BookSwim. Last week I bought The Red Tent. It was our book club selection. I wanted to take it out of the library or nab it on BookMooch, but after waiting patiently I finally gave up. Wish I would have known about BookSwim before I made my purchase. The service, which charges you between $9.95 and $59.95 per month depending on how many books you want to borrow per month, will mail books directly to you and take them back when you’re done.

Safety Assessments for playgrounds. How safe is your school’s playground? How about the one at your park? The University of Alabama at Birmingham has created playground safety checklists that can be downloaded here. (Click on Supporting Documents at the bottom of the page.) A wonderful free resource for any parent or grandparent.

Child Online Safety Guide. With accounts of cyberbullying and cyberstalking making the news all the time I decided I would pass along this resource, which a PR person passed along to me. Good list of dos and don’ts related to online safety for kids. (I plan on using it next year as the basis for a a Girl Scout Brownie Try-it patch.)

Open Center Online Learning. The New York Open Center is a holistic learning center located in — where else?– New York. So if you want to attend one of the more than 500 programs it runs you need to come this way. Until now. This month the Center launched an online repository of downloadable podcasts that include subjects like Reiki, meditation, reflexology, Feng Shui and Chinese Medicine, among other topics. Some are free; others require payment. (I’m planning on downloading some to my iPod the next time I have to go into the city.)

That’s it for now. Hope everyone has a good weekend. I plan on blogging over the weekend since I am starting WordCount’s Blogathon 2010, which requires daily blogging from May 1 to May 31. Not sure how coherent my weekend posts will be — my weekends are crazy with more events and chores than time to do them — but we’ll see! Hope you’ll stop by to check it out.

Belonging to a CSA is sort of like going on a treasure hunt. You never know what you’re going to find. CSAs work like this: You pay a set amount at the beginning of the growing season. Our season on Long Island is 26 weeks long; the annual cost of the CSA is $550. (I’ll do the math for you. It’s about $21 per week.) Then, once crops start coming in you go to a local pickup spot with your own reusable bags and get your veggies and fruit — whatever is ripening that particular week.

You get a lot for your $21. Boxes, even in the spring, are overflowing. Lettuce is usually plentiful. Potatoes and kale are, too. My CSA plants about 45 varieties of vegetables along with an assortment of herbs. Some of the veggies are common — cucumbers, broccoli, spinach (yum, nothing like baby spinach fresh from the fields), tomatoes, and carrots. Some are, to be honest, not something I would ever think of buying. Celeriac, Chinese broccoli, fennel, the aforementioned kale, kohlrabi, and swiss chard. But these veggies old and new really help us eat better. I feel bad wasting anything, so I am always looking for new ways to cook up these items. Katelyn, who usually comes with me to pick them up, loves seeing vegetables in their natural state, and she, like her mommy, loves the way real, fresh produce tastes.

A lot of my friends tell me their kids won’t eat veggies. They ask me how I get my kids to chow down on salad and spinach and — their favorite — broccoli. I always tell them that I exposed the kids at a very early age to many tastes and textures. So now when Katelyn says she doesn’t like summer squash, I can accept that because I know it’s not because it’s a vegetable. It’s because she truly doesn’t like the taste. A CSA, I think, gives kids more of a chance because they are constantly seeing new vegetables appear on the table in plentiful portions.

If you’re interested in joining your own CSA, check out Local Harvest, a directory of U.S.-based farms. Can’t afford $21 per week? Do what I did: split a CSA share with a friend. I shared my share last year and still found myself giving away food towards the end of the week. After all, there are only so many kale chips (baked in the oven with a touch of oil and salt) that you can eat!

I’m writing this post as part of Real Food Wednesdays. Check out the other 50-plus bloggers who are supporting the real food movement by reading some of their posts.

“Instead of resurrection, plastic eggs are all about everlasting nonbiodegradable un-death, inauthenticity and cheap disposability, not to mention global economic trends eating away at the livelihood of blue-collar American workers.”

He’s right, of course. Americans often look for the easy, disposable way out. My family hasn’t decorated real eggs for two years now. It’s messy. Besides we don’t eat hard-boiled eggs and I decided it was a waste. As for plastic eggs: Yes, I do hide them, but in my defense we’ve been recycling and reusing the same plastic eggs for three years now. And the basket — and the 17 eggs we hide — are sitting on my office floor waiting to go back up into the attic. But I know I am in a minority. Plastic eggs cost $1. If you buy them after the holiday you can get them at 75 percent off. Most people, I am sure, just buy them and throw them out after the jelly beans and Cadbury eggs are gone.

As for the original author’s point about China: I won’t even go there. There’s really nothing for me to say that hasn’t been said already. No matter where you live China is probably kicking your country’s butt in terms of production and export of pop culture items.

So why am I bothering writing about plastic eggs? Especially since Easter is over? I just wanted to remind everyone that it doesn’t take a lot of thought to put your used eggs into a box for next year. Wrap ‘em up and you’ve saved yourself a few bucks and a trip to the store next year. And if you don’t celebrate: Your town probably has an Easter Egg hunt. Encourage community members to reuse their plastic eggs, too. If every one of us salvages just one or two eggs we can divert thousands of pounds of plastic from land fills, no small feat, right?

Over the Christmas holidays we went to the Long Island Children’s Museum. While we were there, one of my friends ran into one of her old friends. The girl had a 9-month-old and a three-year-old. We started chatting. She asked me how my big girl liked becoming a big sister. She wanted to know, she said, because, “she’s (pointing to her own big girl) is just terrible.” I went through a period just like that, I was about to explain, but she kept talking. “Yes, she’s really not listening, and I don’t know what to do. We tried spanking her, but it doesn’t seem to work…” She was still talking, but I didn’t hear anything past the phrase “we tried spanking her.” I looked down at her daughter, a tiny little thing, and had to will myself not to be judgmental.

Spanking is one of those polarizing topics. Either you do it, or you don’t. There’s no in between. And if you do it, you usually feel very strongly about it. And if you don’t, you probably have a reason.

I grew up with a single mom since my dad died when I was little. She worked a lot. Money was tight. When things got stressful (and they got stressful a lot) and we misbehaved, my mom hit us the same way that my grandmother hit her when she was a little girl. No, we weren’t getting punched or kicked. More like hit with the shoe, hit with the big wooden spoon, hit with the slipper. I can vividly remember being hit with the handset of one of those old-fashioned rotary phones because I was sneaking out of bed to call my cousin. That one hurt a lot. I also got my hair pulled and got smacked. One time, as a teen, my mom was so mad that she picked me up by my hair and banged my head against the wall. But even that wasn’t something that would be considered wrong or bad. There was no stigma attached. It was acceptable, and my mom did it where she thought we needed it — in front of people, on the front lawn, at the store. All the adults in the neighborhood did it. One time my uncle even hit me because I was misbehaving with my cousin.

Me, I can’t do it. I just can’t. I smacked Katelyn’s butt once. I instantly felt like I wanted to die. Here she is, this little, tiny girl. Here I am this big adult. My hand completely covered her behind. She weighed, at the time, a quarter of what I weighed. She wasn’t allowed to hit back. She just had to stand there and take a smack because of something — whatever it was, maybe she didn’t listen, maybe she was fresh? How is that a fair fight? How is that teaching her right from wrong? How is that going to build trust between us? How can I, as a mother, tell her never to let anyone lay a hand on her if I am doing exactly what I am saying is wrong? And how can I tell her not to hit other children if hitting is okay in our house?

I know lots of people say that spanking is a solid disciplinary tool. And that it’s the only thing that kids respond to. Me, I say that’s a load of crap. I’d say those people were taking the easy way out, but I can’t even own that statement because, at least for me, it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I think, like my mom, a lot of people are acting out of frustration and anger. They lose their temper. And once they do it once, and they see the look of fear in a child’s eye, they think it’s a good idea.

After I smacked Katelyn, I took her in my arms and apologized. I told her that it’s not okay to hit, and that I was wrong and very, very sorry. And that it would never happen again. I told her sometimes grownups make mistakes, too, but that I learned my lesson. Since then we use time outs and taking things away instead of smacks and spanking. It’s working out pretty well. My heart honestly goes out to that woman we met at the Children’s Museum and to any other adult who spanks. I think, if they think about it, it’s actually hurting them as much as it’s hurting their kids.

Let the comments fly. Why am I right? Why am I wrong? How do you feel about the issue.

It was at that point that we hit a little bit of turbulence. Nothing crazy. A little bumpy road. I took a deep breath and tried to equate it with the feeling of being on our boat on a windy day. Just an aside: I am strangely not afraid of the boat or rough seas. I actually enjoy some rolling waves every once in a while. So anyway, we’re in the middle of some bumpy air and I try and calm myself down. Okay, I think, it’s not a big deal. It’s going to stop soon. Still, my heart is pumping fast, my hands go numb, and my mouth is dry. My legs start shaking uncontrollably. Then there’s a “ding-ding” in the galley. Uh-oh. The flight attendant picks up the phone and listens to the pilot. For a while. When he hangs up he immediately gets off the phone and makes an announcement: “Sorry, folks, but the pilot has told us that there’s going to be some rough air ahead of us. We’re in for a bit of turbulence that’s unfortunately going to get worse.”

Okay, now I am really freaking out. A few minutes later the plane starts REALLY bumping. The plane goes quiet except for the three people behind us who continue to yammer on. Lest you think I exaggerate: The guy sitting next to us in the other bulkhead section puts his feet up on the wall to brace himself. The woman sitting next to him closes his eyes. Both flight attendants fully strap in. When they get up to clean the plane it’s super-fast — less than five minutes from start to finish. And then the pilot comes on the PA again, “Well, folks, I’ll bet you didn’t know you’d be signing up for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride when you got on the plane tonight, but I just wanted to remind everyone to stay in their seats. I’ve spoken to air traffic control, and conditions as we go farther north are only going to deteriorate. Please remain in your seats.”

I’m praying. I’m talking to myself. I’m shaking. I’m holding on to the top of my seat. Even Keira, who was a lunatic the entire flight has settled down and started rubbing blankie on her face. Katelyn tells me her stomach, knees, head, and mouth hurts. She’s leaning on me and closing her eyes. My husband is looking over at me and trying to tell me it’s really not that bad. Really. And what am I making such a big deal over a little bumpy flying? The female flight attendant tries to make me feel better. “Be happy you’re up here on the bulkhead. It’s really terrible in the back of the plane. It feels like a roller coaster.” Thanks for letting me know. (And I again thank God that I got that disability pass that lets me board first and snag what I will now and forever refer to as the chicken seats.) But it’s bad. It is. At times it feels like we’re free falling in air. Only short bursts, but enough to scare the heck out of me.

The descent is even worse. It feels like we are getting tossed around — literally. We tried to look outside. No visibility. All we see is white clouds and the lights reflecting off of them. This is by far the worst flight I’ve taken as an adult. I just keep praying and breathing. But we make it in. We get off the flight. Everyone walks off the plane dialing their cell phones. All around us I hear people saying things like, “horrible flight,” and “really tough landing.” Ah-ha! For once I wasn’t the only one who was terrified! While waiting for my baggage the woman next to me confides that she didn’t think we were going to stick the landing. “I figured we were going right off that runway,” she says. By that time I am calm enough to tell her that I was fine with the landing because the worst that would have happened was a few bumps and bruises. At least we were out of the air. And I actually felt proud of myself. Despite the crying and shaking and overall insanity, if I was able to make it through that flight maybe I can make it through the next one a little easier. With less crying. (But I still want my disability pass, please.)

Okay, back to my regular columns this week. Tomorrow I’ve got a snack blog planned. Missed you guys. Happy to be back on the ground.

Ecologic packaging. I have at least seven drinks in my fridge right now. Two cartons of orange juice, a carton of milk, a bottle of pomegranate juice, a bottle of apple juice, and a carton of strawberry banana juice. The cartons are all the traditional type: paper sheathed between two layers of plastic. They can’t go into a typical recycling bin because they need to be processed differently. The closest recycling center that can handle these cartons is 25 miles from my house. Bah. (Want to see if you’ve got a recycling option for your cartons? Go to the Earth911.com searchable database and enter ‘milk carton,’ and press Search.) This is why I was pretty jazzed when I saw Ecologic‘s fix: Packaging that can be separated into cardboard and plastic components. You can compost or recycle the cardboard, and stick the plastic pouch right into your regular recycling bin. Today, only one company — Straus Family Creamery based in California — is trying out the packaging, which can be found at the Oakland, Calif.-based Whole Foods. But at least there’s hope!

Reusable produce bags. Bet you don’t even think about how many bags you use in the produce aisle. You pick up some oranges. Maybe a bunch of broccoli, some sweet potatoes, and a bunch of apples. Each item goes into its own crappy bag that takes forever to open. Before you know it you’ve got ten flimsy, one-use plastic bags sitting in your cart. Their next stop: a landfill or, even worse, the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. We’re all so good about using our own grocery bags, right? Now it’s time to make another change. There are eight different reusable produce bags for purchase at Reusablebags.com. Before you grumble about spending money on these, take note: They have nice drawstrings so your fruit won’t go rolling all over the place. They are made of polyester so they can be washed. Heck, you can even wash your produce right in the bags so you don’t have to worry about them rolling all over a dirty sink. Totally worth it in the end.

Reusable Takeout Containers. On Thursday we went out to dinner. We were there for about 30 minute when Keira said she had to go potty. So we went. She’s in underwear now, so we went fast. She saw the tiny bathroom with the big toilet and she was scared. We went back and forth three times before she said, “Mama, poop, HOME!” Sigh. I asked her to hold it, and we went back to the table. I asked the waitress for a check. My husband swooped over and asked if she could wrap my big girl’s uneaten meal. Damage to the environment: One aluminum tin, one plastic cover, one plastic bag. Uggg. Tonight I came home and ordered Tupperware’s FlatOut set, which squish down into nothingness flat enough to stick in my purse. I intend on bringing them to the deli when I order salads, too. Yes, I read the review that said they are tough to clean, but so what? That’s what soaking is for. Rubbermaid also makes a BPA-free version called Collapsibles, but I could only find them on Amazon.com — not the actual Rubbermaid site.

Reusable Coffee Cups. When I have the occasion to go into the city and visit editors and clients I take the Long Island Railroad. People coming off the train throw out two things: Newspapers and used coffee cups. With almost all of the major coffee peddlers (Starbucks, Dunkin’ Donuts, and 7-11 to name a few) willing to fill up your favorite cup with some Joe, doesn’t it make sense to skip the paper and Styrofoam? Even once or twice a week? I love, love, love the “I am not a paper cup” thermal porcelain mug, (although from the reviews it doesn’t look so hot) but really any one will do.

Coming next week: Two great give-aways and some more parenting angst, I’m sure. But in the meantime, relax, recycle, and enjoy your weekend.

Boom Boom Cards: Cards that help you pay it forward.

It’s been a while since I’ve written a true cool things-focused Favorite Things Friday, so I figured I’d go back to my roots. For all my new readers — and there are a bunch of you these days — Favorite Things Friday is my opportunity to write about things I have seen and liked recently. Sometimes I profile Web sites. Sometimes I profile food. Sometimes I profile stuff. Enjoy!

Boom Boom! Cards: I got an e-mail about this and loved it. We’re a week away from Valentine’s Day so I had to include. The premise is simple: You get a pack of cards that ask the recipient to do a random act of kindness. The cards all have tracking numbers so the people who get them can post about their kindness online for everyone to see. Great concept. Love the whole random acts of kindness thing. And if you’re going to buy paper valentines anyway, why not buy some that make the world a better place. (Just remember to recycle them!)

Sliquid Organics: Whether you’re young or old, sometimes the nether regions need a little help. (Something a wise friend once told me — of course, she said it a lot differently!) However, the whole mucus membrane thing makes it very scary to me. It’s not a place you want to put chemicals or carcinogens. These personal lubricants are made from organic, all natural ingredients, and come in a 100% recyclable packaging. The labels are even printed on 75% recycled paper stock. Sliquid Organics Natural, a water-based lubricant would be my choice, because of the company’s claim that it will “never cause UTI’s or yeast infections.” Good to know.

Organic sheets. We spend 1/3 of our life in bed, and yet most of us have traditional cotton bedding. When a place like Target is selling 250-thread count king-size organic cotton sheet sets for $89.99, you know it’s time to make a move. Don’t understand why you’d want to buy organic cotton? There’s a great primer about it from the Organic Trade Association here. The most important reason: 25 percent of the world’s pesticides are used in cotton production. Like food, residue remains. Then we sweat and those residues are transferred to our bodies. Not convinced? California Pesticide Use Reporting data shows that traditional cotton growers use 2.13 pounds of chemicals per acre when growing cotton. Scary.

Organic lipstick. Here’s the thing: Study after study keeps finding lead in traditional lipsticks. In September the U.S. Food and Drug Administration — a pretty good source — came out with a study that found lead in all 20 of the lipsticks it tested. According the the Campaign for Safe Cosmetics: “The FDA noted that three manufacturers had the highest levels of lead, but they did not name those brands. In 2007, the Campaign for Safe Cosmetics report also found that a few brands had consistently higher lead levels, including L’Oreal, Maybelline and Cover Girl.” The scariest part: The FDA study found an average level of lead in lipsticks of 1.07 ppm – more than 10 times higher than its own standard for lead in candy. FDA’s standard for candy is based on the lowest lead level that can be achieved. A similar standard should be applied to lipstick. So my suggestion? Get out that candy red lipstick. Just make sure it’s organic. You can even buy organic lipstick at a place such as Sephora.

Soy-based candles. I love burning candles. Love it. But when I saw the multiple studies about the dangers associated with this fun escape, I had a pause. At the September National Meeting of the American Chemical Society (ACS) — again, a pretty solid source of information — scientists explained burning traditional paraffin candles “is an unrecognized source of exposure to indoor air pollution, including the known human carcinogens…In the study, R. Massoudi Ph.D., and Amid Hamidi said that that candles made from bee’s wax or soy, although more expensive, apparently are healthier. They do not release potentially harmful amounts of indoor air pollutants while retaining all of the warmth, ambiance and fragrance of paraffin candles (which are made from petroleum).” I can’t really suggest a specific candle, but if you Google “soy candles” or “bee’s wax candles” there are a ton of options.

I am writing this post today instead of next week so you can get ready for the most made-up holiday in the world — next to Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, of course. There’s no reason that you can’t have a phenomenal, romantic heart day as long as you make it a healthy one. Have you ever considered the above tips? Have any more healthy romantic options? I’d love to hear about them!

All squished together. No wonder we've got a problem.

I love Consumer Reports. It’s not a “liberal” magazine. It’s one of the most respected independent magazines out there, actually. So when it supports something I’ve been preaching about for ages…well…it’s pretty nice.

This weekend we got the January 2010 issue. One of the coverlines: How Safe is Chicken? Page 19. I flipped to the story right away. It resonated because, ever since I read about the European Union banning our chlorinated chicken, I’ve had a hard time getting it down. That’s right: that chicken sandwich you ate for lunch? Before it was sliced up, it was part of a whole chicken. And whole chickens? Well, in this country most chicken “farmers” (and I use that term loosely) dunk chickens in a solution of bleach water before selling them to the public. That’s how they try to kill the salmonella and campylobacter that inhabit the birds. How do they get those germs? Well, eating chicken poop is one way. Crowded, cramped living spaces is another. The whole combination of germs and bleach and dipping just makes me feel sick.

Okay, so back to the Consumer Reports story. According to the story, all that bleach water isn’t really making much of a difference. CR tested 382 chickens to see if they were free of germs. The results: “Campylobacter was in 62 percent of the chickens, salmonella was in 14 percent, and both bacteria were in 9 percent.” Another take-away: The cleanest birds were the ones that were air-chilled; only 40 percent of those birds harbored germs. Organic birds — no surprise — fared way better. None of the organic chickens had salmonella present, although only 43 percent were free of campylobacter. Bell & Evans organic air-chilled broilers were the only brand to emerge completely germ-free, although there was a caveat that they only tested eight birds from that brand.

Wait, so you’re dunking chicken in bleach water, and it’s not even working? So the chicken most Americans are eating not only has bleach residue, but it also still has germs? Really? No wonder the European Union is complaining about our practices. I can’t say it enough, and now Consumer Reports is saying it, too. The mainstream meat industry in this country is deplorable. When you treat animals like garbage, they become garbage. (What’s that saying? Garbage in, garbage out…) Consumer Reports says it even better: “Consumers shouldn’t have to play roulette with poultry; the USDA must make chicken less risky to eat.”

So that’s why I am asking you to make a change — and take action. The next time you are at the store, consider the source of your meat. Is it really worth it to buy a cheap chicken if it can make you sick? Isn’t your health worth going organic? Look for air-chilled organic chicken, and make sure you cook that chicken to at least 165 degrees Fahrenheit. And even if you’re not willing to spend the extra cash, contact the folks at the USDA and demand that they demand that our food be safer. Don’t feel like clicking through? The phone number is (202) 720-2791. It’s a new year. Let’s make a little noise.

Do you think about how your food is manufactured? What role should the government take in keeping our food safe? Do you agree that the government isn’t doing enough? I’d like to hear about it.

My big girl (then little) all bundled up.

Back when I was a child (when we only had 30 or so channels on television and the cable remote actually had a wire connecting it to the set top box), my mom never let us spend a snow day in the house. Instead, she would bundle us up and throw us outside as soon as there was a sprinkling of white on the ground. We needed the fresh air, she said. So that’s why you’d find us — as the snow came down outside — putting plastic bags over our shoes so our feet would slide right into our boots, tying scarves around our necks, and putting on our ear muffs. We needed to be really warm for what was to come: Usually hours and hours of playing in the snow.

As soon as we were properly ensconced in our winter finery, my mom would send us outside where we would almost immediately start making angels in the snow. Carefully falling backwards onto the untouched front lawn, we’d move our arms and legs, carving out wings and a dress. Then we would get up carefully, jumping out of our own snow shadows so the angels left behind were as perfect as we could make them. We’d repeat this over and over until there wasn’t a single patch of virgin snow left. Next, we built our forts. We piled mounds and mounds of snow together until it was three or four feet tall, and used our mittened hands to dig out a cave. We’d keep digging until we could see the brown of the frozen earth and the yellowed green of the crumpled grass beneath. We were pretty good at it, often making snow forts big enough to hold two or three or even four kids. Then we’d sit inside, catching a second wind. Snowball fights came next. Sometimes, my mom or older brother would come outside and pull us on the sled. It was always fun being able to walk around the block to the school and throw snowballs at the red brick facade. If the streets were drivable, we might even head over to Cedar Creek Park where we would sled down hills at breakneck speed over and over again.

No matter where we ended up, though, we wouldn’t go inside until we couldn’t feel our fingers and toes or it got dark — whichever came first. But even though our time in the snow ended, the fun continued when we made it into the house. We’d come inside, stopping in the hall to peel off all our layers, placing our our wet clothes by the hissing radiator. Then, noses and cheeks pink and shiny, we’d cluster around the kitchen table drinking hot cocoa and taking in the smells of dinner, which was always cooking by that time. It would be so peaceful. Sometimes, we were even lucky enough that it would start snowing again so we could watch the giant puffs of flakes fall past the kitchen window. Just reminiscing takes me right back. It’s almost like I am back on Princeton Drive South. The chair below me so large, the worn metal of my hot cocoa spoon crisscrossed with scratches from Brillo pads. My toes stinging as they warm up and dry out. What I wouldn’t give to be eight again!

But I’m not, and I can’t go back. I am forced to live vicariously through my kids. So that’s why this weekend my girls will experience some of the same favorites I enjoyed way back when. That’s why I am hoping and praying for a white Christmas. Go ahead, Facebook friends, gripe and complain about the snow and the cold. But me, I say bring on the snow, Mr. Weatherman. I’ve got memories to create.

What’s your favorite winter memory? Are you trying to give your kids similar experiences? Let’s hear about it!

This year my mother, who still works part-time in addition to sitting for me, is working on Wednesday. She also just had a tragedy. Her long-time boyfriend’s son died of sepsis. He was 36. So sad for him and his family. Because of this, my mother didn’t get a chance to cook this weekend. She was at the funeral. She was complaining to me on Saturday that she had to work, and she wasn’t sure when she would be able to catch up with everything that needs to be done before Thursday. Okay, so I offered to host. I would prefer to host, actually. Everyone can arrive at 2 when Keira goes down to sleep, I figured. She wakes up at 5, eats dinner, and then we could put her back down at 7. My life would be much easier, even with all the cooking and cleaning. I called both of my siblings last night. My sister was fine with it. My brother, however, is now threatening not to come. He offered first, he says. And if I am going to host he might just “bag it” and stay at home so he can watch football. Sigh.

I tried to explain why we wanted it here. Having it here means my big girl and my sister’s little boy can play in the playroom. They have plenty of room to run around. Also, my sister wouldn’t be too far from Brooklyn in case she needs to make the trek to her in-laws’ house. (They’re still not sure who is hosting this year.) It will be easier on Mom, too, who is tired and still recovering from helping her boyfriend deal with his sudden tragedy. But he wasn’t buying it. He hung up telling me he would speak to my mother today.

Families. It’s a tough subject. You’re not just dealing with rational thought when it comes to familial issues, you’re dealing with emotion. My brother, who is in his 40s, will revert to being a child again when it comes to family stuff. We all do. Sibling rivalry never goes away. We’ll probably be old and decrepit and still be fighting over who gets their way. So how will it all turn out? I have a feeling my mom is going to side with my brother (as the only boy and a cancer survivor she tends to favor him a lot), and we’re going to end up out east. If it comes to coming to us, but not having my brother there or going there, she’s going to push us to all go there. (I am much more easily led when it comes to mommy guilt.)

And so, even today, I can see my Thanksgiving clearly in my mind. I will spend the entire time chasing my 16-month-old, and trying to find something for her to do. My big girl will read. She’s great like that. My husband will watch the baby so I can help my mom set things up. My sister-in-law will come in to a full dinner table after spending the day riding her horses. (Love her, but she’s an extreme feminist and will say, since my brother is insisting on hosting, that he should do the cooking and cleaning.) My younger sister will stop in for an hour or two having to split the day between Brooklyn and Suffolk County. And my mother? She will be happy because we’re all together. And after what happened to her boyfriend’s family last week, she’s the one who will have the greatest insight. I’m going to work on that between now and Thursday. Being grateful for what we’ve had this past year, and the promise of what’s to come.

Do you have issues when it comes to planning holidays? How do you manage to compromise? What would you do if you were me?