Parents Just Don't Understand

Shades of vintage Will Smith!

Faced with frustrations and inequities in his young life, my son has started uttering the classic phrase, "You don't understand! You don't know what it's like to be a kid these days!"

I don't know where he got it from, but it's not a new protest by any stretch of the imagination. I bet Cave Kid used to grumble, "Ma not get it. She still living in the Paleolithic Age. Things different today in Neolithic Age."
  
And it's partly true. The world I grew up in was different in many ways from the one my kids know today: less technologically advanced, a little slower-paced, more private, safer and less safe at the same time. So maybe I don't have a complete handle on what it's like to be a 21st-century grade-schooler in the age of Twitter, texting and Tea Partiers, but there's a lot more I can relate to.

I understand how it feels to be young and under parental supervision and scheduling. I still remember early bedtimes, school routines and being dragged along on errands when I would have preferred to hang out in my room.

I recall the frustrations of having to share with a sibling, eat meals I wouldn't have chosen for myself and do homework before going out to play. I remember hearing "no" to requests for toys. I still feel the sting of being excluded from the cool girls' club. Late at night, a little part of me still fears the shadows in the room and the mysterious thumps and squeaks (the ones that don't come from our upstairs neighbors, that is).

I also remember a time when my biggest problems were understanding long division, washing my long tangly hair and being the only kid in town whose parents drove a lime-green car with black-and-white houndstooth interior.

I remember when I didn't have bills to pay, an apartment to clean, deadlines to meet or doctors' appointments to make. I remember when my parents were young and active, not the demanding, forgetful nonagenarian and the overworked, stressed-out caregiver they are today. And I remember when a decent proportion of the day was mine, not taken up by the needs of employers and children (as loved and wanted as they are).

But I also remember that when I was their age, I couldn't imagine a time when I would be my age now. I know that for them, "the future" means next week and "the distant future" means their next birthday. I know that they can't imagine ever feeling any differently from the way they are now.

So all I can do is sympathize as best I can and let them feel the satisfaction of being misunderstood by adults who have no idea what life is like for today's youth.

One day, they'll be the ones who don't understand.

What I love about my children today:
The way they cheerfully helped pick up each other's rooms - no small feat, considering how reluctant they normally are to keep their own bedrooms neat.

My daughter saying to her brother, "I have a spot in my heart for you as big as this house."

My son saying to me with a grin, "Okay, I guess I have a little spot in my heart for her, too."

What I Loved...Jan 3

Again, a late-night quick recap - but at least I'm sticking to week 1 of the resolution. Longer post tomorrow, I promise.

What I loved about my son today: His writing style - expressive, humorous, not always perfectly accurate, but often insightful. He got a near-perfect score on a social studies test today for answers like this:

[What would happen if there were no checks and balances?] the government would go ka-bonkers! Nobody would be agreeing and nobody paying checks.

[Discuss the meaning of "the pen is mightier than the sword"]: The pen exspresses thoughts. And the sword only kills the living.

What I loved about my daughter today: Her love of math. Unlike her poor mom, who struggled mightily in elementary school (a teacher once wrote on my report card, "Shana needs to learn that math is not the enemy"), my girl already seems to have a knack for numbers. She can count small quantities by sight, catches on to new concepts and beams with pride when she finishes a page in her workbook. Hearing her say, "This is so easy!" is a daily joy for me.

I hope she continues her smooth sailing on the choppy waters of mathematics. (Okay, I'm not as good a writer as my little boy. I admit it.) Is it too early to introduce her to Danica McKellar?

My kids' first few years of school have been a good ride so far. Let me never take that for granted.

So This Is New Year's...

...and so it's time for new beginnings, expressions of gratitude and good intentions.

We spent a happy end to '11 visiting the Bronx Zoo, followed by a pilgrimage to the annual party of good friends. The kids have been attending since they were barely old enough to toddle, and they're happy to stay up past bedtime as long as there's a TV on, M&Ms in the dining room and noisemakers at midnight.

I asked them if they had any resolutions for 2012, and the answer was a resounding "Nope." They like themselves just the way they are, thanks. And maybe I can learn a lesson from them. If they're comfortable in their own skins, and are good, decent people at heart, why should they worry about setting goals for themselves that matter mostly to parents? I might prefer that they keep their rooms neater or deal with their anger in ways other than name-calling, but those things don't really weigh heavily on the minds of elementary-school children.

But I'm a flawed adult and more concerned with such trivial matters as self-improvement and goal-setting, so I'll put out some well-meaning vows on this, the first day of '12.

This year, I'll try to live more fully in the present. I was lucky enough to get some new clients for my freelance writing this year, which has made for more work - and potentially more visibility - but it also has the potential to keep me mired in the world of deadlines and superficial pursuits. I promise to look up from the computer every so often and put my attention to a spring breeze, a meal cooked with love, a child's question.

I'll lengthen my fuse. I tend to let the little things get under my skin, and I become snappish more often than I'd like to be. I won't stand for disrespect, but I'll acknowledge that my kids are still kids, and they're sensitive to the feelings of the adults around them. I want to finish my day with memories of love and laughs, not nagging and scolding.

I'll be a better blogger. It's a blast writing for a major website, but you readers might like to see more about this mom when she's not following celebrity baby bumps. I also have some ideas for actual Momsperiments that I'm eager to test out.

I'll post daily this year about the things I love about my children. Uplifting for you, meaningful for me, perhaps helpful for them in some way. So here goes:

January 1, 2012:
What I love about my daughter today: The way she hugs and holds on to me at night, her love so open, her need for loving contact so vital to her very being.

What I love about my son today: His thirst to learn everything he can about the things that fascinate him - from trivia about the Presidents to the facts about every single Star Wars character in all six movies and the Clone Wars series.

How about you? How did you spend your New Year's? And are you making resolutions, or do you take my kids' view that it's enough just to be who you are?

Scrooge's Gay Heart and Dickens's Language Lessons

I guess it's no surprise that both my kids love to read. After all, their mom read the word "Tide" on the detergent box before she was three years old, and their dad was poring over high-school science texts in elementary school. At homework time, reading is the first thing the children want to do, and they don't consider themselves too old to have bedtime stories read to them.

So I figured this year would be a good time to introduce my son to the original "A Christmas Carol." It's got Christmas, ghosts and a classic villain - how could it miss? And though the language can get pretty dense - when you get paid by the word, conciseness isn't your primary goal - I refused to use the edited-down version created by a columnist trying to reach today's attention-span-challenged kids. An almost-9-year-old who's racing his way through the Harry Potter series should be able to handle a few run-on sentences about Saint Dunstan nipping the Evil Spirit's nose and low-browed, beetling shops with masses of corrupted fat and sepulchres of bones.

So we began with the first "stave." (Stave, Charles? Really? Surely they called them "chapters" even 170 years ago, didn't they?) Since it takes a few pages for the ghost-action to rev up, I did worry a bit that D would get restless. But when I finished for the night, he said - and I quote -

"That was the most powerful language I have ever heard. It's making a movie inside my head!"

Huzzah! He was hooked! My first attempt at a Get-Them-to-Love-the-Classics Momsperiment was a triumph!

And so we went for the next couple of nights. Marley arrived, yoked to his weighty cash boxes. Scrooge relived his boarding-school boyhood and Fezziwig's raucous celebration. (Now that was an office party.) The Cratchits had their modest feast of goose and plum pudding before reluctantly toasting the Founder of the feast. Then, right after the round of guessing games at cheery nephew Fred's house, we came to this sentence:

Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart...

"HEY!" cried my boy. "He used a BAD WORD!"

Whoa. I knew what was coming. And while I knew this discussion would come up sooner or later, I wasn't sure I was ready to tackle it right at that very minute.

Blast. Why do Important Teachable Moments always come at the most unexpected times? Couldn't this wait till, like, 4:30 on a Saturday afternoon instead of bedtime on a school night? Couldn't we just keep going and zip ahead to the part where Scrooge buys the Turkeyzilla for Tiny Tim?

Nope. I signed up for the full mom-package when I took on the job, and having deep talks about social issues is mentioned right there in the small print. So I jumped in.

" 'Gay' isn't a bad word," I said calmly. "At the time the book was written, it meant 'happy.' What do you think it means?"

"It's when guys kiss guys," D said succinctly.

"Well, yes, today it's come to be used to mean men who love other men. Is that a bad thing?"

"It's just weird," he said. "Justin Bieber's gay."

I sidestepped that part. "Okay, you think it's weird. And I understand - it's a new idea to you. But that doesn't mean it's bad. Isn't it more important to love someone and have someone love you, no matter who it is?"

"Yeah. But it's weird."

Deep breath. "Being gay is a difference, just like being black is different from being white. You're Jewish, so you're different from your friends who are Christian. It's just the way the world is, and there's nothing bad about it."

He nodded.

"But here's the thing. What's not okay is to call someone "gay" as an insult. That's wrong, and it's hurtful. You wouldn't want someone to insult your religion, would you?"

That he understood. "Uh-uh."

By now it was way past bedtime. Time to wrap this up - but not before making one final point. "You know," I said, "you actually know some people who are gay. Not your own friends, but friends of Daddy's and mine. People we care about very much - and who you like a lot, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. So using "gay" to mean something bad is hurtful to them. And I know you'd feel really bad if you found out you were saying something that hurt them. Right?"

"Yeah." A pause. "Mom, can you turn on the Star Wars radio show CD?"

So much for that. Well, at least the ice was broken. Maybe he'll bring up the subject again soon, or maybe it'll just get forgotten in the crush of more important third-grade thoughts like LEGOs, Pokemon cards and winter vacation. Which wouldn't be such a bad thing; it'll give me more time to prepare for the next deep discussion.

But now we know that Dickens's language certainly is powerful.

God bless us, every one.

Monday Update: Just in Case You Were Wondering...

For anyone who remembers my previous posts and was under the impression that my household has since metamorphosed into a Utopia of order, cleanliness, promptness and strong work ethics, let me enlighten you.

- We still have trouble leaving the house less than 5 minutes before school starts. Sometimes it's a matter of staying in bed too long; sometimes it's an argument over the necessity of brushing teeth or hair; other times it's a blissful ignorance about time, despite reminders ("It's 8:15...it's 8:20...it's EIGHT-FREAKIN'-THIRTY-NINE"). And then there are the days when they simply don't see why they should interrupt their reading/LEGO-building/sibling-chasing/coloring just to spend 6 hours in an institution of learning.

- The Set-Your-Own-Homework-Schedule Momsperiment has had its ups and downs. Sometimes the kids will get down to business on their own and at a reasonable hour; other times the work is put off for more interesting pursuits - like playing with the neighbors - and finally done a little too close to bedtime for comfort. I admit I may be contributing to the problem by letting them play in the park after school (on a sunny 65-degree day, how could I deny them a little dose of exercise and vitamin D?); once the deep freeze of winter hits, it may be easier to get work done earlier if we go directly home.

- The forgetfulness issue?  I just flushed a toiletful of waste that's been marinating nicely for at least six hours. Homework sheets and school memos are often stuffed in my son's backpack, while the folder designated for those papers lies idly in his classroom desk. Books, pencils, crayons and little rubber toys get abandoned on floors, tables, chairs and sinks, picked up only after repeated requests (or until I get tired enough to pick them up myself).

- Nagging? Still do it, even though I hate it as much as the kids do, and it doesn't accomplish much other than resentment and halfhearted efforts. I want to stop it even as the words come out, but it's like a default setting that switches on when requests and reminders are ignored or blown off. What was that about insanity being defined as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results each time?

So rest easy. The Perfect Mom Award is still up for grabs, and I'm not getting anywhere near the finalist list yet.

Oh, yes. We're still waiting for that Hogwarts LEGO set to materialize. Even Linus gave up on waiting for the Great Pumpkin after 24 hours.

The Nigerian LEGO Scam

In this morning's email was a stern-sounding ALL CAPS message from "Special Agent John Edward" of the FBI, informing me that the agency had confiscated two boxes at JFK containing "a large sum of money...from federal government of Nigeria" addressed to me. Agent Edward informed me that I needed to contact him (at a non-FBI email address) "or you will be prosecuted in the court of law for money laundering."

Oh darn. Busted again.

I'm sure you've seen these emails, too. Sometimes it's a threat of jail; other times, it's an enticing offer of millions of dollars in exchange for a couple of thousand dollars in "processing" fees. And, like me, you dump them into the spam file without thinking twice. Unfortunately, enough folks believe them and send these Nigerian scammers enough money to keep them in business.

When I saw this latest attempt to separate me from the little money I have, I started wondering what kind of people are so gullible - or, perhaps, desperate - that they're willing to believe any promise of a prize, no matter who offers it or how unlikely the chance that it's true.

Then my son came home the next day and told me that one of his classmates had asked him for a piece of his orange at lunchtime. He gave it to her, but added, "You owe me a Hogwarts LEGO set."

She said no problem. She'd buy one right away and give it to him.

And he believed her.

The next day, she told him she had the Hogwarts set. But of course she couldn't bring it to school, so she was going to have it shipped to our apartment.

And he believed her.

It's been three days since that little exchange. No LEGO set, Hogwarts or otherwise, has shown up at our doorstep.

But he still believes it will, soon.

No amount of discussion or appeal to his senses will change his mind. He is firmly convinced that since his friend promised him the toy, she's sure to deliver. Never mind that it's unlikely she has that kind of money to spend. Or that it's unlikely she has the skills to wrap a box, address it to us and get it to the post office. Or that this friend's mother would be VERY unlikely to approve of a transaction like this.

He still believes.

Nor will he consider the argument that friends should do nice things for each other - like, say, sharing a bit of fruit - without expecting anything in return. To his mind, this casual lunchroom banter constitutes an ironclad contract.

And he believes with all his heart that the agreement will be honored.

Just like the poor souls who send hundreds of their hard-earned money to foreign post office boxes and sit waiting for days for the $4 million money order they just know is coming their way from the widow of a wealthy Nigerian businessman they've never met, who just happened to choose them as a worthy recipient.

I don't know when reality will finally hit for my son, but it's sure to hit hard. And a little of his innocence and trusting nature will be lost forever as he realizes that people can't always be counted on to keep their word.

The only difference between my child and the adult scam victims is that his loss is minimal - a couple of slices of navel orange. If this deal had actually gone through, he would have come out much better off than his friend.

On second thought, maybe there's a silver lining to all this. It looks like my kid's got the making of a good banker.

Epic Food Fails (Part 2 - guest post)

Sometimes even the simplest attempts to please a child's discerning tastes can backfire, as my friend Thea explains here, courtesy of her terrific blog, Nutgraf.

I only wish I could have stopped her before she prepared lunch that day. I would have told her of the time I put a whole banana into my daughter's lunch box and refrigerated it overnight before sending her on her merry way the next morning. When I looked in the box that afternoon, there was a black, mushy shriveled shadow of what was once a noble fruit.

I got the hint: Mom, there's a reason these things don't grow in Alaska.

Frozen Banana: Toddler lunch faux pas

by Thea Posted on October 12, 2011

Toddler lunches are one of the banes of my existence. Here are the questions that go through my mind each evening as I prepare Offspring’s noontime repast:

• Is it too much?
• Is it too little?
• Is it nutritionally balanced?
• Is it gross?
• Is there enough vegetation?
• Will she eat it?
• Will it keep well?
• Do they heat it up at all if it’s something obvious like meatballs?
• Is the refrigerator there any good?

I admit to sneaking a peek at the other lunches that are lined up in the fridge at daycare, and I can’t identify any of it. Possibly because of my pre-coffee status at dropoff time. Naturally, there is a nut allergy in the vicinity, so no nuts are verboten. Removing peanut butter from the equation seriously impacts my lunchtime strategy.
The Tupperware divided lunch containers I bought are divided into one large and two small compartments. The big one, I use for chicken nuggets, fish sticks, turkey meatballs, pizza bits or pasta, sometimes with a supplemental string cheese thrown in for good measure. The two small areas will have some kind of vegetable and some kind of fruit – often strawberries because the kid is CRAZY for strawberries and I am crazy for the kid. Also of note (at least to me) is that none of the other kids have as comprehensive a lunch-containment solution in the daycare fridge. Perhaps because their parents aren’t obsessive.
I try to make a point of including fruit in each day’s offering, since a) she loves the stuff, b) fruit is good for you, and c) if I can’t obsess about something and make arcane rules for myself that makes my days just that much more complicated, what *can* I do? The other day I ran out of fresh fruit and decided to throw in some sliced frozen bananas I’d been saving for smoothies. Now I’d never used a once-frozen banana in its thawed state before, and had a bad feeling about how it might turn out, so I sliced more than she’d need and stuck the surplus on a plate in the fridge, intending to check on them around lunchtime to see what she would be facing.
This is what I did to my child.

It seemed like a good idea.

Control and deployment samples.

I’m not proud. Or smart.

Ugh. I am a terrible mother.
The next day when I dropped her off, I stopped the teacher to explain that I had no idea what happens to bananas when they thaw, and that this won’t happen again. Very gently, she expressed relief.
So now you know what happens to frozen bananas when they are thawed.
Note for future testing: Do the test overnight *before* sending experimental matter to school.

Momsperiments Gone Wrong: Epic Food Fails (Part 1)

For mothers, every new day brings a renewed determination to Do Right by Her Children in any way possible - particularly when it comes to food. But sometimes our culinary efforts fall flat, either because of the nature of the food itself or because of the nature of our children's individual palates.

Here, the first in a series of good food intentions gone wrong. A moment of respectful silence, if you please.

Epic Food Fail #1: Pumpkin Cakes

My daughter's birthday falls right before Halloween, so she has the advantage of a built-in party theme. The kids come in costumes, we blast "Monster Mash" and play pin-the-bone-on-the-skeleton - it's a beautiful thing. For her 4th birthday, I combined a recipe for pumpkin-chocolate-chip cake with a set of fun tins and came up with these whimsical edibles:

How I patted myself on the back when they came out of the oven. What a perfect idea! What a treat! What praise the kids would lavish on me! What a reputation I'd develop as the Perfect Birthday Planner!

What a flop.

It seems that when children go to a birthday party, no matter what the season, they prefer their cakes round, chocolate, flowery and heaped with sugary Crisco icing. Pumpkin, to their minds, belongs in pies or on the front porch - not in cake. The guests nibbled gamely at their dessert for a while, then left most of it on the black and orange paper plates.

So what was the hit of the party?

Oreos.

Or, to be more precise, Oreos coated in melted orange white-chocolate candy disks and pressed into spiderweb and skeleton molds. They took all of 15 minutes to make, and the plate emptied faster than you can say "Trick or Treat." My son ate seven of them and then ran to the bathroom in the middle of the night to urp them up. Between retches, I could swear I heard him say, "I regret nothing!"

So much for my Martha Stewart phase.

More Food Fails to come. Meantime, please share your best examples!

No-Nag Homework Plan: Day 1

All homework materials were brought home.

Homework began shortly after dinner - after that full afternoon of playtime.

Homework was completed.

So far, so good.

But will an all-play-and-no-work-afternoon policy continue to work?

I'm about to find out. School's letting out.

This Week's Momsperiment: The No-Nag Homework Plan

If my son had a personal theme song, it would be "My Way." In his view, the world would be a much nicer, fairer place if only he were allowed to choose all his meals, watch TV and play video games at will, leave his room a veritable obstacle course of books and LEGOs and bathe only when the cloud of flies around his head became too thick to see. If his friends want to play tag on the playground when he wants to have a pretend lightsaber battle, he storms off and sulks. At birthday parties, he'll eat several cookies and a piece of cake, then protest when I tell him to save the candy in his goody bag for another day.

Naturally, homework falls into this category as well. He's a good student, enjoys school probably more than he cares to admit. But having to write five sentences in a social studies journal and work a couple of pages in his math text is a chore he puts off as long as possible. There are far more important things to occupy his post-school time: running around the playground, hanging out with the kids down the street, playing with his toys, reading Harry Potter, putting on an old Halloween cape and becoming a magician or bullfighter.

Barely a month into school, the Homework Wars have already begun, a tiring and tiresome routine of reminding, nagging, sighing, procrastinating, checking in, complaining and - eventually - completing. And both Son and Parents are at the fraying point.

So yesterday I proposed a new plan. Son is now solely in charge of his work schedule, responsible for bringing home all materials (no more embarrassing trips back to the classroom to retrieve a forgotten notebook) and doing all his work before bedtime. I promise to offer help when needed and make suggestions to help keep him better organized, but otherwise, it's Hands Off, Mom. No nagging, lectures or quietly slipping a neglected folder into his backpack in the morning.

The deal: If this system works, super. Nagging will be a thing of the past, and some important lessons in responsibility, self-reliance and accountability will have been learned. But if too much work is left till the last minute, done slapdash or neglected altogether, we'll have to adjust the plan.

It's 5:30. We came home from the park half an hour ago. As soon as he hopped out of the car, Son went over to play with a neighbor. I'll be starting dinner soon. The backpack has not yet been opened. Naturally, Daughter has followed suit, because it's totally not fair that her big brother gets extra playtime while she doesn't.

So is this a Brilliant Anti-Nag-Pro-Independence strategy on my part? Or an Epic Mom Fail? Any predictions? Any suggestions? Anyone got a bottle of something to share while we see how Operation: No-Nag Homework plays out?

Stuff I Never Thought I'd Be Doing Today

-Attending a slightly belated birthday party thrown in my honor by an assortment of LEGO Star Wars figures and my old Dawn dolls.

- Watching said toys boogie to the "Episode II" soundtrack. (Orange fringed minidresses go surprisingly well with John Williams.)

- Reading the dress-code demands made of the guests at the Kardashian wedding.

- Wondering if any of the invitees will have the courage and self-respect to say, "I can't wear any color but black or white? Screw it - I'm showing up in hot pink and having a cameraman ready to videotape me getting booted out."

- Seeing my byline twice in a health newsletter.

- Getting a cryptic reply email and wondering if it's actually a nicely-dressed rejection.

- Engaging in an hour-long lightsaber duel against the resident Jedi Master.

- Being informed that I possess mad lightsaber skills.

- Asking my children to clean their rooms and hearing nothing but "Not now" - then witnessing their 180 when offered the chance to play with the neighborhood kids.

- Giving the Starving Ethiopian Children speech in response to various complaints that dinner contained such horrible ingredients as rice and peas. I have officially become THAT Mother. Heaven help us.

- Hearing my son say, "I have a bad feeling that my life is going to explode" and wondering when he suddenly turned 50.

- Spending all day with my kids, then oddly missing them during the brief time I was away from them tonight._

Clutter? UnBearable.

At our house, we're going through a big Berenstain Bears phase. You know the Bears: the literary ursine family that regularly tackles such nail-biting issues as fighting with friends, dining out, visiting the doctor, watching too much TV and - yes - nail-biting.

This week, we've been rereading The Messy Room. While the rest of the tree house down a sunny dirt road deep in Bear Country is in apple-pie order, Brother and Sister's room is a disaster area. Mama, sick of picking up after her sloppy cubs, is on the verge of tossing out all their belongings when Papa, the voice of reason, suggests a less drastic solution: organizing the kids' toys and sports equipment with the help of boxes, shelves and pegboards. The last page shows Bro and Sis playing amicably in the made-over space, proving the moral that a neat room is a more fun and relaxing place to be.

If this were my book, it would be called The Momsperiment Bears and the Rooms That Are Messy Because the Cubs Already Have Boxes, Shelves and Dressers, But Insist on Leaving Their Stuff on the Floor Anyway Even When Mom Asks Them to Put Their Things in Those Boxes, Shelves and Drawers.

Guess that doesn't quite fit on the cover of a paperback children's book.

Today, as promised, I started cleaning out my own untidy desk, on the theory that setting a better example might inspire my kids to follow it and reduce the need for nagging and reminders. (Also, the darn thing was so overflowing with paper that Tommy Gavin and the crew of 62 Truck were about to declare it a fire hazard.) It felt positively liberating to toss out the clutter, find long-lost items and see the workspace look like, well, a space for work. The last thing I found, like a little atta-girl hug from the universe, was a press release about writing a daily gratitude list, even when you don't feel grateful, to help you feel "conscious, aware and alive."

There's still a long way to go, but I did enough to make a difference. If this were a Bears book, I'd be showing off the neatened shelves to Brother and Sister and saying, "See how nice and organized the desk is? Now I can relax and focus on my work, and I feel good about what I've accomplished. If you try straightening up your rooms, I bet you'll feel the same way."

Then again, if this were a Bears book, the rest of the apartment would be spotless, my tulips would be well-tended, I'd be wearing a polka-dot duster cap and I'd have a hearty supper bubbling on the stove instead of wondering how to make a meal out of the orange juice, salsa and 10 strands of spaghetti currently in the kitchen.

Oh well. Good examples weren't set in a day.

(Random Thought: What's with the "Brother" and "Sister" deal, anyway? Were Mama and Papa so busy refereeing fights, cleaning the tree house and dining out that they forgot to consult their copy of Top 100 Cub Names?)

Preacher-Mom Ain't Practicing

"Why aren't you dressed?" I scold the kids as one lolls in bed and the other reads a book. "We're running late. Let's get going!"

Then I remind myself that one of the reasons we're running late is because I hit the snooze alarm once too often. Well, yeah, I tell myself, but at least I get myself ready quickly.

"Why can't you put away your things?" I moan, seeing the pajamas on the floor, the books slipping off their shelves and the toy accessories lying under the desk.

Then I walk into the living room, where unread newspapers cover one end table and a pair of my earrings lie on the other. Oops, I think. I'll put those away right after lunch.

"You can't find your new Lego figure?" I sigh. "I've told you so many times to put them in the box when you're not playing with them. Keep things in their place and they won't get lost."

Then I sit down at my computer desk, where papers spill out of every cubbyhole and I can't find the schedule I printed out the other day. I'll find it eventually, I tell myself. It's got to be here somewhere.

"No, you can't skip your homework today and make up for it tomorrow," I snap after watching them dawdle and play for half an hour without opening a notebook. "It's important to keep good study habits. Just get the job done now and you won't have to worry about it."

Then I look at the mail basket with its pile of unopened letters and bills. I'll get to them later, I promise myself - after I do other important things first.

Several times during Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, the congregation confesses as one a list of sins ranging from slander and false dealings to haughtiness and impudence. For all these things, we pray, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement. In the Reform liturgy, the list also includes this doozy: "For condemning in our children the faults we excuse in ourselves."

Guilty as charged.

(And whaddya wanna bet my two little pitchers secretly think the same thing?)

I think it's time to set up a Momsperiment in which I clean up my own act and see whether setting a better example makes the kids more willing to follow it.  Anyone have any anecdotes to share along those lines?

Let Us Now Praise Jungle Gyms and Seesaws

The first playground I ever knew was the one in the apartment complex where I spent my first couple of years. It had big tubes for climbing and playing peek-a-boo, made of knee-scrapingly rough cement. From there, I went on to such playground delights as tall jungle gyms, wooden seesaws, roundabouts and a schoolyard with hard blacktop surfacing and a huge circular metal device on a pole that six or seven kids could grab and swing up and around till we were giddy with delight and vertigo.

The playground where my kids spend a sizable percentage of their free time has separate sections for toddlers and older children. The equipment consists mainly of swing sets and multilevel climbing units with ramps, ladders, monkey bars, swing bridges and observation towers, nothing higher than eight feet. The ground is covered with rubber padding, the better to cushion falls. There are no big roundabouts, tall slides or seesaws - I can't remember the last time I saw a teeter-totter - and certainly nothing resembling my school's old pole swing. Everything is designed with safety (and lawsuit avoidance) in mind.

I got through my childhood with nothing more than the usual bumps and cuts. My first ER visit was in junior high, but not for a playground accident. (Gouged open my elbow on a metal drugstore shelf.)

Last September, my daughter slipped off the monkey bars, landed awkwardly on the nice safe rubberized ground and broke her wrist. She celebrated her fifth birthday in a full arm cast.

Now it seems that the old-fashioned playgrounds may be better for kids after all. Psychologists say that thrill-seeking is a normal part of child development, and that learning to master tall playground apparatus and zip down speedy slides helps develop confidence. When play areas are too tame, kids get bored. Researchers have even found that children who are hurt in a fall before age nine are less likely to be scared of heights later on.

So I'll try to relax a little next time I see my son dangling himself over the edge of the playground tower or joining a group of friends in a game of Let's All Go Down the Slide Together. And when my daughter's wrist healed, I encouraged her to get back on the monkey bars. After a few nervous tries, she was swinging from end to end as if the accident had never happened.

Even in a safe environment, our children need a little danger.

Ten Lessons Learned From a Day at the Amusement Park

Alas, we don't have the time or the limitless finances to conduct an extended Momsperiment on various theme parks and their management techniques, but I did pick up a few handy tips the other day that seemed worth sharing - and keeping in mind for our next outing.

1. PopChips are the perfect en-route travel snack. They're pseudo-healthy enough to ease the Mom Nutritional Guilt, and light enough on the tummy to withstand thrill rides.

2. Even if the kids insist they don't need them, bring extra clothes anyway. Plus several pairs of shoes. The thrill of damp sandals wears off quickly after the seventh round on the log flume.

3. Pairing off parents and children and splitting up is a fine strategy, especially if your kids are of varying ages. That way, one child can explore all of Tiny Tot Tamesville while the other accompanies Dad to The Upchucker.

4. Translated, "I want to ride the Ladybug Coaster!" really means, "This ride looks cool, but I've never been on a kiddie coaster like this, and I might freak out even if you're right next to me. Please talk me out of it if you don't want to spend 90 harrowing seconds consoling a wailing child as your car zips around a curve, then enduring the disapproving you-shoulda-known-better-moron-lady looks of fellow parents."

5. It is perfectly okay to shut your eyes through most of a spook-house ride when you're 8. Even if it's the cheesy pop-out-skeleton variety that's less scary than an average Mad Money broadcast.

6. It is also perfectly okay to admit to your child that the same ride that makes him feel like Superman soaring through the air is making you feel a wee bit white-knuckled. However, you may have to endure the scornful reply, "Really, Mom? You're scared of this?!"

7. Everyone needs a break from the sensory overload of lights, noise and twirling vehicles. A scavenger hunt - parent/child teams scour the park to see who can find certain items first - is a fun diversion. Particularly if the hunt involves monkeys. (See below.)

8. There are more interesting pastimes than watching little ones ride the same car/motorcycle/caterpillar/three-toed sloth around the same circular track again and again. Focusing on their delighted smiles, however, helps a lot.

9. So does the thought of being able to remind them of outings like this in years to come, when Page Six announces that your darling is writing a tell-all memoir that promises to make Joan Crawford look like Carol Brady next to you. "See these pictures of that happy child on the merry-go-round? The one clutching the stuffed Angry Bird in one hand and the cotton candy in the other? That's you, kiddo. Now tell your editor to take out the chapter about how you spent your entire childhood eating bread crusts in a moldy basement."

10. Giving in to pleas to stay well past bedtime for the sake of "Just one more ride, pleeease?" ensures you get the very most for your amusement-park buck. It also gives you an express pass to the Stuck in Nighttime Weekend Traffic with Tired, Cranky and Tearful Kids ride.

IHOP Broccoli? No Kidding

Hold the fries; pass the apples.

As part of a campaign called Kids Live Well, 19 fast-food chains are adding healthier options to their typical burger-and-shake fare. Each participant has vowed to offer at least one low-calorie kids' meal with no fewer than two servings of veggies, whole grains and other good stuff. Burger King will stop automatically putting fries and soda in their kiddie packs in the hope that parents will opt for apple slices and milk instead. IHOP brags that its kids' menu already includes a dish of tilapia with a side of broccoli.  (Not participating: McDonald's. They're doing a little Superior Dance and scoffing, "Nyah. We've been doing the apple thing for years.")

Sounds good at first glance. After all, moms are hard-wired to nourish, and feeding children is a Momsperiment we all conduct: what to serve, when, how much. It's also jam-packed with angst. From the breast-vs-bottle debate onward, we worry about every meal we serve - even the healthy ones. (Are those veggies sprayed with pesticides? Does the sugar in this cereal cancel out the whole grains?)  Most of all, we secretly feel judged. If our grocery cart contains more mac 'n' cheese boxes and ice cream cartons than brown rice and peaches, we can almost hear the bad-mom thoughts of fellow shoppers. So this initiative may help ease some of the guilt we feel over hitting yet another chain restaurant because we're too busy to make a pot of soup from scratch.

But let's not get too excited just yet.  Most of the eateries have just two or three "healthy" options, most along the lines of spaghetti with marinara sauce. Friendly's has only one low-cal entree; the rest of its Live Well list consists of ho-hum side dishes like corn niblets and applesauce.

Then there's the mixed-message problem. If you're going to order grilled salmon and baked potatoes for the youngsters, you'd better not chow down on the triple cheeseburger unless you're prepared for wails of "That's not fair!" 

Finally, there's the big question of what we honestly want from our family-dining experience. Yes, we want the service quick, the food cheap and tasty and the atmosphere tantrum-tolerant. But do we want it healthy? Let's face it: You don't go to IHOP because you're craving tilapia and broccoli, and adding carrot and celery sticks to a supper of fried chicken fingers and a Snickers sundae doesn't make it nutritionally sound.

So if we're serious about feeding our families well when we're traveling, tired or on a tight schedule, then we shouldn't settle for this half-hearted effort. Let's demand more healthy kids' and adult entrees on fast-food menus, imaginative side dishes that might actually get children to enjoy their veggies, and perhaps bonuses like organic produce and meat from humane farms. Then let's show our appreciation by choosing these eateries over ones that try to appease us with a few steamed green beans, even if it costs more.

But if deep down, we don't want to give up the grease, salt and sugar when we go out - or ban it totally for our children - then let's indulge without guilt (as long as it is, indeed, an indulgence and not a regular habit) and stop trying to make fast food anything more than it is.

When it comes to kids' meals, let's not kid ourselves.

Camp, Day 2

The outcome of yesterday's camp crisis: Both children came home tired but happy, talking about new friends, nice counselors, runs through the sprinkler and a screening of Kung Fu Panda. "Tomorrow we go to the pool!" announced Formerly Reluctant Son. "I love camp!"

However, lest you worry that my rep as a poor parent has been tarnished, I can proudly say that I still hold the Worst Mom Ever Award. Both children assured me of that fact shortly after we left camp.

Why?

I didn't buy them potato chips right before dinner.

You other mothers will have to work much harder to strip me of this title.

 

Camp WannaBeaBadMom

If you've been worrying about how you rate as a mother, I have good news for you. You are not the Worst Mom Ever. That honor goes to me.

What, you may ask, did I do to earn this dubious distinction? Did I serve my children my patented Cream of Brussels Sprout Surprise? Make them study their times tables or write a report on War and Peace? Shut them in their rooms with a command them to clean until they passed the white-glove test? Please. That's amateur stuff.

No, what I did was far worse. I sent them to summer camp today. My daughter was excited; now out of kindergarten, she'd be joining the "junior" group for the first time. my son, however, has been bestowing the worst-mom label on me ever since he found out - last winter, mind you - that this would be part of his vacation schedule.

Now, before you judge me too harshly, they've been going to this place for the last couple of years and had a fine time every time. It's a day camp just blocks from home - no fears of sleeping away or being in the woods - with activities and field trips galore. But Son was adamant that this was not how he wanted to spend five weeks of his precious vacation. For weeks, every time I brought up the subject, it was, "I'm not going. I don't care what you say."

I thought perhaps time would soften his view, but it only made it harder. This morning, when he was still in bed at 8:00, I knew we were in for a fight.

"I'm not going," he announced again, glaring at me from his pillow. "I don't care what you say."

I could have given a command or dragged him out of bed by the ankles, but I suspected that would do more harm than good. "Is there something you don't like about camp? Something you're worried about?"

"No, there's nothing."

"Then why don't you want to go? Your sister is all dressed, and she's had her duffle bag on her back for the last half hour."

"It's so boring! It's the same thing over and over again!"

"Boring? Trips to the pool and indoor playgrounds? Running through the sprinkler? Making crafts?"

"I just don't want to go! I want to do my own thing."

"Well, why don't we talk to the counselors about that and see what they have to say? You have to come with me to drop off your sister anyway."

He exploded. "I'm still not doing it! Don't I get a say in this? You never ask my opinion! You never asked me if I wanted to go!"

Now it was clear. This wasn't about arts and crafts or boredom; it was about respect and autonomy. At eight, he knows his mind pretty well, and it frustrates him that not only does life not always conform to his expectations, but that he doesn't have as much say over his plans as he'd like.

I sat him down. "I understand. You feel like you're being railroaded into going to camp, that we didn't ask if it was okay before we signed you up. Maybe we could have done a better job of talking it over with you beforehand."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"But there's something you need to understand, too," I went on. "Much as I love being with you and doing things with you, I also have to work for a living, to earn money to pay our bills and to treat you to things like books and toys and amusement parks. And my work happens to involve writing on the computer at home, which takes time and concentration. You may be on vacation, but I'm not. I need time during the day to get my work done, not to mention running errands and cleaning and cooking - and that's hard to do if I'm also busy watching and entertaining the two of you."

Wham! New justification for that Worst Mom Award. I just said the thing no mom likes to admit out loud: There are times I don't want to be with my children. What message was he hearing? Would he now think of himself as an inconvenience, secondary to work and clean bathrooms? Was I being unreasonable in asking him to go along with plans he had no part in making?

"I can entertain himself," he offered.

"I know that you'd try. But I'd hate to think of you staying in your room on nice summer days like today. I wouldn't be able to take you to the park or the beach as often as I'd like. And -" I paused before the final blow - "when I'm working, I can't concentrate with the TV or xBox on, so you wouldn't be watching shows or playing games."

He considered that for a moment.

"Wait...they show movies at camp, don't they?"

"I think they do, later in the day when the campers are waiting for pickup."

"Okay, I'm going."

And that was the end of it. He was dressed and ready to go in no time. He even put aside his big-brother grudges to stay with his sister while they waited for their group assignments in the junior division, saying, "Don't worry, Sis. I'll show you the ropes."

I can't say I'm thrilled that the deciding factor was the promise of TV time every day, but at least the war seems to be over for now. There'll be time later for discussions of future summer plans. And maybe a little part of him was gratified that Mom took the time to hear him out.

I won't surrender the Worst Mom title just yet, though. They still have to clean their rooms.

Would You Take Away Storytime?

Punishing kids for disobedience or bad behavior is a tradition that goes as far back as Creation itself. ("Didn't I tell you not to eat the apples? No more pretty garden time for you! And Eve...well, let's just say that before long, you're going to wish I invented epidurals.") Since then, parents have been issuing penalties both minor - like time-outs and canceled playdates - and over-the-top, like razor-strop beatings and cutting the offender out of the will.

One strategy that many parents employ is taking away desserts, playground trips and other privileges. But this dad does something a little different. When his five-year-old son starts acting up around bedtime, dad blogger Michael Kindness withholds storytime. Each misbehavior costs young Milo one of his nightly four books; four strikes, and he goes to bed without so much as a page of Knuffle Bunny. Kindness - a book lover who works in publishing - admits that he feels terrible every time he resorts to the no-book measure, then goes on to say that in Milo's case, it works better than other traditional penalties like canceling morning TV or giving a time-out to a toy.

I totally understand where Kindness is coming from. Like him, I've tried different punishments with varying degrees of success. And like him, I feel guilty when I forbid video games for a weekend or even dessert for a night, knowing the reaction that's sure to follow. (Denied a chocolate-chip cookie, my son once protested for 45 minutes straight, including a dramatic dialogue between "Mr. Cookie" and "Mr. Stomach" that was worthy of a Daytime Emmy.)

But alas, I can't back up this well-intentioned dad on his choice. Unlike a Wii game or a Twinkie, books aren't a privilege or a treat; they're a vital part of a child's growth. From vocabulary-building to social skills and problem-solving, reading helps children develop in just about every way. Of course little Milo won't drop 10 IQ points overnight if he hears two stories instead of four. But using books as a punishment or reward may be sending him the unintended message that only "good" children deserve to hear stories - or that reading is merely optional.

Cutting out storytime also means losing a precious opportunity to connect with a child in those final intimate nighttime moments.Without the distractions of work, school and chores, our minds and hearts open in a way that just doesn't happen during daylight hours. Some of my most interesting and personal conversations with my kids have taken place after the last page is read; there's something about that time that makes them feel comfortable enough to say, "You know what I've been thinking?"

Yes, I confess that I've tried the "no bedtime story" strategy myself a couple of times in the past - and felt like I was being punished too. Not worth it. And there are times when we have to skip the reading if they're going to bed late on a school night, but that's not the same as saying, "No Junie B. Jones because you hit your sister."

So Mr. Kindness, with all due respect, may I suggest you find a, um, kinder way to discipline your son? We all know it's frustrating to deal with the wired-and-tired antics that always seem to peak around bedtime, but depriving him of stories isn't the way to go. Read him those four books and cherish every moment of your bedtime bonding.

Besides, there are those who would argue that reading The Cat in the Hat or The Berenstain Bears for the zillionth time is punishment enough as it is.

What do you think? Is it okay to take away storytime if it helps encourage better behavior? Have you tried it yourself?

Greetings from Momsperiments!

That's "Momsperiments" as in "mashup of 'mom' and 'experiments.'" Okay, it's not the wittiest title in the world (lack of sleep and a lingering spring cold tends to sap one's creativity), but it sums up the theme of this blog - and of my life as a mom.

When it comes right down to it, a large part of parenting is experimentation. Granted, we don't confine our kids in Skinner boxes and subject them to grueling psychological tests (neither did Skinner, by the way: http://www.snopes.com/science/skinner.asp). But we don't come into this job knowing everything about raising a child to happy, healthy, well-adjusted persondom - and if we think we do, our illusions are quickly shattered after the first bout of colic or the first time we hear, "You're the worst mommy in the whole wide universe!"

So we go by trial and error. When a feeding doesn't calm a baby's cries, we try a round of rocking or a stroller tour of the neighborhood. When a toddler refuses broccoli, we put a little cheese on top or substitute peas instead. And that's even before we get to potty training, discipline, homework management, chores, independence and all the other issues that baffle us and keep the child-rearing authors in business.

This blog will chronicle the lessons I've learned over the years as the lead researcher in daily-life studies involving my two school-age children. I'll report on others' parenting experiments both professional and personal (and encourage - nay, beg - you to share your own!). I'll share recommendations for items that may help you in your own parenting journeys. I may test out theories or suggestions and share my findings. All done with respect, love and a hefty dose of humor, with the ultimate goal of making our lives as mothers easier, less stressed and more fun.

Let the momsperimenting begin!