing full well that they are paying close attention to her every move. Personally, I want my kids to understand that a fire alarm means to get out of the building, even if it means leaving their coolest, favorite jacket behind. They can always go back and get it later. I might not always be able to go back and get them later.

Hip Mom Rule #14: Be on Time

Invariably, it happens as you’re walking out the door without a minute to spare. You reach down to zip up your toddler’s jacket and are immediately overcome by the unmistakable aroma of a fresh, full, poopy diaper, that has, of course, exploded out the back of the diaper and up the clean shirt you just put on him. No problem. You get the diaper changed, zip up the jacket, and finally head out the door, a little late. But wait; it’s time to feed the baby. No, the baby will not wait. She needs to be fed RIGHT NOW!! Resigned to the fact that you will be very late, you unzip the toddler’s jacket and sit down to pacify the baby with a quick snack.

Yes, this happens. Especially when you have an infant on hand. You never know what the next crisis will be, but you can bet that the minute you need to get out the door, a crisis will hit. And soon enough, you resign yourself to being chronically late.

New moms are given a lot of leeway in the timeliness department because veteran moms know that while you may have been able to get yourself out of bed and out the door in under forty-five minutes before you had children, there is no way you can do it with children. And it takes a long time for parents to realize that they need to add time to their routine for the mishaps that are guaranteed to happen.

I learned this lesson the hard way – as the victim of a chronically late friend. We would schedule a time to meet. I would scurry around, getting the diapers changed, feeding the baby, combing my hair, tossing on a hip (yet casual) outfit while throwing together a diaper bag, all in a mad dash to get out the door so I could be at the designated place at the designated time. Inevitably, I would show up on time and my friend would show up anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour later, always lamenting about how hard it is to get two kids out the door. I really like my friend, but being a hip mom with a busy schedule, I don’t have time to always wait and wait (and worry that something bad has happened), so eventually I stopped making plans to get together with her.

It is easy to blame our children for our inability to be on time, but truthfully, being on time is a matter of planning and foresight. And it’s important. If it takes you half an hour to get yourself ready to get out the door, plan on starting an hour early, because now you have more than just yourself to worry about. If a true disaster occurs, deal with it and call your friend to let them know you’ll be late. It isn’t easy, and you won’t always be on time, but a hip mom will make the effort.

Hip Mom Rule 13: No kids' menu means no kids

My husband and I rarely go out to nice restaurants, mostly because after we’ve paid a babysitter we don’t have much change left for a nice meal. Still, once or twice a year we find ourselves in the enviable position of dressing up in our “needs to be ironed” clothing heading out for an expensive meal at a posh restaurant.

After several months of considering Taco Johns our night out, my husband and I decided that we had earned a nicer evening out without the kids. I put on my trendiest black dress. My husband put on his suit, and I took great pleasure in straightening his tie. We looked good. The babysitter was right on time. The boys, always amenable to playing with the babysitter, waved goodbye and we were on our way to spend our fancy dime.

We arrived at the restaurant at 7:45 p.m., just in time to enjoy a glass of wine before we were seated for our 8:00 reservation – at the table next to the ONLY table in the restaurant with children – a 3 year-old and an infant. The parents scolded, the children cried, food flew across their table and landed near my feet. The wait staff became irritated, and for many of us, the romantic ambiance of the restaurant was ruined. When our $125 bill finally arrived, we were annoyed and disappointed.

Now understand, there is nothing wrong with parents taking their children out to eat to teach them good manners. I appreciate parents who bring their children to a hip restaurant for a six o’clock reservation. But if the restaurant doesn’t have a children’s menu, it is a strong indication that children are not welcome, especially for an 8 o’clock dinner.

You love your children and understandably expect everyone to find them adorable, but a hip mom knows that there are just some places where children should not go. If the restaurant offers a kid’s menu, crayons and balloons, by all means, go and enjoy your meal and fear not the wrath of nearby patrons when your child throws a fit. If, however, the prices exceed the cost of your regular babysitter and macaroni and cheese is not on the menu, a hip mom will think twice before subjecting those dining strangers to the pleasure of banqueting with her children.