by Cindy Droog |
-
I realized
last night that I'm going to have to rescind my Mother of the Year award
application. And it's only May. At least this year, I've recognized it sooner rather than later.
I shouldn't
be disappointed, as this is no recent epiphany. Back in March, I found a
perfect-circle-shaped stain on my son's favorite children's book. I tried to
remember: Had I opened a can of Spaghetti-O's in the living room and left it
sitting there, with preserved-and-super-thin tomato juice dripping out of
it?
Had I sat
down a sweaty ponytail holder on the book, after pushing the 50-lb. double
stroller up the hill by our house?
No. Because
those occurrences wouldn't have taken me out of the running. What really
happened was that one particularly stressful evening, after the kids went to
bed, I opened a very dark beer and used the book as a coaster.
We don't
keep real coasters in our house, because small boys can use them as boomerangs - the kind that bounce off each other's foreheads before coming back to the
original thrower.
That stain
shall forever serve as a reminder that Sandra Boynton books are not waterproof,
and I think they do make softer, cork coasters these days - sort of like the
ones they have at bars, only hopefully without the Mike's Hard Cranberry logo.
That doesn't match our décor.
I felt the
award slipping away again in early May. I'd planned a business trip. Flight and hotel? Secured. Shuttle service from the
airport to the training seminar? I'd even packed cheese and crackers for the
ride.
All was
well, except for one thing. The trip was on the anniversary of my husband and my first date. We celebrate it every year. He completely understood.
Still, the fact that I went through all of that work - looking at the calendar,
scheduling the whole thing - without realizing the conflict with that date, has
haunted me ever since.
I now have
nightmares about forgetting my youngest son's second birthday, being out of town on the first
day of kindergarten, and oversleeping during one of their weddings.
Speaking of
birthdays, I took another step toward award ineligibility this past weekend as I went 3-year-old birthday shopping at Toys ‘R Us. In reality, no place gives me more nightmares. I walked in. I
looked around. I didn't know where to go. Doubt seeped in. I feebly lifted a couple of
toys off the shelf only to realize they're too old. Too girlish. Too made in
China.
Indecision
turned to paralysis. I turned and leave, unable to stomach the place long enough to satisfy a couple of Lightning McQueen-related wishes. (Thank you, eBay!)
Add all of
this to my lack of scrapbooking skills, and that's it. The committee's reaction
to my application? Laughter. My nomination? Rejected.
Thank
goodness my kids don't know the difference. They also don't know that last year, I took a
demotion at work so I could spend more time with them. That I've skipped book
club (or reading at all for that matter), running club, Economic Club and a host
of other non-essential clubs so I could be a decent mom.
I may not
be Mom of the Year, but I'm also the hardest on myself. They love me,
the feeling is more mutual than they will ever understand until they have kids themselves, and I'm pretty sure we can make the most of it.
by Cindy Droog | -
I have been diligent since the launch of the MomPod to avoid blog posts about product, and only product. But in mid-February, when Amway's Atmosphere Air Purifier became the first of its kind to be certified by the Asthma & Allergy Foundation of America, I knew that I'd be writing this post soon after.
Of course "soon," to a busy professional and mom clearly means eight weeks later!
Some people love their cars. They name them. Clean, vacuum, and wax them on the weekends. Only park them in spots where dings are far less likely to happen. Other people love their clothes. In fact, a friend of mine nearly got a divorce over what she deemed "the bikini incident," in which her hubby accidentally put her favorite one in the dryer, ruining it forever.
As for me, my car is neglected aside from getting gas every few weeks. My clothes are clean, but ironed? Don't be ridiculous!
By my Atmosphere Air Purifier is beloved. Yep, you read that right. Beloved. It all goes back to a rainy day in March two years ago. The day that I learned all of the following: My oldest son had allergies and asthma. My dad had stage 4 lymphoma. And I was pregnant with number two.
That was one heck of a day - talk about highs and lows. But something about the news that your child can't breathe? When it first happens, it's devastating. Air - critical to life - and something he didn't have enough of? I don't think I slept for weeks. I'd listen to his monitor all night long, for any sign of struggle. When he was awake, I'd put my ear against his lungs and pray for them to be better.
His asthma was allergy-induced. My husband and I proceeded to de-dog our home, purchase the proper pillow and mattress covers for his crib, pack stuffed animals in a box and ship them off to Project Night Night, and more. Later that week, my friend and coworker Andy Gamm, brand manager for home technologies like the Atmosphere, suggested I buy one, put it in AJ's room, and allow it to be part of his relief process.
Today, I'm happy to report his condition effectively managed, and on most days, entirely unnoticeable. Of course, I don't attribute all that to the Atmosphere. His doctors and specialists were great. His diet change, and new pet - a fish, plastic - made a big difference, too.
Still, when the Atmosphere reached this milestone, I wanted to honor it, just as my parents used to celebrate good grades and other achievements with me. I brought it home a new filter as a present. I gave it a little hug, and sat with it and reminisced about how far my kids - and my dad - had come in the last two years.
So, to all of the scientists, marketers, PR peeps, lawyers, financial wizards, Amway Global Independent Business Owners, and others who love this product as I do, this certification is really for all of us.
I suggest you go home and hug your Atmosphere today. Or, if you're not the hugging type, at least bring it a cupcake. (Go ahead: light the candle while you're at it. See how quickly the smoke takes to clear the room!)
Congratulations, Atmosphere! It's belated, but you are beloved!
by Cindy Droog | -
But first, a quick word from MomPod blogger Cindy. I've spent the past few weeks thinking about having a Dad do a guest post on the MomPod. A lot of my readers and commentators are male, and I thought they would appreciate it. Then, I read this story by Jeff Ambs, who is one of my counterparts at Amway working on social media and digital marketing - a topic you all know I'm passionate about - and I loved it. So thanks, Jeff, for letting me share this with my readers. And readers, let me know what you think of having more Dads in the MomPod. I'm trying to enlist another Jeff - Jeff Bosch - a Dad with ten kids that works on the technical side of the Opportunity Zone, to guest blog next!
The Night that Went Analog
by Jeff Ambs
A few weeks ago, we had another rainy, gloomy March night in West Michigan.
However - unlike other overcast winter nights - we lost our home cable connection. This meant no TV nor Internet. At first, it was a bit of a shock. Normally, the TIVO is in overdrive and we have several commercial-free options to choose from. Or, if we don't have a show that both my wife and I like, we have the "share" rule: Whoever gets the TV must give up the laptop.
This means she can't watch the Gilmore Girls and do her Facebook at the same. It is a great rule. We use it almost every night. But this night, neither option was available. Summers in Michigan are fantastic, and we are normally outside past dusk, but winters are different. We were going to unwind in our living room. No other options.
We talked. We read. We did a puzzle. We connected. I learned more about my wife's childhood than ever before. I read Newsweek from cover to cover. Digital influences so much of my every day life that I had forgotten how personal life is in the analog. Analog has less distractions. Less blinking, annoying advertisements. Stories are not condensed into headlines; they are conveyed through insight, stories and substance.
As the Digital Communication Manager for Amway, naturally I'm a bit torn by my love of this Analog experience. Every day, I study the communications industry, technological advancements, and media trends. I schedule weekend plans through Facebook. I know digital is often cheaper, more effective and more measureable than Analog.
So why was Analog so...refreshing?
After some reflection, I realized the Analog world forced me to go deeper into a topic, share it with my mate and bring the relevancy to my situation. I had no other options! I was not distracted by chat updates, pop-up ads, or dings of new e-mails. It was just me and my magazine.
Digital is dynamic. It is shallow AND deep. nd, it is Rowdy. Marketing in Digital challenges us to create content and experiences that not only grab attention but also make connections. We need style and substance.
As soon as the internet connection was restored, I immediately decided to leverage the Digital to share my Analog experience by writing this post. I can't escape Digital. Digital is how I communicate. Digital is today...and tomorrow. And the Night that went Analog enlightened my challenge to ensure Amway's Digital is purposeful, immersive and relevant.
by Cindy Droog |
-
I have a few go-to friends when I need an ear. I have a go-to babysitter when I need a date night. A go-to colleague who always has great advice; a go-to neighborhood between home and work with four decent take-out restaurants; and a go-to stress-buster called Billy Blanks' Tae Bo tapes.
(Of course, it also helps to have my own go-to vivid imagination of who’s on the other end of my left hook.)
But when I have five minutes between meetings and want to spend some quality time reading an article that will make me a better working mom, just where do I go to?
Minti – for conversations that prove I’m not as crazy as I feel? CafeMom – to find a humorous blog about someone else’s 14-month-old saying “duck,” only it sounds like something that rhymes with “duck” instead?
If I go to BabyCenter.com, I can find out how to improve my eldest’s vocabulary. Or maybe I should hit my account at Samsung’s Moms Like Me for a laundry tip? One of my kids did look like quite the ragamuffin when he left the house this morning.
In my Circle of Super Moms on Facebook, I can see some pictures of friends’ kids and compare the cuteness of my kids to theirs. That’s always a mood lift. Or should I go to iVillage and see what Meredith Vieira has to say about how she manages to get to work at 4 a.m. every day and still be sure her kids get a healthy breakfast?
Inspiring. Yet somehow depressing at the same time.
I could go to BlogHer, where they’ll help me decide if I should be Facebook friends with my ex-boyfriends, and I could go to Mommy Track’d to find out what children’s books don’t reinforce stereotypes of girls and women.
Maybe I should take my five minutes and sign up for the Mom 2.0 Summit, where I can meet more confused moms who don’t have a roadmap. Or I could go to PNN.com because I am rather desperate for a birthday gift idea for hubby.
I could improve my fashion sense (always something I’m in need of) at Glamour.com or Elle.com, or get a recipe that helps make eating broccoli just as fun as going to Chuck E. Cheese at Parenting.com or CookieMag.com.
By the time I’ve made up my mind, my five minutes are up. I’m off to meeting number four for the day, with nary a recipe, new friend, cleaner clothes, or a desperately-needed mood lift.
It is both the beauty and the curse of the Internet. For every tidbit of information I want, there are no less than a hundred places to go. It makes me wonder: if I had 75 go-to friends to choose from, how would I know who exactly to call? If I had that many stress-busters to choose from, I’d be stressed just trying to pick.
Aren't there times when it's easier to have fewer choices?
This doesn’t mean I’m habitual or non-adventurous or non-supportive of all different social sites and networks. I am. It's my job, for that matter. It does mean that I’m busy as heck and as a consumer, I can’t take it anymore.
I barely have time to Digg my favorites; Del.i.ci.ous my boss's blog posts; or Flickr last weekend’s trip to the beach. Unless I stop sleeping. And while that’s always an option, I’d rather be a trendsetter. The one working mom who breaks her addiction to BabyCenter; stops being so reliant on Kraft Foods Online, and never – ever – goes to YouTube for advice on how to buy a bra that fits.
And then, my only “go-to” place in between meetings will be the important one. The Ladies’ Room. What about you?
by Cindy Droog |
-
This isn't the first time I've posted about friendship and health. I
still believe that no matter what you eat, how much you exercise, or
how successful you are, life ain't much without your peeps.
I've posted about my mommy friends, my college friends, my work
friends, friends who've died, and friends who've ticked me off (they've
all since been forgiven, of course. I also believe that forgiveness is
just as - if not more - healthy as friendship).
Now that my
oldest is going to start preschool in seven months, we're a little torn
as to where to send him. Lots of things matter: location, reputation,
philosophy, education. But none matters more to me than him finding
friends.
I'd always considered college my most formative
years, but I heard a song yesterday that reminded me of fifth grade,
and two friends who moved away that year. It's been 25 years since
then, but here's how they've impacted my life:
Patrick
Sheldon was a kid I knew for just four years. He and his brothers moved
in across the street from us. I had the responsibility of being a
latch-key kid with a little brother, nine years my junior, to look
after. Patrick seemed not to have a care in the world. I'm sure he did,
actually; but he seemed to know about concepts like Zen and Meditation
at the age of 11. He was Mellow Yellow.
Bike riding. Climbing trees. People watching.
He
taught me the joy in all of these things. He taught me how to relax and
find time for myself. I still practice what he taught me nearly every
day. When he moved to a different state, I also learned a little about
heartbreak.
Then, there was Jennifer Schuster. She was the
girl your parents dreaded. Tons of make-up. A can of hair spray and a
jean miniskirt on a 20-degree day. Homework? What a serious waste of time to her! Jenn wasn't a bad kid, but she
wasn't afraid to take risks, and she taught me the same. My dad once called her Crazy Dazey (and no, he did not mean "Daisy" like the flower).
The
first time I rode my bike across the suspension bridge (which was
expressly forbidden by my parents) was with Jenn. The first time I
kissed a boy was because she egged me on to do it. (Yes, she was
standing right there. Not exactly romantic, but still memorable.)
I
know my son has yet to meet the friends that will shape his life. And I
have yet to freak out over the "Jenns" in his brood. Still, it's
healthy to have friends that push you outside of your comfort zone,
along with the friends who live in exactly your same comfort zone.
What other kinds of friends have made you a better - and healthier - person over the years? I'd like to know!
by Cindy Droog | -
First of all, I want to thank Dr. Pramatha Payra and Dr. Sajnukta Ghose Payra of Friendswood, Texas, for sharing this acrostic poem about Nutrilite Kids Brainiums DHA Supplement written by their seven-year-old son Syamantak.
Second of all, I want to offer Syamantak my encouragement! What a resume this young, talented writer already has. I've been a professional writer for nearly 15 years, but Syamantak already has more accolades at age seven than most writers can hope to achieve in a lifetime.
Thinking of him brings me back to my first attempt at acrostic poetry (which, for you non-poetry loves, are poems in which the letters at the beginning of each line spell out a word). I was in second grade, and we were asked to create an acrostic poem out of our names. Mine was:
Cindy
Is
Not
Dead
Yet
I'm quite sure my teacher felt, at that very moment, my future in writing was bleak. Here's Syamantak's version, which is much better, and which I'm going to share with my son who also loves his Brainiums!
BRAINIUMS
by Syamantak Payra
BRAINIUMS: mom says they make you bright, brilliant and brainy!
REALLY, really delicious too, in lemon and fruit punch gummies, yummy!
ADVANCED, adventurous, adroit – that’s me! I take Brainiums everyday.
IMPRESSIVE and inspiring – isn’t it? Intelligent decision to eat.
NATURAL and nutritious – while going to school it’s a great treat!
I’D rather eat these, than a b-i-g Salmon from the Atlantic!
ULTIMATE flexibility of joints due to the EPAs, says dad – wow, terrific!
MEMORY, learning and concentration due to the DHAs, mom urges.
SUPERB, splendid, smartest kid ever! You can be one too – with Brainiums!
If you meet Syamantak at an Amway Global event, I'd recommend getting his autograph. He's going places - powered by Brainiums!
by Cindy Droog |
-
I love that show where aspiring inventors showcase their wares and compete for the
resources to turn their ideas into reality. But I've little time to try out for a TV show, and the only prototype I've ever been capable of making
was a diorama in the 10th grade depicting a scene from "A Streetcar Named
Desire."
Still, I've got some Working Mom Inventions that I think are worth considering. All they require is a little synergy
between companies.
First, for the fabric
makers, soap companies (hint, hint, Amway!) and laundry machine manufacturers. All I ask is that you
invent a way for me to do all colors of laundry in the same load. Put your
heads together. Think of all the moms out there who'd rather spend time
with their kids than sorting laundry, and waiting until the white
load is as big as the dark one to accomplish her chore. Trust me. You stand to make a fortune.
Second, for the vacuum cleaner and lawn mower folks who understand self-propelling technology. Get together with the cosmetics companies (uh-hum. Amway!). One day, I want to be
able to sit in my bathroom, hands-free and George Jetson-style, with my head
sitting on a chin rest while my make-up is automatically done for me. My
employer will forever thank you. Not only will I look better each day, but I'll
be less of a danger on the road as I stare at the mascara stick headed straight for my eyeball rather than the car in front of me.
While I'm at it, I could really use
what I'll call the "Age-Appropriate Response Wheel - The AARW." Have you ever had your child ask you a question you just didn't know how to answer? Something you knew, but didn't know how to say? This happens to me all of the time. It's not a new thing - I have one of these wheels for selecting wine. You just spin the little wheel to whatever
dish you're making for dinner, and it tells you exactly which complementary
wine to purchase. I figure that if it can be done when it comes to Pinot Gris
versus Pinot Noir, we can also do it for the proper response to "Why are those dogs wrestling like that?"
All the AARW needs to happen is for some child psychologist to get with the Wine Wheel people. Mission accomplished. Many awkward moments
avoided.
My final invention is the men's
underwear drawer sensor, which will take a few automotive engineers, the ones who know how to make the lights on your
car dashboard tell you your gas or oil is low, toget with the furniture
makers. Invent
some sort of alarm or flashing light to tell men when they've got only three
pairs of boxers left in the drawer. Wives and bachelors alike will buy them.
That way, the words, "Oh crap! Laundry must be done tonight and there is
absolutely no chance it can wait" shall never leave another man's lips.
Place a big ad on iVillage.com, and
bam! These new dressers will be sold out across the country. Backorders will
fill plant manufacturing schedules and warehouses for years to come. This
invention could potentially fix the unemployment problem in two states!
These inventions might not be ready
for prime time television. But in some boardroom, somewhere, we can only hope
that they read the MomPod, and that they're listening.
by Cindy Droog |
-
I've got two high-profile
initiatives going on. One is at home; one is at work - and it's getting harder
and harder to tell the difference.
At home, we're potty-training our
eldest. The freedom from half of the diapers in my life excites me!
But the days that lie before me are as intimidating as the time
my grandpa yelled "freeze" with a gun pointed loosely in my
direction. An eye-blink later, he blew the head off a rattlesnake that had gotten too close to me. Speaking of a
diaper, that's exactly what I needed at that moment. Even though I was
13.
The second initiative is the Social Media Guidebook for Amway Global IBOs. If done right, I believe it will change attitudes and
behaviors, and make us more successful. If done wrong - well, Iet's not think that way!
Both experiences will build
character and that's not where the similarities will end.
First, potty-training "experts" ask you to consider that
two-year-olds are all about exploring just how much control they have over their world. In other words, they might fight you. They might make
excuses that don't make sense. They might rather keep moving Lightning McQueen
across the coffee table while they poop. You have to be strong.
Folks in social media can be like that, too. There are "experts" advocating that we try to "control" that world, but we don't want to. We know we can't. We just want to be a voice of reason; a voice for the positive changes we know are happening; a force that represents what IBOs and the company are doing well, both on- and off-line.
Second, children don't move as fast as you'd like them to in potty training. Just yesterday, my son didn't realize what he had to do until it was too late. Sort of reminds me of our efforts on Facebook. We realize what we need to do, but in large corporations, things don't always move as fast as you'd like them to. Just like I wished he'd have run faster to get to the bathroom, I wish I could snap my fingers and make our assets on Facebook amazing!
I've also learned that detachment from the situation can work. Rather than pushing A.J. to venture into a room with a cold tile floor and lots of step-stools, acting like it's no big deal to put another diaper actually worked late last night. He eventually decided on his own.
I wonder if this reverse psychology will work with social media. I have a ton of passion - too much, really - for it. In fact, one
my New Year's Resolutions is to let my death-grip on certain opinions and projects loosen. Perhaps if I act a little more casual and stop talking about my Social Media Guidelines project for a short
time - stop scheduling meetings about it and stop sending emails - people will
start to show increasing signs of curiosity and commitment.
Here's hoping that 2009 brings the accomplishment of both of these
feats. I'd love to spend my spring with half the diapers and twice the project
proponents in place!
by Cindy Droog |
-
After spending more and more time with young boys these days, I believe it's time for a change. Time for North America to take a closer look at some of the behaviors we restrict in public and make them socially acceptable. After all, we do them at home. Here is my list so far:
1. The Bib - Not Just for Lobster Anymore
Who's with me? Who else out there has started to get dressed for work in the morning, only to say to themselves, "I can't wear this crisp, white shirt. I have a lunch meeting today." Who else keeps their old black blazer hanging in the office "just in case" of total food-stain embarrassment?
Let's stop the madness. Let's embrace our instinctual eating habits like Randy in the Christmas Story when he "shows mommy how the piggies eat!" Let us let the ketchup fly! Imagine if we were able to wear bibs at every meal how much money we would save on dry cleaning bills, stain lifters and new clothes? Not to mention the Earth-saving benefits of fewer weekly washloads.
2. The Toot
We own a cabin with another couple, who also have small children in the family. It's become our inside joke that whenever someone releases a gastrointestinal bubble, we say, "Hey, is there a duck in here?" to which everyone responds with a few seconds of laughter before proceeding with their activities.
Again, let's look at this from the time-saving perspective. Rather than shrinking in your seat with embarrassment in meetings or restaurants, if you are guilty, relax. We could all share a laugh and a fine stress-relieving moment before getting back to the task at hand.
3. The "Arnold Jackson" Look
My youngest son responds to my baby babble with what I consider the classic, "What'choo talkin' ‘bout Willis?" look made famous by Gary Coleman with his Arnold Jackson character in Diff'rent Strokes days. I find it hilariously refreshing. Now, consider how much more would get done if we could simply give a person that look with absolutely no negative consequence?
Picture yourself in a meeting. You're given an assignment that absolutely could not be done in the format or timeframe given, with the results desired, even if you were Superman. Rather than taking the time to think through your response - phrasing it in a perfectly politically correct way - you could just give "the look."
It would be recognized by all that when given "the look," you must immediately reconsider all comments or requests and come back with something more reasonable, doable and important to say. I'll start working on the Arnold Jackson E-mail Emoticon as soon as I'm done with this post.
4. And Finally, The Afternoon Nap
Need I say more?
Readers - Please post additional ideas for what else should be made socially acceptable here. I'm going send the list to Martha Stewart's producers, so she can give them the "Arnold Jackson Look" when they suggest it for a show segment.
by Cindy Droog |
-
The year is almost over. I can hardly believe it.
My readers know we've had a little bit of a rough one. The loss of my dear, dear friend Chris (who was, and is, the best!) in February. The loss of Tom's oldest brother, Fred, in September. But although there were some tears, there was so much laughter, much of it supplied to us from A.J., our oldest, who was 1.5-2.5 years old in 2008.
Some of my favorite quotes from this milestone year in his mental development:
1. "I Will Help Me!" He became Little Mr. Independent this year, and this is his mantra. From climbing into his booster chair to putting his giant winter boots on, if you try to help him with anything at all, you will feel his wrath.
2. "Do not talk while I am spinning, or you will go in time out." Apparently, spinning is to be done only in silence. I'm not sure exactly where he'd place me for this crime against spinning, but he must have some idea in that little head of his.
3. "I'm not afraid of Santa, Mommy. I just don't want to sit on him," repeated over and over during Santa pictures this year. Admirable. I'm sure his 24-pound body could crush Santa, and who'd want that to happen?
4. "Yeah, I have two girlfriends. Ava and other Ava." I honestly have no idea how he got it into his head that two of my friends' daughters, who both happened to be named Ava, were his two girlfriends. But this was his heartfelt response when my dad teasingly asked him if he had a girlfriend. He's a miniature stud!
There are many, many more. Which is why I've started a journal to catalog them.
In the meantime, to quote my friend Anna Bryce's Christmas card, "May you see the magic of the holiday season through the eyes of a child!"
by Cindy Droog |
-
Nearly everyone else in the
Opportunity Zone has announced a Ribbon Gift Album contest, and here I am,
lagging a little bit behind. Not surprising - you all know I am a
procrastinator.
In fact, when I was
seven months pregnant, I hadn't done one single thing in AJ's nursery, other
than a very feeble attempt to scrape some wallpaper. After about eight inches
across - shockingly - I decided it could wait.
And this year, when it
comes to Christmas decorating, let's just say the tree is up. There's no tinsel
on it. The stockings are lost somewhere in the basement. But alas, there is a
tree, and frankly, I have bigger problems to solve. So I'm asking my readers to
help me. I will draw one lucky commenter's name to win the Gift Album.
My question is this: how
do you get little children - and by little, I mean toddlers - to realize that Christmas (or life, really) is not
centered on them and their desires?
I'm not talking about
religion or the birth of Jesus. I'm talking about wanting my kids to grow up
understanding that for some, basic items like food, shelter, and safety are not
a given. That a room full of toys is a luxury, not a right.
During my first
pregnancy, I read a book titled "Consuming Kids: The Hostile Takeover of
Childhood" by Harvard psychiatry instructor Susan Linn. A great book for
all moms, it exposes corporations' approaches to hooking kids as young as
preschool into products and preferences.
It scared the crap out
of me. Reading it brought to mind a sort of Animal Planet-esque vision of the
giant snake who eats the unsuspecting and helpless baby bird. The momma
bird had to leave the nest for two minutes to find some worms, and bam! The
predator had already stricken.
I intended to
come up with a strategy to combat the marketers, and last time I did a gut
check on this, I was still working on it. I knew I was in for a hard time from
day one. Linn noted, "The rationale marketers use for marketing in
preschools is that kids are more likely to engage if the materials used in the
curriculum are based on familiar characters."
Because a stop sign just
isn't a stop sign unless Pooh says it is?
I'm not dumb - I know I
can't prevent all of this. But if I could just help them start to understand
the concept of materialism, and how it should not enslave you, or blind you to
the needs of others, I would be happy.
This is important all
year - not just at Christmastime. This just seemed like a good time to ask for
your honest advice. So please hurry! Dora - as well as things that are Teenage and
Mutant - are starting to infiltrate my home!
PS.
Yes. It did occur to me that offering a material reward for your ideas is the
opposite of what this post is about. But it's sort of like that Thomas the
Train pajama set I bought my son. It's a little too late to take it back now!
by Cindy Droog |
-
There is clearly
something wrong with me. My oldest son is two-and-a-half, and I've yet
to sign him up for one single class.
Mommy and Me Yoga? It
starts at 5 p.m. - totally inconvenient. Swimming? Great concept, but I
hate pools. He's never been to somersaulting, soccer or Spanish class.
I wouldn't even have a
Momplex (my word for Mommy Complex) about this if not for the fact that
I seem to be the only mom in my circle with the philosophy that he's too
young for this stuff.
If he did go to
swimming lessons on a Tuesday night, how would we have time for the
important things? Like splashing in the puddles in our driveway? Cooking
dinner (he likes to smash the Saltines for the casserole)? Discussing
what all of the tools in the toolbox do? And the difference of posed
versus action photography! (He really likes to know why sometimes I ask
him to smile, and other times, the flash goes off in the middle of him
flying his helicopter across the room.)
And we'd also miss
"groovy time," our nightly half-hour of singing and dancing.
Unacceptable!
He doesn't go to any
classes, and sometimes I do feel guilty about that. How will he do in
school? Am I lazy? Did his baby brother come along so soon that he
wasn't given a chance to seek his two-year-old passion? Am I selfish,
wanting to keep both boys home with me after I get home from work,
rather than rushing them to the fitness center and back?
I suppose I should give
one of these classes a chance to usurp puddle-jumping as our preferred
form of quality time together, but I'm not ready. And I just don't know
how to choose. Is he more of a Tumbling Tadpole (which frankly, makes no
sense!), or is he a Tot-to-Trot, ready for a mini-people's aerobics
class?
Perhaps my biggest fear
is that he'll be labeled so young. Like me. Given monikers like "clown" and
"disruptive" by many of my teachers, I still have a tendency today to say something amusing to break the
monotony.
Don't get me wrong. I loved learning. Still do. I
just didn't love doing it while sitting at a desk. It was boring. I found myself
drawing pictures of Mr. Peatch, the math teacher, ripe and falling out
of a tree. Like real peaches. That one got me sent to the principal's
office. I wrote lots of letters to friends, often including rough
versions of hangman or crossword puzzles. (Across: Number Nine. This boy
likes you but is kind of gross.)
I did like journalism
class, because we put together a real school paper every day. And art
class. But I've yet to find "Investigative Reporting for
Three-Year-Olds" or a kids' painting class that's anything short of mass
mayhem.
I suppose I should get
over my fears - that I should finally give my son some class. He might
be good at it. He might not be like me at all. And then, I could show my
face at my women's book club again.
Or maybe I'll just skip
that in favor of groovy time, too.
by Cindy Droog |
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Re-posted on Feb. 13, 2008
by Lynn Wendyger | -
Do you remember your simple machines grade school science project? Six years ago, my daughter had to create and demonstrate one simple machine. Two years later, my son had to create a machine consisting of three different simple machines. Schools are demanding more of kids these days.
Well, to make a long story short, my son's teacher shared a story with us about another boy's project that included dominoes as one of the machines. On demonstration day he had carefully set up all the pieces and was just getting ready to let 'er rip when.....my son bumped into the table. Twice. After the second set up failed, they were pretty much out of time, so the class never did get to see the full effect.
Luckily, the other student was a good sport about it. And my son must have been inspired by the dominoes, because he became entranced with domino toppling, at least for a short time. He found a domino-toppling book in the bookstore, filled with intricate patterns using hundreds (and thousands) of dominoes. We went on a mission to find the right kind of dominoes on eBay, as the old fashioned black, wooden dominoes that are perfect for toppling went out of production some years back.
Even though it was a pain to locate dominoes, I have to say that it was refreshing to see my son deeply involved in something other than electronic media and games. Sometimes simple machines are the best.
by Cindy Droog |
-
One of my son's favorite books is "When I Grow Up," by P.K. Hallinan. It's an adorable book, in which each letter of the alphabet represents a different career. A is for Actor. J is for Jockey. Anthony's favorite is "V' for Veterinarian. I highly recommend the book.
That being said, I'll bet that when I was growing up, my mom never said to my dad, "I hope Cindy grows up to work at Amway." In fact, I'm quite sure that working here was never my dream, per se. And you certainly won't find it as a career option in any children's book.
Now that I'm on Facebook and am reconnecting with friends from years gone by, their reaction when they learn I work at Amway is mixed. (You have to remember that I'm not from Grand Rapids, or Michigan for that matter, and the company's favorability outside of its own community leaves a bit to be desired. We're working on it, though!)
Some have asked me if I sell soap. Others have asked me *not* to try to sell them anything. And one called me a sell-out. It hurt. He said he'd always envisioned me doing something "bigger" with my life.
That's when I decided to write this blog post. I''ve been burning to respond to this; and here's the best way I know how.
I've had an interesting career. It started in New York City, representing companies like Compaq and LaBatts Beer on the media relations front. I then ventured into sports public relations, working as PR Director for one minor league hockey team before hanging up my skates. Through a placement firm, I landed a temporary gig in Grand Rapids, Mich., a city I'd never even heard of.
I thought I'd be here for a year - tops. But then I landed a job at Felder Communications Group, a local ad and PR firm that gave me an opportunity to work with authors, and I'd always wanted to do that. While there, I met some of the best friends I have ever had, and will ever have. Grand Rapids started to grow on me.
My work at Felder eventually led me to another gig in which I helped lauch the first soy biodiesel product available in the Midwest. After all, I love the environment, too - even as much as sports and books!
Life brings with it twists and turns, and just as I was about to accept a job in Chicago working on the Gatorade account, my then-boyfriend (now husband) said he wanted me to stay. And I thank God every single day that I did.
To me, Amway seemed to be the perfect next stop on my career path. There is absolutely, positively, nothing I love more than helping small businesses. I did it in my agency life. Start-ups. Franchises. Joint ventures. New products. People with big dreams, and little money. When my clients succeeded, nothing felt better.
I found my passion.
Amway has more than 350,000 active independent business owners in North America, with dreams both big and small. And I get to use what I've learned over the past 15 years to help them. Every single day.
What I do for them is just a teeny tiny little piece of what they need to succeed, and I realize that. But working here allows me to do my small part. It inspires me. I sing in the car on my way to work every morning. And Amway gives me the work-life balance I need to be a great mom, and to volunteer in my community. I never had that luxury when I was an agency- or sports-gal.
So, if selling out means doing what I love, for people who I believe really appreciate it, on top of enjoying my growing family to the fullest extent possible, then yeah. I sold out.
And for the record, I'd do it again!