On a Scale from 1 to 10

It was Friday evening when this email showed up in my inbox:

It's okay to rate them if they're famous.

Dear Parent of the Class of 2019:

Last evening I was made aware of a posting on a googledocs spreadsheet being circulated among students in the ninth grade.  The author(s) of the spreadsheet have rated and ranked members of the freshman class in a manner that objectifies female students and may be viewed as a form of sexual harassment.

I have interviewed several students today in an attempt to determine the source of the posting and to do what I can to insure that that list does not exist on school district computers and is not continuing to be spread over technology for which we bear responsibility.  Our investigation leads us to believe the list appears on student phones, and not on district computers, and so we will need the help of parents to eradicate the list from the possession of students.

I have also referred the matter to the Nether Providence Police Department as a case involving possible sexual harassment.  Given that we cannot determine the source of the list, we are unable to issue school discipline in this matter at this point.  If we do identify the source, consequences would fall under our harassment policy, including police notification, school suspension, and parent notification.

Any parent with information regarding the list is asked to contact me via email or phone at your earliest convenience.  All parents are asked to speak with your student about the damaging personal consequences of misuse of social media and technology, the proper and respectful treatment of young females, and the potential legal consequences for those who engage in this type of behavior.

Thank you.

MaryJo Yannacone, Ed.D.
Principal

As the mother of a 9th grade girl, I had a number of reactions to this news:

1. Huh. Interesting.
2. Involving police and harassment charges seems a bit extreme.
3. Those boys are in a heap of shit.
4. I wonder how Abby did.
5. I better burn my 8th grade yearbook in which I "starred" the cute guys. If that gets out, I'll never be able to run for political office.

Frankly, that's about as much thought as I gave to the matter. Until the doorbell rang.

"Mom, apparently, one of the boys who made the list is going house to house to apologize to the girls. So if the doorbell rings..."

It rang, and there stood a tall, classically awkward teenage boy with his mom. He confessed to being one of the boys responsible and apologized for what he'd done. His mom noted that many lessons had been learned. When they left, Abby said, "I actually feel bad for him." And Brooke and Ian, who'd answered the door and then listened in from the kitchen, called it one of the most awkward things they'd ever experienced. I give the boy's mom two thumbs way up for handling it the way she did. All you hear of are parents who do everything they can to keep their kids from having to take responsibility for their actions, and here was this guy, facing 50 female classmates (they ranked the top 50) with his mom at his side. Bravo, mom. Bravo. I'd say the punishment fit the crime, but will the school agree? 

Based on the principal's letter, school suspension, police involvement and sexual harassment charges may be forthcoming. And, despite being the mom of a girl on the list (who was significantly under-ranked, by the way), I want to say, "Isn't that going a bit too far?"

Let's face it, we are hardwired to find each other attractive. It's what keeps the species alive. And males and females have been making these kinds of lists for decades, probably centuries. Somewhere I imagine there's a cave drawing with stick figures of various women ranked in order of attractiveness, hunter/gatherer ability, fertility, dinosaur escape skills, and fire making know-how. And I wasn't kidding about my yearbook. It may not have been 8th grade, but at some point I definitely placed stars next to the boys I thought were cute. I may have even given them scores. If a teen girl did that today and her yearbook was passed around and she was caught, would she risk the same punishment as these boys? Knowing our school district, she very likely would, which makes me sigh and shake my head a bit.

I get it, really, I do. For centuries women have been treated as nothing more than objects in a male-dominated society. It's cost us in innumerable ways--emotionally, mentally, physically, professionally, financially. And because we can't allow women to continue to be undervalued, there have to be repercussions for this type of behavior. But somewhere in this mistake lies one hell of a learning experience that I believe can be achieved without the involvement of our criminal justice system.

Yes, the behavior was wrong. It was wrong to come up with a list of categories on which to rate a grade's worth of 15 year-old girls. It was wrong to put the list online and make it available for input. It was wrong to hurt these girls by deciding their worth in physical terms. But, it is forgivable. And a boy who takes the time to apologize to each and every girl on this list deserves to be forgiven. Lesson learned. Let's leave it at that.

Chin Up: A Change is Coming!

It's been three days since Villanova's big win in the NCAA Basketball Championship. I watched most of the games this season and while I still can't figure out what qualifies as a foul and when it earns a foul shot or just possession, I'm really starting to enjoy the sport. Especially when they're nail biters, which seems to be the rule rather than the exception. Although to be fair, I bite my nails a lot, regardless of the situation.

I bring up the basketball game for two reasons:

1. It provided me with a day off (and another one tomorrow!) and the opportunity to write a well-overdue blog post.
2. Ian told us before the Oklahoma game that he would enroll at Villanova if they won the championship. 

Should I hold him to it?

Some of you are aware that a wrinkle/wrench has been thrown into what was going to be a fairly easy decision where college is concerned. Along with Villanova, Ian was accepted into William & Mary's Joint Degree Programme (that's how they spell it in the U.K.) with the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. St. Andrews is situated on the coast, with beaches and a popular golf course (an understatement for anyone who knows golf). People also have cool accents and there are lots of pubs. And MacPherson is Scottish. The school is pretty damn good, too, and he'd earn a BA, International Honors, from both universities. And did I mention that this programme only enrolls about 20 students per year? 

His acceptance letter included a handwritten note from the director: "Your passion for economics and travel make you a natural for our programme. Join us." 

Well, damn. Didn't see that coming. Seriously. Ian didn't either. It's like when he made the Silvertones as a freshman. "Wait, what? Are you sure?" 

This is one of those situations where the advice you receive completely depends on the individual. Those who have put kids through college and incurred student loans say "Villanova." Those like my sister who believe "the best" opportunity is always worth paying for say "Scotland." We're saying, let's go talk to the folks at W & M, crunch the numbers, make a pro/con list, and then decide on Villanova. Obviously the kid can't go wrong either way, and this is a hell of a nice "problem" to have. It's just that I'd really like a shore house some day. 

I didn't start this post with the goal of bragging about my son's opportunities. My objective was to brag about what an awesome young man he's become.

Some of you have known me long enough (we really only have to go back a few short years) to remember when I was forever frustrated by this kid. Smart. Yes. Hard working. No. Funny. Yes. Willing to share that personality in performance, writing, or on late night talk shows? No. Ambitious? No. Easy-going? Yes. Passionate about FIFA? Yes. Passionate about anything else? No.

I went crazy with his attitude, which was best summed up in his own words: "If it's not fun, why should I do it?" Dude, you're talking to a woman who feels guilty if she's having fun instead of working. If I hadn't given birth to him, I'd wonder if he's adopted. 

Recognizing that many most parents, at one time or another (or daily) want to wring their teenager's neck for their crappy attitude, I will say this: It will pass. The kid who commits to nothing but video games will find his or her passion. And it just might involve developing video games, which I happen to know makes for a pretty good living. May I recommend Villanova's Computer Engineering program?

I know Rob and I are lucky. We've watched Ian's transformation take place. He still loves FIFA, but he's also passionate about economics and societal issues. He recommends to me books he's read and enjoyed for school. He and Rob watch "Meet the Press" together (yes, it's for a class, but it's a class he really enjoys even though he wouldn't label it "fun."). He's working harder than ever and challenging himself academically when most seniors have written off the last few months of their high school education. His sense of humor continues to light up a room, and he's still willing to play Bananagrams when begged asked. Our teenage son seems to like us, and the feeling is mutual.

Now before you accuse me of patting myself on the back for having a great kid, let me say that Rob and I really had nothing to do with it. It just happened. Or more likely, his girlfriend Brooke is primarily responsible for his maturing. After all, it still takes five requests from Mom before Ian does what's requested, whereas Brooke sees immediate results.

This leads me to just one suggestion: If your teen's evolution is taking longer than you'd like, consider finding a nice boy or girl to help move things along. If he or she has big brown eyes, that's a bonus.

Good luck!

Top 11 Things I'm Thankful for this Thanksgiving Day

In no particular order:

1. A multitude of angels in my life, freakin' and otherwise.
   
2. A teenage son who treats his wonderful girlfriend like a princess, demonstrating what a kind, thoughtful, loving and mature young man he has become.
   
3. Radio City's Christmas Spectacular for actually leaving the Christ in Christmas. It's nearly impossible to see Christianity on display in a secular environment these days. So nice to see they didn't sanitize it to avoid offending anyone.
   
4. A fulfilling career in which I get to share the stories of those who are truly making the world a better place.
   
5. Those who help others--around the corner and around the world--not for recognition or reward, but because it's the right thing to do.
   
6. Books, so many wonderful books!
   
7. A teenage daughter who will hold my hand walking through NYC, and ask me to lie down with her on a rare night when she can't fall asleep.
   
8. The opportunity to pursue a lifelong dream and the friends and family who encourage and support me.
   
9. A teacher whose childlike joy and passion for his craft make being in school again an amazing experience.
   
10. Puppy love.
    
11. Being married to my best friend--a man who makes me laugh, think and look to our future as empty nesters with anticipation instead of sadness.

Finally, thank you for your friendship. I can't imagine walking through this life without one another to lean on!

Don't Go Away

I have a bunch of work to do. Deadlines are looming. But there are more important things than the articles I need to write. Just as there are more important things than overdue homework assignments or a bad test grade.

Last week’s disappearance of 13-year-old Cayman Naib was frightening and beyond nerve wracking for his parents and even for us outsiders who wondered and waited. The discovery of his body two days ago was every parent’s worst nightmare. Learning that he had committed suicide made that nightmare even more unbearable.

When our kids are small we worry about doing something wrong, hurting them somehow. Are we sufficiently supporting the baby’s neck when we hold him? Are there too many blankets in the crib? Is she getting enough to eat? Are the outlets protected and the cleaning fluids locked up? Does he know not to talk to strangers? Are they okay crossing the street? Is this babysitter reliable?  Though we can make ourselves crazy with concern, to some degree we believe that we can keep them safe if we do everything right.

Of all the challenges that present themselves as the parents of teens, one of the biggest is trusting they will be okay when we can no longer hold them tight and keep them in our sights 24-7. Beyond the everyday risks that this world presents are the dangers that teens and young adults are to themselves. You pray that you've taught them well, but one bad decision can literally be the difference between life and death. Getting in the car with a buddy who’s been drinking, trying a drug that has disastrous consequences, checking out the handgun you found in a friend’s house, leaving home in anger at night, during a snowstorm. When we wondered whether Cayman had been hit by a car, I was struck with fear over one bad decision. It reminded me of the West Chester student who disappeared the night before Thanksgiving after going out drinking with friends and was later found drowned. One bad decision.

Learning that Cayman committed suicide compounds one life-ending decision with a parent’s overwhelming sense of guilt. Without knowing anything about this family, I can only surmise that they are asking themselves, “Did we put too much pressure on him? Did we see any signs that he was depressed?  Why didn't we go after him that night instead of thinking he just needed to let off some steam?”

As a parent I have agonized over how to raise productive, accomplished, hard-working, and happy children. How much do you push or "encourage?” When do you require commitment and when do you allow them to quit the team or the band to stop the tears and the fighting?  How do you know if they “can do better,” or if this is their best? How can you tell if they’re working hard to please themselves, or their teachers, or you? And when is it too much?

I imagine Cayman felt he had let someone down. That the pressure was ovewhelming. That he was never going to be successful and that meant he could never be happy. He didn't know that every 13-year-old has that doubt and fear and anxiety and that someday he would look back and shake his head and wonder why he let it matter so much.

As I was working on this post, I saw that my friend and Freakin’ Angel Kim Graham shared her thoughts about this tragedy on Facebook. And since she has a way of saying things so eloquently, I’m going to share some of what she wrote here. This is my plea as well. And parents, Kim's message about finding perspective and seeking help applies to you us too:

"If you need help finding perspective or seeing the big picture of whatever you are going through, tell an adult who loves you. I promise you there are adults who have loved you before you were ever graded on anything, and who will love you long after you’re no longer being graded. If--for whatever reason--you are too nervous to talk to them, come talk to me. And if you don't need to talk but just need a gentle reminder when things get stressful, stop and think about adults you know and respect. The ones you want to be like someday. Do you know what grade they got on their 9th grade social studies test? How many goals they scored for the soccer team? (Or if they were even on the soccer team?) What they got on their SATs? Exactly.

Driving home yesterday I heard the song "Father and Son" by Cat Stevens. Given the loss of this young man, I found the lyrics particularly painful:

“All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside, It's hard, but it's harder to ignore it. If they were right, I'd agree, but it's them you know not me. Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away. I know I have to go. Father, stay stay stay, why must you go and Make this decision alone?"

Don't go away.

"Miss Shimmer, um, about this rating..."

Last Friday I took a half day's vacation to judge a speech and debate competition at a South Philly charter school. Ian's coach was desperate for help (each competing school has to provide judges), and since I particularly enjoy critiquing others, I volunteered. This wasn't my first time judging at one of these events, but on previous occasions I judged Oral Interpretation, which is what I competed in during high school (OI is basically dramatic reading). At last week's meet, I was needed to judge two categories that were new to me: Public Forum and Lincoln-Douglas Debate. They're both debating contests, with the differences being that PF involves teams of two arguing pro or con on some predetermined topic (genetically modified foods, in this case), while LD has two individuals face off on a more values/ethics-based topic.

While I didn't particularly enjoy Public Forum (I kept wanting to interject), Lincoln-Douglas was especially difficult, mostly due to the two students I had to judge. On one side was a young man who seemed to be advocating for "the right to be forgotten," as in disappearing from social media if one so chooses. I say he seemed to be speaking on that subject because honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to communicate. This was not an auspicious start for my first LD. Little did I know things were about to go from bad to worse. Or at least mediocre to bad.

The young lady, who seemed to be speaking for the public's right to know, presented an opening statement that was nearly incoherent. She stumbled while reading her notes verbatim, never making eye contact, and most of what she read hardly seemed relevant to the discussion.

The event became increasingly awkward when it was time for the students to challenge one another based on the statements they'd each made. The young lady referred to whatever notes she'd arrived with, and made points that were completely unrelated to what the young man had proposed. It was almost as if she hadn't listened or at least hadn't understood what he was saying. She looked either half asleep or under the influence of who knows what. It was painful to watch. She sealed her fate when, given six minutes for her concluding statement, she used only two. And of course, in those two minutes, she said nothing of any value.

My job was to rate them each on a scale that looked something like this (I may be off by a number or two):

26-30 - Excellent
21-25 - Good
18-20 - Fair
15-17 - Below average

The form noted that scores under 15 should be reserved for those who exhibited behavioral problems or issues with their conduct.

I should mention that prior to beginning the meet, the school host asked that we not judge too harshly as it is early in the year and we don't want to discourage students.

Talk about your quandaries.

I rated him a 21 and her a 16, provided lengthy comments and suggestions, and turned my paperwork in to the tabulation room.

As I walked away, I heard "Miss Shimmer (dear God, people, it's one "M," which makes it a long "I"), can you come here for a moment?"

You might guess where this is going. 

I was told, "We really don't want to give anyone less than a 20. Can you give her a 20 and him a 21?"

I replied, "There was considerably more than one point difference in their performances."

"Okay, then give him more points?"

Because I lack the cajones to stand my ground, I crossed out my 16 and gave the worst speaker I've ever seen/heard a 20. I bumped up mediocre man to a 25. And then I mentally began this blog post.

This is a classic example of where we go wrong with youth today. We avoid critiquing them too harshly for fear of hurting their self-esteem. We sugarcoat everything in the hopes they'll believe they can do anything. What's wrong with judging them fairly, pointing out both their strengths and weaknesses so they have a realistic sense of self? What's wrong with suggesting they need to work harder if they want to be better? By never using red pens on homework assignments or tests, by giving everyone a trophy for participating, by telling them they're good, great, or awesome, we're setting them up for a serious shock when they enter the real world where there's no "pass go, collect $200" just for showing up.

And while we're busy patting the back of the below average, we diminish the accomplishments of the standout. Or, we over-inflate the mediocre to establish a reasonable distinction between them and the lesser student, athlete, or artist. My mediocre student didn't deserve a score that had him on the cusp of an excellent rating, but in order for him to justifiably believe that he significantly outperformed his competition, that's how I had to score his performance. Tell me this - why have a below average rating on the scale if we're not supposed to use it?

Believe it or not, I'm not advocating that we crush spirits and kill dreams. I'm merely suggesting that we be honest with kids, crediting them with resilience, which they possess in spades as compared to most adults. If we don't prepare them for honest evaluations and critiques now, at the first sign of criticism on the job, they're going to crumble.

I expect some of you will disagree with me on this and I welcome your feedback. Just try to be gentle. No red pens. No low scores. You know I don't handle criticism very well.

At Your Service

We Older folks tend to grumble about "young people," those teens and young adults who are seemingly minutes away from running the country right into the ground.

"They're lazy."

"They're whiners."

"They expect to have everything handed to them."

While these frustrating faces of the next generation do exist (and I'm sure our elders felt the same way about us), the one thing I can say about today's teens and young adults is that they do a better job of caring for others than my generation ever did. Personally, the concept of "service" wasn't even on my radar at that age, whereas kids today seem to grow up understanding and accepting the call to help those in need. For many, this begins when mom and dad ask party guests to bring an item for charity instead of a birthday gift (personally, the jury's still out on that one).

"The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others."                          -- Mahatma Gandhi

Today, service is a requirement for graduation from our high schools. It's part of what qualifies you for National Honor Society. It's what admissions folks expect to see on your college application. And here's the kicker: I know thousands of kids who continue to serve well after it benefits them on paper.

Okay, I don't know thousands of them personally, but I've seen them in action.

"Service" has been the name of the game in my world for the past few weeks. It started with St. Thomas of Villanova Day of Service (STVDS) on September 27, followed by our friends' Ride for Autism Speaks, then last weekend's Ann's Love Builds and the Ride to Conquer Cancer. This past week, Villanova students spent their fall break serving around the region and around the world. And, the entire 8th grade year at Abby's school is dedicated to supporting Cradles to Crayons.

Villanova University's commitment to service isn't just some warm and fuzzy phrase in the promotional material. It's the real deal. STVDS drew 4,300 students, faculty and staff who engaged in service at 140 sites in the greater Philadelphia area. Last weekend, 600 students gathered in St. Thomas of Villanova Church for a blessing and dedication before leaving for their fall service trips.

Then there are my personal friends who do amazing things to care for others. The Fischers put together an annual ride that brings out dozens of bikers to benefit Autism Speaks, and youth are among the many volunteers. At Christmas, a party invitation comes with a request that we bring coats to donate to a local charity. (Not nearly as tacky as asking us to bring food.)

In honor of my friend Ann Bates who lost her battle with brain cancer three years ago this November, Ann's Love Builds continues its annual day of service in her memory. This year, more than 100 people turned out at six different work sites from Princeton to Media as a way of celebrating Ann's life and dedication to caring for others. I spent the morning at a home with 20+ youth and adults whose goal was to provide wheelchair access for a man who recently became a paraplegic. Work included gutter cleaning and guards, trench digging for drainage, and painting the home's basement. In North Philly, Princeton lacrosse players (Ann's husband Chris is the coach) worked at a homeless shelter. Tell me that wasn't a life changing experience for those young men, many of whom grew up having the best of everything.

At the same time Ann's Love was building, Rob was riding his bike, over 130 miles in two days, to raise funds and awareness for cancer research. A fitting tribute to Ann and the millions who lose their battle with cancer each year.

These days, when we consider the state of our country and the world, what first comes to mind are the negatives: our government, debt, terrorism, the economy, ebola, hunger, violence, you name it. It's nice to be able to point to the good that is happening in communities everywhere, thanks to a new generation's commitment to care.

Statistics:

• Teenagers volunteer 2.4 billion hours annually – worth $34.3 billion to the US economy.
• Youth volunteering has increased steadily over the past ten years, with 30% of youth participating in volunteer activities at least once a month in 2000. 
• Out of 13.3 million youth, 59.3% volunteer an average of 3.5 hours per week, versus 49% of the adult population 

Benefits of Volunteering:

• Youth who volunteer just one hour or more a week are 50% less likely to abuse alcohol, cigarettes, become pregnant, or engage other destructive behavior.
• Teens say the benefits received from volunteering are: Learning to respect others; learning to be helpful and kind; learning to understand people who are different; developing leadership skills, becoming more patient, and better understanding of citizenship.
• Youth who volunteer are more likely to do well in school, graduate and vote.
• Young people involved in community service are more likely to have a strong work ethic as an adult.
• Youth who volunteer are three times more likely to volunteer as adults.
• 81% of Americans who have volunteer experiences when they are young give to charitable organizations as adults.

"The life of a man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams,
but in active charity and in willing service."

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

So, this is how it's going to be

The summer of 2014 will be remembered as the season in which I lost my children. I think in my very last post, just two short weeks ago, I said something about really liking my kids, and as a result missing them when they're gone, which was the case for the first half of the summer. Well, Ian returned home on Saturday night and I spent a week on a mission trip with Abby, and I can now say that I don't like them nearly as much. Okay, that was a little harsh. Perhaps I should put it this way -- they both turned into teenagers this summer. Just putting that in writing makes my skin crawl.

Perhaps you think I'm lucky that Ian didn't hit this evil stage until now, but maybe in some ways that makes it harder to accept. I really thought that if my 16-year-old was still fairly likable that I was in the clear, that I'd made it past go and could collect $200. I had been patting myself on the back for being such an exceptional parent, having raised a kid who never rolled his eyes or gave me major attitude. Oh, how very foolish I've been.

When picking him up at the airport, after being gone for two weeks, my son's reaction to seeing me was "Hey." And no, it wasn't an upbeat, happy, let-me-give-you-a-hug "Hey!" In his first 24-hours at home I spent maybe three hours with him (he ran off to a friend's house), and in that short amount of time he gave me "the look" and the attitude to go with it. He actually had the cojones to attempt to "decline" a volunteer assignment for the following day that benefited an organization of which he's a member. He seriously thought that by stating, "I don't want to," he would get out of doing the job at hand. I don't know what kinds of kids he spent the past two weeks with, but I'm holding them responsible for this metamorphosis.

And then there's my daughter. Abby also deserted me, physically and emotionally, for most of July. The good news is that I know she felt some degree of guilt because of it. Case in point: Last week, Abby and I worked on Habitat for Humanity houses that were just a few hundred yards apart. During a lull in my work, I walked down to check on my girl (who, by the way, won the tool belt award for hardest worker on the first day of our trip). While visiting, I expressed concern for her safety with regard to something she was doing. She scolded me, in essence telling me to return to my own job site. I realized she was right and so I sulked and with my tail between my legs made my way back. Feeling melancholy over the distinct lack of interaction I'd had with Abby since the trip began, I sat myself down in a quiet place outside and contemplated the increasing gulf between me and my children. And I ate some Swedish Fish. And while I was wallowing in self pity and trying to get the candy out of my teeth, Abby came up to me and expressed concern for my well-being. She asked whether she'd done something wrong and apologized for upsetting me. I got teary-eyed telling her everything was fine and sent her on her way. Guilt is an invaluable tool.

Three days after returning home, Ian is ignoring my repeated requests to put away his clothing, groans when asked to do most any household chore, and feigns illness when he doesn't want to do something. In other words, things have somewhat returned to normal. At least he has stopped rolling his eyes and seems to like me a bit more. Of course, that could be because he again relies on me for food and lodging.

Abby, too, seems to have rediscovered me. When she was away on Monday, she texted to say goodnight and tell me she loves me. It was like the good ole days.

Today, Ian woke early to tell me he was heading to the shore with Noah for the day, asking if that was okay at the same time that Noah's dad was pulling into the driveway to pick him up. Sure, it's okay. Thanks for asking. Maybe 10 minutes notice next time instead of five? I believe that, starting tomorrow, Ian and Abby will both be home, together, for the rest of the summer. Which makes me think it's an excellent time for Rob and me to get out town.

My New Reality: A Preview

It's been a strange summer thus far and it's going to remain strange right up until the first of August. It began in June with Ian heading off to a church youth group retreat in the Poconos the Monday after school let out. He returned home on a Friday afternoon and declined to join his family at the Phillies game and fireworks that evening. The next morning, Rob took Ian and his friend Keaton to the airport at 4:15 a.m. for a flight to Atlanta, where Keaton's parents would pick the boys up and take them to Lake Burton, Georgia. Their stay in Georgia lasted 10 days. On the day they returned, we dropped Abby and her friend Maddie off at Immaculata University for soccer camp. They spent four days there. Three days later Abby left for the Poconos for the middle schoolers' week-long church youth group retreat. That same day Rob and I flew to Minneapolis for the All Star Game. We left Ian home alone, paying one of Rob's coworkers to spend the nights with him.

Rob and I returned from Minnesota last Wednesday afternoon; Abby got home on Thursday. On Saturday, Rob and Ian headed out on their road trip to Oxford, Ohio where Ian is spending two weeks in Miami University's Summer Scholars program.

At the parent meeting for Abby's soccer camp, the leaders told us this would be a good first step toward college for the girls. They were responsible for getting themselves where they needed to be, when they needed to be there. They had to remember their gear and their water, and be sure to change their socks and clothes frequently enough that they didn't develop any strange rashes. They ate in the dining hall and slept in the dormitory and if they had lost their keys it would have cost us them $75. Naturally, Abby and Maddie were just fine. Those two could run the camp.

Ian's two week experience at Miami will be an even greater pre-college test. The question is, who will perform better, him or me?

While I usually welcome the opportunity to have a few days away from my children, I have to confess that this June-July anomaly has me a bit freaked out. Let's face it, these exoduses away from home are just harbingers of things to come. And those things to come will be here before I know it. And quite frankly, I'm not sure I'm ready. Me. The one who started counting down the days till they left for college when they were three. Me. The one who thought this motherhood thing might have been a poor (and irreversible) job choice. Me. The one with the 10-year plan that includes no one except me and Rob on a beach somewhere. How has this happened? How is it that I actually have a small ache in my heart?

I think what happened is that I've grown to really like my kids. Loving your children is pretty much a given, but liking them? Not always. As they've gotten older, we actually have meaningful conversations (as long as Ian's not sitting in front of a screen of some sort), and I find I truly enjoy their company. Ian's bright, quick wit never fails to amuse and impress, and Abby's observations, intelligence and competitive spirit provide a challenge.

I'm amazed at the way they've both changed in the past year or so; Ian, in particular. Last summer he couldn't wait to come home from two camp experiences right here at Villanova, 15 minutes from home. He was miserable. This year he's nine hours away for two weeks, spending his days with complete strangers. And he loves it. He's made friends, enjoys his classes (The Business of Sports), and finds the whole experience "great." "Great" is high praise indeed from a 16-year-old boy. On day one it was only "good."

Knowing that Ian's doing well has eased that small ache, but I do miss his sense of humor. I suppose I better get used to it.

This Saturday, while Ian's still in Ohio, Rob, Abby, my mom and I will drive 10 hours to Banner Elk, NC for our church mission trip. We'll leave a day early, Friday, August 1, in order to pick up Ian at the Baltimore airport where he'll fly in from Cincinnati at the conclusion of his Miami U. experience. We'll return home that night where we will begin the month of August with nothing more than Vacation Bible School on the calendar.

It'll be weird, being together like that. I just hope the kids don't get on my nerves.

The #1 Challenge in Raising a Daughter

It's often said that it's easier to raise boys than girls. I guess that's true, though for me it's not about Abby herself, but rather her interaction with the world that makes having a daughter more challenging. I don't worry what people will think if Ian's shorts are too short. I'm not as concerned that someone will try to physically take advantage of Ian. I don't give much consideration as to whether Ian's "behavior" will cause people to talk, or whether others think he's a "bitch" for being smart, competitive and driven to succeed. These are real concerns for me with my daughter, however. And I would add to this list: society's definition of beauty.

No matter how confident we are, regardless of our level of self-esteem, at some point in our lives every single one of us has wondered whether we're good enough. I was at the pool this weekend, and as I walked the perimeter looking for an empty chair, I felt like I was on display. I was self-conscious about my less than perfectly toned thighs and I cursed the blemishes on my face. And when I found a chair and settled in, I looked at every other woman who walked by and tried to figure out whether I was more or less attractive than her. At the age of 13, I'm sure Abby already has compared herself to her peers, and if her self-confidence is what it should be, she's not concerned about how she measures up. But, unfortunately, someday she will be.

Though I stopped reading parenting books when the kids were little because they made me feel badly about my skills (the same reason I don't read Better Homes & Gardens, Self, or a single cooking magazine), the one thing I remember is that, as parents, the example we set is the number one influence on our children's lives. If we are committed to our faith, eating well and living a healthy lifestyle, our children are more likely to be similarly committed (maybe not as quickly as we'd like, but someday). If we demonstrate kindness, service to others and a strong work ethic, our children will likely do the same (or at least one of our children will pick up these traits). Naturally, the negatives apply here as well. If we put ourselves first in every way, judge others and allow ourselves to be consumed by bitterness and hate, we're raising kids who may do the same (unless they decide to be completely different because they are ashamed of us). If we have no use for reading and lifelong learning, exercising or spending money wisely, well, you get the picture. What I'm taking a long time to say is that a mom's self-image can have dramatic effects on her daughter(s). If I complain about my weight and my blemishes and I constantly compare myself to others, Abby may very likely follow suit. And let's face it, the last thing our daughters need is any help in feeling badly about themselves.

So why this topic now? Probably because I watched the whole season of American Idol and Jennifer Lopez is just depressing as hell at look at every week. And then there's Jennifer Aniston who reportedly wants to lose 10 pounds before her wedding, which is good news because her shape was starting to concern me. But then, on the opposite end of the spectrum, you have Aussie mom Tara Brumfitt who has embraced the "reverse progress body movement," showing off her rock solid body builder physique "before" and her soft, beautiful, mommy figure "after." With her daughter as her motivation, Tara's working on a documentary called Embrace. “How will I teach my daughter to love her body?” she wrote on her website. “How am I going to encourage her to accept and love her body, when I am standing in front of her with a surgically enhanced body? What type of hypocrite or mother would I be?”

I had a friend recently confess that she considered breast implants, but when she thought of the message it would send her daughter, she decided against it. This was in sharp contrast to another friend who offered her physically fit, athletic 12-year-old daughter a reward if she lost some weight.

I don't generally say much about my weight in front of Abby, but where I increasingly have expressed frustration and insecurity is with the appearance of my face. From first time fever blisters and recent breakouts that take weeks to clear, to those obvious fine lines above my lips and the dark circles under my eyes, I know I'm growing older and I feel considerably less attractive. And this is obvious to Abby because I recently bought stock in Mary Kay cosmetics and am having their makeup and skin care solutions shipped directly to our house by the palate.

I used to be an all-natural kind of girl like my mom, who never wore anything on her face except lipstick, But now I'm using special facial cleanser and zit cream. I bought foundation powder. And just last week, I asked my Mary Kay rep to stop by and give me a makeup lesson. She showed up with a case larger than most of my pieces of luggage, and tried to sell me everything under the sun. Rather than just covering those dark circles, I really need their special heavy duty eye cream. If my blemishes aren't clearing up with the treatment she sold me, then I may need to wash with another Mary Kay product. She showed me numerous combinations of eye shadow colors, and lipsticks that I could brighten with a separate purchase of gloss. She left with my order for mascara (waterproof, of course), eye shadow, eye liner and blush/bronzer, but what was most interesting about this sales call visit was the rep's interaction with Abby, who sat at the table and judged whether what I was being pitched actually made a difference.

The Mary Kay rep tried to hook Abby like a drug dealer. "Ooh, I bet you'll like this eye shadow." Nope. Abby doesn't wear eye shadow. "Oh, how about these great lip pencils." Nope. Abby doesn't wear lip color. "This gloss would be fun, right?" Abby explained that she prefers the EOS lip balm. Mission Failed. That's my girl. You don't need makeup, my dear. Your natural beauty is undeniable. I can only hope that she will avoid painting her face simply because mom does, and as a teenager, it's important to avoid anything that makes you look like your mom.

So that's my two cents on how society's notion of beauty makes raising girls more difficult than parenting their brothers. I'd love to know your thoughts on the subject!

Sweet 16

Today I became the mother of a 16-year-old. I realize you may question the accuracy of this statement given that I haven't hit 30 yet myself, but it's true. My son Ian is 16. The big question for me is "How did this happen?" I remember I couldn't wait for the first few years of motherhood to speed up. The baby and toddler years were not my best. Everyone told me that time would fly, but you really have no concept of just how true that is until your child is in high school and preparing to leave the nest in just a couple years.

Today's blog post is dedicated to Ian, who has humored me, frustrated me, impressed me, and driven me crazy. I am blessed beyond measure to call him my son.

16 Reasons to Love Ian

1. He makes people laugh.
2. He has a beautiful singing voice.
3. He has an overwhelming passion for soccer, despite not being a player.
4. He's a loyal friend.
5. He's as quick-witted as anyone I know. The Tonight Show will be his someday.
6. He's super smart.
7. He looks adults in the eye when they make conversation with him.
8. He teaches Sunday school to elementary-age kids who can't wait to see him.
9. I've never known him to be mean.
10. Shockingly, he doesn't mind hanging out with me. No, really!
11. His friends' parents adore him.
12. He's a total smart ass, without being disrespectful.
13. He still gives hugs.
14. He has only run away from home once, albeit in the snow wearing really good shoes. 
15. He's the dictionary example of a "really good kid."
16. He still tells me he loves me. 

This is when he started laying around.

The first time we saw that awesome smile. 

He still makes a mess when he eats, 15 years later.

Early gangsta days.

Abby's already trying to tell him what to do.

He's never eaten black licorice again
since learning it comes with a baby sister.

Young man's best friend.

You mean not every kid sees Jamie Moyer
when visiting Dad at work?

The first and only time
he considered playing football.

First time we discovered he looks great dressed up.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

But I Want (You to Want) It Now!

It only took me about five years of marriage to realize that I had absolutely no chance of ever controlling my husband. Nagging, complaining and demanding gets me nothing except a pissed off man. In fact, he told me early on in our relationship that he doesn't like to be "should upon." Got it. Of course he would tell you that I occasionally slip up and try to make a helpful suggestion.

Given that I exert no influence over my husband, it was only natural that I should want children so that I could control someone something in my life. "And that turned out really well," she said sarcastically. I've learned to accept that my children and I don't like the same music, clothes or degree of cleanliness in our bedrooms, and I'm even becoming accustomed to the way they completely ignore my demands requests. The one thing that still gets my panties in a twist, however, is the frustrating difference between "mom time" and "teen time" when it comes to getting somewhere or getting things done.

One of my children is a lot like me, exhibiting those desirable Type A traits and taking care of business on a daily basis. My other child is not quite as neurotic, high strung, obsessive driven. This didn't matter as much when that child was younger and it was okay for me to manage his/her life, but now, as a teenager, it's time for me to step away and let him/her take care of those things which are most definitely in his/her control. Examples include finding a summer job, pursuing areas of interest, choosing colleges to visit over spring break, and applying for special programs /opportunities that are awaiting smart kids like him/her.

Let's just say we do not express the same manic tendency level of enthusiasm for completing tasks. I'm not even sure if this child has a to do list. Dear God, how does one function in this world without a to do list? My child's slower pace is maddening for a formerly geeky girl like me who finished every term paper ahead of schedule and does a happy dance every time she accomplishes something.

Just last night while together with friends, I went on and on about casually mentioned my frustration with what I perceive to be a lack of initiative on the part of this child. Case in point. Said child is very interested (he/she doesn't fake it when he/she is not interested) in attending a summer program at one of my alma maters, yet, with a deadline looming (May 1!) said child still had not started the application. The past rainy, dreary weekend had been the perfect time to accomplish such an assignment. I believe I may have casually mentioned this to my child, but alas he/she did not see the same obvious opportunity that I did. Clearly he/she was never going to take care of this and the deadline was going to pass, and I was just going to have to be okay with that because it's time for him/her to take responsibility.

My friends listened sympathetically. We drank margaritas.

Upon returning home - in a much better mood than when I left - my child asked me to digitally sign his/her application for the summer program. Which he/she had completed while I was out bitching seeking guidance from fellow moms.

Ah yes, another classic parenting moment and an important reminder that just because my children don't do things my way or as quickly as I would like, doesn't mean they're doing them wrong. Of course doing it my way is always preferable and is more likely to result in success in life (and extremely high stress levels), but it's okay to let my kids be who they are. Remind me about this next year when it's time for said child to start preparing for SATs...

Not Reflected in the Score

It's not everyday that a lacrosse game makes you cry. Unless you're me, in which case you cry over everything from the sunrise and puppies to death and taxes. I can tell you that in the case of this game, however, I wasn't the only one emotionally affected.

On Tuesday evening, Villanova men's lacrosse played Princeton here at Villanova. For those of you who remember everything I say and write (which means you probably need to expand your social circle), you may recall that Chris Bates, husband of my friend, the late Dr. Ann Bates, is coach of the Princeton team. For the last two years, a small group of Freakin' Angels has road tripped to Princeton to see a game. When we learned of the match up here, Angel Kim G. suggested we make it a group outing and extended an invitation to our wider church community. In the end, we more than qualified for a ticket discount with a group of 44 "Ann's Fans" planning to attend.

Tuesday evening was cold, but can I be totally dorky and tell you that we were comfortable and warm in each others company? (Literally. The minute someone got up to hit the snack bar, their absence made you chilly.) There was something so incredibly moving about this group of 40-some people, from ages 5 to 55, all gathered together to celebrate our friend Ann and cheer on the man she loved. On a personal level, the gathering was a living reminder of our human need for community, the need to belong to something bigger than ourselves. I was awed by the blessing that these people are in my life. My Freakin' Angel friend Cathie, who does not cry, was also touched by the experience. The next day, she sent this email to the group:

I'm thankful:
> For you all and for your friendship.
> For the warmth that comes from having you all in my life & from sitting close under blankets.
> For our families and how they can all just blend together.
> For laughter.
> For a win for Princeton.
> For Theresa's on the spot medical assistance (damn those bleachers).
> For cocoa and pretzels generously delivered.
> For strong arms to carry Gemma when mine get tired.
> For Kim's organization in purchasing tickets for us all.
> For Nicholas' (Bates) never ending smile.
> For joy on a cold night.
> For Dickie's excellent photography work to capture the gems below.
> For Ann's friendship that continues to give to each of us.

Just a few of the girls in the group

When I asked Cathie's permission to use this in my blog, she said those were just the quick ones off the top of her head, there were plenty more things to be thankful for. Amen to that. 

Cathie wasn't the only one to share her feelings after the game. Kim S. (we have lots of Kims) noted, "A couple of times during the night I looked around and felt so lucky to be a part of such a great group." And Kim G. added, "It was so fun and such a blessing. I remember thinking that it's quite possible that a similar type of group someday soon will be gathering to watch some of our kids in their ventures. I truly consider you all family."

Someone who I never expect to share her feelings or express emotion is my daughter Abby. She'll tell you she loves you at least twice a day, but she doesn't put her feelings on display (I'm not sure we're actually related). For the first part of the game she voiced her displeasure at being there. "Cold and bored." After I further bundled the blankets around her and pulled her up close to me (and paid for hot chocolate), she seemed satisfied and even passed on the opportunity to go home early with a friend. When we arrived home after the game, Abby was almost giddy and unusually affectionate. In fact, when it was time for bed, she said something about snuggling with Rob and me, and when I agreed, she retrieved her favorite blanket and cuddled up between us, arms wrapped around me. If you think that's kinda weird, you've never watched your teenage daughter grow up too quickly and wished you could stop time and have her be a little girl again. The little one who wanted to sleep with you when she was scared, or not feeling well, or daddy was out of town. When they're little, those nights can be frustrating, but when they're 13, you know each time they cuddle with you could very well be the last (until you're 40, at which point you're happy to snuggle with your mom again).

I guess what I haven't said here is that I firmly believe Abby was moved by the friendship, love and affection our group of 40-some showed for one another. She knows how much my friends mean to me, but there was something incredibly powerful about seeing, and being part of, the sheer number of moms, dads, and kids gathered together for much laughter and joy. It's contagious. In fact, I hope that if you haven't yet been afflicted with this degree of love and friendship, that you catch it real quickly. This wonderful group of people is more than happy to spread it around.

My Little Girl is Growing Up

On Sunday, Abby turned 13, officially turning me into the mother of two teenagers. So far, so good.

Granted, it's only been 48-hours.

My youngest is pretty amazing. My oldest is, too, though they couldn't be more different. While they're both intelligent and "good" kids, their personalities are delightfully distinct. I'm not exactly sure whom Abby "takes after," but for the most part, it's not me. For example, she's private. You might be surprised to learn that I am not. Not only does Abby not share any juicy details about her life (most teens tell their moms stuff, don't they?), but she locks the door when she uses the bathroom and is fully clothed every time I see her. I don't recall having any such issues with privacy or modesty.

Abby is also rather reserved emotionally and stingy with her displays of affection. She so dislikes feeling sad or upset that we never watched most of the Disney classics because she knew there were some heart wrenching scenes that she just didn't want to put herself through. And as for affection, well, she gives me the top of her head to kiss good night. It's the weirdest thing. She has some major issue with kisses anywhere near her actual face. I suppose I'm lucky that she still takes the time to say goodnight and tell her dad and me that she loves us. I'll be okay with this discomfort with affection if it extends to boys in the coming years.

Then there's Abby's sense of humor. Frankly, it's kinda mean. She mostly enjoys physical humor, as in someone falling down the stairs or slipping on a banana peel. Where I get a kick out of the talking animals in the BBC videos, she's quick to remind me that "animals don't actually talk." She's very literal. The good news (?) is that Abby's increasingly laughing over silly teenage girl things, like goofy sayings she and her friends make up and share with each other as some kind of inside joke. "Whatev."

Academically, Abby is super smart. And good at math, which really confuses both Rob and me (the math itself and our kids' proficiency in it). Recently she's decided she'd like to go to MIT and become a computer programmer or software developer because somewhere along the line she got the impression that you can do those jobs sitting by the pool, just thinking up creative ideas. Given my job in the College of Engineering, I'm determined to (subtly) push her toward a STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) field. There are so few women in these areas that those who go for it can practically write their own ticket to career success. And did I mention that since elementary school, Abby has assured me that wherever she decides to go to college she'll earn a full scholarship so we don't have to worry about paying for it. I wouldn't bet against her on that.

That level of focus and determination is really Abby's hallmark and has been evident in the entrepreneurial spirit she shares with her long-time friend Maddie. You may recall the Sticky Ducks years (duct tape design business). Currently, the dynamic duo is all about baking and cake decorating. I can pass along their business card and portfolio if you're interested.

Because it's not annoying enough to be smart and entrepreneurial, Abby is also an athlete and musician. (She's actually tried playing the clarinet while hula hooping.) Whereas I was required to take remedial gym classes, Abby shines on the soccer and softball fields. She's competitive (we have that in common) and works hard to be the best she can be. For awhile she focused her musical talents on being first chair on the clarinet. Unfortunately, her interest in that instrument has waned (I blame the band director), but I'm pleased to say she's recently picked up the guitar. We literally picked up a nice guitar as her birthday gift and she spends her evenings looking up new cords and strumming classic rock songs. I love her complete commitment to those things she develops a passion for.

Truly, you can't help but love this kid, unless you're trying to outdo her in any way. Happy Birthday, Abby. You couldn't make me prouder to be your mom!

Well that's Depressing: A Checklist for Parents of Teens

Last week was back-to-school night at Ian's high school (they have block scheduling, which means classes change halfway through the year). Back-to-school night is like a high school flashback for the parents. Well, for me, anyway. I check out the cute guys what the other girls are wearing and regret my choice. I go to classes and wonder if that mom would get a better grade than me. Sometimes I have the classic anxiety dream the night before. The one where I have an exam and haven't been to class for months. Sometimes I show up naked.

This particular back-to-school night was made that much more upsetting interesting by the presence of a helpful handout. In addition to the schedule for the evening, this brochure included guilt inducing parenting mandates advice. Along with "Tips for Healthy Teens" there were "Keys to Being a Hands-On Parent," published by the National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse. In neither category did I score my usual an A. I don't think I even pulled out a B. Under tips for healthy teens:

• Enough sleep? No. 
• Breakfast? Abby, occasionally. Ian, rarely. 
• Hand washing to kill germs? Um. Well. I think one of them does that. Not coincidentally, it's the child who doesn't get sick as often.

As depressing as my results were in the health category, I felt even worse about my parenting skills when I got to the anti-addiction/substance abuse guidelines. Based on my score, it seems my kids are destined for "at-risk behaviors." My failures lie in:

• Not monitoring what they watch on television.
• Not monitoring what they do on the internet.
• Not putting restrictions on the music they buy.
• Not having an adult present when they arrive home from school.
• Not eating dinner with them (that would require feeding them - see #7 below)

On the positive side, I'm relatively sure:

• I know where they are after school and on weekends. And I think they're telling me the truth about their whereabouts.
• I'm aware of their academic performance. Yes, I definitely have that under control.
• I'm making my values clear to them. They just have to remember to do as I say, not as I do.
• There's no television watching during dinner. That's the only advantage of having just one TV in the house.
• I've assigned them regular chores. I know that I've asked. Whether they do them when I ask is a whole other thing. 

Did this helpful brochure end on an up note? Did it soften the blow with an amusing or empathetic quote that reminded me how none of us is perfect, and that it takes a village, yada, yada, yada? No. What followed was a list of upcoming school events. None of which I was aware of and none that I'm interested in attending or volunteering for. I'm feeling really good about myself right now.

Since I'm already raw and exposed, I may as well add these 10 confessions, addressed to my wonderful teenagers:

1. When you're helpful, pleasant, and nice to your sibling, I can't help but wonder what you want or what you've done.
2. There are times I look forward to the day you leave for college, just so I can clean your room and it will stay that way for more than 24-hours.
3. I have no idea which parts of your life I'm still supposed to be actively involved in. Should I be nagging you about your school work, or save my breath for the bigger stuff? 
4. Speaking of the big stuff, I have a lot riding on your ability to drive. That's the day I will be free to fulfill my dreams of community theater stardom, attend best-selling author book readings, and take a class. I probably won't do any of that, but I won't have you as an excuse if I don't.
5. I'm scared to death at the thought of you driving. You know it's not like Grand Theft Auto, right?
6. Someone should invent an app that senses your mood (a modern day mood ring) and communicates those findings electronically so I know what to expect before I get home from work.
7. I live in a constant state of uncertainty as to how much to provide for you. You demand regular feedings and clean clothes, which is a drag, but do you really need a Spanish class trip to Costa Rica?
8. I haven't known the names of your teachers since you left elementary school. I just feel good when I know what classes you're taking. I hate back-to-school night when they imply I should know about your big writing assignment or end-of-the-semester project. Not sure who's to blame. You for not telling me anything, or me for failing to ask.
9. Speaking of your classwork, I know that you know that I haven't known how to help you with your math homework since 2nd grade. So stop asking. 
10. While I will enjoy your room being free of dirty dishes, dirty clothes, and toxic spills, I won't enjoy not having you here (that's a double negative, isn't it?). To be honest, as far as teenagers go, you're pretty awesome. 

Do you have your own confessions to share? Poor parenting loves company!

Heady Stuff

Given the year I'm having I shouldn't have been surprised to learn -- within 24 hours -- that both of my children have mild concussions. Abby's is the result of a tremendously impressive header in Sunday's soccer game with her travel team. (For those who don't know, a "header" is the redirection of a soccer ball with one's head.) Ian's is the result of an accident during play practice. Yes, I'm serious. Apparently he was lying on the floor (for a reason), when another actor whose vision was obscured because he was carrying someone else off stage (for a reason), stepped on Ian's head. Basically, Ian had the weight of two teenagers on his head. Obviously, that hurts. It just so happened that the high school's athletic trainer was still in his office and was able to see Ian and diagnose him with a concussion.

Five days later, Abby feels fine but won't be permitted to play soccer again until she's seen by a concussion specialist (pediatricians apparently are not qualified to evaluate these types of injuries). We couldn't get an appointment with one until Tuesday. Four days after his incident, Ian is still struggling. Or so he says. He is an actor after all. But seriously, his headaches are bad and he's experiencing occasional dizziness. I don't think he's faking it because with a concussion you're not supposed to watch television or sit in front of a computer or view anything with moving pixels. In other words, he's bored out of his mind at home and would actually prefer to be at school. He will also see the concussion specialist on Tuesday. (Unfortunately, the doctor didn't go for my "two for one" suggestion.)

Concussions are scary stuff. Did you know that the brain doesn't stop growing until about age 25, making impact that much more dangerous for children and teens? Did you know that for some reason concussions are worse for girls than they are for boys? Just a couple months ago an enlightening and disturbing piece appeared on Huffington Post. In "Why My Wife and I Pulled Our Daughter Out of Soccer" the author shares research findings which report that "girls' soccer is second only to football in terms of the number of concussions in youth and high school sports." While most soccer concussions are the result of collisions between players, or falls in which a player's head strikes the ground, what is of even greater concern is the effect of the repetitive sub-concussive hits the brain absorbs during games and practices as a result of heading.

Habitually heading soccer balls may have similar effects on the brain as the repetitive sub-concussive hits that offensive and defensive linemen receive banging heads along the line of scrimmage in football.

According to a UNC brain researcher, "Long-term (brain) damage may have less to do with the number of diagnosed concussions and perhaps more to do with the number of sub-concussive impacts to the head." The post goes on to cite other research findings and none of them paint a pretty picture. Like I said, this is scary stuff.

I confess to having trouble with the idea of Abby never playing soccer again, but I also can't imagine my incredibly bright, confident and industrious daughter not having her brain intact for the long life that's ahead of her. I can't imagine that thinking, solving and remembering could become a challenge because she played soccer throughout her formative years. While I realize that one header is not (God-willing) going to leave Abby brain damaged, I do question whether it makes sense to allow her to continue to play, even if we forbid her from heading. While I don't have the same concerns about Ian's time in the theater, I am worried about his current injury and any long-term effects it might have. When something happens to your children that could affect them for life, you quickly realize how precious their lives are and how much you love them just as they are now.

I know I'm generally not the picture image of parental love and concern, but my words today are heartfelt and serious. I'm sure if the kids were to read this, however, they'd have their doubts. I submit as evidence a conversation I had with Abby on Monday night:

Me:  I think I have a "sympathy headache" for you and Ian.

Abby: No, you don't. You're not sympathetic.

Me: [A look of shock and disbelief]

Abby: When we were little you told us that you weren't sympathetic and that "if you're not bleeding, you're fine."

Damn that kid and her long-term memory.

As Ian and Abby have grown, I've learned that the cuts, scrapes and bruises of their childhood are not, in fact, the injuries most deserving of my concern. It's the hurts they suffer on the inside -- emotionally, mentally and physically -- that demand my full attention.

Great Expectations

Earlier this year I became aware of a tween and teenage issue affecting families in what I naively thought was my perfectly insulated and innocent community. It seems "sexting" hit close to home in the families of more than one personal friend. The shock and disappointment was profound and ultimately led to our church organizing a parents' night on the topic of teens and sexuality. And yes, if you know what my church has been going through, you're seeing some irony in this. But that's beside the point.

As my friends and I discussed this disturbing trend in teen behavior, someone mentioned having read about the affects of technology on a teen's desires and proclivities. She reported that the graphic and "advanced" nature of their early exposure to sexuality results in many teens needing "more" in the way of stimulation as they grow toward adulthood. The effects of peeking at Playboy magazine or reading a young adult romance pales in comparison to what our kids are finding online and sharing with one another on their cell phones.  

I'm finding this desire for "more" to be an ongoing theme in this world in which my children live. It may be a byproduct of living in a community where most families have what they need and then some, but it's disturbingly prevalent. No longer is a cell phone acceptable; a smart phone is required (and they still don't answer when you call). A vacation to Colorado is unappreciated because "we've been to that state before." A plain old birthday party at home doesn't suffice when everyone else does something way cooler and more expensive.

Sweet 16 parties and bar/bat mitzvahs are often examples of "more." In many cases, these rite of passage events resemble mini-proms or a wedding reception. I can't speak to the bar/bat mitzvahs of my day because I never attended one until recently, but I did turn 16 a couple nearly three decades ago and these grand affairs were not the norm. I find myself wondering what happened to the good old slumber party. But then again, it's probably safer to gather all of your kids friends in a supervised location where they're less likely to be drinking and photographing their private parts to text to a friend (who then sends it to his friend, and so on). I guess my biggest concern with these first class affairs is that they're setting our kids up for disappointment years from now. What if on their 21st, 30th, and 50th birthdays there's no one to throw them a lavish private party? How can your wedding reception top your bar/bat mitzvah when twenty years earlier it was the talk of the town? If you set the standard so high so early in their lives, can we exceed those expectations for the special moments later in life?

A couple years ago I heard stories of prom date invitations that both amused and concerned me. Boys were arranging elaborate scenarios in which to pop the question, "Will you go to prom with me?" Proposals were staged involving teachers and principals. Banners were hung on the bridge that links the middle and high schools. And a member of the track team recruited his friends to run in sequence wearing specially made t-shirts that read WILL - YOU - GO - TO - PROM, followed by Romeo wearing "WITH ME?" Awe! As in awesome, right? Absolutely. I would have loved to have been proposed to that way. Oops. That's what I was afraid of. To be on the receiving end of that level of sweetness and creativity as a high school senior only sets you up for disappointment when your adult boyfriend proposes marriage by leaning across the couch during a timeout in the football game and opening a little black box. And, he probably belched at some point in this transaction. Trust me, guys get lazy once you've been together awhile. You're rarely going to find romance delivered high school style. (Side note: Rob did not propose to me on the couch during a football game. It was a baseball game. No, but seriously, he proposed to me on the side of the road. It was more romantic than it sounds.)

Lest you think I'm presenting myself as above all this excess, I can assure you that I'm not immune to the temptation to fulfill my kids' desire for more. This Christmas we're heading to Mexico for the week. Unlike Colorado, Ian and Abby haven't been there yet, so they're looking forward to it. (Just hope we can get Abby a passport in time. Damn government shutdown.) And in lieu of a Sweet 16 party, a friend and I made our daughters a deal a year ago, promising them a trip to France instead, assuming they keep up their French studies. I'm sure the party would be much less expensive, but this way I get something out of it, too.

The reality is that many parents, myself included, want to give their children more than they had. Or they want to express their love and pride in their child, regardless of the cost. Sometimes, we go overboard trying to make up for the lack of time we spend together as a family. Our hearts are in the right place when we decide to go big for our kids, I just sometimes wonder whether our heads are in on it too.

Your thoughts?

Grumpy Old Woman

A foreshadowing of things to come?

I turned 44 last month. One year closer to my mid-40s and middle age. I'm not often bothered by getting older, except for the gray hair and the hearing loss and my complete inability to read a pill bottle without glasses. The one real concern I have, however, is my potential for becoming a mean, grumpy, crotchety old woman. I'm already seeing signs:

1. The "fun" I have being snarky, sassy and sarcastic in my blog is slipping over into "real life." For example, during his last visit to PA, I scolded my 4-year-old nephew for eating some of the rice from my Chinese food. I wasn't serious, of course (though I really don't like sharing my rice), but he gave me the death stare and then burst into tears. Damn kids and their tears. They'll do whatever it takes to get what they want. 
   Same thing happened when I saw some kids with their dad in a Dunkin' Donuts when I was on my way to Dutch Wonderland. I casually mentioned I was going there and how lucky I was and what a shame that their dad wasn't taking them somewhere cool like that. Again, the death stare (from the dad) and the tears (from the kids). Whatever.
2. As I'm getting older, my confidence/attitude is leaning more toward "I don't give a damn." I feel like Kathy Bates in "Fried Green Tomatoes" when she goes a little nuts and tells those bitches in the parking lot at Winn-Dixie "Face it girls, I'm older and I have more insurance" (see video below).
3. I'm more easily angered. Anger was never a prevalent emotion for me, but lately, perhaps because of the uptick in bullsh*t in my life, I definitely have a greater tendency for getting ticked off. Where I used to have a "stay out of it, keep your mouth shut, what's the point of starting something" attitude, I now feel like calling out people who are arrogant, talk out of both sides of their mouth, and don't stand up for what is right.
4. I'm becoming defensive and starting to think that "don't go down without a fight" is a way of life that I've overlooked for too long.
5. My skin is thickening. Someday I'll resemble a reptile. I'm learning, rather late in life, that it I have to toughen up if I'm going to survive in this world. Yes, there are people who don't like me. There are those who think I'm too outspoken. Some who don't think I'm "nice." Not being loved and adored used to bother me (just a few months ago), but my corporate bitch of a sister gave me a good talking to and set me straight.
6. Finally, I need increasing amounts of alone/down time. I don't want to answer the phone, respond to texts, send emails, go to meetings, visit friends, cook dinner, run errands or even write blog posts. After a full day at work, all I want is to curl up with my iPad, and sometimes my cat, and fall asleep nice and early.

As evidence of this "change" (not the change, I hope), I'm finding the greatest enjoyment in spending time with my family (at least when I can't be alone). I actually like my kids' company, and that's saying something given that they're teenagers. Even better is a day on the boat with my parents (and the kids, too, assuming they're not whiny). And for a little slice of heaven give me a getaway with Rob and throw in a dear friend or two. 

As often happens when I put my issues/feelings/angst/funkapotomusness into writing, I'm blessed with some insight. The occasional "A Ha!" moment. Having put it all out there, it occurs to me that at least some of my personality disorder changes can be attributed to evolving family dynamics. I have two children who are torpedoing toward independence. I've also experienced entirely too much loss in the past nine months. In addition to the understandable haywire affect it's having on my emotions, this loss and change is calling me to re-prioritize. And shocker -- it looks like family really does come first, with friends and faith right up there as well. What's less important is the stress of a job, the need for a clean and tidy home, and social obligations with people I really don't want to spend my valuable time with. 

Today I leave for vacation -- Breckenridge, CO -- and it can't come soon enough. It's been a tough summer. It's been a tough year. I'm ready to get away from it all and focus on the stuff that matters. I may even refrain from checking my work email. 

Just one more thing. Before you think I've truly become an evil person, I didn't actually torture some stranger's kids at Dunkin' Donuts. You didn't really think I could actually be so heartless, did you?