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 #12: Don't forget to date

When my husband and I met in our mid-twenties, I was living in an artsy neighborhood in downtown Minneapolis. He and I both worked full-time during the day, but we spent every manageable minute outside of work together. We rollerbladed, we ran, and we enjoyed deep philosophical conversations in lowly-lit coffeehouses. We sipped wine at wine bars. We often saw two matinees a week. We were always on the go, reveling in each other’s company.

When we decided to get married and then eventually to have children, we had this wonderfully romantic idea that even though our life was about to change radically, we would still find time to go on a date every two weeks. We bragged to our other married friends that we would still date, no matter what, ignoring their quietly pessimistic “I hope it works for you.”

After the first baby, it wasn’t too difficult. We had a plethora of free babysitters, and we took full advantage. Every two weeks we went out for coffee together or to dinner with friends. We still ran, still rollerbladed, and still sipped wine in hip wine bars. We bragged to our naysayers that against all odds, we were still dating.

Little did we know. . . things were about to change. We had a second baby and eventually a third, and poof. Date night – gone. Time to connect with each other – gone. It seemed our friends had been right. It was too hard to be hip parents and hip partners at the same time. Our relationship had taken a backseat to our kids.

Ultimately, we decided to challenge the notion, and worked to creatively reintroduce dating to our life. We created “Burnsie Café” which only opens after the children go to bed. I often light tea lights, incense, turn on some hip jazz music, and brew strong coffee. Then my husband and I sit down at our kitchen table and recreate many of our dates from coffeehouses past. We bought bikes for the kids and began rollerblading and running together again. Perhaps it isn’t quite the same as a carefree run along the lake, but the children are occupied (and using up some of their energy), and we are again doing many of the things we love to do together.

We now understand that an exclusive date every two weeks no longer fits into our life, but dating is necessary to a healthy relationship. So occasionally, we get a real babysitter, and we leave the kids. We brush up on things to talk about, and then we go out on a date. But because we’ve been reconnecting at Burnsie Café, it’s not like two strangers on their first date anymore.

And the LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a companion who will help him. This explains why a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and the two are united into one.” Genesis 2: 18, 24

Hip Mom Rule #4: Be a Hip Mom Under Pressure

I usually consider myself a levelheaded person with decent reserves of patience. I can handle both kids yelling for my attention right when the phone rings. I can handle being pooped on, spit-up on, vomited on, and cried on. A hip mom is a patient mom.

But there are days when even the most patient mom is tested. I never hand my two-year-old my keys when we are out. I have a slightly irrational fear of him throwing the keys into oncoming traffic (actually, it’s not that irrational – he did throw a rock out his window once while we were traveling 75 mph down the interstate, narrowly missing the car behind us). It’s a small thing, but as we’ve learned in life, it’s the small things that make or break a hip mom. So, keys in Mom’s pocket.

Then one day . . . I took the boys to the Art Museum, thinking I was being on the cutting edge of hip-momness by taking my children to such a cultural experience while so young. Let me tell you, it made a serious dent in my patience reserve. First of all, it was well below freezing outside, so the kids and I were bundled up so tightly we could hardly put our arms down (Christmas Story anyone?), and then I had to schlep our coats, hats, and mittens all over the museum without bumping into any priceless art. Then my oldest discovered the echo-factor of the different galleries and a contest emerged between the two kids. Other museum patrons shot me daggers while the security officers stifled giggles.

After forty-five minutes, I decided this cultural trek needed to end, as my patience was growing quite thin. We began the process of bundling back up. I put the boys’ coats and mittens on. I handed Joe my keys and put on my hip coat and mittens, complete with matching scarf. As we stepped onto the elevator, I thought to myself, “Where are my keys” just as I heard the keys hit the floor and the elevator doors efficiently snap shut. Crap. When the doors finally reopened, I peered through the gap in the floor and saw my keys glittering happily at the bottom of the elevator shaft. “I’m a hip mom. I will not lose my cool,” I muttered to myself.

It took twenty minutes and the complete shutdown of the main entrance elevator to retrieve my keys. This time the security staff made no effort to conceal their amusement. I graciously thanked them as I straightened my hip coat, gloves, and matching scarf. It was mightily embarrassing, but I kept my cool, just as any hip mom would.

Hip Mom Rule #3: Trust Yourself

Parenting has become an increasingly popular area for study, critique, and self-help books. Each new published expert has, of course, discovered the best way to raise the cutest, smartest, most capable children. Any mom, who is at all hip, is familiar with all the latest trends.

No hip mom in her right mind is going to express her opinion on parenting without first being able to qualify her statement with, “Well, if you take the time to read Braselton” or “According to Dr. Sears . . . and it’s really been working for us!” Interestingly, few of these experts actually agree, so even if you do adhere to a particular philosophy, you will often run into opposition as you meet other hip moms who embrace the ideals of the other fashionable experts.

But I digress. Before I had my first baby, I was full of ideas and opinions on what makes a good parent. I read the newest books and surfed the most popular webpages. I was well on my way to being the most educated, hippest mom around.

From my reading, I made a list: No pacifier before four weeks old and NEVER as a comfort measure for sleeping, never crawl into bed to soothe a fussy toddler to sleep, no juice before two years old and absolutely no soda pop, no candy, never give in to a temper tantrum, don’t rush the kids to the doctor for the sniffles, never use bribery in lieu of healthy redirection, and never freak out if your child isn’t at a particular developmental milestone at any given time (as if any mother really compares her child to the other children in the playgroup, right?).

So there we are, driving along the interstate in the middle of a several hour road trip –a hip, cool mom and a screaming, unhappy toddler. I try Veggie Tales. I try singing. I try a sippy cup. I repeat my mantra, “I’m a hip, cool mom” over and over to myself. Finally, out of desperation, I do the unthinkable – I pass back a package of m&m’s. Viola. Happy toddler. Now we are a traveling duo of one sheepish hip mom and one contented toddler. Three “nevers” out the window in one weak moment – bribery, candy, and giving in to a tantrum.

A hip mom knows that the experts are good resources, but ultimately every kid is unique and every situation is unique. Trust your instincts. Give in occasionally. And for all those out there who have an opinion on your parenting methods, always be ready with a cleverly worded, “Well, it’s a pretty revolutionary idea, but according to . . .”

Hip Mom Rule #2: It's really about the small things

Raising two young children has left me very little time to take care of myself. But, I realized I had let things slip a little too much when I crawled into bed the other night and the bottoms of my feet snagged my new sheets. Yes, they literally pulled threads out. With morbid curiosity, I pulled my foot up to my face and examined my forlorn feet. The polish was chipped, the toenails looked like caveman nails, and the soles were so rough I could have grated Wisconsin cheese on them.

I ran to the bathroom and took a critical look at myself in the mirror. When had my scientifically enhanced red hair returned to its natural dishpan brown? When was my last haircut? And my pores! They looked like a kid’s connect-the-dots coloring book. How could I not notice these little things?

Everyday I do little things. I make toast for breakfast. I pick up toys. I wash little hands. I comfort, entertain, and love two little boys. Everything I do is important, but nothing I do is terribly difficult, time-consuming or monumental. If asked about my day, I would have nothing amazing to report. But, it’s doing all those little things that keeps me sane, keeps my kids sane, and keeps my household functioning.

I never say that I don’t have time to do these little things, because I know that if I stopped, I would never be able to catch up. Each task would seem enormous. It is the same with being a hip, pulled-together mom. So what if I don’t have time to sit at the beauty salon and have professional facials, pedicures, and hair coloring jobs on a regular basis; I can still find time to take care of myself the way I did before having a family. I just need to stop feeling like it’s an all or nothing proposition. And I definitely can’t let it go so long that my feet begin to resemble my 85 year-old grandfather’s feet!

Tonight’s “To do” list: Laundry, dishes, paint toenails, change sheets on kids’ beds, facial, relax.

Hip Mom Rule #1: It Still Matters

I knew I shouldn’t do it. I know better. You NEVER wear brown shoes with a black sweater. But, being 33 weeks pregnant and exhausted from a day of chasing around an 18-month old, I thought, “Who is really going to care what color shoes I have on when I can’t even see my own feet!”

So, I chose to walk out the door in my brown shoes and black sweater. Seriously, with a good-looking husband and a cute toddler, who would really notice me anyway?

Once we got to the mall, I became increasingly self-conscious of my poor shoe selection. Everywhere I looked, I saw well-put together women who had chosen to follow the fashion rules. I felt like Janet Jackson after SuperBowl 2003 – major wardrobe malfunction!! I was miserably conspicuous. Women everywhere seemed to wonder what a well-dressed man like my husband was doing with this fashion train wreck at his side. All because I didn’t take the time to change my shoes.

The thing with pregnancy and new momhood is that we tend to put others’ needs well before our own. By the time we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, we barely resemble the put-together, hip women that we used to be. Instead, a bedraggled, exhausted woman stares back. At no time in my pre-baby life would I have been too lazy or tired to care how I looked.

A hip mom won’t be “put-together” every time she walks out the door, but this hip mom will NOT walk out the door again just not caring. Therefore, I will not leave for Target in my sweat pants. I will not be in my pajamas when my husband gets home from work. I will not go three days without washing my hair, and then cover the evidence with an old, dirty baseball cap. Black pants, black socks. And if this means asking my husband to tie the shoelaces on the only shoes that match that black sweater, then so be it.

I am a fashion conscious, hip mom, so I must continue fighting to maintain some semblance of my fashionable self in this new maze of dirty diapers, stained shirts, and perfume d’spitup.