Why You Shouldn’t Bully My Children

Aka: Someone called me a “bad***” and this is why:

There are a few things in this world that really make my blood boil. One of those things is bullying. I feel this way partly because I was bullied for almost all my years in elementary school. To this day I still remember the little girls that bullied me by name even though it’s been a good twenty years since I left that school. Although I no longer feel threatened by these girls, my heart still goes out to children who are teased, left out, and bullied.

Especially when bullying happens to my own children.

So you can bet how livid I was yesterday when an older kid slapped my Kindergartner in the face right in front of me after school.

My middle son, the Kindergartner, has always been sort of an awkward kid. He’s slightly immature for his age, but has come a long way since he first started school. My son is just now coming out of his shell and starting to make friends, but still sometimes he runs up to kids and yells something silly to child strangers which I am sure comes off as being weird to other kids.

Which is what happened yesterday afternoon.

Everything was going great after school. My middle son was giving me no problems walking to the crosswalk for the first time in two weeks. The crosswalk guard then told us it was time to cross the street. When we got out to the middle, my middle son ran up to an older kid (who happens to look like Dennis the Menace) and screams something unintelligible to the boy. Dennis the Menace then slaps my son in the face. My son just stared at him like what the heck just happened.

I don’t know what overcame me, but in almost a split second I grabbed Dennis the Menace by the backpack, turned him around in the middle of the street, raised my hand, and came this close to slapping the little brat across his own face. In fact, the only thing that kept me from slapping him was that he flinched as he watched my hand get two inches from his face. So I asked Dennis,

“What the heck just happened? Why did you just slap him?” (We were now on the sidewalk on the other side of the street.)

He replies, “I don’t know…um…he cussed at me.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well you live on *** Street, right?” (I’m still holding onto his backpack; I’m not letting him go anywhere.)

“Yah…”

“Well, let’s go. We’re going to your house and telling your dad that you just slapped my kid.”

By now my blood is beginning to cool off. In fact, I didn’t even notice at that point that I was still grabbing the kid’s backpack while walking him over to his street. Once we got to his street, I let go of his backpack and I told him that the better thing for him to have done if he thought my kid was cussing at him was to tell me instead of hitting my kid. I told him that discipline is the parent’s responsibility and not his because he is a kid. I told him that under no circumstances should he ever hit another kid, especially not a younger, smaller kid.

Then I had him point his dad out who was sitting on his front porch waiting for his sons to get home. Dennis dragged his feet behind me.

Now to set the stage here: Dennis the Menace lives in the same 1970s neighborhood as me with large front yards and smaller backyards. His particular home has hardly any grass and the front yard is covered in children’s toys and bicycles. Dad is a much older man, probably somewhere in his late 60s. Before yesterday I even thought this older man was the grandpa. Dad is scruffy looking and very unkempt with a beer-belly stretching out like a ten month pregnant woman. Lucky me, at least he had a shirt on yesterday.

So, I tell dad what happened.

Dad turns to his boy and asks, “What did he say to you?”

Dennis the Menace says, “He called me an Effing A-Hole.” (Except he said the real words.)

Honestly, I still don’t think that’s what my kid said, but since I saw with my own eyes my kid say something to Dennis, I at least admitted that whatever my kid said that it was enough to upset the brat.

Then the dad thanked me for telling him what happened and that he would discipline his boy. I thanked him for listening and told him I’d do likewise. I then grabbed my three sons and told them it was time to walk home. We proceeded to walk off his front porch when the old man tries to bring up casual conversation with me:

“So, how old are your children?”

“Five, six, and seven,” I reply.

“Oh wow! You just popped out those kids…POP POP POP!!!”

And I’m telling you I came this close to slapping that old man across his face and calling him some choice words myself.

Jerkwad.

PS: For explanation of the above photo, please refer to Out of Context Morons.

Raising a Champion – the good, the bad and the ugly

We all remember signing our first born up for little league.  Wow!  He’s got such talent!  He can catch the ball!  And HIT!  Visions dance in our heads: select teams, UIL Championships, college scholarships, Olympics, a high-paying professional career.  It’s a lot of fun to fantasize – everyone does it. 

Eventually you realize that those dreams only apply to a very small percentage of kids, and yours isn’t among them.  But he loves baseball, soccer, summer swim team, football, tennis and goes on to have a wonderfully ordinary childhood and an enjoyably unremarkable love of sports. 

Despite your bona fide delight in your child, somewhere in the back of your mind it lingers….  What if…  I’d pushed harder, hired a private coach, gotten more involved, was less involved – what if? 

I’m sure logic and observation tell you that odds are pretty good things would turn out just the way they are now despite additional parental efforts.  Athletics are up to the athlete – their body, their mind, and their desire.  And remember the phrase… careful what you wish for. 

I’m writing about possibly raising a champion.  I haven’t raised Colt McCoy or Michael Phelps.  But at this tenuous point in time, it is still in the realm of possibility, barring injury, teenage attitude, or any life event that can change it all in a heartbeat.  The sport that chose my son is swimming.  But much of how it affects our lives can be applied to any sport at a high level. 

Sacrifice – obviously!

My son sacrifices a lot.  At thirteen, he is highly cognizant that his social life is not what he’d hoped.  He is released from school early to train; he doesn’t get home until nearly 8pm each night and still must tackle homework.  He practices at 6am on Saturdays.  Friends over after school and sleepovers are few and far between.  

Obviously, this sacrifice bleeds over into family life.  Meals are rushed or in shifts.  I spend an inordinate amount of time in the car.  We plan our vacations, celebrations, etc. around the yearly rhythm of the sports season.  When we vacation, we are up at 5am anyway, to train with a local team.  I have to work extra hard to make sure that my son’s schedule doesn’t take away from the activities and desires of the rest of the family. 

Being a working parent with a super-athlete is difficult. The logistics of being released early from school and daily or twice-daily practices proved to be impossible to combine with my career, so my career has been back-burnered until he drives.

Nutrition

Let me just say that eating 5,000 calories a day is not as easy as it sounds.  Good food is a requirement for any growing kid, and I do my best to provide nutritionally dense whole foods.  Increase the difficulty factor by having your child out of the house (or asleep) for all but 40 minutes in a 14+ hour period and it becomes more challenging.  As I look at the coming years, his training time and his caloric needs will both increase by 25% or more.  Most of this is my job, but some of it rests on him too.  He eats until he’s full, and then tries to eat some more.  He eats a lot of stuff he doesn’t really like, but know he has to.

Travel

While we are fortunate to live in an area where there are plenty of opportunities to compete, as his skill increases, he must travel farther and farther afield to compete against (or train with) the best.  Sometimes with us, and sometimes without.  I have accompanied him on five-day journeys where I got to see him swim a total of 93 seconds.  I have NOT accompanied him on trips I term “black holes.”  His ability to articulate his experience is sadly lacking, as are photos.   In a nutshell, travel is expensive and stressful.  But very worth it.

The Head –both of us

Achievement is thrilling, gratifying and elating.  For the athlete and their staff (that would be me).  Falling short can be devastating and an athlete’s ability to pick up the pieces and move on is critical.  To see him fail is gut wrenching. There are many roles a parent can choose to play at times like these.  Mine is to hide in the bathroom.  Critique is the coach’s job, and false kudos from me are hollow.  At thirteen he’s old enough to work through it; he failed and he knows it.  But he’s still “my baby” and to watch him twist with mental agony after so much hard work is painful.  I have to trust in his “head’ and hope that he doesn’t see me crying too.

Keeping it all in Perspective

He’s just a kid.  While time and logistics dictate that the mothers of other like-minded athletes are my “village” I also try to spend as much time as possible hanging with other moms to help my “mothering style” be more like theirs and less like some of the rabid parents of super-athletes.  Likewise for my son – time spent with non-swimming friends feels more normal. 

He’s just a kid.  Only this morning, I was shaking him awake to head to practice and he said, “Mom, I’m soooo tired.”  He needs to have some control over his own life and letting him choose to skip practice today will help him feel centered.  I’ll mumble excuses to his coach and pay the 17yr old neighbor kid to kick his butt around the gym for a few hours this afternoon to make up for it. 

He’s just a kid.  But he has big dreams and some amazing opportunities. The weight of that, how much he “owns” it concerns me sometimes.  Balancing that against his recent invitation to train at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado, right now it seems worth it.  But ask me again when I am hiding in the bathroom while he is fighting to hide his tears from his coach, or gamely getting back in the pool after throwing up, and I’ll let you know.

How to Cube an Apple in One Minute

One of the most time consuming preparations in cooking can be the simple task of cubing fruits and vegetables.

Idealy, when cubing you want each cube to be similar in size and shape. I have tried various methods of cubing, however most have resulted in squished and loppy shaped food.

Don’t you just hate it when that happens?

When I was seventeen, I randomly flipped on the television station one hot summer afternoon. The only show playing at that time was a cooking program. On that show, the chef was preparing various foods for stir frying and I became intrigued at how quickly he seemed to slice his ingredients. That Asian chef was kind of frustrating me–until I figured out his secret by close observation.

Over the past ten or so years I have humbly perfected the method, changing bits here and there to suit me. The following chart gives you my easy instructions for dicing and cubing fruits and vegetables quickly. In no time you’ll be a pro as well.

Use the following instructions on potatoes, tomatoes, pears, cucumbers, zuchinis, peaches, avocados, and of course–apples:

A Quick Trip to the Grocery Store

My grocery list:

Oh, are you going to the store?
Can you pick up a few things?
Let me just add a few details to my list for you.

Hmmmm…let me be a little bit more specific.

Wait.
I thought of a few more things.
It is kinda confusing.
Let me have that list!

Maybe I should just go myself…

Potty Training in Less than a Day?

The last 5 years have been great as far as changing diapers, spending money on diapers and cleaning up dirty diapers! That is due to my youngest child finally moving to regular underwear! Back then, one of the most popular potty training books my friends and I used was Toilet Training In Less Than A Day by Nathan Azrin.

Many of my friends have had great success with this book.

I also picked up a few other ideas along the way.

Below are my favorite tips for potty training a toddler.

Potty training should start when your child is truly ready in all three areas: physical, mental and social. Your child must have the physical ability to perform the steps involved. They should understand how the body works and know the clues. Also, they should have the desire to learn.

Once you have a potty chair, and you are sure your child understands moving from diapers into underwear, ask them to bring you their favorite “lovey” or stuffed animal. Have them teach their “baby” first. This assures that they understand the process and are ready to move forward. If they have a hard time with this, you may want to put it off, but if they are willing to try, go ahead with the thought of introducing it to them.

The basics of the one day training was to set aside one full day that you can teach your child without interruptions. I explained that they were showing signs of being ready and were old enough to move into regular (big girl/boy) underwear. I gave my daughter some lightly salted popcorn and her first coke and explained that these would help us with our potty training for ONE day! Some smart kids may decide to prolong it for a few more days just to get these treats! I had her sit on the potty for 10 minutes and kept her entertained with books, cards, coloring etc. After 10 minutes she could eat some popcorn,drink her soda and play for about 10 minutes. We kept her out of diapers, pull-ups or underwear during this time, yes that means bottom half is out in the open. Then we started over again, sit on the potty for 10 minutes and then we increased the time off the potty about 5 to 10 minutes each time. So you would start off with 10 minutes on, 10 minutes off, 10 minutes on, 15 minutes off, 10 minutes on, 20 minutes off, etc. Continuing to fill them up with her snack which would make them thirsty, the more they drank the more opportunities you gave them to practice. You can use any snack or drink, but these were my preference for this special day!

Once you have introduced potty training, buy several pairs of underwear with your child’s favorite character. Wrap them up in some fun paper or present them in a special way. Let your child know that they have had some success potty training and they are now ready for underwear with their favorite character on them. Then after they model them and put them on and you clap and make a big deal about it, inform them that Cinderella (replace with favorite character name) doesn’t like to get wet or dirty. So, as soon as you need to go to the bathroom, don’t forget, run quickly to keep them dry and clean. A few of my friends tried this when they knew their kids were ready, understood and were still too busy playing to take care of business. If they do have an accident, you could try this note (or email)…

Dear (child’s name),

I am so proud of you for learning how to use the potty! I am also glad you got some underwear with my picture on it. Try to remember to tell your parents as soon as you feel the urge and then go to the restroom. Please remember that I don’t like to get wet or dirty and I love it when I stay dry!

We all have accidents sometimes and if you do, please tell your parents right away! They won’t be mad and then they can wash them quickly, clean me up and you can wear them again.

I am proud of you!

(sign characters name)

Remember each child develops differently. An age range could be anywhere from 18 months to 3 years. By 4, most kids are completely independent.

If you start and realize your child is not ready, try again in a few months.

You can’t make your child complete potty training until they are ready. You can start the training but they decide when it ends. This is not a battle and if it starts to head in that direction, put it off.

Toilet training usually cannot be accomplished in one day. You can accomplish a lot and get the basics down but expect accidents to happen and be prepared in case they do.

Have an extra set of clothing, a plastic bag to put wet clothes in and some wet wipes available nearby when you are out. Do not yell, punish or criticize when they have an accident.

Use positive reinforcement. Point out how proud you are when they make it to the bathroom.

Bedwetting is normal. For both kids the nighttime took much longer. We used night pull ups at bedtime and would try a few nights in a row every couple of months.

Nighttime dryness is achieved only when a child’s body is developed. You can’t “teach” this because it is not a skill. I know many boys that continued to wear night pull ups until the age of 7 and 8. I asked our pediatrician about this and they recommended to bring it up to the doctor to rule out any problems but that some kids may not develop this ability until later.

Please let us know if you have used any of these tips, have a book recommendation or other ideas to pass along!

Cammie Moise is the founder and editor of Moms Material.  She is a Texan mom who writes about all the fun and educational things she has come across in her 10 years of mommyhood.

Dog vs Skunk: A Home Remedy That Works!

Last night I posted this picture:

And I asked if anyone could guess what Reese & I were up to! My one commenter guessed it right…that the dogs had encountered a skunk and fully reeked.

We were sitting in the living room & caught a very strong smell of skunk, which I thought had just come from the woods behind our house. Skunk smells are nothing new around here…they’re always squashed on the roads. I didn’t give it much thought. The back door was open & the dogs were going in & out. Again, I didn’t give it much thought.

I noticed the strong skunk smell again when Zoe came back in the house. Being the ding dong that I am, I called her over to me, grabbed her body and stuck my face into her neck to smell.

HOLY CRAP! Either she was rolling in burning rubber, or a skunk got her with a direct shot. And now my face smells like skunk. And I can taste the smell in my mouth. AHHHH!

Zoe gets put outside, I put myself in the shower and scrub my face with every abrasive, soapy product I can find on the shelves in my bathroom. The smell is not coming off. I want to vomit. This just plain sucks.

While I’m showering, & Reese is watching me saying “I’m glad I didn’t get sprayed by a skunk Mommy!”, I’m wondering if the dogs are trying to escape this family. Earlier in the day, they both got out into the front and bolted. Reese & I went down the street to try and find them, Jeff followed in the golf cart shortly after, & after about 5 minutes we found them. But they were wayyyyy in the back of a house down the street, & if it wasn’t for Jeff’s good eyes, we would have never found them. They don’t wear collars (I know, shame on me) and I don’t remember if I ever microchipped them or not.

Anyway–chasing two dogs in one afternoon is enough for me. Then add a skunk sprayed dog? Are they trying to tell me something.

I also had another thought while showering…I didn’t think to check Buddy to see if he got sprayed too. In the past, when the dogs have cornered a turtle in the shrubs or see another dog on the other side of the fence, they bark like mad & won’t stop until the perpetrator is gone. With the back door open, I never heard any barking so I thought perhaps Buddy had been spared.

I could only be so lucky. He’s a Jack Russell, and his hunting genes led the way. He smelled worse than Zoe. I could hardly be near him.

After my shower, I went onto the internet to look up skunk/dog remedies. I knew about the tomato juice theory, but 1) I didn’t have any tomato juice, 2) it was 9:30pm and I didn’t want to run out to get anything, & 3) tomato juice isn’t supposed to work very well anyway.

Google provided me with a host of options. There’s a peroxide/baking soda/dish soap mixture, but I didn’t have any peroxide. I found a vinegar/dish soap recipe. Many people suggested using a douche. Ewww.

I did have on hand a 2 gallon jug of apple cider vinegar, lots of dish soap, & 1 can tomato paste and 2 cans tomato sauce. I decided I’d tackle Zoe first with my homemade remedy.

I wrapped her in a towel, held her as far away from my body as possible because she was sooooo smelly. I soaked Zoe in a 50/50 mixture of apple cider vinegar and water. Next, I loaded her down with Dawn dish soap and scrubbed away. Skunk spray is oil based, & I figured if dish soap helped the animals stuck in an oil slick, then perhaps it would remove skunk oil too. I skipped her muzzle up to this point. Last, I applied a thick coat of tomato paste to her body & coated her muzzle in tomato paste.

The face I’m making is not for the camera. The combination of skunk/tomato/dish soap/vinegar made me feel like I was going to vomit at any moment.

Yum! Tomato paste!
I let that sit for about 5 minutes. I rinsed her well. Then repeated the apple cider vinegar mixture, repeated Dawn, & then used a can of tomato sauce to scrub with. Again, I applied the tomato sauce generously to her muzzle.

I let that sit as long as possible…probably about 5 minutes again. I rinsed her well, stuck her back outside & hoped for the best.

Next it was Buddy’s turn. And he was worse off than Zoe. I read that skunk spray can blind a dog for up to 2 days, & it makes their nose and mouth burn. I can only imagine how horrible it must have been for the dogs, because I couldn’t stand to smell them for one second. These poor babies were covered in it for an hour!

Can you tell Buddy isn’t very happy?

They had to sleep in the laundry room last night because I wasn’t sure if my remedy would do anything or not. This morning, I was proud to find that their bodies smelled more tomato-y than anything else. Their muzzles still smell slightly skunky, but certainly not any thing close to what they smelled like last night.

I think part of my success came from the fact that they must have just been sprayed when we found them. The oil was fresh & hadn’t dried yet.

It still puzzles me though that they didn’t bark. They bark at everything. They were either caught off guard (because they didn’t make a sound) or were busy sniffing before they figured it was another animal (because they were both sprayed heavily in the face).

Ugh. Yea for home remedies!!

How to Make Your Children BEG for Vegetables

I have admitted repeatedly (hoping confession is good for the soul) that I am not the world’s best cook.

Or even the world’s second best cook.

Really, the world screams “uncle” when I cook.

Aware of my one fault, I have attempted to make up for it in other ways so my family isn’t completely malnourished.

I watch what the boys have for snacks.

I pack healthy lunches.

I do what I can.

The boys like all those little packets of drink mix that you add to water bottles. As a treat once in awhile we choose a flavor…peach tea, pink lemonade, grape, etc. and shake, shake, shake for fun.

I was happy to find pink lemonade with added protein made by Special K that the boys drink with gusto. A little extra protein mid-morning seems to help dispositions.

I then found a drink with a full serving of vegetables! It is called “Veggies To Go”!

Be still my malnourished heart. What could be better than that? The boys are always a little light on the vegetables.

So we added it to the water.

We stirred.

And stirred.

And stirred.

It tastes as bad as it looks.

Using a goldfish glass might have been a little pond-water foreshadowing…

April showers

Last weekend, I took a shower.

Not that this is in and of itself stunning news.  I take a lot of showers.  But this wasn’t just a shower: it was a Shower.  Specifically, it was a shower at a hotel, with no kids, no time limit, and no interruptions.

It was heaven.

Now the physical aspects of the shower stall left a little to be desired.  The bathroom was built in the 1920s, when apparently women were a lot shorter than I am, so I had to hunch over and catch the trickling water in order to wash my hair.  Plus it was small, cramped, and there wasn’t anywhere to hang my razor.

However.  The emotional component of the shower– sorry, Shower– was out of this world.

Before I had the Maiden, I did not properly appreciate the joys of private bathing, private dressing, private showering, and private usage of the potty.  I continued in blissful ignorance until the Maiden became mobile.

That’s when it began to unravel.  I spent my showers with one eye on what the Maiden was pulling out of the vanity drawer, always ready to jump out, dripping all over the floor, to rescue the toothpaste from becoming the Maiden’s second breakfast.

I complained then, but still, I didn’t know how good I had it.  It wasn’t until the Maiden began talking that my downward descent into shower time madness started in earnest.

I don’t know about you, but I prefer to bathe in silence.  The gushing of water from the shower head and the low-pitched hum of the water heater provide just enough background noise to suit me, thank you very much.

The Maiden, however, has always been one to disagree.  As soon as she started speaking in sentences, my shower sessions became “Oh, awesome, Mommy is trapped in this little box and can’t escape! I can now hold her prisoner with nonstop spiels, soliloquies, and other forms of endless entertainment!” sessions.  I can’t run.  The door is glass, so I can’t hide.  If I attempt to plug my ears, my hair won’t get washed.

Maidenified water torture goes on for the first few minutes.  Then as, my mumbling, half-hearted comments signal to the Maiden that my attention is elsewhere, she starts addressing me directly.  Questions.  Polite propositions.  Demands.  I spend the next few minutes fielding requests of “Can I have some candy?” (No), “Can I come in and shower too?” (No), “Mother dear, may I please I shave Hello Kitty’s legs with your razor?” (No!  Are you insane?!?).

Since the Maiden became interested in letters a few years ago, we’ve added something new to the showering routine.  She now prefers me to communicate via the written word.  On the shower door.  They say the family home is the child’s first classroom.  But does my shower door really have to be my child’s first blackboard?

Just you try attempting to wash your hair while writing “The dog sat on the bug.  Splat!  The bug is flat!” in mirror writing on the inside of your shower door, while being careful that you don’t accidentally rub out the letters with your elbow, and praying that your kid will read the sentence fast before it fades from the door and you have to write a third time it in letters that start bleeding water droplets the second you pen them with your index finger.

Finally, I can no longer conjure up intelligible sentences that are simple enough for the Maiden to read, and appropriate enough for a 3 1/2 -year-old to be saying.  I give up, get out of the shower, mutter dreadful things about people who use “shower” and “relaxing” in the same sentence, and get dressed (all with an audience, of course, who doesn’t hesitate to provide commentary where appropriate.  Or, where inappropriate, as it generally is.).  Then I go on to the rest of my day.

Last weekend’s Shower was uneventful.  I got in.  I showered.  I got out.  It was boring.

But it was wonderful.

When do you forgive and forget?

The Picture below is of me shortly after arriving at the hospital… in labor. That was 17 months ago. Time flies, and at this very moment the baby girl that was in my tummy in this picture, is now running back and forth across the living room babbling to herself on a play phone! I think she has a bad connection, because she keeps yelling “hi!… hi?…hi!!?!” into the receiver

The day this picture was taken was the best day of my life, because it brought me my sweet smelling, pink bundle of love. But there is something else about that day that leaves me with a pit in my stomach.

My husband and I had hired a birth doula to help me through my labor. I lost my mom when I was 16, and when I married my husband I moved to Texas far away from all my relatives and friends. My desire for a doula was for all usual reasons, but also because I knew in that pivotal moment of my life – I would be missing an older female to guide me. It was important to me that I have a “mother figure” with me when I got scared, or when the pain became too much for me. But, the doula that we hired to be there, took our money…and never came.

You may wonder if we did our research? We did. We interviewed several different doulas, we took notes, we made sure they were in good standing with DONA the most notable doula association, an agency that oversees doulas and certifies them, we even picked a doula that had been voted the best in our area by readers of local magazine. And we asked questions…lot’s of them. In the end they all seemed great, but I felt most drawn to the older woman, I was looking for a stand in for my own mom after all. The doula was on her way to becoming a midwife, and was a trainer to new doulas in our area. She seemed like a great choice, she seemed motherly. We paid her, and she agreed to keep the two weeks surrounding our due date free.

When I went into labor we called her right away. She advised us to go get something to eat, and to rest up. Productive labor she said, was still  far away. My water broke a short while later in the cosmetic aisle in Walgreens … so we knew our baby was on it’s way! We called the doula again, she suggested we continue stay at home as long as we could. But she kept giving us reasons she shouldn’t come to our house, help me with the labor. We were both excited and scared, and went along with what she said. We stayed home despite the fact that I had Meconium in my amniotic fluid. She advised us to not call our doctor, since he would likely say to come to the hospital, but she advised us that wasn’t necessary. But as the evening got later my husband and I both felt uncomfortable following that advice, and went to the hospital anyway. She explained that she didn’t need to meet us there yet, because “we would have so much paper work” to fill out  first. And when we called her after I was given a room – she felt it would be better for her to “nap, and then wake up later and have lot’s of coffee.” She said she would call us in a little while, and let us know she was on the way. I was in full labor, and being given Pitocin to increase the strength of my contractions all night. She never called. And she never came. I was in labor through the night, and in the morning it was finally decided I needed a C-section ASAP. My husband called the doula, and told her she had missed my labor.

After getting home from the hospital days later, my husband called the doula to see what happened. She had no explanation for why she never showed up, but did offer him a refund of the money she had taken from us. Months went by…no money. We e-mailed her, and could see she opened our e-mail, but she would not reply. Michael tried, I tried, at first saying perhaps she had misplaced our address, and later asking her why she was not responding. Eventually she e-mailed me, and acted like she didn’t know why we were asking for a refund! It was infuriating. We had a new baby at home and no time for her games. But eventually we saw we had been lied to a second time. She had no intention of following through. So we contacted DONA. I submitted a formal complaint, waited for them to get in touch with her, get her side, and then interview us both on the phone. After months of waiting, I received paper work from DONA letting me know they had found her at fault. And recommending she refund our money, and write us a letter of apology, along with other requirements. She never did. And when I let DONA know she hadn’t followed through on any of those requirements, they told me they were just “suggestions” and they could not make her do them, and that they would not be revoking her “good standing” with DONA! So if another person researches her, just like we did – they will never know her history. It remains hidden, and she can continue to do this.

My husband is a wise man, and he has often suggested that we try to forgive and forget what happened. That she was wrong, but we only poison ourselves by continuing to feel hurt by it. I understand his point of view. But I often wonder if we should continue to pursue the matter for the sake of other expectant parents who may hire this woman, and never know her history. I also wonder if letting her win, will only serve to show her that being a rotten person pays. That it’s ok for her to promise to be there for someone in a pivotal life moment, and take their money…but not respect that agreement enough to follow through. Or at the very least, to apologize if something came up, and refund their money. Not to mention her advice to stay at home when she knew we had Meconium in the amniotic fluid. That could have caused our daughter to have long term health problems had it gotten in her lungs. Which thank God it did not.

Readers, this is the abbreviated story. There are plenty of other details that eat away at me. And I feel like I need to make a decision about this – should I contact small claims court? Write the Attorney general? Or do I just walk away? I’d like to have some closure on the whole thing, but I don’t know if I’ll get it by being the “bigger person” or by standing up for myself.



Behold! The Power of Two

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