Kids and the News: Good Idea, In Moderation, or No Freaking Way?

My eight-year-old daughter might just have more of a grasp on what's going on in the world than many adults do.  Or, at least, she's exposed to what's going on more than most.

I am not a morning person.  My weekday morning routine consists of getting jumped on by a black lab and a golden retriever (in that order) at 5:30 or so, letting them out, staggering to the Keurig to turn it on, feeding said dogs, operating the Keurig (usually ... sometimes I forget to put the K-cup in), letting the dogs in, putting Splenda and skim milk into my coffee, letting the dogs out again, urinating, letting the dogs in once again, staggering into the living room and turning on the news, and calling Belle down at six.

She and I snuggle and watch the news for 15-20 minutes.  We're both in half-asleep world.  I never dreamed she actually paid attention.

Belle has been watching the evening news with us since about halfway through last year as well.  She likes to know what's going on.  I'm good with that.

Or I thought I was.

The disaster at Sandy Hook gave me my first pause.  Was this something she really needed to see?  (I should note that my doubts were assuaged when they interviewed a child development expert who broke down the ages of how much to tell kids about ... Belle fell in the "if the parents think they can handle it, let them watch the news", which she totally agreed with)

So the idea has been on my mind a lot lately.

Something odd happened the other night, though ...

Even though I have the news on in the morning and at night, I get the lion's share of my information from reading news sites.  My auditory processing makes "watching" the news a less-than-ideal medium for me, so much of my phone usage is dedicated to reading the news.

Belle's latest obsession is my iPhone, and she's gotten to be downright nosy.  I was reading about the preliminary trial of the Aurora movie theater killer, and all of a sudden, I heard Belle say over my shoulder, "What's a trial?"

Because I am sometimes inarticulate, I drew her a picture.

I explained the whole concept of a trial to her, and then I wondered why I did that.  I wondered if I should have done that.  I wondered if there was any reason for this child to be aware what terrible things transpire in the world.

And I wondered, most of all, if she understood what I was talking about ... and if it will transfer into her increasingly complex thought process.

Oh, and, of course, should children be watching the news?  Is it worth the cans of worms it opens up?  Where is the line between "protection" and "fantasy world"?

I am proud of the connections Belle makes and her really very impressive knowledge, but I am very aware that the news is never a 100% happy experience.

What are your thoughts on this?

Casey Anthony, the Judicial System, and Me

While I am completely disgusted by the verdict in the Casey Anthony trial, I am not surprised. The fact that this young woman lied repeatedly, made up lies to support her lies, and then lied about many of the said lies speaks to her character.

I have no doubt that she was responsible for the death of her young daughter, and I know that she will one day have to answer to a higher power.

It's just that the American judicial system wasn't it.

Some are outraged by the not-guilty verdict, speaking out vehemently against jurors and posting Facebook chains in remembrance of little Caylee. It's kind of a knee-jerk thing, and I can completely relate to that--my most recent status update is, "Karma's a birch ... hopefully Casey Anthony (and others who don't follow the golden rule) will get that memo. Soon!" (the autocorrect on my Droid is kind of a pain sometimes).

Others are looking at it more objectively, suggesting that the prosecution should have gone for a lesser charge or citing the so-called "CSI Effect" (namely, that jurors expect indisputable physical evidence in order to convict, since that's how it happens on television).

Me, I'm just resigned to the weaknesses in a system that allows this sort of thing to happen.

My distrust in the legal world probably comes in part from the fact that my father is a lawyer and I spent much of my childhood hearing courtroom stories, and I'm sure the fictional trial in Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird plays a role as well, but the real reason is more personal.

It's ironic that the verdict of the Casey Anthony trial has coincided with my ex-husband's most recent trip down Alcohol Alley, but perhaps that's not a bad thing.

I have a lot of really good friends and a wonderful family. I know that I am loved, and I feel incredibly blessed for all that I have. The support I've received from legions of people during the whole divorce debacle has kept my belief in the basic goodness of human beings from faltering.

I am very aware of the degree of detail I go into in terms of my personal life on this blog. On Facebook, however, I don't hold much back.

Anyone who is my friend on Facebook has been a party to the roller coaster ride that has accompanied my unwilling journey aboard Pythagorus' alcoholic antics, most recently a night during the last week in June.

Facebook statuses from that night include, "Driving my ex-husband to his house (two hours) from the hospital. The wine fumes are killing me (sorry, there has to be SOME levity ...)", "I could not make up my f***ing life ...", and "I am home. Should anyone need me, I'll be up all night writing an exam."

For years now, I've been advised to "move on", to leave him alone, to not help him when he asks for it, to ignore him and forget him and otherwise extend a metaphorical middle finger rather than an olive branch.

But I can't.

It has nothing to do with Pythagorus.

Anyone who knows me in real life is aware that I would do anything in my power to help another person, that you couldn't ask me to do something that I wouldn't do, that I would willingly sacrifice my happiness, my safety, my health, and my sanity if it would behoove another person, even a complete stranger. (And I don't say this because I think I'm great, by the way ... honestly, this is probably my fatal flaw)

The truth is this. If I'd just ingested two gallons of water and Pythagorus was on fire in front of me, I'd cross the road and pee across the street. With a smile on my face.

There is not another person on earth I could say that about. A lot of people have hurt me, some of them very badly, but I would help them nonetheless. See, I don't matter all that much to me.

But my children? They are my life, the sunshine of my universe, and Pythagorus has hurt both of them repeatedly and continuously for years now.

And unless he drops dead, I am powerless to keep him from hurting Belle each and every day. (Where he's not Addie's biological father, she doesn't have to deal with him directly anymore--you could say the damage has been done--except she is incredibly close to her little sister and she feels Belle's pain)

Which brings me back to the American judicial system.

As Belle's father, Pythagorus has the legal right to see her.

It doesn't matter if he blows off his nightly phone call for a week and she becomes physically ill with worry.

It doesn't matter if he is arrested for DWI multiple times within a one month period.

It doesn't matter if he is completely tanked when he calls or visits with her.

It doesn't matter if he loses any job he manages to get.

It doesn't matter that he has to hold some kind of record for the number of times one person has entered a hospital emergency room with a blood alcohol level over .40 (and, no, that's not a typo).

As her father, he has the legal right to see her. Period.

And because Belle is my heart and soul, I do everything I can to make the whole situation easier for her.

I'm civil, even pleasant, to Pythagorus on the phone (I talk to him first to find out whether or not he's drunk, since there's a lot of processing that I have to do with Belle when he's not in his right mind).

I supervise their visits because Belle does not trust many people, and Pythagorus has to "approve" of who'll be doing the supervising (trust me, I'd love to let my mother or my sister do the supervising ... it's not like I enjoy it).

I lied and gave him a job reference under my maiden name so he could obtain employment.

I speak positively about Pythagorus to Belle. He was, for example, an incredible father when she was a baby. She was an early riser (4:30 a.m. was pretty standard), and he would let me sleep in on weekend mornings, taking her to Wal-Mart to look at the fish and to parks and stuff.

She hears plenty of good things about him, and it comes from me. Furthermore, I make sure that Addie understands that she is never to bash Pythagorus to Belle; it's unfair and pointless, and besides, Belle's not stupid--she sees what he is.

The fact that Belle has any regard whatsoever for her father is because I have gone way above and beyond what any sane person would expect to maintain it. Even while Pythagorus sabotages Belle's love for him over and over again, I have for years done everything in my power to keep it alive.

Because of the judicial system.

On June 21st, Pythagorus called me on the home phone and asked me to come pick him up at the hospital that's ten minutes away from my house. He was drunk as a skunk and I had to write a final exam to give the next morning, but I drove him home. When we got to his father's house, I reinjured my back trying to get him out of the car, and his father finally had to call his cousin to get him out.

When Belle and I called him a few nights later, he was completely trashed on the phone and made plans to go to Chuck E. Cheese the next day. Belle was very excited, of course, and of course we didn't end up going to Chuck E. Cheese the next day. I was, of course, the one who had to process that whole disappointment with Belle.

He called me a few nights after that, once again gracing the emergency room of a nearby hospital with a staggeringly high blood alcohol level, and once again wanting me to pick him up and drive him home. I told him that I didn't have anyone to watch Belle and that I couldn't let her see him like that. He, of course, did not take that news kindly and screamed some pretty awful things at me. Yes, because I didn't want his daughter to see him so intoxicated that it took three people to drag him out of a car.

My mother freaked out on me for trying to help him after this latest episode. My doctor, who I had to see once again for my re-hurt back, told me I had to stop enabling him. My friends and family think I should just tell him to go to hell and have said as much.

I did have an epiphany of sorts after Belle's last visit with him (it lasted less than an hour, and he spent much of the time in the bathroom, no doubt vomiting up the vestiges of cheap wine), though. When I asked him why his father had driven him to Chuck E. Cheese, he finally admitted that he'd obtained another DWI.

Later that afternoon, I decided to Google his name and DWI, just to see if his DWI had been the 21st of June or the next week (the time I refused to pick him up because of having Belle with me). Imagine my surprise to learn that his DWI was the first week in June. The first week!

I knew for a fact that he'd driven after that date (Belle and I met him for a short lunch on Fathers Day, and he drove himself), and putting that knowledge with the two subsequent drunken ER phone calls makes my blood run cold. He could easily have killed someone (and it probably wouldn't have been himself--drunks seem to possess a warped kind of luck) driving in that condition, and I can only imagine what Belle would go through if she had to live her life knowing that her pathetic drunken loser of a father had killed a minivan full of children or whatever.

That was when I decided that I'm done.

But, you see, I really can't be done. Because of--you guessed it--the judicial system in America.

Try this on for size. Pythagorus goes to jail. Finds God. Goes to an inpatient rehab center for several months. Obtains employment. Wants to up the ante in terms of his visitation with Belle.

I am not convinced that the legal system wouldn't say, "Sure, he's gone through treatment, he's her father and he has the right to see her, let's give it a try." Despite the fact that he's gone through extensive inpatient treatment (including a memorable four month long stint) as well as outpatient, partial inpatient, AA, and so on before and it clearly didn't work, the judicial system doesn't deal in potential worst case scenarios.

Which leads me back to Casey Anthony.

Could she have killed her daughter? Of course. I don't think that anyone in the world would argue that the possibility (heck, even the probability) is there.

But because there wasn't a sense of reasonable surety on the part of her jury, Casey Anthony will soon be a free woman.

Could my ex-husband conceivably be legally permitted to have Belle in a car that he's driving someday? Well, sure ... because we can't infringe on his rights based on a 'could be', namely that his extensive history of drinking and driving and otherwise emotionally torturing his child doesn't prove with reasonable surety that he would do so again.

Americans are afforded a great many freedoms, not the least of which is the presumption of innocence. While this isn't inherently a bad thing, I believe that it's why Casey Anthony was found not guilty of killing her daughter ...

And it reminds me of the gut-wrenching fears I have regarding my own daughter's safety.

The Quilt

My mother is spending the weekend with friends up north, and she is bringing the aforementioned quilt to show it off. It's not quite done, but I thought I'd share a the picture I took this morning.

My mom is amazingly talented in this area (the needlepoint of the fisherman above the mantle was done by her), so I figured I'd show off on her behalf :-)

Also, I neglected to mention that this quilt is for Addie, a "labor of love" that will remind Addie of Mimi's care always.

Why does that matter? Well, beyond the obvious, it gives a context for why I felt simultaneous pleasure and a knot in my stomach when Belle asked her grandmother if she'd make a quilt for her when Addie's is finished ... and my mom said yes ;-)

The Christmas Miracle

I am blessed with funny children. At sixteen, Addie realizes that she's kind of a laugh riot and plays it up at times. Belle doesn't always get it ... which of course makes it even funnier much of the time.

My mother was telling me the other day about a story I've heard a hundred times but had forgotten. Evidently I referred to my older brother as "Goong Goong" when I was a baby. One day, my father asked me, "What's your brother's name?" and I replied, "Goong Goong." My dad persisted, "Yeah, but what's his real name?" and, giving my father a patented are-you-an-idiot look, I said clear as day, "Adam."

Which leads me to Belle's Christmas miracle, which as a fair warning involves bathroom functions.

Okay, still with me?

Belle is a notoriously picky eater. Her main staples are cheese and chocolate, with an occasional McDonald's Happy Meal thrown in for good measure. This kid has been exposed to every fruit and vegetable and high-fiber snack in existence, and she just won't eat them.

Okay, I lied ... she eats bananas. And apple juice. Yes, those are two components of the "BRAT" diet recommended for getting rid of diarrhea.

You can probably see where I'm going here ... in essence, this kid has been a constipation emergency waiting to happen for most of her life.

The day before Christmas, I'm doing some last-minute wrapping while Belle is playing with the dogs, when all of a sudden I hear her screaming. Now, if you're a parent, you automatically recognize the pain cry and know to go running. I sprinted.

Belle was in the bathroom on the toilet, screaming at the top of her lungs. In that particular situation, there's, uh, not a whole lot someone else can do to help. I got down on the floor and held her and encouraged her and did end up putting on latex gloves and assisting somewhat.

Long story short (and it was long ... this went on for at least half an hour, poor kid), it all came out in the end.

And the kid looks up at me, her eyes shining, and exclaims, with a completely straight face, "Mommy, it's finally out. It's a Christmas miracle!"

I mean, who needs Adam Sandler, right?

We have, by the way, incorporated pears, peaches, plums, and prunes (collectively known as "the p-fruits" by Miss Belle) into her required daily diet, just to avoid any subsequent Christmas miracles.

Tired Children

This picture, I assume, speaks a thousand words. Maybe a million. And we haven't even skiied yet : ) Yup, Andy and his son Thomas crashed hard ...

There are six children with us--my daughters Addie (15)and Belle (6), Andy's kids Dawn (6) and Thomas (3), plus Addie's best friend Mikayla (15) and Andy's neice Jessica (8). It's a pretty full house, to say the least.

The ride up was a nightmare. My car is horrible in snow, and it was going all over the road, eventually hitting a guard rail. At that point, I refused to go any faster than ten miles per hour. Andy being the gentleman that he is (or else he just really wanted to get away from the younger kids, who were all in his car) offered to drive my car and let me drive his (far more suited to snow driving) vehicle. We moved pretty quickly after that, although I was kind of annoyed that Andy could drive my car with barely a skid--I guess when you know cars thoroughly, you can even get around the crazy winter driving issues.

Anyway, we got to the condo and had to bring the luggage up ... and some kids raring to get into the pool. We finally made it out to the pool, which was so cool. You get into the pool from inside a building, then you swim out and it's an outdoor pool. We literally swam in the midst of a snowstorm ... and it wasn't even cold : )

After returning to the condo, we all got into our pajamas and had dinner, pizza for everyone but Addie, Mikayla, and Jessica, who opted for Ramen Noodles. The little girls played hide and seek after dinner while the big girls burped (don't ask), Thomas played a computer game on my laptop (we're stealing someone's wireless ... I feel kind of guilty), and Andy just sort of relaxed (he'd gotten up at five to go to work, so he was entitled). I did the dishes and then got the girls to settle in, go to the bathroom, brush their teeth. We'd brought the game Apples to Apples (my highest recommendation, if you've never played it) and I asked Andy when I went upstairs to read a story to Belle, Dawn, and Jessica if he'd be up for a game. He said he would, but when I got back downstairs, he and Thomas had crashed on the pull out couch.

On the one hand, what a fantastic day : ) When children are tired enough to sleep soundly (and everyone is but me, so it's all good : )), you've clearly done something right. However, today was just preparation for tomorrow, when the skiing and snowboarding will transpire here at good old Sunday River.

How far can you push tired children before they reach their breaking point?

From the Mouths of Babes

Conversation over Belle's breakfast waffle ...

BELLE: Why didn't Daddy call to say good night last night?

ME: Remember, he told you he wouldn't be calling because he's in the hospital.

BELLE: Oh, yeah. Why is Daddy in the hospital?

ME: He's getting help from the doctor so he will feel better.

BELLE: Does that mean he's going to stop drinking again? (Gives a cynical laugh that should never come from the mouth of a five-year-old)

Children realize so much more than what we give them credit for. It breaks my heart that my children have had to endure what's happened in the last year--and to hear my innocent, angelic little girl sounding like a bitter old woman :(

Spoiled Children--WHY?

Belle graduated from pre-school today. I am extremely proud of her for this accomplishment and thoroughly enjoyed the songs her class sang as well as the presentation of diplomas. It was very cute.

I have to mention that I felt, as always, a little out of place. I think I'm the only mother that works a full-time job, so I'm not part of the coterie of mothers. Belle's babysitter, one of the kindest and most dedicated human beings on earth, drops her off and picks her up. She is a lot more a part of the school world than I am. I don't like social situations where I don't know people well anyway, so putting that together with my neurosis that these people are looking at me and thinking, "Yeah, she's having a babysitter raise her kid because she works a full-time job" and they're probably not even thinking that at all, but it just makes me incredibly anxious. But anyway, that's a story for another day.

After the ceremony, families were invited to a local park to eat lunch and give the kids a chance to play together. This was where things headed south quickly.

I expect my children to be respectful, kind, and polite at all times. This has been an expectation since they were babies, and both Belle and Addie always make me proud with their behavior in public. Of course, both Belle and Addie have been carried kicking and screaming out of Chuck E. Cheese's and the play area at the mall because they did not want to leave. Both learned that behavior like that meant they didn't get to go back for a long time and, when they did, they needed to follow the rules. To me, it doesn't seem that complicated. You make sure your kids know the rules, you enforce them, you help you kids process any behavior issues, and you give logical consequences when necessary (as in, if Belle throws a ball at her sister, she loses the ball; if Addie is on MySpace when she's supposed to be doing her homework, she loses her internet).

I kept pretty close to Belle as she moved from slide to swing to seesaw; she's five, after all, and when there are thirty or forty kids running around, I don't think too much supervision is possible. This is especially true since a lot of parents seemed to think it was okay to let their children run amok while they stood around talking with each other a fair distance away, completely oblivious to what their children were doing.

The prime example I can think of is the little girl who held up the line at the slide by climbing up the other side of the stairs and standing on the ladder, refusing to move. I didn't feel like it was my place to say anything, and neither of the other two parents standing by the slide with a line of ten kids being held up by this one kid did either, evidently. Finally, a kid went and got "Sherry"'s mother, who came reluctantly.

Mother: Sherry, get down from there. The other kids can't get up.
Sherry: So?
Mother: There is a big line of kids waiting, and they can't move because you won't get down.
Sherry: So?
Mother: You need to get down from there right now!
Sherry: (with big huff better suited to an adolescent than a preschooler) Fiiiiiiine!
(At this point, Sherry starts swinging around one of the legs of the slide)
Mother: Sherry, get off the slide.
Sherry: You said not to climb on the ladder.
Mother: You've lost the privilege of going on the slide. Find something else to do.
Sherry: I want to go on the slide.
Mother: Fine. But make sure you are behaving yourself.
Sherry: Oh, I will.
(Mother goes back to social gathering; Sherry cuts the next kid in line and lays flat on the slide.)

When Belle finally got to the ladder of the slide, I told her that we'd be leaving after she went down the slide. She said, "Okay, Mommy." She came down the slide. She took my hand, and we walked together to the picnic table to get the remains of her lunch and to thank her teachers again. We talked about how we knew by the shape of leaves on one tree that it was a maple and by the white bark of another that it was a birch tree. She held my hand as we approached the parking lot. She thanked me for taking her to the park.

It's not like I think my children are perfect. They're not. It's just that I was overcome by how many spoiled children (Sherry was the worst, but she wasn't the only kid with issues like line-cutting, sand-kicking, and name-calling) there are in the world--and the correlation between misbehaving children and parents who were caught up in their own endeavors.

Perhaps it's just because it's a real treat for me to be able to spend a day with Belle, but I don't understand how people would rather spend time socializing with their backs turned than enjoy their children. It's not like I'm anti-social, nor do I think people should hover around their kids obsessively, but it seems like there's a happy medium. When it's children who are in the middle, shouldn't parents be willing to tilt the medium in a child's favor?

Writing--a Family Habit

Okay, I'm cheating.

I've been keeping up with my writing goals; this is huge for me ... if you know me at all, I'm not always great at the follow-through. The fact that I've been blogging here every day, putting time into my current WIP, and slowly but surely getting my Dark Tower blog going without procrastinating has been a minor miracle.

With that said, it's Friday afternoon of what's been an incredibly long week at work. Pythagorus and I are going to watch a DVRed television show, and he's waiting (not very patiently :-)) for me to finish blogging so we can get to the show. Therefore, I figured that I'd post an essay written by Addie for her summer reading project for Honors Freshman English. It got me thinking ... do you think writing is a genetic trait? Do most writers raise children that are good at writing? Is there an added pressure on children of writers to excel as such?

Interesting to think about. Anyway, here's Addie on The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. I'll be back on track tomorrow : )

"Summer Reading Analysis Essay: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time"
by Addie

I have been required to read many books for school. Some were excellent, and I’m glad I had the opportunity to read them. Others weren't so great, and I hope I never lay eyes on them again. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time didn't completely fall into either category. Some things about this book lived up to my standards, while others confused me or left me wishing the author had done something else. Overall, it wasn't a horrible book; however, it wasn't spectacular either.

When I opened the book, my first observation was how well the author described Christopher Boone, a teenager with autism. His word choice was spot-on such as when Christopher emphasized, “I do not like people shouting at me. It makes me scared that they are going to hit me or touch me (4).” His actions were realistic as well; his reaction of “I turned and walked away (38)” when people laughed at him seemed very realistic considering this book is fictional. Reading the point of view from an autistic adolescent's eyes makes the reader understand how hard life is for him, and how differently he thinks: “In the bus on the way to school next morning we passed 4 red cars in a row, which meant that it was a good day (24).” This makes the story very unique because, to me, it is always interesting to hear a story told from someone else's perspective.

I found Mark Haddon’s graphics to be another positive. They helped the reader understand more effectively what was going on in Christopher's mind. In many books, it is hard to understand exactly what the storyteller is thinking. In this case, though, Christopher makes it easy to understand confusing description. When he got lost at the train station, I found the map Christopher made in his head and drew in his book very easy to comprehend what was occurring.

As the story began to unfold, though, I was confused. A dead dog? Who cares? I wish the author had used more foreshadowing to give the reader a glimpse of what was to come by either making Christopher slowly put the pieces together rather then all at once or made his mother’s whereabouts a little more obvious. Although the writing itself was decent, I thought the plot was a bit lacking. I was also very confused about the relationship between Mrs. Shears and Christopher's father. I had to reread certain parts several times to understand. It seemed like before the dog died, there was no suggestion of an argument between them, but after Christopher mentions confronting her about his detective work, there is a random, unclear conflict.

The thing that confused me the most about this story was the ending. I don't know if I was just hurrying through the book, but after reading the last fifty pages, I had no idea what happened. I had to reread the ending several times to apprehend how Christopher ended up back at his father's house. When I was reading this book, I felt like the author wanted to finish writing it as much as I wanted to finish reading it. If he had put more explanation into it, it would've been easier to realize how and why the book ended the way it did.

Even more then the confusing description, though, I disliked the plot of the ending. While reading the book, the reader becomes somewhat attached to Christopher and wants the best for him. His innocence makes you almost expect a happy ending. However, once you reach the last page, you realize his life is and will always be a bit of a mess. He's always going to have the image of his father killing Wellington in his mind, and having to spend time with him often probably won't help that too much, as he doesn't forgive or forget easily. Christopher’s fear of his father’s violence is shown when he “pushed the bed against the door in case Father tried to come in (217).” It is nice that he gets to live with his mom and his puppy, although a non-autistic child would have problems with divorced parents so I can't imagine how Christopher will respond to this realization when he's older.

If forced to judge, I'd give the book six out of ten stars. If I were the author, I would have tried to tie in some more interesting plotlines for the slow parts in the middle of the book. I also would have made the ending happier, although it would be hard to make the situation any better then it already was. Although I would change a lot, I'd also give myself a pat on the back because writing about an autistic child is inevitably a challenge. It is easy to forget how much work truly goes into books, and from the graphics to the hard-to-nail point of view, this book must have been extremely hard to write. Mark Haddon definitely earned my respect in that regard.

Facebook Fan Here

I love Facebook. I think it's beyond cool that people you haven't seen in years and, in many cases, will never see again can be accessible through the click of a button.

Part of it with me is that I'm an incredibly nosy person. I like to see what's shaking with people, how my high school and college classmates are doing, and talking to people in a way that's somehow easier than e-mail. I mean, you log onto one account and can easily access everybody. It's genius : )

Sharing pictures is another valuable tool in the Facebook repertoire. I love pictures, and I've seen some pretty tremendous photography (and the pics are by people I actually know, which makes it somehow even cooler) via Facebook.

I am shocked sometimes by the status update feature. I tend to be very honest in my status updates, and sometimes I'll get to work and some of my co-workers will be like, "Is Belle feeling better? How was dinner with your mom? Your brother's baby is beautiful! What the hell is going on that you're posting Nirvana song lyrics?" and so on and so forth. When I was in the hospital a couple of months ago, I think I would have gone crazy without Facebook (which is in itself probably not the healthiest statement, I suppose :-)). It was wonderful to get so many well wishes and to be able to update people on the pancreatic turmoil without having to use the telephone (I deplore the telephone).

I realize that there is a dark side to both Facebook and that other social networking site (I have one of those as well, but only to keep tabs on Addie ... I do that through my Facebook too). However, for me, the joys of reconnecting with so many of my old friends (and having another way to communicate with new ones as well) make it more than worth it.

What do you think? Do you have a Facebook? A MySpace? If not, why? If so, do you love it as much as I do? Do you think sites like this are dangerous for children? At what age is it "okay" for a kid to have a Facebook or MySpace? Do you think it's wrong for parents to "spy on" their kids through these sites (note--Addie is well aware that the moment I am no longer her "friend" on either of these sites, she will not be allowed to have an account anymore, so I guess in my case "spy on" is not exactly accurate)?

Do Kids Spend Enough Time Outside?

The above is Belle outside at my mother's house yesterday. She was outside all afternoon, running amok with the dogs (we brought Sonja to Mimi's to celebrate Mothers Day and have a playdate with Mollie), raking leaves, picking up sticks, finding Easter eggs she missed the first time around (don't ask ...), climbing on rocks, and doing all sorts of the things that five-year-olds do outdoors.

Belle is watching "Caillou" on television right now. And eating a rice cake. And drinking chocolate milk. I was going to take a picture for comparison, but my bedroom is a pigsty and I was kind of mortified to post pics of it for public viewing, plus I need a new memory card for my Blackberry (and we still haven't replaced the camera).

The point is, though, in one scene, Belle is outside in the sunshine getting exercise and playing and bonding with nature (and golden retrievers and black labs and her family). In the other, she's sitting on her mother's bed watching television (the black lab's sitting next to her).

The really sad thing is, if I asked Belle right now if she wanted to go outside, she'd be in the mudroom getting her sneaks on before I was finished speaking. I can try to make myself feel better by saying that it's past her bedtime (she goes to bed at 6:30 ... yeah, I don't get it either) but I'm keeping her up until Pythagorus is home so she can say good night to him (he had to return his uncle's truck about an hour away, but he'll be home any second ... then we'll read our bedtime story and do the bedtime routine), but the point is that we could easily be outside playing right now. And we're not. Because I suck.

I mean, obviously I'm not the only parent that allows their children to watch television. I'd even go so far as to say that both my girls watch less television than most kids. However, it doesn't make it right that I'm sitting here on the computer (well, at least I'm in the same room ...) while one of my children is watching TV and the other is ... well, on a computer of her own. The fact that I worked all day is absolutely no excuse.

So what do you think? Do kids spend enough time outside? Is television the culprit? Parents? Would kids prefer to be playing outside? Are these habits that are taught early truly necessary to a child's health as an adult?

And please don't mention my inadequacies as a parent ... I'm well aware : )

Reading to Children--Why do Some People Not do Something so Vital?

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that I'm what could be termed as a bibliophile. What makes someone a reader or not is kind of an interesting train of thought, particularly when you consider that a large percentage of the population that hated reading when in school end up being very involved readers as adults.

However, even more interesting to me (and more disturbing) is the fact that there are so many parents that don't read to their children on a regular basis.

I learned how to read at a very young age, but my parents (my father in particular) read to me anyway. My father spent several hours on some holidays reading Adam, Mary, and I entire books (Roald Dahl's Fantastic Mr. Fox stands out)while my mother got dinner ready and cleaned the house. He also regaled us with tales of Uncle Wiggly from the same worn copy of the book that his own father had read to him as a child. My favorite aunt, AJ, and my favorite uncle, Daniel, always got us books for presents as children (I should probably note that AJ and Daniel are both my father's siblings--I'm learning an awful lot about my father through this post--so I guess that says something about the value of literature in the household my father grew up in).

I started reading to Addie and Belle while they were still in utero, strange as that may sound. Once they were born, of course, I read to them every single day. Reading became a part of their schedules, as necessary as feeding and diaper-changing. Both of my girls love stories, perhaps in large part because they had little choice in the matter.

Belle has a story every night after she gets her jammies on, goes potty, and brushes her teeth. Woe to me if I forget, and woe to the person who has to read to her if I'm unavailable. As a joke, Pythagorus took a picture of Belle and I reading together last night (I deplore getting my picture taken).



While he was laughing about how awful I look in virtually every picture that's ever taken of me, though, it occurred to me how fortunate it was that I have those moments every night to share a variety of literature with my little princess.

I don't read to Addie anymore, of course, but I did for a long time. Even after she was a fairly advanced reader, we'd read chapter books together, alternating turns (I recall Shel Silverstein's Lafcadio, the Lion Who Shot Back and the first Harry Potter book as being special). We do talk about literature all the time, though. This very afternoon, in fact, we had a lengthy discussion about Romeo and Juliet, which I'm currently almost finished teaching to my students and which her class started reading today. We talked about the characters, the language, the double entendres, the significance of Shakespeare's need to appeal to a very broad audience, and whether Willy Shakes was in fact a real guy at all. How remarkable!

Earlier this year, I did an interdisciplinary project with the biology and social studies teacher at my school. As an introduction to the project, I read my students The Lorax by Dr. Seuss. I don't think any more than 3% of them had heard (never mind read) the book before. This made me more sad than I can put into words.

If you are a parent, do you read to your kids? Why or why not? Is it hard to find time to do this? What sort of books do your kids enjoy? Do you think there is a correlation between kids who are read to as children and adults who enjoy reading? If you are not a parent, what are your plans for reading (or not) with your children?

How can we solve this problem (and it is a problem ... I wish desperately that it wasn't, but it is)?

Well, I'm off to read Belle her bedtime story. In case you're interested, she's selected Judith Viorst's Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day for tonight's fare.

Why Can't We Let Children be Children?

I'm sure most of you are familiar with the phrase, "A picture is worth a thousand words." Well, I found this on the celebrity gossip site I peruse obsessively and felt inspired to write.

Miley Cyrus' parents are everything that is wrong with our society. Raising a child is incredibly difficult--it's a balancing act, it's having to be the bad guy more often than not, it's saying no to what might seem your child's greatest desire ... and then having to live forever with the look in their eyes.

Every time I look at this picture, my brain keeps screaming, "She's sixteen. Sixteen!" And, of course, my reference point is my fourteen-year-old daughter, Addie as well as, to a somewhat lesser degree, my high school students.

All children break rules, particularly adolescents, I'm aware of that, probably even more aware than some. However, any child (and sixteen is child--just have a conversation with the vast majority of them ... you'll see what I mean) that is allowed to dress like that--and then be accompanied by her freaking father--that's just a loaded gun situation. Some might say it's a persona, it's a role she plays, but what kind of parents would use a sixteen-year-old as a financial and power pawn that way? Not only does Miley Cyrus not seem to have rules to break, her parents seem to be hell-bent on knocking down the norms of society as well in their dubious raising.

I might care less if I didn't have young daughters. This is not a role model I want them to emulate--but Miley/Hannah Montana, sort of like rocks on the beach, seems to turn up everywhere.

And I won't even get started on trying to find clothes for a five-year-old that don't make her look like a prostitute in training.

The Dichotomy of Daughters

There are nine years between my daughters. The only real con is that they kind of missed out on that sibling-as-peer thing, although Mary and I are only separated by two years and we actively disliked each other for most of our childhood (although my sister is absolutely my best friend now ... go figure). For the most part, I think this is a good thing.

Belle is five, and she utterly adores her sister. Whenever she gets sad or mad or any other emotion she feels strongly (and Belle is kind of mercurial ... she feels all emotions strongly), she'll wail, "I want my Addie!!!!!!!" And Addie, of course, thinks it's pretty cool that someone thinks she walks on water. She takes Belle to a lot of places and includes her to a surprising degree with her friends, who all think Belle's adorable, of course.

They are both on school vacation this week, and it just occurred to me how funny it is the different ways they're spending it.

This morning, for example, Belle had her requisite two cups of chocolate milk (it's like adults with coffee, I swear), put on her butterfly wings (don't ask), and danced around, putting on various shows. She's currently painting at the kitchen table. She has already trashed and cleaned her playroom this morning, something that happens repeatedly with Belle. It's kind of ironic that she's wearing butterfly wings since she's kind of like a butterfly, flitting from place to place, sampling the nectar and then moving on. She's a free spirit and a real character.



Addie is currently furious with me for waking her up early--I have a follow-up doctor visit from my pancreatitis hospitalization, and she's babysitting, but I got the time wrong and woke her up two hours before I needed to. Not to worry, though ... the next thing I know, her friend has pulled into our driveway with a cup of coffee from Dunkin' Donuts for her (I don't advocate giving my children caffeine, by the way ... this was a combination of guilt at waking her up early the one morning she could have slept in and the whole, "Eh, it's vacation" mentality). Anyway, Addie is already on the computer talking to people and doing the MySpace thing ... while she's texting other people on her cell phone ... while she's blaring her iPod ... while she's making plans for the rest of the week. She's such a teenager : ) (Oh, and I feel like I have to explain that the reason I don't post pics of Addie here is that she'd kill me. Slowly. In great pain.)

It's funny, though ... I'm probably going to go paint with Belle for awhile now and, when I'm ready for a break from the pre-school thought process ("What happens if you mix red and yellow? Do you know, Mommy? Did you know it makes orange? How about if we mix everything? Can we try? Can we try, Mommy? Huh? Huh?"), I can go upstairs to Addie's lair and hear the latest and the greatest in adolescent angst (I exaggerate--knock on wood, Addie's absolutely amazing).

Delectable dichotomy : )