We worked a bit on the party this weekend, and I'm very excited about the way it's shaping up.
Hannah cut out a large pair of eyes and a Cheshire Cat smile and painted them with glow-in-the-dark paint. We're going to put them in a tree overlooking the party tables in the backyard.
I purchased bunches of fake white roses (6 for $1 at the Dollar Store), and Hannah painted them red (sort of), just the way the cards did in the movie. I'm planning on sticking them in the bush that surrounds our mailbox, along with an empty can of red paint and a paint brush.
Hannah also made a bunch of signs - "This Way" - "That Way" - "Other Way" - "Wrong Way" - that we'll put around the yard, and we made a bunch of rabbit footprints that we'll put along the driveway and sidewalk leading to the front door, through the house, and out to the party location in back.
We had an old deck of cards with one missing, so Hannah punched holes in all of them and strung them up on ribbon - a card garland. It looks amazingly professional (if garland can be so classified).
We are debating about games - right now, we have too many and need to narrow it down.
1. Lawn Games - We have croquet (a must, but with blow-up flamingos for mallets), frisbee golf (throw a frisbee through a hoop), chess (the king is almost a foot tall - very cool), bocce, and ladder ball. I figure that the kids can play these at their leisure in between planned activities, although Hannah wants to set something up tournament-style.
2. I'm Late, I'm Late - Basically a potato sack race, two teams against each other. Before your turn to hop, you have to put on bunny ears and say, "I'm late, I'm late!"
3. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum Race - Three-legged race.
4. Sugar Cube Towers - Who can build the tallest tower in two minutes.
5. Tea Cup Race - Two opposing teams. One player at a time fills their plastic tea cup with water and must carry it on their head to the teapot on the other side of the yard. First team to fill their pot wins.
6. Musical Chairs - Played to the Unbirthday song, of course.
7. Guess the Song - Pick a song out of a hat and play it on your kazoo. Your team must guess what song you're playing.
8. Card Houses - Teams of three race to build the tallest card house.
We are having 21 guests (all 13-year-olds - I'm totally insane), so we're not doing goody bags. But we still want the guests to have things to take home. We bought glow-in-the-dark bracelets and necklaces, and the tables will be chock-full of goodies the guests can grab - those large rainbow swirly lollipops, cupcakes that say "Eat Me", foot-long marshmallow poles (10 for $1 - I'd never even seen these before) - and we've picked out some cool prizes for game winners, like a telescoping marshmallow roasting stick (I'm going to buy five more to stick in everyone's stocking for Christmas).
Our biggest dilemma is how to decorate the party area over the tables. We don't have a patio cover or pergola, but I still want to hang a bunch of paper lanterns, streamers and balloons. Somehow I'm going to have to run twine from the roof of the house over to the trees at the back edge of the yard. Not sure how this will work, but I'll come up with something. No way are our decorations going to waste!
I'm going to try to start taking pictures of this stuff and post them this week. You really need visuals for this stuff. Happy party planning!
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Parents Should Be Responsible for Sex Ed
This article is disturbing on many levels - it details a sex game where five 14 & 15yo girls ended up pregnant after multiple boys took turns having intercourse with them.
Granted, it took place in Poland (I admittedly know nothing about the education or culture of Poland), but it sounds like something that could happen here.
The final sentence of the article is particularly troublesome: "According to the report, sex education is lacking at the school, with no one to talk to the students about how such games can lead to pregnancy."
Where are their parents? I don't care what country you live in - a parent of a teenager cannot rely on the schools to educate their child about sex. It is not the schools' responsibility.
I seem to be in the minority in California because I actually believe that schools should teach morals along with facts. Schools should enforce basic decency, teach kids about honesty, and kindness, and loyalty, and character. But the schools here, for the most part, do not do this. And since I know that, I make sure that my kids learn it at home.
Same goes for sex ed. I know it's a sticky subject - do we hand out condoms? Teach abstinence or safe sex? Most schools don't teach any of this stuff because they cannot agree on what should be taught. The fact that it is sticky, however, does not mean that we should ignore it.
BUT...since I know that the schools either ignore the subject or might teach it in a way I don't agree with (please don't give my daughter a condom), I know I have to step up. I have to be responsible for passing on not only my values, but the knowledge my children need to survive and make healthy choices. If I don't teach them, I am abdicating my responsibility as a parent.
This goes for any subject, really. Parents should be on top of what their children are being taught. In high school, my brother had a history teacher that claimed the Holocaust never happened. If parents had not been paying attention, some children may have believed that. That teacher may have continued to spread his sick lies. I don't know why we're okay with discussing history and politics with our kids, and then proceed to ignore all the ways they can make a baby.
I know sex is an uncomfortable topic - I get it. So buy your kid a book (there are hundreds of good ones), and make sure they read it (trust me, they will - kids love to read about sex and their bodies). If you simply can't muster the courage, have a good friend or family member discuss it with them. Make sure they are armed and aware.
If my daughter turns up pregnant, or one of our sons impregnates someone, we'll deal with it. But at least I'll know it wasn't because I wimped out.
Granted, it took place in Poland (I admittedly know nothing about the education or culture of Poland), but it sounds like something that could happen here.
The final sentence of the article is particularly troublesome: "According to the report, sex education is lacking at the school, with no one to talk to the students about how such games can lead to pregnancy."
Where are their parents? I don't care what country you live in - a parent of a teenager cannot rely on the schools to educate their child about sex. It is not the schools' responsibility.
I seem to be in the minority in California because I actually believe that schools should teach morals along with facts. Schools should enforce basic decency, teach kids about honesty, and kindness, and loyalty, and character. But the schools here, for the most part, do not do this. And since I know that, I make sure that my kids learn it at home.
Same goes for sex ed. I know it's a sticky subject - do we hand out condoms? Teach abstinence or safe sex? Most schools don't teach any of this stuff because they cannot agree on what should be taught. The fact that it is sticky, however, does not mean that we should ignore it.
BUT...since I know that the schools either ignore the subject or might teach it in a way I don't agree with (please don't give my daughter a condom), I know I have to step up. I have to be responsible for passing on not only my values, but the knowledge my children need to survive and make healthy choices. If I don't teach them, I am abdicating my responsibility as a parent.
This goes for any subject, really. Parents should be on top of what their children are being taught. In high school, my brother had a history teacher that claimed the Holocaust never happened. If parents had not been paying attention, some children may have believed that. That teacher may have continued to spread his sick lies. I don't know why we're okay with discussing history and politics with our kids, and then proceed to ignore all the ways they can make a baby.
I know sex is an uncomfortable topic - I get it. So buy your kid a book (there are hundreds of good ones), and make sure they read it (trust me, they will - kids love to read about sex and their bodies). If you simply can't muster the courage, have a good friend or family member discuss it with them. Make sure they are armed and aware.
If my daughter turns up pregnant, or one of our sons impregnates someone, we'll deal with it. But at least I'll know it wasn't because I wimped out.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Teens Need to Understand Consequences in the Electronic Age
I can't believe it's even a real word - "sexting." How sad.
In general, I have no real objection to it. If my husband wants to sext me, bring it on. However...
Nothing is private anymore. NOTHING. If you write it in an email, send it via IM, text it...it could get out. In fact, you have to assume that it will.
When I was a kid, I didn't have this problem. I worried about my teacher confiscating a note I passed to a friend, or whether my parents were listening in to a phone conversation, but that was it. I didn't have too many other worries about my private thoughts becoming public knowledge.
Today, though, it's easy to make a mistake. Almost every cell phone has a camera, and kids can take compromising pictures of themselves and send them to friends without giving it a thought. Kids regular communicate by texting and email - so regularly that they forget that every transmission is recorded for posterity. The delete button is an illusion.
Hannah found this out last week. Mike inadvertantly got a hold of her phone when she called my mom on it and my mom wanted to talk to him. He took the opportunity to read her text messages. Or should I say "sext" messages?
Holy crap. What 13-year-old boy texts, "Wanna lick my wick?" Even I've never heard that one. And I will refrain from repeating what my daughter replied - I think this will embarrass her enough.
See, Hannah? One tiny little conversation, one text reply made without thinking through the consequences, and suddenly your business is everyone's business.
I'm actually glad this happened, with something relatively small and easily handled. There are awful, life-long consequences to impulsive electronic communication, and every teenager needs to understand that.
But teaching a teenager to think before they act is like telling a bee to stop buzzing - ain't gonna happen. Not without some serious nagging and effort anyway. I hope catching Hannah's act of impulsiveness is enough to keep her from making some serious missteps down the road.
In general, I have no real objection to it. If my husband wants to sext me, bring it on. However...
Nothing is private anymore. NOTHING. If you write it in an email, send it via IM, text it...it could get out. In fact, you have to assume that it will.
When I was a kid, I didn't have this problem. I worried about my teacher confiscating a note I passed to a friend, or whether my parents were listening in to a phone conversation, but that was it. I didn't have too many other worries about my private thoughts becoming public knowledge.
Today, though, it's easy to make a mistake. Almost every cell phone has a camera, and kids can take compromising pictures of themselves and send them to friends without giving it a thought. Kids regular communicate by texting and email - so regularly that they forget that every transmission is recorded for posterity. The delete button is an illusion.
Hannah found this out last week. Mike inadvertantly got a hold of her phone when she called my mom on it and my mom wanted to talk to him. He took the opportunity to read her text messages. Or should I say "sext" messages?
Holy crap. What 13-year-old boy texts, "Wanna lick my wick?" Even I've never heard that one. And I will refrain from repeating what my daughter replied - I think this will embarrass her enough.
See, Hannah? One tiny little conversation, one text reply made without thinking through the consequences, and suddenly your business is everyone's business.
I'm actually glad this happened, with something relatively small and easily handled. There are awful, life-long consequences to impulsive electronic communication, and every teenager needs to understand that.
But teaching a teenager to think before they act is like telling a bee to stop buzzing - ain't gonna happen. Not without some serious nagging and effort anyway. I hope catching Hannah's act of impulsiveness is enough to keep her from making some serious missteps down the road.
Funerals - Are They Necessary?
My grandmother, God bless her, thought so. She passed away peacefully last Friday, and we attended her funeral yesterday. My mother spent hours with my grandmother over the past couple of years discussing the event.
Grandma had definite ideas of what she wanted, and she wasn't shy about making her wishes known. My mom planned the funeral the way my grandmother had envisioned it. For most people, I don't think it works that way. One, people often die without warning. Even though my grandfather was 91 when he passed two years ago, we weren't prepared. We didn't really know what he wanted, so we winged it. And two, death is still a taboo and tricky subject - we especially don't like to talk about our own death. We know it will happen eventually, but that's about all that most people are willing to acknowledge.
It is often said that funerals are for the living - the dead don't know what's going on anyway. I agree with that. A funeral gives us one last chance to honor the dead and to find closure. In that sense, I am content to attend a funeral and pay my respects.
But it's odd, and a little sad, don't you think? A person lives a life, and it's reduced to a one-hour ceremony. Some people actually complain when a service is "too long." Too long? A person lives to be 91 (or 50, or 20, or even 5 - doesn't really matter), and we complain that their last hurrah is too long?
But we're sitting there sweating, listening to boring prayers wearing throat-constricting ties or itchy nylons, and we're sobbing our hearts out and the officiant is droning on and on, and all we want to do is get the hell out of there. You'd think there'd be a better way.
As I've said, sadness and grief aside, I don't mind funerals. I'll sit there as long as you want me. I'll listen, and I'll mourn, and I'll pray, and I'll remember you. But when my own time comes, I think I want something different.
First of all, cremate me. I'm donating my organs, and I don't want whatever's left moldering in the ground. I also don't want you to have to tend a grave, or worry about fresh flowers keeping me company. I will be gone. Scatter my ashes under a tree and wish me well.
I believe in God and an afterlife, but I'm not particularly religious, so you can forgo a church service. Gather at someone's home, and toss back a few for me. Eat a lot - onion dip, bacon-wrapped asparagus, and pie come to mind - drink, and smoke a few cigars. Tell awful stories about all the times I embarrassed myself, how my glasses were always wonky and scratched, and how my nose was always stuck in a book. If someone remembers to say how much I loved them, I will be honored.
Play some Depeche Mode and some eighties music, and dance for me. Do some karaoke. Make fools of yourselves. Make a video of your hideous vocal renditions so they can play it at your own funeral.
Most people don't live a quiet, somber life, but that's how we are expected to remember them. To each her own. And that is the point, I think. If you love the ceremony and tradition that are part of a funeral service, demand it. Make your wishes known. Do not be afraid to talk about these things with the people who care about you. Because in the heat of their grief, in the worst moments of their lives, they have to make a million tiny decisions to send you off. Don't make them do it alone.
Grandma had definite ideas of what she wanted, and she wasn't shy about making her wishes known. My mom planned the funeral the way my grandmother had envisioned it. For most people, I don't think it works that way. One, people often die without warning. Even though my grandfather was 91 when he passed two years ago, we weren't prepared. We didn't really know what he wanted, so we winged it. And two, death is still a taboo and tricky subject - we especially don't like to talk about our own death. We know it will happen eventually, but that's about all that most people are willing to acknowledge.
It is often said that funerals are for the living - the dead don't know what's going on anyway. I agree with that. A funeral gives us one last chance to honor the dead and to find closure. In that sense, I am content to attend a funeral and pay my respects.
But it's odd, and a little sad, don't you think? A person lives a life, and it's reduced to a one-hour ceremony. Some people actually complain when a service is "too long." Too long? A person lives to be 91 (or 50, or 20, or even 5 - doesn't really matter), and we complain that their last hurrah is too long?
But we're sitting there sweating, listening to boring prayers wearing throat-constricting ties or itchy nylons, and we're sobbing our hearts out and the officiant is droning on and on, and all we want to do is get the hell out of there. You'd think there'd be a better way.
As I've said, sadness and grief aside, I don't mind funerals. I'll sit there as long as you want me. I'll listen, and I'll mourn, and I'll pray, and I'll remember you. But when my own time comes, I think I want something different.
First of all, cremate me. I'm donating my organs, and I don't want whatever's left moldering in the ground. I also don't want you to have to tend a grave, or worry about fresh flowers keeping me company. I will be gone. Scatter my ashes under a tree and wish me well.
I believe in God and an afterlife, but I'm not particularly religious, so you can forgo a church service. Gather at someone's home, and toss back a few for me. Eat a lot - onion dip, bacon-wrapped asparagus, and pie come to mind - drink, and smoke a few cigars. Tell awful stories about all the times I embarrassed myself, how my glasses were always wonky and scratched, and how my nose was always stuck in a book. If someone remembers to say how much I loved them, I will be honored.
Play some Depeche Mode and some eighties music, and dance for me. Do some karaoke. Make fools of yourselves. Make a video of your hideous vocal renditions so they can play it at your own funeral.
Most people don't live a quiet, somber life, but that's how we are expected to remember them. To each her own. And that is the point, I think. If you love the ceremony and tradition that are part of a funeral service, demand it. Make your wishes known. Do not be afraid to talk about these things with the people who care about you. Because in the heat of their grief, in the worst moments of their lives, they have to make a million tiny decisions to send you off. Don't make them do it alone.
Friday, May 21, 2010
A Mad Hatter Tea Party
For Hannah's 13th birthday, we are throwing a Mad Hatter Tea Party. Here's the invitation:
I tend to go a little crazy with birthday parties - not in terms of money, but in terms of time and details. (This was version #4 of 5 invites we created.) I've never posted the details of our parties before, but I thought it might be fun to start. As I flesh out the details of this mad party, I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Is Your Glass Half-Full or Half-Empty?
I like to think of myself as a glass-half-full kinda gal. Three of our children are clearly like this - they can shrug off anything, have fun going to the dentist, and generally wake up singin' and dancin' and clappin' and snappin'.
Then there's our fourth child. Houston, we have a problem.
Jackson will turn ten next week. He has some challenges that I fully acknowledge. One, he's short for his age - really short (his best friend is a full foot taller than he is). Two, he lives in the shadow of his older, good-at-everything sister. Three, he has two younger brothers that get more time and attention simply because of their age. As sibling number two of four, Jackson is at that horrible in-between space - not old enough to do anything first, not young enough to be coddled, self-sufficient enough to be ignored. Not that we ignore him, but he is in a tough spot.
He rarely has anything positive to say. When I ask him about his day, he relates all the slights against him, any unfair treatment, the too-hot sun or the too-cold wind, a story about the girl who whispers too loudly during a test. He completely lacks the ability to look on the bright side of things.
When I point this out to him, he says I don't understand. I tell him that I do, but that doesn't change the fact that he needs to change his reaction to things. I've tried to explain that people will do annoying (or hurtful, or stupid) things to you, but they can't make you react to them. They cannot affect your behavior. You are the only one who can allow someone to make you mad (or sad, or annoyed). You are in complete control.
Tonight we had a blowup over his attitude. Generally I ignore it, or give him a pep talk, or listen and try to be understanding, but tonight, something struck me - his attitude has crossed the line from sullen and sensitive to downright destructive.
I think he actually needs counseling, something my husband has been urging for a while. I've never thought things were that bad. Until tonight.
When something goes wrong with your child, you search for the reasons why. You blame yourself. Am I that way? Does he see me being negative and think that's the proper way to react? Am I ignoring him? Do I not listen closely enough? You second-guess every decision you've ever made. Am I not being a good parent?
I have three other examples telling me that it's not completely my fault. But I have contributed, I'm sure. The trick is to figure out exactly what I've done, what I'm doing, and to stop it. Immediately.
Then there's our fourth child. Houston, we have a problem.
Jackson will turn ten next week. He has some challenges that I fully acknowledge. One, he's short for his age - really short (his best friend is a full foot taller than he is). Two, he lives in the shadow of his older, good-at-everything sister. Three, he has two younger brothers that get more time and attention simply because of their age. As sibling number two of four, Jackson is at that horrible in-between space - not old enough to do anything first, not young enough to be coddled, self-sufficient enough to be ignored. Not that we ignore him, but he is in a tough spot.
He rarely has anything positive to say. When I ask him about his day, he relates all the slights against him, any unfair treatment, the too-hot sun or the too-cold wind, a story about the girl who whispers too loudly during a test. He completely lacks the ability to look on the bright side of things.
When I point this out to him, he says I don't understand. I tell him that I do, but that doesn't change the fact that he needs to change his reaction to things. I've tried to explain that people will do annoying (or hurtful, or stupid) things to you, but they can't make you react to them. They cannot affect your behavior. You are the only one who can allow someone to make you mad (or sad, or annoyed). You are in complete control.
Tonight we had a blowup over his attitude. Generally I ignore it, or give him a pep talk, or listen and try to be understanding, but tonight, something struck me - his attitude has crossed the line from sullen and sensitive to downright destructive.
I think he actually needs counseling, something my husband has been urging for a while. I've never thought things were that bad. Until tonight.
When something goes wrong with your child, you search for the reasons why. You blame yourself. Am I that way? Does he see me being negative and think that's the proper way to react? Am I ignoring him? Do I not listen closely enough? You second-guess every decision you've ever made. Am I not being a good parent?
I have three other examples telling me that it's not completely my fault. But I have contributed, I'm sure. The trick is to figure out exactly what I've done, what I'm doing, and to stop it. Immediately.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Death of the Family
I wish I could title this, "A Death in the Family," but that wouldn't be wholly accurate.
My grandmother, the matriarch of the family, will pass away any day now. She can no longer swallow, and has not had food or drink for days. Hospice is keeping her comfortably under with morphine, and now it is a waiting game.
My grandmother kept the family together. She insisted on bringing everyone together for holidays and Sunday dinners, and though many members of the family only politely tolerate one another, we always came together for her. We put aside our differences, held our tongues, and continued to play nice for her. When she is gone, our family will never be the same.
I do not know this for a fact. I hope that we will come together in our grief, in our shared past, and cling tightly to all the wonderful moments we've had together and will have in the future.
I live in the real world, however, and I know that this scenario is a fantasy.
Our family has all the cliche problems found in most late-night dramas. Brothers and sisters harbor resentments over parental favoritism. Sons and daughters grapple with the realities of the will and argue over my grandparents' wishes. There is money to be had, and some want more than their fair share. There are debts to be paid, some real and some imagined.
There are ostracized siblings trying earnestly to come back to the family fold. There are well-intentioned and meddlesome in-laws. There are co-dependent children who will not know how to make their own life once my grandmother is gone.
Can a family survive so many challenges?
I do not believe ours will. Lines have already been drawn, sides taken. We are about to crack in half like a tree struck by lightning.
We should be focusing on our grandmother, and we are. But that focus will quickly shift. Some of the family will shift that focus outward, to the family at large, and will try to work out differences - that is what my grandmother would want. Others will shift their focus inward, to their own self-interest, and theirs is not the side I will be on.
I wonder how many will be standing with me.
My grandmother, the matriarch of the family, will pass away any day now. She can no longer swallow, and has not had food or drink for days. Hospice is keeping her comfortably under with morphine, and now it is a waiting game.
My grandmother kept the family together. She insisted on bringing everyone together for holidays and Sunday dinners, and though many members of the family only politely tolerate one another, we always came together for her. We put aside our differences, held our tongues, and continued to play nice for her. When she is gone, our family will never be the same.
I do not know this for a fact. I hope that we will come together in our grief, in our shared past, and cling tightly to all the wonderful moments we've had together and will have in the future.
I live in the real world, however, and I know that this scenario is a fantasy.
Our family has all the cliche problems found in most late-night dramas. Brothers and sisters harbor resentments over parental favoritism. Sons and daughters grapple with the realities of the will and argue over my grandparents' wishes. There is money to be had, and some want more than their fair share. There are debts to be paid, some real and some imagined.
There are ostracized siblings trying earnestly to come back to the family fold. There are well-intentioned and meddlesome in-laws. There are co-dependent children who will not know how to make their own life once my grandmother is gone.
Can a family survive so many challenges?
I do not believe ours will. Lines have already been drawn, sides taken. We are about to crack in half like a tree struck by lightning.
We should be focusing on our grandmother, and we are. But that focus will quickly shift. Some of the family will shift that focus outward, to the family at large, and will try to work out differences - that is what my grandmother would want. Others will shift their focus inward, to their own self-interest, and theirs is not the side I will be on.
I wonder how many will be standing with me.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Discretionary Spending for Kids
Hannah wants an iPod Touch for her 13th birthday next month. They run from about $180 for the 8 GB model to $350 for 64 GB. She already has a Nano, so we said no, we won't be buying her one. The question is, if she saves enough on her own, should we let her buy an iPod Touch?
On one hand, her money is her money, and she should be able to spend it however she wishes. In theory. But money has been a big issue for her since starting junior high. She needs more of it for discretionary spending. So my husband feels she should save her money for the little things that always pop up.
What little things? For one, the school cafeteria has a lot more choices than the hot lunch line in elementary school did. We load up her school ID card with money for lunch, and she's free to buy what she wants, with the understanding that the money (about $100/month) has to last. I can log in to Hannah's account and see her purchases. She got an earful the day I discovered she'd joined the Mentos craze and bought a $1.50 pack of Mentos every day for two weeks. But that was our money, not hers, she was using.
All of her friends seem to have a lot of pocket change. Every weekend, they want to go to the movies, or the mall, and Hannah needs money for this. The problem is, she doesn't have any. She has chores but does not get an allowance. She doesn't have any way to earn money (sometimes she babysits the boys, and we'll slip her some money if it's above and beyond, but that's rare).
Sometimes she is at school late for rehearsals, and she forgets to pack extra drinks, snacks, or water bottles. Of course she needs to eat and drink, but if food and drink are provided for her for free at home, and she is the one who forgets to bring them, who should foot the bill? Us or her?
It's a tricky issue. We want Hannah to learn the value of money and to understand that there are costs and benefits to every purchase (yes, you can have the benefit of a pack of Mentos, but it will cost you the popcorn you want at the movies). If we simply hand her a twenty every time she goes out with her friends, she will not understand the costs.
We went to Costco today as a family and spent $380. This will last us about two weeks, but I'll still have to fill in with another milk and fresh produce purchase of about $100. Mike said to Hannah, "Buying you the iPod touch you want costs us two weeks of groceries. Do you think playing games and watching videos at school is worth our family not eating for two weeks?" That was a little below the belt, but she got the point.
So far, if she needs money, I'll front it for her and make her earn it back by doing extra chores (washing windows, vacuuming out the car, etc.). It's not a perfect system, and she's not really making the connection about earning fun through hard work. The work should come first. But I also hate to begrudge her time with friends. Going to OCHSA is difficult, because the students live all over Southern California. Her best friends live miles away, and it's tough to see each other outside of school. Parents are really the ones who have to make the effort.
Maybe we can make Hannah a deal: When she has saved $100 more than the cost of the iPod, she can buy one. And she has to do enough extra chores to earn at least $10/week, so that we know her extra expenditures are covered.
How do parents handle this? Hannah says most of her friends simply receive that $20 bill every time they walk out the door. Is she telling the truth?
On one hand, her money is her money, and she should be able to spend it however she wishes. In theory. But money has been a big issue for her since starting junior high. She needs more of it for discretionary spending. So my husband feels she should save her money for the little things that always pop up.
What little things? For one, the school cafeteria has a lot more choices than the hot lunch line in elementary school did. We load up her school ID card with money for lunch, and she's free to buy what she wants, with the understanding that the money (about $100/month) has to last. I can log in to Hannah's account and see her purchases. She got an earful the day I discovered she'd joined the Mentos craze and bought a $1.50 pack of Mentos every day for two weeks. But that was our money, not hers, she was using.
All of her friends seem to have a lot of pocket change. Every weekend, they want to go to the movies, or the mall, and Hannah needs money for this. The problem is, she doesn't have any. She has chores but does not get an allowance. She doesn't have any way to earn money (sometimes she babysits the boys, and we'll slip her some money if it's above and beyond, but that's rare).
Sometimes she is at school late for rehearsals, and she forgets to pack extra drinks, snacks, or water bottles. Of course she needs to eat and drink, but if food and drink are provided for her for free at home, and she is the one who forgets to bring them, who should foot the bill? Us or her?
It's a tricky issue. We want Hannah to learn the value of money and to understand that there are costs and benefits to every purchase (yes, you can have the benefit of a pack of Mentos, but it will cost you the popcorn you want at the movies). If we simply hand her a twenty every time she goes out with her friends, she will not understand the costs.
We went to Costco today as a family and spent $380. This will last us about two weeks, but I'll still have to fill in with another milk and fresh produce purchase of about $100. Mike said to Hannah, "Buying you the iPod touch you want costs us two weeks of groceries. Do you think playing games and watching videos at school is worth our family not eating for two weeks?" That was a little below the belt, but she got the point.
So far, if she needs money, I'll front it for her and make her earn it back by doing extra chores (washing windows, vacuuming out the car, etc.). It's not a perfect system, and she's not really making the connection about earning fun through hard work. The work should come first. But I also hate to begrudge her time with friends. Going to OCHSA is difficult, because the students live all over Southern California. Her best friends live miles away, and it's tough to see each other outside of school. Parents are really the ones who have to make the effort.
Maybe we can make Hannah a deal: When she has saved $100 more than the cost of the iPod, she can buy one. And she has to do enough extra chores to earn at least $10/week, so that we know her extra expenditures are covered.
How do parents handle this? Hannah says most of her friends simply receive that $20 bill every time they walk out the door. Is she telling the truth?
Memories
My husband and I are creating a video slide show of my grandmother's life. She is 92, declining rapidly, and the family would like to show the video at her funeral service.
It sounds so morbid. We are all preparing for her funeral as though she is already gone. In many ways, she is. Most days, she doesn't get out of bed. We are lucky if she remembers our name when we visit.
In stark contrast to the sadness I feel thinking about her absence from my life, I felt great joy tonight looking through the photos of her life. Thank God for cameras, because most of the images (taken during my lifetime, anyway) brought memories that I'm certain could never have been recalled without them.
In 2005, I gathered all my grandmother's famous recipes (and those of my aunts and other family members) and created a family cookbook. It turned out surprisingly well, professional-looking and usable. I made a copy for every unit of the family.
This year, I want to scan every family photo I can get my hands on and distribute DVDs so that everyone has a copy of all the photos. It's a tremndous undertaking, but one I think is worth the time and effort. I know I would like the photos, anyway.
My husband was a little dubious about the project. "It's so much work," he said. "And look at this old photo," taken in 1945 of my grandfather and his mother. "Who is going to want that, really? Who's going to use it?"
"I want it," I said. "It's my grandfather and my great-grandmother. Look at their clothes, their hairstyles. This is our history. I might never actually use the photo for anything, but I want it. I want to be able to look at it. I want the kids to be able to see it and remember."
"But will anyone else?" he asked.
"Mom will. Wouldn't you want old pictures of your father?"
He agreed. He will help me. I think, though, we'll be lucky if we can scan all the photos and tag them (I want to at least tag them according to names of people in the photos, so you can search for a particular person) by Christmas. But it's a worthy goal. And if it takes longer than that, everyone will get a photo DVD for Easter.
I love the old photos of my grandparents. My grandfather leaning on the bumper of an old Studebaker smoking a cigarette. My grandmother en pointe in a flowing ballet skirt and toe shoes (that's where she got her twisted toes from!). My mother and aunt in matching Easter dresses, bonnets askew and white gloves on their hands. My three uncles as teenagers, all lanky limbs and buzz cuts, standing stiff in Sunday suits.
It's amazing what you can gleam from a photo. Two themes run prominently through the photos of my grandmother. First, there's almost always food nearby (she struggled with her weight all of her adult life). And two, she is smiling in nearly every photo. And it's not just a fake, you're-pointing-a-camera-at-me-so-I-have-to-smile expression - she is genuinely, truly happy. I love that, that her love of her life and family shines through so clearly.
It makes me wonder. How will my family remember me in 50 years? Will my photos show me as the person I think I am? The person I want to be? The person my family thinks I am?
I don't know, and I guess I never will. When I am gone and my children and grandchildren are looking at pictures of me, I'll have no way of knowing the legacy I have left behind.
I want to tell my grandmother that I admire her in many ways and will continue to emulate her. She loves her family more than anything. She has an amazing network of friends - more than anyone I've ever known - and they took care of each other in ways I envy. She loved the holidays and made each one a special celebration. She baked tins of Christmas cookies every year, dyed Easter eggs with her grandchildren, and gave them overflowing Christmas stockings that were the highlight of their holidays. She put tremendous effort and love into every aspect of her life.
She had an undying love affair with my grandfather. I cannot count the number of times I saw him fall asleep on the couch with his head in her lap.
She had her own vocabulary. "Whoosie's coming over," she'd say when she couldn't remember someone's name. And I loved her Jersey accent, which she never completely shed even after living in California for nearly fifty years. "I'd like a root beer," she'd say, pronouncing "root" like "put." It made me laugh.
She is a stubborn lady, and she knew how to hold a grudge. But I don't think anyone in our family ever doubted her love.
I love you, Grandma. You are the perfect model for the matriarch of a family. I hope I can be just like you.
It sounds so morbid. We are all preparing for her funeral as though she is already gone. In many ways, she is. Most days, she doesn't get out of bed. We are lucky if she remembers our name when we visit.
In stark contrast to the sadness I feel thinking about her absence from my life, I felt great joy tonight looking through the photos of her life. Thank God for cameras, because most of the images (taken during my lifetime, anyway) brought memories that I'm certain could never have been recalled without them.
In 2005, I gathered all my grandmother's famous recipes (and those of my aunts and other family members) and created a family cookbook. It turned out surprisingly well, professional-looking and usable. I made a copy for every unit of the family.
This year, I want to scan every family photo I can get my hands on and distribute DVDs so that everyone has a copy of all the photos. It's a tremndous undertaking, but one I think is worth the time and effort. I know I would like the photos, anyway.
My husband was a little dubious about the project. "It's so much work," he said. "And look at this old photo," taken in 1945 of my grandfather and his mother. "Who is going to want that, really? Who's going to use it?"
"I want it," I said. "It's my grandfather and my great-grandmother. Look at their clothes, their hairstyles. This is our history. I might never actually use the photo for anything, but I want it. I want to be able to look at it. I want the kids to be able to see it and remember."
"But will anyone else?" he asked.
"Mom will. Wouldn't you want old pictures of your father?"
He agreed. He will help me. I think, though, we'll be lucky if we can scan all the photos and tag them (I want to at least tag them according to names of people in the photos, so you can search for a particular person) by Christmas. But it's a worthy goal. And if it takes longer than that, everyone will get a photo DVD for Easter.
I love the old photos of my grandparents. My grandfather leaning on the bumper of an old Studebaker smoking a cigarette. My grandmother en pointe in a flowing ballet skirt and toe shoes (that's where she got her twisted toes from!). My mother and aunt in matching Easter dresses, bonnets askew and white gloves on their hands. My three uncles as teenagers, all lanky limbs and buzz cuts, standing stiff in Sunday suits.
It's amazing what you can gleam from a photo. Two themes run prominently through the photos of my grandmother. First, there's almost always food nearby (she struggled with her weight all of her adult life). And two, she is smiling in nearly every photo. And it's not just a fake, you're-pointing-a-camera-at-me-so-I-have-to-smile expression - she is genuinely, truly happy. I love that, that her love of her life and family shines through so clearly.
It makes me wonder. How will my family remember me in 50 years? Will my photos show me as the person I think I am? The person I want to be? The person my family thinks I am?
I don't know, and I guess I never will. When I am gone and my children and grandchildren are looking at pictures of me, I'll have no way of knowing the legacy I have left behind.
I want to tell my grandmother that I admire her in many ways and will continue to emulate her. She loves her family more than anything. She has an amazing network of friends - more than anyone I've ever known - and they took care of each other in ways I envy. She loved the holidays and made each one a special celebration. She baked tins of Christmas cookies every year, dyed Easter eggs with her grandchildren, and gave them overflowing Christmas stockings that were the highlight of their holidays. She put tremendous effort and love into every aspect of her life.
She had an undying love affair with my grandfather. I cannot count the number of times I saw him fall asleep on the couch with his head in her lap.
She had her own vocabulary. "Whoosie's coming over," she'd say when she couldn't remember someone's name. And I loved her Jersey accent, which she never completely shed even after living in California for nearly fifty years. "I'd like a root beer," she'd say, pronouncing "root" like "put." It made me laugh.
She is a stubborn lady, and she knew how to hold a grudge. But I don't think anyone in our family ever doubted her love.
I love you, Grandma. You are the perfect model for the matriarch of a family. I hope I can be just like you.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Flagrant Fouls (Or Worse) in Sports
In my new WIP, one of the characters is intentionally tackled and his hand is stepped on and broken during a soccer match. The question is, what are the consequences to the bullying opponent for his actions?
My dad, a die-hard sports fan, exceptional athlete in his own right, and currently a high school tennis coach, was quick to dismiss it. "That's what happens in contact sports in the heat of the game."
"Even if he tripped the guy and broke his hand intentionally?" I asked.
"Then he should be thrown out of the game," Dad said.
I countered with, "But in real life, that would be assault. You'd be arrested for that."
"Sports are not real life," he pointed out. "It's almost impossible to prove that someone commits a flagrant foul with the intent to harm. How do you prove that? The kid will just say that he accidentally stepped on the guy's hand."
Suppose you know it's intentional, though. What then? We agreed that in that case the offender should be kicked off the team and suspended from school. Is that adequate though? Too lenient, or too harsh?
I'm all for the competitive spirit. As a soccer referee for my kids' AYSO teams, I've learned a lot of little tricks that players will use to gain an advantage (palming the ball on the side of their body facing away from the ref - no hands allowed in soccer, remember - or kind of a chicken-wing jab with the elbow to your opponent's chest when no one's looking). I kind of like that stuff. Not that I condone cheating, but I like to see ingenuity on the fly - and I've seen a lot of nifty things on the soccer field that were technically "illegal" but made me whistle under my breath: "Damn, that was tricky!"
Tricky I like, even when I have to call a kid on it. Vicious and cruel are another matter.
In sports, it can be a fine line. But I think we have to catch the kids when they're young, and not let them get away with the little things that will make them think they can get away with the bigger things later on. And kids need to be taught that the rules of basic human decency don't fly out the window the minute you step foot on the field or the court. Rules are rules. Nice is nice. Fair is fair. No matter where you are.
My dad, a die-hard sports fan, exceptional athlete in his own right, and currently a high school tennis coach, was quick to dismiss it. "That's what happens in contact sports in the heat of the game."
"Even if he tripped the guy and broke his hand intentionally?" I asked.
"Then he should be thrown out of the game," Dad said.
I countered with, "But in real life, that would be assault. You'd be arrested for that."
"Sports are not real life," he pointed out. "It's almost impossible to prove that someone commits a flagrant foul with the intent to harm. How do you prove that? The kid will just say that he accidentally stepped on the guy's hand."
Suppose you know it's intentional, though. What then? We agreed that in that case the offender should be kicked off the team and suspended from school. Is that adequate though? Too lenient, or too harsh?
I'm all for the competitive spirit. As a soccer referee for my kids' AYSO teams, I've learned a lot of little tricks that players will use to gain an advantage (palming the ball on the side of their body facing away from the ref - no hands allowed in soccer, remember - or kind of a chicken-wing jab with the elbow to your opponent's chest when no one's looking). I kind of like that stuff. Not that I condone cheating, but I like to see ingenuity on the fly - and I've seen a lot of nifty things on the soccer field that were technically "illegal" but made me whistle under my breath: "Damn, that was tricky!"
Tricky I like, even when I have to call a kid on it. Vicious and cruel are another matter.
In sports, it can be a fine line. But I think we have to catch the kids when they're young, and not let them get away with the little things that will make them think they can get away with the bigger things later on. And kids need to be taught that the rules of basic human decency don't fly out the window the minute you step foot on the field or the court. Rules are rules. Nice is nice. Fair is fair. No matter where you are.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Mother's Day
I've been so caught up in revisions and queries for The Surge that I haven't written in a while. But tonight I'm taking the time.
A little boy in our neighborhood passed away this weekend from leukemia. It was a four-year battle, and Dylan Abbey was sick for half his life.
My heart goes out to his family.
When Dylan was first diagnosed, we lived across the street from them. Dylan was such a sweet, shy kid. I remember one Halloween, we had a giant rubber rat on our porch. When Dylan and his twin brother Logan approached, Logan (bigger and stronger and more outgoing) wouldn't go anywhere near the rat. But Dylan marched right up to pet it. He had an inner strength, courage, even at four years old.
I cannot imagine what the family has gone through, what they will continue to struggle through. They have been in my prayers for the last four years, and now they will be in my prayers always and always.
To Debbie, Troy, Logan, and the entire Abbey family, all our sympathies.
A little boy in our neighborhood passed away this weekend from leukemia. It was a four-year battle, and Dylan Abbey was sick for half his life.
My heart goes out to his family.
When Dylan was first diagnosed, we lived across the street from them. Dylan was such a sweet, shy kid. I remember one Halloween, we had a giant rubber rat on our porch. When Dylan and his twin brother Logan approached, Logan (bigger and stronger and more outgoing) wouldn't go anywhere near the rat. But Dylan marched right up to pet it. He had an inner strength, courage, even at four years old.
I cannot imagine what the family has gone through, what they will continue to struggle through. They have been in my prayers for the last four years, and now they will be in my prayers always and always.
To Debbie, Troy, Logan, and the entire Abbey family, all our sympathies.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)