The Swim Factor

Ace has been swimming on his High School team since freshman year. Since then we spend a lot of time sitting poolside during practices and swim meets. Let me tell you, it gets pretty damn hot & humid sitting around for an hour or so at the pool and then WHAM! your out in the cold going to the car.

And oh my gods, the scent of chlorine! The school swim season is officially over, but practice never ends and the smell of chlorine permeates EVERYTHING. I think my nose hairs are permantly bleached just from the fumes.

When he started swimming, I thought the swim meets were going to be somewhat bland and made sure my trusty magic bag of holding (heh!) contained my Nook or my laptop and any number of assorted amusements. Who knew that swim meets are exciting? I'm sure all the other swim parents knew but they didn't tell me. I didn't ask, but that's not the point here, they should share this stuff. The meets are pretty exhiliarating. There's plenty of yelling as parent and kids alike cheer for and encourage ALL of the swimmers, not just their own kid. As the different events go on, parents socialize with old friends and establish new friendships. I've met some wonderful people these past couple of years and look forward to seeing them regularly now.

Sitting in the bleachers and watching the different events, amazed at the strength, endurance and intensity these kids exude, the atmosphere is jubilant as each kid touches the wall. There's no parents yelling at coaches, or bad mouthing an opposing team player or team. There is community and support and team encouragement. Those are excellent traits for teenagers to see.

On the deck, the kids are pushing each other to do their best, to beat their previous best time, and of couse their competitors. But even in that competition, the kids are all intermingling on the deck, the different teams, laughing, shaking hands and playing minor pranks.The kids shake hands with their competitors at the end of each event, while still in the pool, gamesmanship always displayed, winners and losers.

Next year my daughter will be swimming for the girl's team while her brother finishes his last season on the boy's team.

The fight against cancer, one lap, or frosted cupcake, at a time

Back in June, the summer swim team my son was on held a Swim Against Cancer Marathon. They do it every year, sponsored by the American Cancer Society. Donations could be made on a swimmer’s per lap goal or as a dollar value donation.

No question, good cause. Despite the unholy start time of 7:00 am, Ace gamely dove into the chilly water half asleep so he could swim as many laps as possible before he needed to refuel and head off to work for the day.

In the days leading up to the event, we did our parenting duty and nagged him mercilessly to make phone calls to as many people as he could to garner donations. Getting a teenage boy on the phone to ask people for money, even money for a cause near and dear to his heart, is no easy task. For days we asked how his fundraising calls were going and he shrugged and said he left some messages. “Left some messages” was clearly a euphemism for I haven’t made any calls yet because I don’t want to ask anyone for money. I wish he had the same reservation in asking for money when it comes to me and his Dad, but alas that is not the case. Since he seemed inclined to postpone making these calls until oh, say forever, I did what any rational mom would do and while holding him hostage in my car traveling to and from work and swim practices I made him dial number after number and ask for donations. I do believe texting has robbed out children of the ability to hold normal phone conversations because those calls were some of the most awkward dialogues I’ve ever had the misfortune to overhear.

But those stilted explanations and awkward requests produced some dough.

In the midst of all this encouraging (nagging) our son to reach out for a good cause, our daughter decided she too was going to have some hand in this raising money to fight cancer deal.

Hauling out boxes of cake mix, cupcake pans and enough frosting to rot your teeth out of your head, she cooked up a couple dozen cupcakes and set off with a friend to roam the neighborhood and sell cupcakes for cancer. She and her friend spent a few hot summer weekend hours knocking on doors and reminding people that giving a donation to fight cancer can be a sweet deal. She sold all of her cupcakes, except the few they ate on their travels, and gave it all over to her brother’s swim marathon.

Our kids have intimate knowledge of the devastation cancer can wage in a family. They know the benefits that research can have in pushing back on the disease and the support that the medical personnel can provide the patient and family members.

They watched as their grandfather bravely battled two bouts of an aggressive skin cancer and bladder cancer for almost two years before the disease took its toll and his life. Less than a year after that loss, their 25 year old cousin Joey was diagnosed with bone cancer that no amount of research and treatment could turn aside. In less than a year after being diagnosed, Joey died before his baby daughter was old enough to say DaDa.

We KNOW.

Ace wasn’t able to attend the end of the summer party at the swim club due to his job so it was only just a few days ago that one of his teammate’s parents dropped off his ribbons, the participation giveaways from the Swim Against Cancer, and his swimming awards. As he examined what he had, one item clearly overshadowed all the rest, because one he discovered it, he dropped the handful of ribbons that logged his meet times as if they were packing material. This award, of gently curved clear lucite, etched with the American Cancer Society logo, and the event details contained the words Highest Fundraiser under his name. The man-child that never puts anything away without being nagged beyond measure, after showing it off to me and his Dad, immediately placed this award on the shelves in his room that hold his favorite things. This award claims center position, standing out from everything else. With this he realizes that he did something really good, for a wonderful cause, and made a small but significant impact in the fight against cancer.

Giggles also took pride in her brother’s award. She was so proud and hugged him unabashedly when he showed her the award. She also knows she contributed to that honor, by her own efforts and time, with a frosted sucker punch to cancer’s balls. And looks forward to doing it again.

Our kids know too well that the only way to stop the loss of loved ones to cancer is to keep fighting, and donating to fund vital research, with one lap, or cupcake, at a time.

By the way, Ace swam 162 laps that morning.

headin' out on the highway

In August my son will be 16 and the proud new owner of a Driver’s Permit. Like any teenage closing in on this rite of passage, he is anticipatory of the moment that he can slide behind the wheel of a car and gain that step to adult independence. He often asks if he can drive now, in a parking lot, down the street, just to get some practice. During Driver’s Ed class in school he studied that NJ Driver’s Handbook so much it was dog eared and dirty, worn down by the attention he gave it until he knew the contents inside and out.

Turning my son loose onto the busy streets is a harrowing thought. Do I trust him? Yes. Do I see him clearly as a teenage boy who will revel in this new found freedom and stretch the rules more than he should? Yes. Do we speak to him ad nauseum about driver safety and the responsibility of driving? Yes. Is it enough? Never.

He will not be an isolated individual on the road, but one of many moving in rapid distraction from one place to the next. The potential for disaster is tremendous and it just takes one inattentive moment.

Each and every day there are news reports of another auto accident that claims a life. In the past two months alone, our community has lost two teenage boys in separate unrelated auto accidents. Parents are devastated, friends are grieving and a community mourns the loss of these two young men. Gifted athletes, academic achievers, good young men with their lives open before them. Unfulfilled. In one of these accidents another driver was killed. A man with a young family and now that family is broken, grieving and at a loss to understand why.

Despite these losses, and the losses felt in previous years, young adults behind the wheel continue to believe they are immortal and that these horrible things will not happen to them. It will always be someone else.


What these young invincible spirits do not realize is that one moment is all it takes to destroy multiple lives. One moment that reverberates throughout the years in loss, pain, heartache and hardship.


I realize there are just as many adults on the road that are reckless and flout laws while behind the wheel, putting others at risk. But NJ statistics claim that young drivers are the majority of car accidents. I just ponder on what efforts are required to deliver the message of safety and responsibility as a driver to the young people of our community, and beyond, in such a manner that whenever they turn the key in the ignition, they think, for a few seconds, on what it might be like to have the police knock on their parents door and deliver the news of a tragic accident.


I recall with crystal clarity the words of my high school driving. After having us, his three captive students, perform a safety check on the school’s student driver car, he stood back and told us to take a good hard look at each other. We did, somewhat quizzically, and then looked back to him. He told us to remember each other’s faces because statistics said one of us will be dead from a car accident within five years. And that is how we started our first day of on the road training. I have never forgotten that moment.


Today, in our over-sensitive society, if a teacher spoke to students in such a way, parents would complain that they were being too harsh. Perhaps a little harshness when it comes to driving teenagers is necessary. I know that as a parent I remind my son of the dangers of driving regularly, enough to keep it in the forefront of his mind. Because it is our job as parents to remind them of the laws, the dangers and the devastation that can come from ignoring those laws.


How then, do we parents prepare our sons and daughters to take to the roads with safety and responsibility uppermost in their minds when they turn the key and press foot to peddle?


The answer to this question continues to elude me as I see drivers ignore posted speed limits, teenagers texting and talking on their cell phones, adults doing the same.


What does it take to remember that a vehicle can be a weapon in a moment of inattention and carelessness?

a stitch in time saves what exactly?

I dislike sewing. So much so that I take my pants to the dry cleaner to fix a broken hemline. There are no sewing machines in my house.

Buttons? Never make it back on the article they fell from. Unless I am bribed with all sorts of superlicious enticement. Then, maybe.

Just recently, after months of searching, okay not searching, more like periodic inquiries, we found the only curtain that was deemed suitable, by the twelve year old, to hang from the windows in her room. Lime Green, with a subtle stripe pattern that probably has some fancy name, but I'm completely clueless in that area so it's just a lime green curtain. 

It was too long. Of course it was. And no matter how many times I looked for a shorter one, that was the only length available. This one had to be shortened or it would block the air vent in her room. Since the damn thing only cost me ten bucks, there was no way I was paying to have it hemmed. I resigned myself to sewing it by hand. The things I do for my kids.

After stitching for about 10 minutes, which equaled about three inches across, I got bored and annoyed and put it down.

For a month.

The day before she was supposed to have friends over for the night, I realized it had to be finished. I prepared myself accordingly.

Glass of wine. Check
TV remote. Check
Thimble. Check
Tissues (for when I miss the thimble and stab myself. You know it's gonna happen.) Check
Irritated whine. Check

I sat down, picked up the curtain and needle, put in a few stitches and asked myself what the hell was I doing?

Dropping the whole mess on the sofa, I began to dig through the cabinet above the washer, moving aside dog shampoo, spray paint, floor cleaner, window cleaner, WD-40, partially used propane cylinder - man, if my house catches fire, it's going to explode when the flames hit this cabinet.

And AH HAH! What I was looking for was tucked into the back corner, hidden behind the plant food. Plant food? WTF? Where did that come from?

Drywall corner bead adhesive. Left over from the room renovation we did last year.

A few months ago, I had used this stuff to hold up a couple of decorative felt pieces that my daughter wanted on the underside of her top bunk . She was decorating and nothing else would keep these things up on the bed frame. A few quick sprays of this and they may never come down.

I took the curtain outside, laid it out on the table, folded part of the curtain down and sprayed the inside of it with the adhesive and then folded it back to the proper length.

It sat for five minutes and Voila! shorter curtain! Done and in place over my daughter's window in fifteen minutes. Appropriate appreciation hugs received.

No sewing necessary.

I'm a-gonna stock up on that stuff. After I separate the flammable liquids.


***I have to thank Megan over at minor catastrophes for the post jump start.

mitigating friction

The snowy weather this winter reawakened my husband’s love of skiing and he took all that fluffy cold stuff as an invitation to initiate our son to the joys of skiing.

Skiing is not a convenient sport where we live, at least not downhill skiing. The closest place in New Jersey is more than two hours away and the better skiing is in the Pocono’s or in New York. My guys decided on a night ski up at Shawnee because the cost would be reasonable for the lift tickets and equipment rental and some other reasons he mentioned, but by that time I had tuned him out because skiing is not on my list of fun things to do and whatever he wanted to do was fine with me beyond the desire that neither one of them break any bones and return in basically the same physical condition that they left in.

The one time I went skiing with him was up at Gore Mountain during one of our vacations and after an hour I hadn’t made it off the baby bunny trail. The bazillionth fall later, I decided I didn’t want to go swishing down a hill on sticks that seemed beyond my ability to control and he should go have lots of fun on the mountain and I will go inside, site by the fire and have some booze. I do not regret that decision. They served excellent booze.

So he headed off one late morning a couple of weeks ago to get back on ski’s and teach the boy how to get his groove on sticks. I’d like to note that it’s been over sixteen years since he’d been on skis and well over twenty since he raced on them. Apparently skiing is a skill much like bicycle riding, once learned is never forgotten, and my husband was thrilled to fly free down the slopes once again.

Ace apparently took to it like a duck does to water and really enjoyed himself. When they got home in the wee hours of the morning, he was exhausted, somewhat damp from his stumbles and face plants in the snow but giddy with this newfound ability. He grumbled plenty the next day from the muscle aches that came with learning a new sport and the pounding he took during his falls, but spent considerable time nagging his father about the next time they could get back on skis. Translation, I wanna go soon, Dad!

My husband likes to have fun and do all sorts of exciting things with the family. He also likes to do those things at the lowest cost possible and thinks nothing of spending hours online comparing prices, costs, packages and other bargain hunting. This is what makes him the perfect family travel agent. This bargain hunting is a hobby of his, a passion really. He is nothing if not dedicated to the cause of finding the right value for the cost. And skiing was no exception.

Every time I nudged him away from the computer to read email, or try and write a blog post, multiple internet windows were open displaying different ski equipment online shops. He had an excel spreadsheet listing the sellers, the prices, the type of skis and ski boots. This was serious shopping, a man with a purpose. When I asked him why he didn’t just rent the equipment again, he had a well thought out response based on use, time, money spent over time, rental vs. owning, blabbity blabbity blabbity. Really all he had to say was that he wanted new skis and I would have said fine. By the twentieth online store and hundredth or so different ski, my eyes would glaze over and my automated response was whatever-you- want-is-fine. One ski is very much like another in my mind and now I know how woefully wrong I was uttering that statement out loud while he was on the hunt because I now know more about ski types than I can forget.

At one point he asked me to look at this one online shop because the prices were so good, too reasonable, he was afraid it was a scam of sorts. He’s a little skittish that way and doesn’t trust the Interwebz as much as I do.

So he called the next day and spent almost an hour on the phone with some guy named Big Jon U and they discussed skis, ski boots, bindings, poles and who the hell knows what else but he was thrilled with the level of knowledge and customer service he received from this company levelninesports.com. Still somewhat skeptical he asked me to help with some research online about the company so as to not loose many hundreds of dollars after pressing the buy button. It didn’t take very long to ferret out the fact that this place had excellent deals on all sorts of ski and snowboarding equipment for all levels of skill. Their prices led many to believe that they could be a scam but every testimonial we found said they were a great place to deal with, that the equipment was top notch and their prices were not to be beat. Being based in Utah, a place as well known for skiing as Mormons, doesn’t hurt, I suppose. Our sense of security increased and my very frugal husband placed an order for two sets of new skis with mounted bindings, boots, and poles from Levelninesports.com. And he didn’t hyperventilate, overmuch, at the total charge as the same two sets were twice the price anywhere else. Imagine a new Harley for the price of a used Moped.

Hubbie & Ace tracked the shipment on UPS.com as if they were counting days til Christmas Day. Just over a week later the lot of it arrived in a couple of BIG boxes. The Head skis were well packaged and labeled with the personal specifications of the order and the boots were shiny and new. Both husband and son lovingly caressed their new skis and pranced around the house wearing boots that looked like they should have been attached to spacesuits. It was kind of weird, watching this display of manly sports equipment lust. But I suppose I get that way over new jewelry supplies. Oooohhhh, Sparkly!!

This very weekend they toddled off, new skis stuff in hand and spent 7 hours zipping down a cold mountain, during this winter’s worst freezing rainstorm no less. Why does anyone want to do that? They loved every wet cold minute of it. Both husband and son were amazed with how fast the skis were over the rented equipment they had previously used. My husband, who was pretty familiar with the skis of the past, made more than one comment about how fast his skis were and how sharp they turned – oh they can carve! I don’t really know what this means but I’m led to believe these are important factors. They were very happy with their new fast sharp sticks purchased from levelninesports.com. Practically giddy even as they talked about the near misses, almost wipeouts, hills they were able traverse and turns they could make on their new ski stuff. My husband was so thrilled with his new toys he asked me to tell the internet about levelninesports.com. I told him yes I would if he will just stops talking to me about skis.

I’m retaining the privilege of blaming levelninesports.com if my husband and son become ski bums.

Just sayin’

the frustration game

As parents we’re pretty vigilant that our kids do their homework, give more than their best to their school work, keep their grades up and reach for more than just getting by.

We’re probably more attentive to our son’s educational career than our daughters right now for many reasons, all of which are wrapped up tight with the dyslexia bow tie.

Ace is a smart kid with above average intelligence yet his test grades give the impression that he doesn’t study, that he doesn’t put in any effort and that he doesn’t care.

This is a frustrating issue for him. When he sees test after test come back with less than stellar grades, he gets annoyed and frustrated that no matter how hard he studies, how many times he stays after school for extra help, he’ll never achieve the grades that seem to come so easy to his sister. This frustration then dampens his enthusiasm for school and the class, or classes, he struggles with the most.

What’s frustrating for us, as parents, is seeing this in our son, despite knowing what he can accomplish and searching for ways to help him over look test scores and focus on putting in effort, giving that extra above your best. Not to mention the constant pitched battle of getting an active teenage boy to spend more hours studying, despite the success he has had in other classes after extra study time.

We have high expectations of our kids when it comes to school. We expect them to put in more than the average effort and time, demand that their homework be done before entertainment and that if grades fall extra –curricular activities such as sports, video game time and friend time, will be limited. It’s what parents should be doing. Isn’t this part of the job description?

The frustrating reality is that in high school, test grades do matter, especially when it comes to getting into college.

As Ace got headed into freshman year, we pushed him harder to overcome some of his biggest challenges. As a kid with Dyslexia, literacy has always been the hardest subject; all the reading, summarizing, writing and analysis is a daunting prospect. Over the teacher’s objections and the administrations hesitancy, Ace took an Honors English class as a high school freshman. The teacher was informed of Ace’s Dyslexia and, after voicing her concerns about him being placed in her class, agreed to see how he progressed. To help him with the reading assignments, we made sure he had the Audiobook version of all his books as well, so he could listen to the cadence of the book, reinforce the rhythm of the language and further absorb the content of the book, all of which can be very difficult for him when he reads. He spent time after school with the teacher, he wrote and rewrote and rewrote essays before the final version made it to the teacher. He didn’t do all that well on his tests, but at the end of the class he got a B and the teacher’s opinion had done a complete reversal. She complimented him on his work ethic, on how involved he was in class, she told him, and us, that she wished she could have given him more one on one time because he was clearly a good student and wanted to learn. All of this positive reinforcement, recognition of the effort and what he learned in that class uplifted him. He read more after being in that class, dove into new books, and felt that he could master his dyslexia. This was a huge success for him.

He had the same experience in an Honors History class his first semester as a sophomore. The teacher worked with him, understood some of the struggles Ace encountered and made sure to give him the opportunities he needed to succeed, but didn’t go out of his way to make it easy for Ace. The expectations were the same, read the material, do the homework, participate in class. There were no allowances made, just an understanding of the issues and the offer of time and assistance when needed. Ace did well in the class, he learned the material, he liked and trusted the teacher, but again his test scores weren’t great. He would come home with a C on a test, pissed off because he’d spent hours studying his history book, reviewing his class notes (not without considerable nagging from us that he study more because hey, Teenage Boy here who wants to eat and be out with his friends.) but he sees these grades as failures of effort. We try to remind him that these are far from failures. If a kid with an auditory processing disorder and dyslexia can get B’s in an honors class, well, I’d say he’s doing more than okay. He’s having trouble acknowledging that fact.

We try to reinforce the positive, to keep his eye on the successes, to remember that the classes he’s taking are harder, demand more of his him and effort. Not an easy thing to get from him because he’s an active kid who would rather be out playing baseball or playing Xbox.

And then there was Honors Geometry this semester.

Once again, the teacher was clear that she didn’t think Ace’s grades were strong enough to be in her class. As Ace began the semester, he immediately struggled. The material was hard and new, the class moved fast and there was little time to absorb unfamiliar material. Ace was frustrated and began to pull back on his efforts to work more. He didn’t want to stay after with the teacher, was quietly resistant to getting extra help and was clearly unhappy. The teacher suggested to him that he transfer out of Honors Geometry.

This path of frustration, of low homework grades continued and then he did poorly on another test. This time the teacher wrote on his test that maybe he should transfer out of Honors Geometry.

He was angry, sad and hurt. He asked if we would transfer him out so he didn’t fail this class.

Sometimes it’s better to step back and reevaluate. That very day he was transferred to another Geometry class.

There was fault on both sides, a circular failing that went round and round for a few weeks.

The teacher didn’t want Ace in her class and Ace knew that. When he didn’t do well, the teacher wouldn’t help him beyond the basics. When further help was not forthcoming and grades dipped, Ace didn’t dig in and put more effort into succeeding, he pulled back and took the “why bother” approach. The teacher viewed this as another reason he did not belong in her class.

Maybe, if the teacher had given him a little support, more help and been open, Ace might have responded and put more effort into the material, because when he wants to learn something, nothing stops him.

This was a missed opportunity for both teacher and student. Who knows, maybe if they had given each other more of a chance, they would have found the key to the problem, but instead, they both gave up.

I’m a little disappointed in my son, and told him the reasons why I feel that way, but having seen him succeed in similar situations, I know what he is capable of, and frankly this will be a blip on the trajectory of the person he’s becoming.


I’m more disappointed in the teacher, because it’s her job to lift up students like my son, to nurture the curious minds that might struggle, but instead she chose to push him out and focus on the students that she felt deserved her attention.

I sometimes wonder if we’re pushing too hard, urging him to reach for more with Honors classes. Maybe we should just let him take the standard grade appropriate classes and get good solid grades. But, as I even think that, I know as he gets older, goes to college and enters the workforce, he’s going to need to work just a little harder, put in a little more effort, in areas of life that his dyslexia impacts. Isn’t teaching him now that the extra effort is worth the reward preparing him for that life? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do? Wouldn’t it be failing my son if I let him coast and expect that he’ll just get by?

signed, with love

So, post 401. Two and half years, 400 brain dumps later and I'm still here. Not a bad showing, all things considered. I used up post 400 for a political rant because it was sitting in my craw leaving a miserable after taste. Now that it’s out there, my breath is all minty fresh! Now if only I could do something about the gas...

I attend a lot of meetings for the School Board that often don’t end until well after my kids are tucked up in bed and visiting dreamland. Just this week our monthly meeting went from 5:30 until almost 11:00. Now that it’s budget prep time, there are more meetings added to the schedule to huddle with the community budget committee, the department committees to review budget detail and then general committee meetings to keep on top of topics. And then there is the standard monthly meeting. There is a considerable investment of time that takes me away from my family. I knew this going in and accept it without bitching.

My daughter has taken to asking the same question every morning before school – Mom, do you have any meetings tonight? If the answer is no, I get a great big smile in return. If the answer is yes, the questions continue – what time will I be home? Is it going to be a long meeting? Will I be home for dinner?

Usually, given that evenings schedule, I can give her an idea of whether I’ll be late or not.

Without fail if I get home after she’s in bed, there’s a note waiting for me right inside the front door, where I can’t miss seeing it.

Written in my daughter’s loose penmanship and often decorated with doodles that span cartoon dogs, peace signs, hearts, flowers and happy faces, these notes travel along the same lines, but each one warms my heart and makes me smile. And reminds me that I should thank the universe that my almost teenage daughter actually likes to spend time with me and does not yet consider me an embarrassment of epic proportions.

“HI MOM!

I Love You! How was your day? I missed you!

I hope you had a good meeting. I don't know if I told you but I was picked Student of the Month!

If you get home after I’m asleep, please please please come in and give me a hug and kiss. You can wake me up if you want, but you have to come in and kiss me good night.

Have a great night,

Signed, with love,

Your favorite little girl in the whole world,
Giggles”

Because I want her to know these notes always make me smile and add to the comfort of coming home, I make sure she knows that not only did I see her note (because she will ask)but that I did indeed go in to kiss and hug her. I’ll tell her how I found her all tucked up under the covers, whether the dog was taking up most of the bed and if she was drooling on her pillow.

It really is the little things that mean the most sometimes.

What the kids have to say

This is sponsored content from
BlogHer and LG Text Ed

So, the whole conversation about texting and cyber bullying and sexting that I’ve been engaging my kids in has been happening during breakfast, throughout dinner, and in that time in the car between drop off and pick up from activities. A Mom has to get her kids attention when she can, after all. These days getting a direct answer from my 15 year old son Ace is something akin to a hundred year event, whereas my 12 year old daughter Giggles will ramble on about her day and thoughts and feelings all day long. It’s an interesting time here in Casa Catootes with all the teen and pre-teen hormones swirling in the atmosphere, but it can never be considered boring!

I’ve been asking questions of both my kids to gleam some insight into the always-mysterious workings of the teenage mind on the topic and let me tell you, it’s been an enlightening journey. And I know you want to know so without further delay because it’s been a long week and I’ve had to talk way too much, here are their responses to the questions from you and some others that came up along the way:
Q: Do you ever text a message that you would never say in person?
A: Giggles says Nuh uh. I only text my friends and family, so what wouldn’t I say to them that I would text?

A: Ace says Maybe. (I asked for more) Sometimes it’s easier just to text and it depends on the person and whether we’re good friends or not. -if you’re friends, why would you text it but not just say it?- He shrugged.


Q: How do you know whether something is acceptable to text?
A: Ace – If I’d get in trouble for saying or doing it in front of an adult, probably shouldn't text it. - Have you ever texted those over the line things. - His answer was a small smile with the ubiquitous teenage “Yeah.”

A: Giggles – I’m not sure what you mean, Mom. - I try and explain, doing a poor vague job of it. -I don't think so but I would need to see it to know whether it's one of those things that cross a line. - I think you would know.- Like that animated picture of the boy peeing on the cactus? - Worse than that.- Oh, I think I get it. Stuff like bad words and bad pictures and curse words. -Yeah.-


Q: Why would you text people/your friends if they are standing right next to you?
A: Ace – So no one else hears what I want to say to that friend.-Don’t you thin that might make other friends feel left out, or make another friend think they might be a target of gossip if they are net getting the same texts.- Ace shrugs and says “So?” (I’m not sure teenage boys are very concerned with social manners)

A: Giggles – Same reason, Mom. I might want to tell one friend something that another friend doesn’t care about.


Q: If you got a mean text from a friend that hurt your feelings, what would you do?
A: Ace – Text my friend back that they were being a jerk and ask what it was about. (Via text of course, I asked.)

A: Giggles – I’m not sure. I think I would show it to you or Dad because I wouldn’t know what to say to a friend that would do something like that.


Q: Have you heard about instances where friends were bullied or picked on through text messages?
A: Ace – Maybe. I think I heard about something in school with some girls but I don’t pay attention to that stuff.

A: Giggles – One of my friends said she got some texts from a girl who said she didn’t like her and that she was ugly. -How did that make your friend and you feel? – My friend was sad because she didn’t really know the other girl well and didn’t think she did anything to deserve the mean girl’s text. I was sad too, for my friend. Kids shouldn’t be mean.


Q: Have you ever received bullying/mean text messages? What did you do?
A: Ace – Yeah. You saw them, when that kid was texting me that he was going to beat me up, and other junk, and that was before you let me text anyone, remember? You took me to his house to show his parents and face off with him. His parents didn’t believe you until you showed them my phone with his messages. And then they were still all pissy. – Don’t say pissy - about it. -Then what happened?- Well, he stopped. I still didn’t like that you took me over there. –I know, but it worked.- Don’t ever make me do that again.

A: Giggles – No, not through texts, just when that girl in 4th grade told some of my friends that she didn’t like the way I dressed and that I was strange because I don’t care about clothes so much. I only text with my friends.


Q: Have you ever sent a mean text?
A: Ace – Maybe. But it would have been to a friend that I was mad at, or that I was just joking with, not someone I don’t like. Because why would I bother sending mean text messages to someone I’m a not friend with? (I’m not sure if I can work through that logic, but I get his point I suppose.)

A: Giggles – I don’t think so. I wanted to, to that girl that was mean to my friend but then I’d get in trouble.


Q:  Has anyone ever sent you a sext message?
A: Ace- Nah. That’s nasty. – What would you do if you did get one? – He shrugs. I don’t know, delete it probably. You and Dad told me about the kid that got in trouble for receiving that text picture of some girl’s boobs and how that could mess him up later. I think it’s weird that he got the message and got in trouble. It’s not like he took the picture of her boobs. She the stupid one for either taking that pic or letting someone else take it. I mean, that’s dumb Mom. -I know, but you’ve gotten jokes that are sexual and a couple of animated pictures that are a little risky for your age. You’ve shown them to me. Did you forward them to your friends? – Yeah, a couple. They were jokes and funny pictures! –Someone could feel that your sending those texts is a matter of sexual harassment or pornography, even though you thinkit was just funny. – People need to chill. –Let’s move along.

A: Giggles – Eeeeeewwww. I’d show you or Dad. And then delete it. Would you tell on the person who sent it? – Maybe. Depends on what it was and whether I thought they meant it as a joke or not. I would probably ask you to tell them to not send you that kind of thing again. If it was clearly meant as a bad thing, I would certainly confront the person who sent it and their parents. - That's good. Anyone who would send those kind of pictures should get in trouble. I wouldn't want anyone who would do that to be able to send me texts anymore or to be their friend.


Q: What if someone told you they had gotten a sext message? What would you do?
A: Ace – I don’t know. If they were upset by it? Tell them to talk with their parents I guess. Maybe ask you or Dad about it. If they didn’t care, why should I do anything?

A: Giggles – Tell them to tell their parents right away.

There you have it, the texting insights of my kids. From this I get that they hear what my husband and me are discussing with them and hope they keep that dialogue open as they navigate their teenage years. And that I need to have a social manners discussion with my son. He seems to have forgotten the basics.

Have you had a conversation with your kids (or nephews/nieces, grandchildren) about texting, sexting and safety?  BlogHer  is matching LG’s  donation of .50 to dosomething.org for every comment on this post, so please tell me about your conversation with your kids in the comments. Or if you haven’t had the conversation yet, what’s holding you back? Maybe another reader will have the perfect suggestion for how you can get your conversation going. It’s important for all our families, and dosomething.org will get a $1.00 for every comment, question or suggestion.

you've got text

This is sponsored content from
BlogHer and LG Text Ed

bbzzzztttt

The phone heralded the sound of an incoming text message for Ace and he pounced on it with alacrity because he's a teenager and the cellphone is now an extension of his body. I've seen him reduced to frantic agitation when he couldn't find his phone for the better part of 36 hours. Some days I wish cellphones have never been invented and then others I'm completely irritated if my kids don't immediately answer when I call. Instant contact gratification at its best. And worst. 

ROFLAO - that's what he did after reading the text and then his nimble almost manhand fingers tippity-tapped away on the phone keypad to send whatever response was required. Once that was done he plopped down next to me and demanded I read the funniest joke ever and thrust his phone into my face. So I read and I laughed, because it was funny. It was also so completely inappropriate that had I been thinking more parent-like, and if my sense of humor wasn't just as inappropriate, I would have stifled my chuckles and rebuked my kid for even thinking something so crass could be funny. But I am weak and sometimes inappropriate humor can be funny or most stand up comedians would be out of work.

Then I realized that this joke had come to him via text and, knowing my kid, he had just winged it back through the wireless network to any number of friends to share the funny. He's all about sharing, my boy.

Of course I asked him if he forwarded the text and he rattled off any number of friends and then I took a deep breath, mostly to get my chuckles under control because it was funny, and so I could put my Mom face on and talk about inappropriate text messages and how that one, while entertaining on some levels, levels most closely aligned with rancid potty humor, could be deemed offensive by any number of people and maybe before he decides to spread the funny, he should think about how such material could be perceived as offensive.

He immediately scoffed at my suggestion and went on to show me several more saved text messages containing similarly offensive jokes and I realized we had to have a more serious talk about how texting can cause trouble that might not immediately seem to be a problem.

The big question is what shape should that conversation take? I'm at two different ends of the texting spectrum here as Ace is entertained by the less than appropriate jokes and Giggles gets excited by animated sparkling kittens as her screen wallpaper.

We have an open dialogue all the time about the benefits of technology use and the pitfalls but texting and how it can be used in cyberbullying, sexting and texting while driving are all new issues that I find myself wondering if they really understand the ramifications of a careless action in this space. Chances are I'm not the only parent in the same boat. Me, LG and Blogher are huge advocates of these conversations and to that end, I'd like to take YOUR questions and interview my kids about their thoughts on texting, cyberbullying, sexting and texting while driving and then we'll give you, my friends, a view from the teenage texting seats on 12/15. Maybe we'll learn something.

So, please pepper me with questions to ask my kids in the comments section or email them to me at catutes at gmail dot com. They are, as always, more than happy to share what's on their minds and direct the conversation of this space. My daughter actually wants to write the next post about this topic so she is very eager to field your questions.

Because this topic is so important for our kids and their futures, BlogHer really wants to get the conversation about texting, sexting and safety going – both with our kids and among parents. It will match LG’s donation of .50 to dosomething.org for every comment on this post, so please give me your suggestions on questions for my kids. Dosomething.org will get a $1.00 for each and every one.

the bruises from casual cruelty

I don’t even know that I want to write about this, not really. I don’t want to give it more weight than it deserves but it keeps cropping up in little ways, in little conversations, in little actions and in big thoughts apparently.

One evening about two weeks ago Giggles was not her usual exuberant self and was a little more in need of reassurance in that every where I turned in the evening, there she was. When I sat down she was almost burrowing in to my side. When we ate dinner, she pulled up close and was subdued. When we sat down for some TV time, she draped herself over me and snuggled in. None of these actions are so out of the ordinary, but there was intensity to it that gave me pause. I asked her if she was okay and she said fine. Giggles has her own time table on when she wants to talk about what. I’ve found the best approach is to ask the question once, let her know the door is open and wait for her to stroll through it. As usual, it didn’t take that long because my girl typically wants to talk about the mind stew she has simmering.

She had retreated to her room for a time but soon came to whisper in my ear that she wanted to talk with me. She led the way to my bedroom because it’s either her bed or mine that we lounge on to discuss what she’s been mulling throughout the day. The comfort of the bed seems to help ease the conversation and if she’s in need of a little physical comfort while chatting, she just cuddles in close. We’ve had some great conversations this way.

It seems there was an incident in one of her classes, as she walked by a small group of boys, one of them turned to her and told her to go away and that no one liked her, while they all laughed together at her expense. This pronouncement, and exhibit of boy rottenness, bothered her. Can’t say I blame her, the little cretins. Typical middle school boy nonsense I thought once the automatic Mom reaction of Who Dares Hurt Mah Babeh! had settled down. My girl, she’s also a bit of the Drama Queen, so after filtering through the indignation explanation, the real core issues surfaced - she was hurt and mad and confused. She was also having difficulty putting it all into perspective. She doesn't really interact with these boys and doesn't know why they said what they did. She's 12 1/2. Is there any perspective to have at that age? It's been so long I forget.

I asked her if she liked any of the boys and she made that eewww-Cooties! face that girls are so good at and emphatically said no. I asked her if she was friends with any of the boys and she said no. I asked her if she cared about the opinions these boys had on other things and she said no. And then I asked her if her answer to all of those questions was no, than it shouldn’t matter what they thought because those boys held no importance in her life.

She told me that she didn’t care what they said; she just didn’t understand why they had to be so mean.

Somehow I doubt the full truth of first part but I could swallow the consternation over casual cruelty. This isn’t bullying at its extreme, which is a big topic in schools right now, but it definitely falls into a category of meanness that casually plays out within the hallways of every school, every day, under all radar, despite the constant attempts to remind kids to treat others they way they wish to be treated. It’s a reminder that doesn’t seem to make a dent in the way kids act toward one another.

At an age when kids are trying to define themselves, this casual cruelty is rampant and often escalates to full scale bullying depending on the kids involved and the particular elements that set them apart. Differences, those that are cultural, religious, sexual and/or as simplistic as what part of town one resides, can be a catalyst that spurs meanness and bullying. None of these differences should give kids, let alone adults, the right to abuse another, especially given our wide open global awareness. It seems the larger the window on the world, the smaller the tolerance for difference and that just makes my heart hurt.

An independent spirit. That’s my daughter and that’s her difference. Her social milieu is outside the “popular” groups. She chooses her own dress style, she speaks her mind and doesn’t shy away from letting loose a ferocious belch when so inclined and has a general disdain for the herd-like mentality displayed by a majority of her classmates. These tendencies mark her as “different” in the eyes of the tweenage middle schoolers who are all about the comfort of conformity. And the reality is that those that walk along the fringes of different require a thicker skin as they navigate the school hallways. Because when a kid chooses not to conform, the difference takes others out of their comfort zone and they don’t know what to do with it, so they attack it.

We spoke about confidently handling this type of encounter. For me, confronting the boys, right then and there, if it happened again, would be the best way to handle it. By doing so, other kids would realize that she won’t stand back and let anyone push at her. I suggested that if they said it again, calmly looking back at them and retorting along the lines of, “that’s okay, I don’t like you either” would show they couldn’t intimidate her and maybe embarrass the boys a little, getting back some of what they gave. Also suggested was telling them that their pitiful attempt at getting her attention was a waste of time, but she didn’t seem to keen on that idea. We debated the merits of using “Really? That’s the best you can come up with? Try a little harder next time” as a response if the boys decided to be jerks again. She seemed to like that one. She was not as enthused as I was to the idea of asking, loudly, in front of the rest of the class, so everyone would hear her dis the pimply little morons, “if they really thought their opinion meant anything to her?” She was concerned the teacher would overhear and then she’d get in trouble. She hates getting in trouble with the teachers. Depends on the kind of trouble, I say.

By trying to minimize the import of the words spoken, I was trying to show her that by dismissing them she would not give these boys and their hurtful words power over her. I want her to look them in the eye and let them know that no matter what they say, their words are meaningless. But we all know better. Words hurt. No matter how self-confident kids want to feel at this age, they are really only learning who they are and being told you are not liked cuts little wounds in the heart and undermines that growing self-confidence in a thousand different ways. Will Giggles be scarred by this forever? No. Doesn't mean it won't leave some bruises on her psyche for a short time though.

Once she had spilled it all out and talked around all sides of it, she seemed settled and resigned to the fact that there will be instances like this again. She mentioned it again last night, told me she had relayed the story to a friend who casually shrugged it off with a “So?” and that boggled her mind. Why I’m not sure, but she was affronted that her friend wasn’t as outraged at their behavior as she had been, or maybe that her friend didn't show the level of solidarity that she was expecting. Drama Queen, my girl. The fact that she brought it up to her friend days later, and then again to me, made me realize that it still bugs her, that casual cruelty from others.

How to explain to a 12 year old the all too regular penchant to deliberately hurt another exhibited by people every day? I can’t because I really don’t get it myself. I try using the usual explanations– people are mean to others because they have low self-esteem, kids are often cruel because it makes them look tougher to their friends and they need that acceptance even if it means being a rotten shit, kids who are often uncertain of who they are choose to belittle those that are more self-aware as a defense. But who really knows? These kids could be subjected to that casual cruelty from their parents and accept as the norm and dish it out. Will we ever really know? We discussed each of these and she gets it, she really does because she is smart, and self-confident and unique.

But that uniqueness also leaves her vulnerable in the heart and head. All I can do is remind her of the beauty of who she is, inside and out, and that the unimportant words of a rotten 7th grader cannot diminish the power of who she is at the core. And that unique spirit will triumph in the end.

not so still life with teenager

I knew this day was coming. The knowledge hovers at the hazy perimeter of our conscious from the very beginning, never fully crystallizing, because if it did, we might change our mind and then where would we be as a species?

Enter the teenager.

The man-child comes out of the bathroom in the morning smelling like…I can’t describe it actually, but he tells me it’s Axe and thinks it makes him smell good. Some girls at school tell him so, he says. And I must agree it’s an improvement over the sweaty man stench that usually emanates from his pits and feet. Maybe only teenage girl pheromones can pick up on the nuances of this scent and respond accordingly. Maybe those same girls will ask him to go a little gentler with the spray nozzle next time. But alas, I have little expectation here as these are the same girls that douse themselves in vats of the feminine variety of this stuff and apply makeup in similarly excessive quantities.

The proportion of scent and makeup to clothes seems to be directly inverse however. The teenage boys that are visible in my universe all seem to wear jeans just as tight as the girls and verge on slipping off their asses. There’s nothing quite like the indignant squeak of a teenage boy who’s received a massive wedgie because I’ve abruptly hauled his jeans up by the belt loop as I don’t really want to know what type of boxers he’s sporting that particular day. I really don’t want to see your ass, okay?

Similarly, the jeans worn by the female of the teenage species seem designed to pinch internal organs and prevent them from moving with any measure of comfort. I don’t think that even when I was traversing the landscape of the teenager there was any appeal in jeans that cut off blood flow to the legs. Maybe in the last twenty years that’s changed and bodily injury from clothes is a badge of…something?

Ace also sleeps the sleep of the teenage dead. His cell phone alarm and his alarm clock go off and off and off until I wake up from the discordant symphony eating at my brain and I yell at him to turn off the damn racket already! Or haul my ass out of bed, go to his room, turn his lights on full and beat him around the head with his pillow until he finally crawls out of the teenage coma he’d fallen into.

Somehow this racket, just feet away from her own door, fails to rouse my almost teenage daughter, whose own alarm will go ignored for several minutes before the noise penetrates her sleeping head and she grumpily slaps it off. Then she will bury her head and growl with a fiendish ferocity at the unfortunate individual who tries to wake her up completely. That is most invariably me.

It’s a wonder I don’t start my day slugging back a fistful of happy pills. Caffeine barely smooths the path.

We’re lucky so far, and we all know that stating this is tantamount to shaking my fist at the universe and daring it to fuck with me, in that our son remains generally affable and not assailed with the turbulent hormonal influxes that cause mood swings strong enough to shatter the Richter scale. He’s generally good natured, currently obsessed with making enough money to buy a new airsoft rifle, swimming season, his pending driver’s education class and what type of truck he might be able to get with the savings he's spending on something else when he gets his license, so help me I’m going to need more bourbon next year, and girls.

Ah, the girls, they text him constantly. I don’t think he actually has face to face conversations with these girls, at least any which happen after school has let out. It’s really hard to eavesdrop on a conversation when the only sound is the beep of an incoming text. I’m going to have to resort to reading his messages soon so I can tease him about which girl he is currently infatuated with; for all his affability and openness with his life, he is amazingly closemouthed about the girls. This removes some of the fun of parenthood, you realize.

Giggles may not fare so well in the hormonal storm. She’s being buffeted by the winds of change already and finds herself discombobulated in the maelstrom that is puberty. Just last night, she was alternately cranky and needy. One minute cuddling up next to me while we watched the idiot box and then snarling like a trapped hyena because I reminded her twice that she had yet to unload the dishwasher. And then after realizing that she had morphed into something unpleasant, she came back over to lament that she didn’t know why she was feeling so schizophrenic – her words, not mine, because had I pointed that out she might have popped out my eyeballs and eaten them.

And so we sat, cuddled up close together, in female solidarity discussing hormones and mood swings and ways to find stable ground amid the shifting sands of unseen forces. I think it helped to share my own mental chaos when I was similarly afflicted with pubescent angst and how there were days I couldn’t stand my own company and found refuge in music and books and long ass walks in the woods. Where there were no people to annoy the hell out of me. Because really, sometimes IT IS the people around you. A couple of weeks ago her father, being a man, blithely mentioned that he noticed she was getting curvy in the hip area and I swear the top of her head exploded, flames shot from her eyes, burning him to cinders on the spot, before she stomped off and slammed her bedroom door so hard the foundation of the house cracked. Ace summed up the scene perfectly when he turned to his father and said “Nice going, Dad.”

The good thing is that we talk and talk about the mood shifts and the anticipated physical changes, which my girl is so not looking forward to right now, as a matter of fact she views the oncoming bodily changes akin to handling venomous cobras in close quarters while blindfolded. It’s hard to combat the disturbing reality of breast buds, curvier hips and the onslaught of hormonal tsunamis with a girl who doesn’t hesitate to admit that she’s not sure how to handle all of these changes. The fact that she is willing to share her thoughts and feeling on this tumultuous time with me, and to some extent her Dad, barring any more foot-in-mouth scenarios, helps keep me in tune on whether the girl sitting across the table is the cranky moody girl about to spew bitchiness all over us because her brother is breathing next to her or the fragile vulnerable flower who’s going to cry her way into her room if I mentioned the ketchup smear on her shirt.

It’s a parental mind field I tell you and I really need all my limbs to survive this.

It's everyone's child at risk

This is sponsored content from
BlogHer and LG Text Ed

My kids text their friends almost exclusively these days. Protracted teen phone calls seem to have gone the way of the Dodo bird as skimming thumbs key out short bursts of words, anywhere, anytime. Given their wired hectic world, it’s no wonder our teens think nothing of walking and texting, eating and texting and an ever increasing amount of driving and texting.

Remainder of post over at Catootes Reviews


This week I'm participating, with this post, as a "“LG TextEd Ambassador”, in a discussion on the topic RBTL: Moms discuss teens and texting on BlogHer. We're talking about Teens and the Dangers of Texting. Please, go on over and see what other Mom's have to say, it's a topic for everyone. Chime on in with your thoughts, here or there.

dishing up a little TLC

Ace seems to be the latest victim of the nasty bug that wrecked my husband and me the past two weeks. Luckily he seems to have a lighter case of it but was feeling icky enough to stay home from school and sleep.

I have to admit that there is a freedom in knowing he's old enough to stay home by himself when he's under the weather. I mean if he was hunched over the toilet heaving up his innards, I wouldn't blithely tell him to feel better and waltz out the door, but a sore throat, aches without fever and fatigue? Sleep late kid and call me when you finally emerge from your teen cave.

This round robin of germs is a pain in the butt because there should not be a chorus of hacking in my house. It's wrong. And when the kids are sick, it's worse. MA BABIES! I hate when they're sick. Thankfully my kids aren't whiners, for the most part, when ill. When Ace gets sick he gets all stoic and leave-me-alone-and-don't-talk-to-me grumpy. He gets it from his father. The grumpy part that is. He grabs his favorite blanket, takes posession of the love seat and will camp there as long as he feels sick. Or until I boot his ass to bed and spray some Lysol in his wake.

Ace thought he was going to spend his sick day at home waking hours with an Xbox controller clutched in his fingers. Imagine his surprise when he got my text message telling him that if he was too sick to go to school, he's too sick to play Xbox all day. It can't be healthy to spend the day shooting people via Metal of Honor if you're sick, can it? He was to rest, study, chill with some T.V. and continue to eat whatever he felt inclined to stuff into his face.

While I appreciate his independence it still warms my heart when he curls up next to me on the couch and wants some make-me-feel-better-cuddling. I imagine there aren't too many more days he'll indulge in that so I'll cherish them while he's still willing, make him a cup of warm tea, wrap my arm around those suddenly broad shoulders and hang out with him after work. Because it doesn't matter that he's taller than me now, he's still my first born, my baby and when he's sick I want to make him feel better.


I'm participating, as a "“LG TextEd Ambassador”, in a discussion on the topic RBTL: Moms discuss teens and texting on BlogHer. It's week 3 and the topic is Setting Ground Rules for Your Teen's Mobile Phone Use. I know I use texting with my kids to remind them of other ground rules but the list of cell phone use rules in our house is short and sweet.

Each comment left benefits DoSomething.org with a $0.50 donation, up to $5000, so dish up some advice and goodwill all at once with a comment over on the BlogHer LG Text ED page!

our defenses have been breached

Not that long ago, while talking with a friend about our kids, I tempted the gods by mentioning how, except for a recent appendicitis scare and trip to the E.R. with Giggles, the kids had been healthy and avoided most of the summer colds that had been circling the perimeters of their friends.

Making that sort of comment is pretty much a shout out to the universe to come screw with us, which explains why I was struck down with some form of the plague this past week. I can hear the gods chuckling even now.

Damn flu bug slapped me sideways mid-day on Sunday when my head started to swim, sweat popped out of all pores like they were steam vents and I wilted like the neglected flowers in my front garden. One minute I was merrily zipping through tasks on the weekend to-do list the next I was flat on the sofa with a cool cloth for my brow. It was like a switch had been flipped. 

Somehow I dragged my sorry ass to work on Monday because I had meetings I could not miss but the only work I managed to really accomplish was not sprawling on my office floor in defeat. I finally threw in the towel and went home to sleep for two days. I missed my daughter's back to school night, which is ironic as I was also the Board of Education representative there that night, but since I think I got my current brand of plague attending a board meeting, I figure we're even now.

When I did make my way to work yesterday, certain facts about being sick and the work environment that I've always suspected were reinforced - co-worker's are often very sympathetic when you're sick. That sympathy turns to rabid avoidance when you sit at a conference table with a cough that implies pieces of lung are about to be ejected into the atmosphere. The only people that want you at work in those circumstances are the boss and human resources. My staff stood at the door of my office when they needed something and I think I heard them spraying disinfectant behind me when I walked through. And after a few coughing fit that left me cursing viciously when I could breathe, they just laughed at me. It's a good thing it's Friday.

On a separate note, one of the best tools at hand while bedridden was texting! It replaced the suffering in silence or yelling from the bedroom method normally in play. I just quickly zipped up a text to my husband or kids when I needed more tissues, a refill for my glass, my book or sympathy. Since my family was avoiding me and my germs* as much as possible, sending a text was an efficient way to prevent my throat from burning when I yelled and keeping contact at a minimum.

I'm participating, as a "“LG TextEd Ambassador”, in a discussion on the topic RBTL: Moms discuss teens and texting on BlogHer. It's week 2 and the topic is Decoding Your Teen's Texting Lingo. I so need a road map some days when my kids send me a text because this new shorthand confuses me to no end. Go on over to see what's what or clue the rest of us parents in on shorthand used by your teens. Each comment left benefits DoSomething.org with a $0.50 donation.


*My husband came home from work early yesterday, glaring at me for getting him sick. Hey, I tried to keep the germs to myself.

the deets: This is a compensated post, via BlogHer and LG. Since I have kids, whose fingers are compelled to text, it's a relevant topic I feel strongly about.

texting and your teen, perfect together or maybe not?

Texting is a great tool for communicating with our kids. And let's face it, it's a mainstay of our kid's lives these days. We use texting to keep us all apprised of any changes to the day's schedule, a request to stop at the grocery store for milk, a reminder of chores and the occasional joke of the day.

Like any technology, determining the boundaries for its use within your family can be fraught with indecision, conflicting viewpoints and, if your family is anything like mine, vigorous lobbying by the kids to keep those boundaries nearly non-existent. Texting, for all it's benefits, presents a myriad of issues that parents, schools, and kids are trying navigate - texting in class, text shorthand, sexting, mobile meanness and the growing dangers of texting while driving.

I'm participating, as a "“LG TextEd Ambassador”, in a discussion on the topic RBTL: Moms discuss teens and texting on BlogHer. Pop on over to add your voice, because the more parental insight, the better we'll all be for it.

There's a great group of ladies over there right now talking about "mobile meanness", how texting is being used to bully and harrass.

the deets: This is a compensated post, via BlogHer and LG. Since I have kids, whose fingers are compelled to text, it's a relevant topic I feel strongly about.

why adolescent boys should have a mute button

I wanna play some Xbox, he says.

I wanna a house on a mountain with a view of the valley below and never have to make dinner again, I say.

Yeah, but I have an Xbox and you’re the one standing in front of the stove, he says.

It’s a good thing he has quick feet and a strong sense of self preservation.

she says

She was homesick, she said. I miss my bed and my dog and hugging you and Dad before going to sleep, she told me as I dropped her off at her grandparent’s house.

She and her brother were staying there while we pulled down sheet rock and got rid of 60+ year old insulation. We didn’t want them exposed to that stuff and the possible lead paint from the original walls. Her grandparents live in the same town, their house is as much hers as her own, yet she wants, craves, that comfort of the familiar.

She’s my baby girl, just turned 12, sweet and innocent. Growing up, but still my little girl inside.

Mom, she whispers close to my ear, can I talk to you? She eyes her brother and father from across the room.

I know that look, the sidelong glance at the men of the house. This is to be a female discussion. Private.

Sure, I say, and we head off to sit on the deck, hand in hand.

You know, she begins, long skinny legs kicking back and forth as she sits across from me, tendrils of long blond hair glowing in the sun, next year I have to change for gym. You have to in 7th grade.

Her gray-green eyes have that look in them, the one that says this is not something she’s looking forward to but is curious about.

Yep, I say, I know. We’ll get you a set of gym clothes and a gym bag.

Cool, she says. Her lips purse and her eyes track a bird as it zips over to peck at the feeder. Do I have to get naked in front of everyone? You know that kind of thing makes me nervous.

My girl is an expert at verbalizing her inner turmoil, she knows how she feels inside and wants to explore it.

No, you keep your underwear on, unless you want to take a shower, I say. Then, well, I don’t think you want to wear wet panties the rest of the day.

She giggles and nods, taking that in. Her legs kick some more.

I’m not looking forward to changing for gym, she says. Why do they make us do that?

I really don’t know, I say. (Because I don’t.) I guess it’s because the activities require more effort, kids your age sweat more and this way your clothes won’t get ruined from the sports and body sweat. Teenagers can smell bad. (really, I don’t know the answer to this question, so logically, this is the best I can come up with)

I’ll need new deodorant, she says.

You got it, I say. You can pick out the scent. And the clothes.

Do I have to take gym? She asks. I mean I like gym, but I really don’t want to change my clothes in front of everybody. It’s kind’ve icky.

Oh, pumpkin, I think to myself. I get it, I really do.

Girls are cruel and middle school locker rooms are surely the devil’s own playground. If I could spare you this step I would but somehow I think you’ll be better for it. That’s not saying much as I had successfully avoided mine with a physical excuse from gym from grade 6 through high school. No such luck for my baby girl.

You know, I say, your friends will be there and it will get easier. You just have to worry about yourself, no one else. Have you spoken with your girls about it?

She nods. Lizzy isn’t looking forward to it either, she says.

I bet, I respond. But just think, you guys can talk about it before hand and figure out the best way to handle it. And once the first few days go by, it’ll be just what you do.

Do you think I can, here she pauses, hesitates, her eyes looking up at me and then down again, an odd anticipation in her gaze, you know, shave my legs this summer? The hair on them is longer now and it doesn’t stay flat anymore.

My heart stutters. I know this kind of thing is coming, she’s 12, yet so far her puberty development hasn't come into play that much yet, other than that whip sharp brain and mouth. I look at those gangly legs, the legs that have gotten longer the past month or so and seem to travel all the way to her armpits.

She’s right I see. Those legs are covered in wispy blond hairs, hairs barely visible they are so pale. But they are long now.

I sigh, quietly, so she doesn’t see how this stage, this step, takes her one step away from being that homesick baby girl and turns her into my young lady. It sends a sweet ache, a melancholic arrow through my heart. These moments, these little steps to womanhood, they're coming and I can't do anything to stop this sweet little girl from growing up. I don't want to, not really, because I can't wait to see the woman she'll become, but oh, it's an ache, a loving one, in my heart, as she begins to fly away, just like the birds we like to watch together in the back yard.

You betcha, I say, smiling at her, seeing her smile in return. How about we try that thing that rubs the hair off? You know the one you said you saw on TV the other day?

She perks up, all hesitancy leaving her face, the anticipation of leg hair removal pushing away the awkwardness of middle school locker rooms.

do it ourselves, mostly done

The best part of nine 12-hour days spent doing hard physical labor? Losing 8 pounds. Okay, that’s really just a bonus. The best part is getting it done, mostly, and seeing the fabulous results of focused hard work.

The worst part of 12 hour days spent doing physical labor when one usually rides a desk 8 hours a day? Just about every muscle in my body aches like hell.

Including my fingers, which still hurt from manhandling the wires to hook up new recessed lights while SuperHubby, with help from the kids, spent the better part of two days on his knees putting in the new oak laminate flooring.

Friday the 9th we started yanking down sheet rock so we could reinsulated the outside walls of the house, which had been colder than usual this past winter. When we finally got the drywall off we found the old insulation was mostly falling down and when I reached in to grab a piece to stuff into a trash bag, the paper flashing literally disintegrated into dust. It smelled musty and dusty and while this was a huge pain in the ass to do, I feel so much better now about the new stuff we used to re-insulate, Roxul, an insulation made from rock.

After we got that miserable task dealt with, it was time to put up new sheet rock and spackle. This part sucks hugely and I went waaaaay over board with the joint compound. I was led astray by the Internet. There is misinformation out there, who would have known? Several credible reference sites said the first coat of joint compound should be put on somewhat thick and I BELIEVED THEM. Those Bastards.

That decision cost us a full day of sanding to smooth off the majority of compound that I had insisted on, despite my husband maintaining the less is more theory, and was totally unnecessary. I insisted the experts said so and it must be true. And then a neighbor, who does contracting, came over and told me I used too much compound and it had to go. My husband will be reminding me of my stupidity in this area for years and well, it was the internet’s fault, I SWEAR!

Do you have any idea how much dust is generated and spreads around the house, despite a double plastic curtain barrier? Mountains, I’m telling you. I’ll be cleaning it up for a year. I’m surprised my air conditioners are still functional. It was a dicey for a day with the main unit. It’s 2:15 am. I’m buck naked, just about to step into a desperately needed shower to wash off the dust coating from the day of sanding off the nasty compound. My husband yells from the living room that there’s water coming from the wall AC unit and come help him. Still buck naked, I climb onto a chair and find the filter is beyond clogged and the unit is overloaded and frozen and water is dripping on my new desk. Go figure. We didn’t think about cleaning out this one. 45 minutes later the dust is gone (from the AC unit), the excess water is being absorbed by a small towel and I’m still naked & dusty. I finally crashed after a shower @3:30 am. Only to get up at 8 the next morning to start painting.

It is possible to prime and paint three rooms in two days. I know this as truth, especially if two extremely tired people decide to paint until 2 am. Because we are insane.

We let the kids pick their colors and do most of the painting of their rooms themselves. This way they took more ownership of the outcome and when they’re hanging out enjoying the new digs, they’ll take pride in what they see, flaws & all. And there was no way SuperHubby and I were painting all three rooms by ourselves. We picked out bright happy colors that remind us of the Caribbean and they make the rooms glow. I think Behr paints need to revisit some of the names they give their paints. I chose Fresh Peaches, but I'm telling you it looks more like Papaya on the walls, which is just fine. Sweet Rhapsody would be better named Calypso Surf. Tropical Waters is just fine as it is.

I’m a messy painter and no matter the number of showers I’ve taken and scrubbing I’ve done since we painted the rooms, I keep finding spots of paint on my fingers, my toes, in my hair and on my glasses. At least the color palette matches. During the compounding and sanding and priming and painting stages, I must have climbed up and down the damn ladder a gazillion times and the screaming of my glutes just reinforces the abuse they have been subject to during this job.

Somewhere in this chaos, the television stopped working. That hour, between finishing work for the night, cleaning up and crashing into bed, was necessary downtime for just staring mindlessly at some show or catching up on how the Mets game went. Why does this kind of crap have to happen when the house is basically a construction zone and the only normal thing working is the TV? Really, why? I mean I’m perfectly capable of dealing with 1/3 of my house in various stages of renovation, with supplies and tools taking over every available space, with a little help from my friend xanax, but the little inconvenience of the TV flaking out just about sent me over the edge. In between finishing the painting and putting in floor and lights, several frustrating phone calls to Samsung and Cablevision determined that the problem was the HDMI port on my cable box. It's probably the dusts fault.

The only time we left the house it seemed was for food and another trip to Home Depot. I swear every time I opened my wallet I could hear my credit card whimper and bleed a little orange. I have to admit, there were moments, just a few, when the day was long and the task seemed overwhelming, that I just wanted to put my head down and cry, to give up, but then I'd remember that I am no pansy-ass, and I'd suck back those feelings of doom and finish what I was working on.

A savvy blogger would have taken pictures of the before and after for posting and showing off said doityourselfittude but this particular blogger was so obsessed with the do, Do, DO! of it all that taking a few minutes for photo’s NEVER crossed my mind. So you’ll have to take my word for it that the bedrooms look much better now. Except for that damn dust. And the fact that 90% of the tools we own are strewn across the living room and kitchen. And down the hall. And in the bedrooms. And on the deck.

You get the idea.

There are still a few details to close up, like the trim around floor & windows, a last electician visit, hanging a door and retrofitting Ace's bed into a loft bed for space issues. But the majority of house disrupting work is complete, satisfactorily so, and that's a powerful feeling.

This whole thing was a full on family project. Except for shuttling the kids to my in-laws while SuperHubby and I handled the drywall removal and insulation overhaul, the kids were part of every step, learning necessary life skills and taking responsibility for their space. It was also pretty cool to work in one room with my son, and over hear snippets of SuperHubby and Giggles tackling a project in one of the other bedrooms. It felt good.

My guy and I spent 24/7 together for nine days, working side by side on this common goal. It had its moments of friction and frustration and there were a couple of blow-ups but for the most part, we did it the way we do everything else, sharing the task and working together. We’ll be married 17 years this Friday and navigating this renovation together certainly proves we’ve got a solid foundation and structural integrity.

Despite my insistence on extra joint compound.