Thanks to all of you who chimed in on No shot at a shot: When you can't get the flu vaccine I see I am not the only furious parent out there.

I especially appreciated the comments from the medical professionals who were as angry and frustrated as I was. They are having a pretty miserable time too.

A quick update on my own saga, our local public health department saved the day. On Friday, the town of Natick got some H1N1 nose drops designated for preschoolers, ages 2-5, without asthma or underlying health conditions.

I pursued two spots in the clinic with the passion I would have generally reserved for acquiring tickets to an Eric Clapton/Sting/Peter Gabriel/Steve Winwood reunion concert. I called, emailed and briefly considered camping out at town hall before the health office opened.

Good news -- they had room for us and a number of other families from our daycare center. It's only half of the dose (the other half comes a month later, if available) and because it's a live virus, the kids can't get a seasonal flu mist until well into January (if I can lay my hands on any, that is.)

It wasn't full protection by any means, but it was something, and I was grateful for it.

For a moment afterwards, as I swiped at their noses with a tissue, I was all warm and tingly with the lovely feeling of being a have rather than a have-not, smug with the relief of We Got Ours.

Then, I felt deeply ashamed. What about the kids who couldn't get a spot? The kids who were too old or too young? The parents who didn't know about the clinic? The moms who didn't have the time to make a bunch of harried cell phone calls? The dads who couldn't leave work to collect their kids and herd them into town hall? What about them?

Just 24 hours earlier I was one of them, I reminded myself.

The shortage remains intolerable, and is making us all act badly, pitting parent against parent and patient against doctor.

So who is at fault here? I guess it's a bad combination of vaccine shortages, bad communication and parental hysteria and impatience.

Personally, I still think local pediatricians should do more because, like it or not, they are the front lines in this mess.

Even small things would help: Have a running list list of local health departments and other vaccine sources that patients could be calling and daily updates about when they expect news. This is even a great chance for doctors to do a little blog, reassuring parents or even just offering the same old hand-washing tips.

Yes, I can hear the answer from the overwhelmed pedi community already -- we're WAY too busy for all that. We don't have the staff. We have really sick kids to take care of. Be patient. Check our website.

But too busy to communicate with your patients when the world seems a particularly dangerous place? Find some time. Please.

Have you had trouble getting the seasonal or H1N1 vaccine for your child? What do you think of the vaccine shortage situation, and how it is being handled? Leave a comment, or email me at enoonan@globe.com

(Photo of Sting. He doesn't have the flu, or a reunion concert planned, as far as I know.)

Have the kids had it?

We all know what that question means these days, and it's not chicken pox or head lice.

It's the flu shot -- seasonal or H1N1-- preferably both. Getting one is notable enough that moms mention it in their facebook status, like a new job or getting on the wait list for a Prius.

When you get one for your kids, it's a sigh of relief, a little extra protection.

But for those of us have-nots, people who can't lay their hands on seasonal flu shots for their kids for love or money, it's one big jab to the heart.

We feel like utter failures, idiots who waited too long, unable to get a stupid shot that seems to be everywhere -- and nowhere -- at the same time.

So how did I get here? How did I become a mommy blogger who hasn't innoculated her kids against the Greatest Public Health Threat Of Our Time?

It started in my pediatrician's office last month, after I had missed a few local clinics. We belong to an overly busy, hospital-based practice with a front desk that could barely be bothered to get off the phone to speak to me.

They looked incredulous that I could POSSIBLY think they might have seasonal flu shots.

Them: We've been out for weeks!
Me: When will you have more?
Them: Who knows? How could we know? How dare you ask?
Me: Um, aren't you guys doctors? Isn't that what you do here?
Them: Blank/annoyed look
Me: Could you call me when you get some?
Them: How dare you ask that? Are you crazy? We have soooo many patients. You are not remotely important to us! Check our website!
Me: You mean the website you only update once a week? That confusing, badly organized website? Why can't an obviously profitable medical practice hire a @#$!* webmaster?

(OK, the last line was just in my brain, as I was too chicken to say it out loud.)

In the meantime, I got my own seasonal flu shot through an adult clinic, which like most of the workplace and town clinics around here served only people ages 9 and older.

When it became clear the pedi wasn't coming through, we went to the CVS minute clinic --twice -- to encounter long lines and hour-plus waits each time. When I came back the last time, hoping for a shorter line, you guessed it ... they were out.

Last weekend, there was a children's H1N1 flu clinic in Wellesley, where both sets of grandparents live and pay taxes.

My mom called to see if she could bring Dennis and Lila. Nope, she was told. They were expecting such a horde of families that they needed proof that the children were official Wellesley residents too. (Indeed, it was a mob scene. According to news reports, hundreds of kids waited in line much of the morning to get it, until they, too, ran out.)

So far, my kids are healthy. Maybe they'll stay that way. I chase them around with Purell like a madwoman. But I have no idea how long our luck with either strain of flu will hold. Every new statistic about a kid dying of a flu makes me sick to my stomach.

Today, after more than a week of no updates, I checked the pediatrician's website to find they had -- within the past few hours -- gotten 40 new doses. Score!

I called. They put me on hold for nearly five minutes (I even fetched my appointment book -- surely this was a good sign.)

Then I was routed not to a human -- but to a voicemail -- that told me, guess what, they're out.

And to check the website.

Are you having trouble finding the flu vaccine -- seasonal or H1N1 -- for your kids? How are you feeling about the shortage? Leave a comment, or drop an email to enoonan@globe.com

(Long flu shot line photo credit: Baltimore Sun)

I am pleased to once again turn over the cyberfloor to my pal and Moms Are Talking About guest blogger Candice Smith Fleszar, who many of you will recall from her earlier adventures with highway birth, frugal living, and homeschooling -- part I and part II

This month she candidly talks about the joys and regrets of finally getting her body back after a decade of babymaking.

Do I Want My Body Back?

By Candice Smith Fleszar

My older sister proclaimed after carrying and nursing her five children that she “just wanted her body back.” I could certainly relate on days when I was SOOOOOO pregnant that I couldn't see even the tips of my toes - even with size 10 shoes, if I could get them on.

Or... when I felt like the human dairy bar with a child who wanted nothing but me. (Oh, but I will forever miss my hungry baby taking all those extra fat grams I didn't need.)

Now near the end of more than 11 years of alternating pregnancy and nursing, I'm not so sure I want my body back. I'm experiencing the permanent return of the dreaded monthly cycle, which I was glad to give up for almost that entire time.

Now with four beautiful daughters, we're done having children, and with the goodbye to my childbearing/nursing years, it's hello to what my life was at the age of 27 when I started this journey... right?

Well...not exactly. I know there have been some inevitable changes over that time, mostly from carrying my girls -- all great experiences. But, I was ready to feel pretty much like I did a dozen years ago. Carrying babies up to 8 lbs 10 oz made my hip bones and my feet permanently wider, somehow stole ¾ inch in precious height, created a few spider veins (that haven't faded like I'd hoped), and battle-scarred me with stretch marks from those final weeks of pregnancy.

But I'll admit I wasn't fully prepared for being back on the monthly cycle. Now that it's here, I am missing those awesome "Flo" free years.

My cramps, which used to be nearly nonexistent, have returned and are making up for the decade they hibernated. They've also made a new painful appearance at mid-month. Plus, my complexion now reminds me of being a teenager. That part I was okay with leaving behind.

While I still love me and wouldn't change a thing about my journey here, my new mechanics are taking some getting used to. Maybe I'm naive or just an optimist, but I'm a bit thrown. My new body with its wider distances, less perky parts, and general softness seems like a big ol' pain sometimes. But then again, it's like poetry in motion - Ode To A Mother - when someone says, “YOU'VE had four children?!”

Trying to find my place in the next stage is a little tough for me where I'm not growing a new family member, or nourishing and comforting one in only the way I can.

But then I do get to sleep all night after saying goodbye to those overnight feedings when I was the only one carrying the meal. And, after more than a decade of being the designated driver at family weddings, I can now drink occasionally without having to worry about its effect on children who rely on me for food.

Without a baby always on my hip, I'm also finding new roles for myself, not only in our second year of homeschooling, but also returning to the work I love, much of it through volunteering.

My returned time of the month, which now comes every 24 days, down from a delightful 38, also appears to be on a crash course with the increasing hormonal changes in our oldest daughter. Being the third of five girls myself, I knew what to expect growing up.

But, alas, being the oldest (and a bit ahead of her peers hormonally), I'm sure she feels like some strange scientific experiment. As an obsessed reader, books on all the changes have helped her a lot, but also, for the first time since she weaned, this devout daddy's girl is asking for me. She wants my comfort and advice on handling what her body's feeling and how it sometimes can lay her out or make her feel a bit nuts.

Sometimes that means explaining those mysterious items under the bathroom sink and other times, it's rubbing her back when her hormones make her feel out of control. It's nice to be the only one who can fill a need for her again. I'll savor it while I can, as each of our four girls reaches the preteen years.

Candice Smith Fleszar is a former journalist and corporate public relations specialist turned homeschooling mom in the Grand Rapids, MI area. She has four daughters, ages 2-10, twitters at www.twitter.com/CandiceFleszar, and is a moderator for MomsLikeMe.com

What do you think about your post-kids body? Love it or tolerate it? Leave a comment, or drop an email to enoonan@globe.com

(photo credit, CNET via EA)

In Dante-would-be-rolling-over-in-his-grave-news, a battle is brewing between the International Nanny Association and video game giant Electronic Arts over the forthcoming "Dante's Inferno" videogame that features, among other objectionable content, points for killing unbaptized babies.

When you get to Lust (located between Limbo and Gluttony for anyone who slept through World Lit in college), a topless she-demon spits out infants, and gamers who kill enough of them get "Bad Nanny" status.

(Honestly, when you look at the screen shots, the babies look more like little sword-handed aliens, but nevertheless the INA is Not Amused)

"INA is shocked by the amount of excitement and anticipation being expressed on hundreds of video gaming message boards and blogs over the unveiling of the lust level in Dante's Inferno," the group said in a release this week.

"INA feels strongly that marketing a video game that promotes “baby-killing” (a term EA has coined) to an audience that statistically has the highest percentage of individuals charged with child maltreatment is extremely irresponsible."

The group wants Lust re-configured, or the game's early 2010 release postponed.
 
The mudfight has generated plenty of commentary on video gamer blogs and websites, including a good piece by Scott Stein on CNET

Opinons vary, but most gamers say the nanny group is -- well -- being a bunch of nannies.

But the INA insists Dante's Inferno is especially dangerous because it is aimed at men in their 30s, the same group that statisically most likely to commit acts of child maltreatment nationwide.

They get some back-up from Lynne Kenney, a Scottsdale, Ariz, psychologist known as "The Family Coach"

"INA has not over-reacted," Kenney said in a statement. “We live in a culture that has become desensitized to killing. To encourage even adults to play games that celebrate and reward killing babies is disgusting and sick. Social isolation, gaming that emphasizes ‘kills’ and companies that spend man hours on this sort of game development contribute to the dehumanization of children, which is appalling."

I have a call into EA's PR people to get their side of the story, and will post an update when they respond.

What do you think? Is Dante's Inferno any worse than the other intense computer games already on the market? Leave a comment below, or drop me an email at enoonan@globe.com

In case your owl -- or dementor -- hasn't arrived yet, Harry Potter: The Exhibition is opening this weekend at the Museum of Science, staying through Feb 21, 2010.

It's a 10,000 square-foot exhibition of more than 200 props and costumes from the six Harry Potter films. The original wand and glasses are there of course, along with Ron and Harry's dorm room beds, Hermione's lovely scarlet Yule Ball gown, and my personal favorite -- the real Azkaban prisoner rags worn by Helena Bonham Carter as the delightfully mad-as-a-hatter Bellatrix Lestrange. (Yes, she really is tiny in real life too.)

The kids -- and adults -- on our press preview Thursday night were enchanted. The consensus was that it is a cool exhibit for anyone who loved the books and movies, of any age.

Even 5-year-old Dennis, too young to sit through the more intense parts of the films, loved the displays -- though he was rather more fascinated by the personal audio recorder that spits out factiods from the movie's costumer designers at each stop.

There are a few dark and scary parts -- between the music and video, the effect is fairly intense at times -- but even the smallest kids on our tour seemed fine with it.

Parents might rather worry about their Magically Disappearing Wallet at the end, when the tour neatly dumps you from a Hogwarts banquet into real-live gift shop. (No, they don't take Galleons.)

If you're a cynic who is wondering what this all has to do with science, I'd direct you to the Buzzkill Museum down the street. (Admission is free, no waiting.)

Like the MoS's exhibit on Mythical Creatures, and before that, the so-called science of Star Wars, Harry Potter: The Exhibition shouldn't be held to the standard of the MoS's bread-and-butter physics, space exploration and technology displays.

It's pretend. It's show business. It's fluff. It's fun fluff that the kids -- and you -- will probably enjoy quite a bit.

The fluff doesn't come cheap -- without a membership, you'll pay $26 for adults or $23 for children ages 3-11. Members get in for $5, so if you live in eastern Massachusetts it could make more sense to get an annual family membership for $105.

(And fellow suburban Mass Pike travelers, do not -- as I did the other night -- get in such an intense discussion with your progeny about the gun control billboard plastered near Fenway that you miss the I-93 North exit and wind up on a car tour of South Boston.)

For hard core science parents truly intent on squeezing some educational juice out of this one, sorry to say there isn't much. You could try to work in some of the museum's suggested discussion topics about owls, and (I kid you not) brooms in flight.

Or maybe just take the kids to the rest of the museum afterwards, and make them learn something serious about science. That's what it's there for.

Have you seen the Harry Potter:The Exhibition at Boston's Museum of Science? Tell us what you and your family thought of it! Leave a comment, or drop an email (or howler) to enoonan@globe.com

Dear Crib,

You are stacked by the door, in pieces, much like the day you came into the house.

Five years ago, I was so superstitious and afraid of jinxing my chances for a healthy baby that I wouldn't allow you into the house until Dennis was not only born -- but busting out of his baby bassinet.

You patiently put up with Dennis and all his antics, bodily fluids and collection of Elmo dolls.

Lila's three years of residency added a peculiar stickiness to your bars that I still can't quite clean off.

There has been plenty of baby gear I was thrilled to see hit the road: hopelessly jammed Diaper Genies; Baby Einstein-branded media; scratched Barney DVDs; that massive plastic ExcerSaucer I spent an entire sleep-deprived morning assembling; and the truly awful What to Expect series.

But your departure makes me a little sentimental. Those years with you went by awfully fast.

You were my ally in keeping the babies a little safer -- a little more protected and removed -- from the outside world.

The big girl bed is a necessary evil, I suppose, but I'll always have a soft spot for you.

Thanks for everything,

Erica

Are there any items of baby gear you are sad to see the kids grow out of? What baby stuff were you happiest to kick to the curb? Tell us! Leave a comment or drop an email to enoonan@globe.com

This month's Moms Are Talking About Books We Like selection was written by "The Worst Mom in the World."

Seriously, that's what The Today Show, and The View and bunch of other people called Lenore Skenazy after she made national headlines by allowing her 9-year-old son take a short subway ride by himself in Manhattan.

Amazingly enough, she didn't take all this criticism and bad mommy talk terribly personally, and just published Free-Range Kids: Giving Our Kids the Freedom We Enjoyed Without Going Nuts With Worry.

Free-Range Kids is a thoroughly enjoyable read. Lenore is funny and self-depricating, provacative but not polarizing.

She points out -- accurately -- that kids today are way safer than they have ever been. We parents are way nuttier, which is the bulk of the problem.

Intellectually, I am with Lenore all the way. She makes total sense.

But my gut says otherwise. I was 9 years old when Etan Patz diappeared and 11 when Adam Walsh was murdered. I was 12 when the Tylenol Killer poisoned seven people in Chicago, and 14 when Sarah Pryor vanished taking a walk less than a dozen miles from where I lived.

Every one of those events terrified me and my friends, and our parents, who tended to keep us indoors a lot growing up.

As a hothouse parent, I'm not sure I can raise a free-range kid.

Lenore suggests taking some baby steps for practice: in a couple of years I might let my kids walk down the street alone or roam around in the woods out my sight.

Sure, I'll get to that when they are in high school. Or college. (Or possibly grad school. Or maybe after they are married...)

How about you? What do you think about the Free-Range Kids philosophy? Leave a comment, or send an email to enoonan@globe.com

I don't really like to hate on other mommy blogs -- especially one written by a daddy -- but Pete Wells needs to join us in the real world for a moment.

Pete, dining editor of The New York Times, writes the monthly column Cooking With Dexter, about adventures in the kitchen with his 5-year-old.

Most of the time it's a pretty fun read, with a large dollop of preciousness. Dexter digs for clams. He charmingly offers to fix his visting grandma a cocktail. You get the idea. It's cute.

My Where's-the-Beef with Pete is over his latest, Happy-Meal Me, where his food policing blossoms into truly unappetizing class snobbery.

Pete writes of how he, gasp, finally capitulates (unwillingly, holding his nose the whole way) into (ugh, gross) popular culture by allowing Dexter a .... Happy Meal at McDonald's.

That's right. McNuggets and fries. Throw in a Coke (which Pete did not) and you'd have the Axis of Evil.

Pete tells us the meal contains the phosphate dimethylpolysiloxane, which can be used as "a lubricant, a dry-cleaning solution, an aquarium sealant, a component of the tiles that let spacecraft plunge through the atmosphere without burning up, a treatment for head lice and the thing that makes Silly Putty elastic. McDonald’s adds it to cooking oil to avoid foaming." But he cheerfully adds, "I can’t find any convincing evidence that it is bad for you."

Still, he sniffs, this stuff is for "other" kids.

That's right. Other kids. (Translation: fat kids, poor kids, neglected kids, kids without dads who get paid to cook healthful meals for them, low-class kids, kids with bad parents, kids who do not read the Sunday Times, kids who do not practice their phonics and violin lessons each night, your kids and my kids.)

Those kids eat at McDonald's. Not his kids.

Dexter's stomach is pristine, and so is Pete's concscience. And Dexter, it seems, will be raised to believe what Pete does, that such poisoned crap is for "other" kids, kids who are his nutritional and social inferiors.

Sorry Pete, but this message is worse than whatever junk is in the occasional Happy Meal.

Pete tries to salvage the fast-food lunch -- and his column -- by abruptly veering off into a high-minded comparison of the McDonald's apple pie to the sort of fried apple dumpling made at $1,000-per-night southern luxury resorts.

I'm not saying McDonald's is so great, and I'm not proud my own kids are fairly well-acquainted with the place.

But an institution so central in the lives of so many American families -- for complex and sorrowful reasons of cost, convenience and comfort -- deserves a more thoughtful and socially nuanced analysis than "let them eat McNuggets" from someone so influential in the parenting foodie blogosphere.

Pete and Dexter get to go back to a kitchen larder filled with whole grains, organic chicken and heirloom tomatoes. Most families don't. What will Pete say when Dexter is old enough to ask why?

What do you think? Is your family too good for McDonald's? Why or why not? What about those "other kids?" Leave a comment or email me at enoonan@globe.com

Thanks to everyone for all the excellent comments on Hockey Mom 1, Soccer Mom 0. I'm still working out how to handle Dennis's soccer-phobia.

But I am pretty sure we'll create a family policy like so many of you have at home -- if you start something, you need to finish it.

We were saved from another tearful Kinder Kicks melodrama this morning by the fact that it was raining cats and dogs.

So instead we went to the local farmers' market and did a little kitchen table tidepooling.

Seafood has just this summer become available at many of the suburban weekend markets, and nothing makes me happier than fresh lobster and steamed clams. (And not just because I think it's hilarious to yell across a huge crowd of people: "Hey Dave, Did you get crabs? Do you have CRABS!!??" and watch my husband cringe.)

So Dennis and Lila visited with our ocean-dwelling guests for a few minutes while we were putting away the groceries.

"You know we are going to cook them and eat them?" I asked Dennis. "Is that a nice thing to do?"

He looked puzzled.

I refined my compassionate carnivore line of inquiry a bit.

"Dennis, do you think it's OK to eat animals?"

"Yes," he said. "They taste really good."

I can't argue with this.

But I have to wonder, can you encourage a respect for animals in your kids even if you eat them for dinner most nights? If so, how?

Leave a comment or email me enoonan@globe.com

I'm so proud of you little man. Clone Wars cake for everyone!

Very sorry for the lull in posting new snark on Moms Are Talking About -- I have been pretty busy trying to learn my way around the new Candy Land gameboard, which now has a coquettish Princess Lolly guarding all the lollipops, and a terrifying lump of chocolate named Gloppy near the finish line. (They retired Mr. Minty Pants from the 2004 editions, according to this account. Probably wise.)

But the really big extracurricular time suck for me these days is Dennis's burgeoning sports career. (See the Kinder Kicks (not Sister Kicks) post for some earlier history)

I'm sorry to say, so far, Dennis refuses to embrace the sport that would allow me to sit on a tartan rug enjoying a cup of coffee on a sunny, crisp glorious fall morning.

No, he prefers one that involves a bone-chilling ice rink, a massive bagful of equipment, and sharp-bladed skates that threaten to slice open an artery in my leg whenever I help him get dressed.

His weekly skating lessons involve him and a bunch of other tiny kids in hand-me-down hockey gear hurling themselves onto the ice and giggling madly.

They lie there like beached dolphins, licking ice shards off their gloves, until their soul-of-patience skating instructor drags each of them to their feet.

By the time the last little dude is upright, the first is ass-over-tea-kettle again. This goes on for about 30 minutes, or until my nose is running and feet are numb from the cold cement bleachers.

In contrast, the weekly munchkin soccer clinic has a lot more curb appeal.

We get to be outside on a lovely fall Saturday morning, parents only need to find/lose minimal equipment, and -- a bonus -- the lessons are run by a team of handsome Irish coaches with great accents.

During this weekend's session, they separated the kids into smaller groups and practiced some drills. Pretty basic stuff for 5-year-olds.

But Dennis clung to me like a deer tick and refused to join the scrum.

Then he wept like a newborn when the cute coach suggested he detach from me for two seconds and kick the ball around with him. (Note to coach -- ask me next time, I'll go!)

It's early yet, so anything could change. Maybe next week Dennis will love soccer and hate hockey.

But it makes me wonder, how long should you force kids to do a sport or activity he/she clearly hates? What do you think? Tell us!

Leave me a comment or email me at enoonan@globe.com

(Fleszar girls in Virginia. They know who the first governor of Jamestown was. Do you?)

Welcome back to our two-part homeschooling guest blog, courtesy of my friend and mom of four, Candice Smith Fleszar. Read part one here.

By Candice Smith Fleszar

When we started homeschooling one year ago, one of our largest concerns was how to keep up academically. Luckily, we learned it was easy to keep the kids on track (or ahead) with a good curriculum, but choosing it was a Herculean task.

But with all the chat of “teaching to standardized tests” and what seemed like constant switching of reading, math and science programs among public schools, picking materials that uniquely suited our family sounded pretty good.

We finally chose a highly structured one called Catholic Heritage, where we turn to the page that day in the lesson plans and it literally tells us which pages to do in which books for each subject. At the most basic level, it costs a couple hundred dollars per year for one child, but we found much of it used for much less.

And while we don't teach religion as a separate subject as many parents do, we also liked the fact that it mixed Bible stories and morality lessons within the other materials.

Honestly, I don't think us being Catholic was a huge factor in whether to homeschool. Certainly morals were a factor, but I think my feeling would be the same if I were Lutheran (as I was raised), Jewish, or just plain spiritual.

We're not nearly as church-involved as many of the other homeschooling families we know in Michigan, though I like the fact that the other homeschooled kids are from really strong faith families.

I was more encouraged by studies that showed that homeschooling moms with a high school degree had kids who averaged in the 83rd percentile on standardized tests. With my bachelor's degree and more than a decade in the media and public relations, I figured we could manage too. It also helped that colleges are beginning to recruit homeschooled kids because they make great college students.

Of course we knew we'd need to get our girls out and about. Educating at home is the best for us right now, putting a big emphasis on our family being together physically and emotionally (see Part One of this blog), but no one wants to live in a bubble.

So we visit other families, go on field trips, and attend a weekly homeschool cooperative, where the kids learn cooking, art history, creative writing, gym and drama.

Our two older girls still go on field trips with their former elementary school and see old friends in Girl Scouts. Our neighborhood is full of kids who come over, or vice-versa. And the new best friends our children have found in each other is invaluable - not that they never fight, but the good times are definitely better and more frequent.

I knew tough days would come when the kids were constantly distracting one another, the math was "too hard," although no effort was being made to actually do it, or they treat our schoolroom like they live there... because they do.

Some days they find any excuse they can to get out of the chair and off doing something else.
Balancing those days were lots of good ones and we're proud to say our kids did every math problem correctly in their book... because we kept at it until they did.

One veteran homeschooler once told me three weeks into her first year, she was crying in the shower wishing "that big yellow bus would come pick up those kids." Her oldest is now at the Vatican, studying to be a priest. So he seemed to come out fine.

For me, there isn't much of a divide between teacher and the mom these days. I think we all tend to do both anyway as we raise our kids.

However, I do put extra pressure on myself to turn everything into a learning experience, whether we're flying a kite or at the park. After a recent farm stand purchase of a purple cauliflower for dinner, I pulled everyone to the computer to look up what made it purple (answer: anthocyanin, an antioxidant found in red wine).

With our frustrations in learning this strange new world, we found some very delightful moments also. On the way to a Jamestown, Va. vacation, our 10-yr-old asked, "Dad, I can't remember the first governor of Jamestown, was it Newport or Gates?"

My speechless husband, who'd never heard of either, just had to tell her he didn't know. And just last week we had to laugh when she was explaining to her dad that girls were more sensible, citing as an example, the Revolutionary War woman who fed a group of red-coated soldiers in her home, then shot them in their sleep.

We don't know everything. But that's one of the points of doing this. Always learning, whether it's through books or life. Some academics I'm learning with our children (I would like to tackle Latin soon). But more importantly, as they grow, we're learning more about them as people.

Our oldest daughter can turn the chore of getting an active toddler dressed into a game that's fun for both of them and she's an amazing creative writer who paints stunning pictures with her words. Our third grader also is a great helper in our toddler's speech therapy by playing the word games that we usually have so little time to do and has become a much more positive person. And our kindergärtner is the first one to enthusiastically jump into schoolwork each day.

We still rely on supportive friends who share their tips and assure us that we're not totally ruining our children academically or emotionally when we have a bad day. We don't really know how long we'll keep doing this. A lot will depend on each daughter and whether we can easily handle what she needs academically and whether she wants to go back to public school.

At least for now, we feel we're doing what's right for each of them and us as a family because no one ever looks back and says they spent too much time with their kids.

(I asked Candice how she copes with the Scary Homeschooling Police, when they come to inspect her house or check up on her progress. But her answer surprised me: she doesn't. In Michigan, homeschooling parents are bound by few state regulations or monitoring.)

So, Massachusetts homeschooling moms, please tell us about your experiences -- can you identify with Candice, or do things work much differently here? Leave a comment, or drop a line at enoonan@globe.com

Candice Smith Fleszar is a former journalist and corporate public relations specialist turned homeschooling mom in the Grand Rapids, MI area. She has four daughters, ages 2-10, twitters at www.twitter.com/CandiceFleszar, and is a moderator for MomsLikeMe.com

Clone Wars lunchbox? Check

Clone Wars backpack? Check

Clone Wars underpants? Check

Extra Clone Wars underpants for the kind of incident that Doesn't Happen Anymore, Mama, Really? Check

It is the first day of school, and this morning we reported to battle stations at 7:45 a.m. to receive orders.

Junior Jedi was ready for immediate blast-off.

But Mama Jedi lurked around the launch pad for a while, drinking too much Earthling coffee and peeking through the windows of the spaceship.

Finally, Master Yoda made Mama Jedi get back in her own landcruiser.

"The boy is ready for the challenges that lie ahead," the wise master Yoda told her. "Please pick him up at 2 p.m."

Sigh. Now I know how Han Solo's mom felt.

How did your first day of drop-off go? Leave us a comment and tell us your space saga, or drop a line at enoonan@globe.com

Everyone in Boston.com Mom Nation was a little shaky with separation anxiety this week.

And I don't mean the kids.

Whether it was the first day of kindergarten or college, for every scrubbed kid with a new Clone Wars backback joyfully dashing into his new classroom, there was a morose mom or dad sulking in the car. (I wasn't tearing up. My, er, allergies were bothering me.)

But some moms (and dads) are embarking on a very different sort of back-to-school adventure. Our Moms Are Talking About guest blogger Candice Smith Fleszar tells us a bit about her decision to begin homeschooling their four small kids. (First of two parts)

(The two oldest Fleszar girls tackle their math lessons)

By Candice Smith Fleszar

Two years ago, we were sure homeschooling WASN'T for us.

We love our children, but sheesh, spending 24/7/365 together might just drive us all into an asylum. We also loved our elementary school and teachers and, except for the usual playground bullies and aspiring pre-teen mean girls, had great experiences there.

Growing up, I knew only one homeschooler, my cousin, who couldn't take her kids to the store or let them play outside during school hours without dirty looks admonishing her as a neglectful mother at worst.... or just plain weird at best.

But these days, homeschooling is far more mainstream. An estimated 1.5 million American children are homeschooled and it's actually pretty common in West Michigan where we live. Just in our own little farm town, there are at least three separate homeschooling groups that meet regularly.

There are several reasons we finally settled on it, most of which were about our family life. My husband's second shift schedule prevented him from seeing our two oldest girls in school - ages 6 and 8 years - much at all on weekdays.

He was sleeping when they left, already at work when they got home, and didn't get home himself until after midnight. It was having an impact. Our daughters argued more as they went longer without him and they clung to him when they did get to see him.

Our rushed morning schedule didn't help much either. All my solo weekday time with them was as a drill sergeant. I was barking orders for more than an hour before school to get ready, and when they got home, they had a snack, 15 minutes to play and blow off steam. Then we'd battle homework until bedtime. Our time together was not good at its chaotic pace.

We also saw some of the girls' classmates dressing too maturely, watching movies and shows not made for children, and singing songs about getting a boyfriend. Just growing up way too fast. One friend playing at our house had Barbies stripped naked in the "hot tub" making out. I did that as a kid too.... but not until many years after second grade.

We wanted to allow our girls to enjoy being children and not feel pressured to push the accelerator zooming toward adulthood.

We also didn't like how our kids were indoors for most of the precious limited sunlight hours in the winter. We live in an area with about 80% cloud cover and one of our daughters needs sun (and a light therapy unit) to fight off Seasonal Affective Disorder in the winter.

Doing schoolwork in our sunroom with their desks next to the windows allows them to get natural light all day. They also go outside to enjoy it, sometimes for hours, once they're done with their work, which is virtually always before their public school friends are home. And, there's no after-school homework to keep them inside later.

Another major factor was that our life at home had changed. I was home after a sudden layoff and wanted to make the most of the time with our girls. Our relationship with our 8-year-old was already beginning to feel combative and we didn't want her to shut us out.

More family time, working together, relying more on one another, and unity felt like the right thing to do.

While we were still deciding to take the plunge (and it was a full family decision), we spent time with homeschooling families and groups and was impressed with the dynamics among the kids. We didn't see the typical divides playing by age. The older kids easily incorporated the younger kids. It was not a stereotypical big kid/little kid environment that seemed standard even when we were kids.

It was all one big family, where siblings enjoyed one another. The overall feeling of family, taking care of one another, and having fun together was different. We liked it and we wanted our family to have that too.

Coming up soon: Part II of Confessions of a Homeschooling Mom, where Candice tells us about getting though the nitty-gritty of a homeschooling day, lesson-planning and how she juggles being both a mom and a teacher to her kids.

So moms and dads, what do you think? Would you ever consider homeschooling? Leave us a comment! or drop a line at enoonan@globe.com

Candice Smith Fleszar is a former journalist and corporate public relations specialist turned homeschooling mom in the Grand Rapids, MI area. She has four daughters, ages 2-10, and is a moderator for MomsLikeMe.com

I dragged the coxsackie virus-addled 4-year-old to the pediatrian this morning and wondered why -- in an office that sternly asks patients to don a mask if they have a fever over 100 degrees AND has signs warning of the coming H1N1 flu apocolypse -- is it OK for the receptionist to lick her finger while rifling through paperwork, and return my co-pay receipt with a saliva spot on the corner?

Ick. I see this all the time, in business offices, in convenience stores where the clerk needs a plastic bag or is counting out cash.

I am not saying those of us living with miniature germ machines (a.k.a children) should throw stones at the rest of humanity.

But these finger-licking folks are adults in a professional setting. I always chicken out of confronting them, however, and just pick up my bag, receipt or dollar bill in grossed-out silence.

I figure it is probably an unconsious habit that -- no matter how rude I am --will not stop easily. Plus, I don't want to be the troll customer that wrecks their day.

But with the coming fear-of-flu, is it finally time to start calling out strangers on this appalling habit?

How do you handle this issue in stores and offices? Leave a comment or email us at enoonan@globe.com

(Dennis, in case you are wondering, is no longer contagious. So you can stop backing away from the keyboard.)

Dennis is turning 5 pretty soon, so it seems high time to start offloading my unfulfilled hopes and dreams onto him.

He will be everything I never was, namely a competent athlete. He will be, as our German friends say, "sporty."

Here's the plan: I'm signing him up for a bunch of sports so he can be one of those annoying kids that other parents watch and say, "Well, that kid's been playing since kindergarden," as an excuse for their own child's ineptitude on the field.

Can you blame me for this competitive streak? I was a chubby, bookwormish kid. Thanks only to suffocating social pressure in Wellesley in the 1980s did I make it through a few seasons of varsity field hockey and softball. Basically, I am a couch potato trapped in the body of a couch potato.

But I see hope for Dennis, a kid with a thin and wiry build who moves through life at 30 mph.

Bookmarked in my Internet browser are registration pages for no fewer than a half-dozen local sports programs: Kinder Kicks soccer, Mighty Mites hockey clinic, pollywog swimming at the Y and junior judo at the local martial arts studio. And that's all before ski season!

My wear-him-out parenting philosophy has already earned me some guff from the Kids Are Too Programmed These Days crowd.

You know those moms who want to Let Kids Be Kids? (Come to think of it, why are there no dads spouting this philosophy?)

But I think Kids Being Kids is crazy talk, unless your precious offspring likes to watercolor, practice Zen meditation and read The Secret Garden before putting themselves to bed.

If so, by all means let them be kids. Pay them to be kids!

But letting Dennis "be a kid" generally results in permanent damage to a major appliance, Lila screaming her head off, vegetable oil poured on the kitchen floor, and/or a very angry housecat.

If you think Dennis needs more unstructured time, be sure to let me know so he can have it at YOUR house. Please have vegetable oil and a cat on hand.

Have you overprogrammed your kids this fall? The Boston.com Mom with the longest extra-curricular list gets a special Moms Are Talking About shout-out.

Leave a comment or email us at enoonan@globe.com

Thanks to everyone for the flood of comments on The Clomid Kid.

It beat out our previous greatest-hits posts on whether you should let a male nurse deliver your baby, or let your toddler ride an ATV. (General consensus on those were yes and no, but you be the judge.)

By the end of the Clomid Kid blog, I realized, I wasn't talking about how babies are made as much as my feelings about how my own babies were made.

(Though a few readers did not seem to get that I was totally kidding about trying to tell a 4-year-old about the pornography room at the local fertility clinics.)

The idea for the Clomid Kid post came after wandering through our popular Boston.com Moms TTC message board (which means Trying To Conceive, if you're fortunate enough not to know the lingo.)

Reading some of those posts brought back a lot of emotions -- the constant cycle of hope, waiting, medication, blood draws, doctors, misery and renewed hope.

The feeling that everyone else has set out on the Happy Family Cruise with live music and free champagne cocktails, while you are desperately paddling to keep up in your pathetic, leaky canoe.

When Dennis was born, I put all the co-pay receipts, ultrasounds, and doctor's letters into a scrapbook, compiling what may be the world's weirdest baby book.

But four years of impersonating a Normal Mom -- spending $2,400 per month on daycare, wearing stained shirts and not caring, chasing after sippy cups, and writing a parenting blog -- have made me question whether all that even matters anymore.

Ultimately, I decided it all still matters to me. A lot.

But, as many of you pointed out, maybe it doesn't need to matter so much to Dennis or his sister.

If back in early 2004 I could have seen this future, I would have laughed until I cried. (Or, recalling my mood back then, there's a decent chance Old Me would have told Future Me to @#% off.)

At least there is time to work it all out. Last night, Dennis was carrying a doll around under his t-shirt, so she could be "borned."

The doll plonked to the ground, and he crowed in delight.

I said, "Dennis, where did your baby come from?"

He said, "Natick!"

What do you think? Leave a comment above, or send an email to enoonan@globe.com

It's a perfectly normal question. Every nearly 5-year-old boy asks it.

I just wish I had a normal answer.

As Dennis keeps dancing closer and closer to the question of where babies come from, my brain rushes furiously for an honest and age-appropriate response.

So far, the line of inquiry hasn't gone much past:

"Was I borned?" (Yes)

"Was Lila borned?" (Yes, but she did NOT take three days of labor and two bags of Pitocin to come out, my love)

"Can we get ice cream?" (Sure)

But my days are numbered. More questions are coming.

And I can't see casually telling a 4-year-old the truth:

"When Mama and Daddy (or someone's mommy and mommy, or daddy and daddy, or whomever) really love each other they try to have a baby."

"But then Mama got you and was so happy about it, she promised never to ask the Universe for anything ever again. Except for Lila."

"So the upshot is that without this freak stroke of luck -- living in the early 21st century under generous Massachusetts health insurance laws that mandate full coverage for fertility therapy -- you almost certainly never would never have existed."

Ok, maybe that's a little much for a 4-year-old. But when are they old enough to know everything? Readers, any suggestions?

Leave a comment or send an email to enoonan@globe.com

(Photo courtesy of Fleszar family)

Please welcome back my friend, guest blogger and and car birth pioneer Candice Smith Fleszar, who brought us the amazing Rules for a Rush Hour Birth last month

I have known Candice for more than 15 years, so I can testify that she is also one of the thriftiest people on earth. (I didn't say cheap, Candice, I said thrifty.)

A homeschooling mom of four, she manages to run her active family on one salary. Be impressed, I sure am.

By Candice Smith Fleszar

Erica has called me “The Most Frugal Mom in Michigan.” And I think she means it as a compliment.

I admit that I am even more careful with money after losing my job (and half our income) a few years ago, living in a state with 15% unemployment, and recently giving up 10% of our family's income through pay cuts at my husband's job.

But still, I do not grow my own food (although we have a small garden), save shower water for my plants, or sew my own maxi pads (oh yes, it is done!).

I do watch my money to make sure we have what we need, when we need it. While I do many different things to stretch the budget, here are the few that I live by on a daily basis:

* "Budget” has historically been a naughty word, but it's experiencing a revival. It's not about constraints... it's about POWER! And, who doesn't love power? With a budget (Thank you Dave Ramsey), I realized how much more I could do. I actually got MORE of the things I really wanted sooner and chucked stuff that wasn't important but was sucking away my paycheck.

* Only spend what you have right now. Pitch the credit cards (you can do it, really) and start using only cash. This is not easy to do all at one time. So, begin with the easiest cash envelopes to manage (e.g. grocery, gasoline).

If you have to use a card, use a bank debit card so it comes right out of your checking account. Make sure the money is there before you swipe.

* Bring a calculator grocery shopping. With all the sales and special offers leaping off the shelves, it's tough to decipher what is actually a good deal. It takes only a little extra time to figure out the best deal by dividing the price by units (oz, gal, liters, lbs, etc.)

You'll find some brand-name products on sale with a coupon are still more expensive than the generic. Sometimes the generic on sale is more expensive than the fancy brand in a bigger container.

* Tame the utility bills. The air conditioning does not need to be on 68 degrees and the heat doesn't need to be on 72 degrees. In the summer, wear less and run fans. In the winter, wear more, and weatherproof where you can.

In our house, the cool air (when rarely turned on) starts at 83 degrees just to take the edge off and the winter temp starts at 63 degrees (grab a warm blanket to watch TV at night). We adjust 1 degree at a time if unbearable. Our nearly 100-year-old, three-story home (with a super-efficient furnace) often has lower heating bills than friends with smaller, newer places.

* Goodwill IS the toy store... at least that's what my kids think. You can give as much joy with a $1.99 toy than you can with something new from Toys"R"Us. If you think your kids won't stand for such injustice, change their expectations. Having them expect everything new and expensive won't help them later in life.

Extra-tip: Santa Claus likes Goodwill too and stocks up all year.

Candice Smith Fleszar is a former journalist and corporate public relations specialist turned homeschooling mom in the Grand Rapids, MI area. She has four daughters, ages 2-10, and is a moderator for MomsLikeMe.com

Got ideas of your own to share? Leave us a comment!

(Photo from the birthday of Candice's Harry Potter obsessed 8-yr-old Laine. All the decorations were purchased months before at 90% off at a party store going out of business.)

Youth outreach workers say they aren't surprised to hear about a new report that kids in the suburbs of Boston claim to be drinking less alcohol, but smoking more marijuana.

David Deiulis, spokesman for the Boston office of Mothers Against Drunk Driving, told Globe West that the reduction in drinking among high schoolers was somewhat encouraging.

But he also said parents should not become complacent about the findings on drinking.

“We still hear about too many parents who learn their kids have experimented with alcohol, and say, ‘Thank God it wasn’t heroin.’ But the dangers of alcohol are very real,’’ he said.

Jon Mattleman, Needham’s director of youth services, said he found the survey results highly disturbing.

“The at-risk behavior kids are reporting is staggering,’’ he said, “and this survey shows us how it is changing.’’

He said his department wants to start asking Massachusetts teenagers more questions about Internet use and social media, including the “24-7 Facebook and texting,’’ most of them engage in.

“We believe technology is a core competent of at-risk behavior, and it’s a topic parents have no idea about,’’ Mattleman said. “The way kids communicate, and how stressful and fatiguing that communication can be, is something we need to talk more about.’’

Read more here in today's Globe West

What do you think? Is it dangerous for teenagers to turn to pot instead of alcohol? Is technology really such a major factor? What should parents and communties do about it? Leave a comment, or send an email to enoonan@globe.com

Lila has been driving me to the brink lately with the Being Two: the whining, the screaming, the abandoning of the diapers in random sodden heaps around the house, the eating nothing-but-blueberries-and-mini-marsmallows, the "Meeee dooooo!" the "No Mama sing!"

But last night I read this, on page 83 of Karen Maezen Miller's excellent book, Momma Zen:

"Yes, it's said that "two" is terrible, but can you consider the course load for a minute? Self-feeding and table skills, language, emotional management, toilet training, and social etiquitte for starters.

Consider all of this as a way to conjure up more empathy on an ordinary day."

Ahhh. Suddenly I feel better. Thanks Karen.

This book is an old Moms Are Talking About favorite, categorized under the intriguing label Parenting/Buddhism.

If you ask me, that's a literary subgenre that really ought to have its own bookstore. Or planet. With free green tea and massages.

What's on your parenting bookshelf these days? Leave a comment or send an email to enoonan@globe.com

Welcome to another installment of a new Boston.com Moms segment: They sent it. We tried it. The kids liked it.**

Our prayers have been answered, Verizon Wireless has come out with a cell phone can survive a plunge into the toilet, aquarium and/or local YMCA pool -- in other words, a day in the life with small kids.

The waterproof "Boulder" phone is adopted from a industrial model originally used by contractors, soldiers and other tough guys. It's resistant to dust, shock, moisture, sand and the linty junk that collects at the bottom of your purse.

In black or orange, the Boulder has a nice sporty clam-shell model and streamlined look.

Verizon marketing rep Ariane Doud presented to me for review in a fishbowl (real water, fake fish) with assurances it could stay there for two days or more without damage.

Dennis and Lila couldn't believe their luck -- a phone Mama actually allowed them to play with in the bathtub.

Our verdict: Thumbs up!

*** Re: They sent it... the kids liked it. We occasionally review mom and family-related products. If you send something, we don't promise to try it, or blog about it.

Be forewarned: If we don't like it, we'll say so. Don't send anything worth more than about $20 without a SASE, we subscribe to the Globe's ethics policy.

My iPhone went missing for several hours yesterday.

The criminal investigation continues, but I have uncovered some photo evidence that indicates it was an inside job. Committed by a very short person.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit C

I'd better check the call log. He better not have called any 900 numbers or texted any of my old boyfriends.

I propose we start a Boston.com Moms gallery of renegade photos taken by preschoolers with stolen cameras. Upload them to the photo gallery, or email them to enoonan@globe.com