Dear Hot Mamas,

How are you this month of February?  Here at the Hot Moms Club, International Family Corner, we are talking about Youth and Role Models.  For many wonderful stories and articles, go to international family mag. We have youths in both the U.S. and in the U.K. talking about the impression Barack Obama and his family are making on the world.  And we have a fantastic “to do” list that Grandma Ellen was left one weekend while babysitting her grandchildren.  It sounds like many, many of our house lists for our overscheduled, over-parented kids these days, and yes, even I had to laugh and say, “Does that really sound like me?”  And so the dialogue on youth is on the table.  Let’s hear from you Hot Mamas.  And in the meantime, please enjoy one of my favorite youth advocates, Gina Gippner, with toys and books for terminally ill children. She writes for us at IF mag each month, and she will make you laugh and cry. And do something! 

Also as I promised you, we will make a World Tour stop in visiting the families of the world in Thailand for a Tina Lai review of the Mandarin Oriental.

By Gina Gippner

It’s December 24th and children all around the world are getting into their beds in anticipation of the morning. “Twas the Night before Christmas” is being read to them by adults who are trying to persuade each of their children to fall into slumber, “Santa won’t be able to leave your presents under the tree if you don’t fall asleep.”

A few hours later parents will walk silently down their hallway; finding their way into their child’s room. Silently opening the door they will walk over to their child, brush the hair away from their face, and kiss their forehead. Finally sleep has come.

It’s December 25th and children all around the world are waking up. Sheets are flung off their beds, awaking everyone in the house before their feet have a chance to hit the floor. “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! IT’S CHRISTMAS MORNING. WAKE UP!”

Families will gather where their trees were decorated, and underneath the lights of the trees, boxes will be wrapped in paper and bows, and children will shuffle through the mass of gifts to find one that has their name on it.  A Mother will be reminding her children to slow down, and take turns… but even through her words the children will be too excited to wait.  When the last present is opened the family will move to their dining room table and breakfast will be served. The rest of the day will be filled with family, friends, and dreams of what next year will bring.

But, for some children Christmas doesn’t read like a “Hallmark Card”.

It’s December 24th and children all around the world are already in their beds anticipating when the nurse is going to come in their hospital room and administer their next shot. “Twas the Night before Christmas” is nowhere to be found, and there are no adults persuading these children to fall asleep— just nurses who come in every few hours to wake them up to check their vital signs.

It’s December 25th and children all around the world are waking up. Sheets still in tack, safety bars in place, and they can’t get out of bed until they have the help of another. A nurse will come in, check their vital signs and their morning breakfast will be served.  Christmas has become just another day.

There are over 8 million children a year who are diagnosed with a life-threatening illness who don’t have family or friends to visit them. Some are children with no parents, many have parents who don’t live close enough to visit, and others are too sick to even know if a visitor has arrived.

Twenty-one years ago I happened to be in the hospital on Christmas Day. I remember a little girl in the next bed, and both of us were quarantined. A big sign on our hospital door read “DO NOT ENTER!”  Around 2:00 p.m.  Santa made his rounds. Down the corridor we could hear him, “Ho, Ho, Ho. Merry Christmas!” He would say as he entered each room.

I watched as the little girl sat up in her hospital bed in anticipation of his visit into our room. As he got closer, her eyes got wider. Christmas was about to walk through our room when all of a sudden Santa read the sign – “DO NOT ENTER!” He stopped dead-in-his-tracks, pulled a stuffed toy out of his pack, and threw it to me, and said, “Will you hand that to the little girl please!”  Then in a twinkle of an eye, Santa was gone.

The reason I wanted to share this true story of Christmas is because Christmas is not the same for every child.

This Christmas and throughout the year, please remember the children who spend their Holiday season not dreaming of a “White Christmas”, but a healthy one.

Editor’s Note:
Last Christmas Gina donated 200 comfort toys to Loma Linda Hospital in Southern California, and because it was December, and flu season, no visitors were allowed. Gina was not able to handout the gifts, nor give them a hug. All she could do was load the toys into a bin and watch as the nurses and their staff wheeled them through the door.  But the children got Gina’s wonderful comfort toys and each of them knew someone had thought of them that day.  Wonderful. 
Please go to Gina’s site

Dear Hot Mamas,

Happy, Happy New Year! International Family Magazine, and Hot Moms Club kicks off 2009 with a world tour of personalities and countries filled with all kinds of mamas, grandmas and families around the globe. 

Our first stop is Bonn, Germany with Hella Kramer, mother, grandmother and her dear friend in the U.S., Ellen Blaustein, mother and grandmother as well.  Here they exchange letters to one another to discuss the natural resource of a grandparent and older person to the family unit. 

Grandparents can be invaluable to us busy working, parents!  And senior citizens as a whole are a wealth of information and experience for us as parents, professionals, first-hand historians, and human beings.  Click onto International Family Magazine and read all the wonderful stories of seniors around the world.  And call your grandparent TODAY!

Love, Cat Wayland, International Family Editor for Hot Moms Club, January, 2009

A Letter by Grandma Ellen to Hella, Germany

Dear Hella,

During our frequent Germany-U.S., U.S.-Germany ‘phone conversations’, you and I frequently discuss the roles our friends and we play in our children’s lives. Well, just imagine! Now we have an opportunity to write about this for our German and English readers for the January 2009 issue of  International Family Magazine.

The official theme of this month’s issue is “The Aging As A Natural Resource”.  My dictionary defines “natural resources” as  “the wealth of the country”.  And given the roles we play, perhaps you and I, and other seniors around the world do in fact qualify as part of our countries’ wealth. 

When I got married at age 19, my relationship to my parents as a child virtually stopped.  I didn’t call my mother up and complain because I never saw my husband during our first year of marriage, which was also his junior year in medical school.  My mother was not a role model for me because she didn’t work after she got married.  And I ALWAYS worked, both before and after my children were born.  She couldn’t act as an advisor to me on how to manage MY life because hers was so much more circumscribed than mine.  She was born and died in St, Louis, MO and lived her whole life there.  Within the first six years of my married life, I lived in four different cities in two different countries.  And my parents certainly did not help support my family.

But these days, the aging parents of children in the developed world CAN truly be described as a natural resource.  We give sage advice (when asked) to our offspring; act as sounding boards for our children’s complaints ad nausea – about spouses; about life in general; about the unfriendly people in the cities in which they live; about difficulties with their children.  And the only reason they don’t complain to us about money is that we are very generous with it.  Piano lessons; dancing lessons; riding lessons; summer camp; private school tuition – we pay for all or part of these.  Those of us who are lucky enough to live near children volunteer at their schools.  And those of us who live farther away travel to fill in for parents when the parents travel. 

When our children don’t need us, we aging seniors, those of us who are retired, offer our services to the communities in which we live.  We serve on decision-making boards and do hands-on volunteering, as well, putting to good use all of our skills and smarts learned over a lifetime.  Retired executives in the USA volunteer with SCORE, an organization that pairs corporate retirees with young folks needing business acumen.  I serve on panels hearing cases against lawyers; co-chair a lecture series on the nation’s “hot” topics; chair a subcommittee for a women’s grant-making organization; and, in my spare time, wrap books at Borders for a favorite charity.

And, now, in addition, I see to all the legal, financial and health affairs of an older sister.  Once, years ago, we took our son, Marc, to see Charlie Chaplin in “Modern Times”.  One scene in the movie showed him accidentally sending a clock through an industrial-strength ironing device.  The clock came out flat as a pancake, and Marc said; “Now that’s what I call real permanent press”.  Well, with my sister’s stuff, I now have “permanent stress”. 

But I know that my mother would have done the same if called upon.  Because, in the end, her gift to me was to lead her life with utter integrity and to instill in me, her youngest child, a sense that helping others and contributing to the good of the world is what makes life worthwhile. 

And becoming a “natural resource” as she aged is what she did.  And now as I grow older, it is what I do.

Hella’s Letter to Grandma Ellen
Hella Kramer, Bonn, Germany

Dear Ellen,

Thank you for sending your letter on “The Aging as a Natural Resource” and the idea to exchange letters on the subject for International Family Magazine.  I want to answer in my way and with my ideas.  Since we began our long lasting friendship so many years ago in Paris, we communicate a lot. We talk about the different countries we have lived in and, about their traditions and culture.  And we have had many fruitful discussions.

You know I was born in a part of Germany at the border to France. It was very early in my childhood that I was confronted with French traditions and then later, with English and American. I went to medical school in Munich and Paris.  All my life I tried to teach my two children and now my grandchildren, to be open to the world and to different countries.

Now as a grandmother, I am no longer working as a medical doctor and I try to communicate with my grandchildren about different ideas and bring my part in.  I go with them to museums.  Especially now at Christmas time, I go to bookstores to find special books for them and the family.

Lately I met my oldest granddaughter at my favourite bookstore.  How charming to meet her there. Dear Ellen, we as grandparents can really do a lot for the next generation.  We buy their skiing equipment when their working fathers and mothers have no time.  We take them to Switzerland and teach them how to ski. My husband as a grandfather is thrilled to ski with them.

But more than just regular duties we can fulfil as well. Since we are no longer the working generation, we have more free time. We can go to nursery homes and visit older people or patients. Many friends call me to discuss their health problems and show me their medical reports and, I am able to give them advice.

Seniors in their sixties and seventies like you and I are a real resource because we still have energy for work and helping, and we work with pleasure for the family and the environment. Especially you and I who had professional careers and learned many skills and expertise and we can offer our knowledge and wisdom.  This life style I took over from my family and I try to give to the next generation.

World Tour: Bonn, Germany
Source: Wikipedia

Bonn is the 19th largest city in Germany. Located about 20 kilometres south of Cologne on the river Rhine in the Federal State of North Rhine-Westphalia, it was the capital of West Germany from 1949 to 1990 and the official seat of government of united Germany from 1990 to 1999. Starting in 1998, many national government institutions were moved from Bonn to Berlin. Both houses of the German national parliament, the Bundestag as well as the Bundesrat, were moved along with the Chancellery and the residence of German head of state, the Bundespräsident.

Bonn remains a centre of politics and administration, however. Roughly half of all government jobs were retained as many government departments remained in Bonn and numerous sub-ministerial level government agencies relocated to the former capital from Berlin and other parts of Germany. In recognition of this, the former capital now holds the title of Federal City (”Bundesstadt”).

Bonn has developed into a hub of international cooperation in particular in the area of environment and sustainable development. In addition to a number of other international organizations and institutions, such as, for instance, the IUCN Environmental Law Center (IUCN ELC) the City currently hosts 16 United Nations institutions. Among these are two of the so-called Rio Conventions, the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) and the United Nations Convention to Combat Desertification (UNCCD). The number of UN agencies in Bonn, most of which are based at the newly established United Nations Campus in the city’s former parliamentary quarter on the banks of the Rhine, continues to grow.
Bonn is the seat of some of Germany’s largest corporate players, chiefly in the areas of telecommunications and logistics. Simultaneously, Bonn is establishing itself as an important national and international centre of meetings, conventions and conferences, many of which are directly related to the work of the United Nations. A new conference centre capable of hosting thousands of participants is currently under construction in the immediate vicinity of the UN Campus.

From 1597 to 1794, it was the residence of the Archbishops and Prince-electors of Cologne, and is the birthplace of Ludwig van Beethoven (born 1770).

It was also the site of the World Chess Championship 2008 between Vladmir Kramnik and Vishwanathan Anand.

(Cat Wayland, John, Jax and Brody)

Dear Hot Moms,

December at International Family Magazine is about Home. What does home mean to you hot mamas?  Is home a place?  Or is home where the heart is?  I know this sweet mamas, it is often the woman of the house that makes things comfortable – buys the fluffy pillows for the couches, wraps the ornaments each year in bubble paper to keep it safe for the next holiday and makes sure each child has their art on the fridge.  And this is what makes home special for everyone. 

I will always introduce to you a writer from International Family Magazine each month.  In 2009, I will take you on a tour of the World and the voices of family everywhere.  But right here in the U.S. there is a growing shift in family, and we at IF mag and Hot Moms are calling this the “New Global Family”.  What does that mean? 

Well, nowadays family might come about from gestational surrogacy, IVF, domestic or international adoption, choice parents, single parents, and on and on.  It is family means family means family.  And what is that?  A community of love and nurturing, plain and simple.  And one of our monthly columnists, Cheryl Paley, writes each month about her experiences as a single mom and her adopted daughter Zoe from Guatamala, and all the other “out of the box” families she meets along the way.  Please enjoy our wonderful Cheryl, and write to me on my Hot Mom/IF mag email if you have a story to share with Cheryl and IF mag.

The Glue That Holds a Family Together….
Cheryl Paley
The New Global Family

So, we get back from our yearly trip to visit my family in Chicago and there it is: an email announcing the cancellation of Zoe’s summer camp. No notice, no apology, just an announcement. 3 days before the beginning of camp. My first response: get hysterical. It’s an old habit, well honed over the past 7 years, particularly the 1st 3 years of single motherhood when there literally was no safety net. When I was sick, when Zoe was sick, when both of us were sick, there we were. When I had 10 bags of groceries and it was raining or snowing and there was no place near my house to park and Zoe was fast asleep in the car seat, I knew I would either get a ticket or get arrested for leaving her in the car while I ran the groceries into the house in the rain or the fish would spoil but… I had to figure it out. Over and over and over again. And somehow, I did. I figured it out. And I am proud of that.

(Photo: Cheryl and Zoe)

But this little camp test was a benchmark for me. This time the outcome was significantly altered because of my “extended family of friends”, our theme for the month here at IF mag. For me, the “extended family of friends” in Zoe and my life is not just a lovely idea or utopian concept; it’s the glue that holds us together. So, back to the crisis. I immediately (after hyperventilating, of course and uttering a few choice curse words) put out a post on the parents e-list my friend moderates and in less than an hour, with no lead time, 5 people, some good friends, some strangers had contacted their camps and begged them to take Zoe at the last minute. And, in the end, I had 4 choices and handed in a down payment this morning. Case closed. Turnaround time: less than 24 hours.

It never occurred to me during those early years of isolated single motherhood that finding this “extended family of friends” would all but define the quality of my life. And, while I have always felt a sense of pride at having adopted internationally, it isn’t something one dwells on or even talks about much on a day-to-day basis. Certainly, it is not something I am thinking about when Zoe is whining about wanting a popsicle. And yet, the presence of international adoption and adoption in general has added yet another dimension to my “extended family” that is almost too big, too meaningful to take in at one sitting.

So, we’re sitting in Chicago with my parents at our favorite BBQ joint – a friendly, folksy, cheap but clean hangout with great Italian beef – Dengeos Barbeque. And, as previously stated, my daughter is, in fact, whining about wanting a popsicle. All of a sudden, a very cute teenage boy, sitting at the table behind us starts to laugh. I, of course, turn and give him my best apologetic mommy smile and he slowly, sheepishly ventures a few choice introductory words: “Your daughter, she looks just like my cousin.”

This is shorthand in our world for “I know that is not your biological child. I “get it” and want to connect but I don’t want to embarrass you or offend.” Sometimes people will say, “Your daughter is beautiful, where was she born? Mine was born in (insert country of origin).” So I, taking my part in this, counter with, “Where was your cousin born?” “Korea,” he said, smile broadening. The mother and her other 2 daughters turned and, within 10 minutes, 2 tables were connected, through Italian beef and international adoption, as we shared both food and the most amazing stories.

The mom’s name was Susan and she has 4 adopted children; her sister has 6 – all adopted, all disabled, some internationally adopted, some domestic. One of her nieces was found as an infant, tied to a tree, left by a crack addicted mother. This child, now a young adult who just received a full scholarship to college, has no hands. She was supposed to die. But she didn’t. I like to think she was saved by an extended family that knows no color, no restriction, and no boundaries. Angels, I call people like that. God’s workers. I am not so brave, not nearly so noble. But still, I am so proud to be “in that club.” There, in Dengeos Barbeque we sat, taking part in the fraternal bonding ritual of our journeys and of our lives as people who have been saved ourselves and forever changed by an “extended family of friends.”

From the moms on my e-list to the woman in Dengeos, these new friends are not only lifesavers in a pinch, but messengers to a new world, linking Zoe and I to the whole world. And that is as far from the isolation and just-under-the-surface shame I felt at the beginning of my journey as it could possibly be. When I started out I had no one. I knew people “like me” were out there, but I did not know them. Today they are my “extended family of friends” and they appear… everywhere.

Dear Hot Moms,

This month of November, 2008 we celebrate our third year anniversary at International Family Magazine. International Family was launched to give all families around the world a safe place to come together and tell their stories.  International Family Magazine is simply that: storytelling. We all have stories to share.

Families come in all shapes and sizes.  There are families of adoption, special needs, IVF, surrogacy, choice parents, blended families, divorce, single parent, and on and on. Families share so many different cultures and languages.   Families are Latin, Asian, African-American, European, Afro-Latina, Euro-Asia, Cuban-Portugese and on and on.

I was very honored to be asked by Jessica Denay to write for Hot Moms some years ago.  When Hot Moms launched and included a Hot Moms Espanol, I knew Jessica and her hard working partners had great vision. “Yes!”, I said.  “I want to be a part of that vision”.  International Family Magazine is joining forces with Hot Moms to help tell stories from families around the world.

What is your story? Please become a member of the International Family Magazine here at Hot Moms Club and tell us your story.  Each week I read so many of the entries of Hot Moms members and I hear so many incredible stories.  Don’t be surprised if I invite you on this column as a guest so that all of us can listen to your own family’s magic or challenge.  Sad or happy, all stories teach us things.

If there is love, than there is family and home. I thought I would kickoff my column with you Hot Mamas by letting the stories speak for themselves. This story of Little Marta was in our inaugural issue back in November, 2005.   Nowadays we are so busy that we don’t  get to know people outside of our close circle of friends and family.  We therefore form opinions of what is “us” and what is “them”.  But if we listen to their story………

Little Marta
(offered in English and Spanish)

Our memories constantly teach us things. Today, I am sitting in the living room of my friend Marta as she celebrates her sixtieth birthday. Reflecting on her life, she remembers an important birthday party forty-four years ago, and the lessons of family. After 11 hard years of working in the United States from the tender age of sixteen to twenty-seven, Marta received a very important birthday wish come true. She had succeeded in emancipating her family from Castro’s Cuba. Finally, she could watch their faces, hold their hands as she blew out her birthday candles, smell them as they embraced her. It is the memory of hard work, optimism in the face of terror and, the loyalty of family.

Marta’s face darkens as she begins her tale. Normally, it is the face of a young girl even at sixty. There is not a single line, the blue eyes twinkle with mischief, and the mouth is forever in the form of a laughing letter O. To remember her story, she must admit the sadness that she has journeyed through to find her peace. We know that true peace is never easy to come by. But it is life’s constant mystery why some people must endure such horror along the way.

Little Marta’s family had immigrated to Cuba from Portugal in the mid 1900s. Little Marta’s father Jose went as a young man in his twenties. Fifteen years later, little Marta’s mother, Alsina, left her own small town with a cousin and went in search of the place that was “heaven to women.” They came from different villages in Portugal but with very similar dreams of fortune and plenty. Jose and Alsina found it all and one another in the paradise of Cuba. The young lovers were married in 1938.

Alsina and Jose enjoyed many good years together. The two worked very hard and were able to secure a profitable family business. Alsina and Jose raised two young daughters, Maria and little Marta. Anyone who needed anything in their family and community benefited from the couple’s hard work. No person was turned down for food or shelter. The family of four never forgot their own humble beginnings and their gratitude.

But no fortune or favors could save the family or their Cuba from the arrival of Castro in 1959. It is particular to Marta’s heroism that she can speak of a man both brilliant and evil. Castro’s communism was comprehensive to the last detail. Any and all material goods became the property of the government. Comite’ de Defensa governed each neighborhood. There was no more private life or privilege. A new money system took over in one single day. Castro had each home inventoried to the last candlestick. The sanctity once enjoyed by all was replaced by terror and the screaming of “paredon, ‘paredon,” when another of their own was taken to the wall for execution.

But the sanctity of one’s children was the most heinous violation of all. Castro said that children after the age of five were government property. The government then was the “patria potestad” or the true guardian of the citizen’s youth. Parents could no longer claim the rights of their own children and make decisions for their schooling or future.

During the initial phases of Castro’s totalitarian regime, there was a very brief window of opportunity for the families. Cuban parents looked to the United States and their then good relations to shelter their children. Operation Pedro Pan (Peter Pan) was set in motion. Thousands upon thousands of children left Cuba in mass exodus to be taken in by foster care in the United States. Little Marta did not wish for another mother and father, hers were the most marvelous in the world. A young neighborhood man and boyfriend, Carlos, had made it to the United States. As Carlos was older than little Marta, she might be able to get a visa to go to get married to him and become an American citizen.

So little Marta, and one of her best friend’s Manolo traveled to nearly a dozen embassies with translations of paperwork looking for a visa. At the time, little Marta was sweet 15. In the meantime, the Bay of Pigs and the slaughter of innocent Cubans who tried to revolt against Castro was going on around her. One slip and Marta and Manolo would suffer the same consequences for disloyalty to the government.

Finally, little Marta was able to leave for the United States. Marta was alone because she had become separated from her dear Manolo. Manolo was to follow in a few days and they would meet in Miami. Little Marta swore to not rest until Manolo and her entire family could join her in safety. She did not know that she would not sleep well again for eleven years. Little Marta did not know then that Manolo would become a part of Operation Pedro Pan and never see again his adoring father who had to stay behind in Cuba.

It had been planned that the family that her boyfriend Carlos had arranged to give her safe haven in New York would be passed off as her godparents. But little Marta only had six US dollars sewn into her buttons by her mother Alsina. It was not enough money to get her from Miami to New York. If she could not provide proof of an airplane ticket in twenty-four hours, little Marta a was told that she would be held in the barracks with the other children of Pedro Pan to await foster care. She was desperate. Little Marta finally found her priest from her home in Cuba, Padre Villaronga, in the Freedom Tower in Miami. He made little Marta promise to be good always and he gave her the airplane ticket she needed. It is now at the mention of her beloved priest, that Marta’s eyes return to their brightness. She recites for me the poem that this same Padre Villaronga taught to her in a safe village in a childhood now so far away,

Mira que Dios te mira,
Look that God is looking at you,

Mira que te esta mirando
Look that God is looking at you now,

Mira que te vas a morir,
Look that you are going to die,

Mira que no sabes cuando
Look that you do not know when

It took another decade of working in factory rooms and; then in business offices in the New York City area, to thrice attempt the emancipation of her family and finally succeed. But Marta does not celebrate this victory as hers alone. She speaks of the heroes she found in her parents, the town priest, Manolo, and even the newly elected Senator of Florida, Mel Martinez, that is a child of Operation Pedro Pan that she has never even met.

At sixty years of age, Marta still puts in a fourteen-hour work day. She remembers her Cuba, the days of plenty, and the traditions of her family to take care of those in need. Today her memories remind her of the greatest birthday wish come true, that her family is now together again safe, liberated, and in a new land of opportunity. It is possible that our memories teach us the answer to the question we have asked our whole life – who am I? Our memories are the stories of our character and the actions of our soul. Our memories tell us exactly who we are.