Loving Mom Or Litterbug?

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Can we talk about those octuplets? Everyone else is. I know this topic doesn't have anything to do with teens, but it will in 13 years! I'm just a little ahead of my time.

In case you haven't heard, a 35-year-old woman in Whittier, California (that's in Southern California, BTW), just gave birth to EIGHT children! Amazingly, they are all thriving, though still pretty small. I think the smallest one weighs about a pound. The first day the news came out, it was celebratory and joyous: "WOMAN GIVES BIRTH TO OCTUPLETS AND THEY'RE ALL HEALTHY!" Then, as the media put this woman under their overnight microscope, they dug up some disparaging facts about her: She's a single mom, no father around, unemployed, on welfare, can't pay her medical bills, lives with her parents, and get this . . . she already has SIX children (two sets of twins included)!

So now this woman, a media darling just a few days ago, is being crucified in public, and everyone has an opinion (including me). A good majority think that this woman has no right to give birth to all those children because she can't even afford to take care of the six she already has. Some are faulting the hospital that assisted her in the fertility treatments. Others think she turned herself into a baby machine to scam and milk the government for public assistance.

And then there's the taxpayer argument. All those good, tax-paying citizens are enraged that they now have to foot the bill for raising these octuplets. Come on! Lame argument. Yes, we pay taxes, but do we REALLY know where our tax dollars are going besides to help bail out billionaire crooks? The government can't even keep track of the $2.7 trillion in taxes it collects every year. Our tax dollars pay for a lot of things: educating our young, repairing potholes, warmongoring and the like. So what if we're buying a few diapers and some formula, too? Spread the wealth, as our new president says!

But the scariest debate I have been following is the one about how there should be some government measures in place to limit the number of children women have based on their economic status. In other words, if you're poor and can't afford to mother even one child, you shouldn't be allowed to have 14.

For the record, I think this woman is NUTS! As a single mother of two children who keep me sprinting all day long, I can't understand why another single mother of SIX children would want to take on EIGHT more! That's just crazy math.

But the point is . . . it's her life. It's her choice. If she wants to have another litter after this one, we have no right to tell her that she can't. That's what's so great about this FREE country that we live in.

And whoever doesn't like our limitless options, can pack their bags and move to China, where, I understand, the government has been known to take a very active role in matters of childbirth.

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Finish Strong!

Parents are so wise, aren't we? No matter how clueless and dense we might have been BC (before children), we bring kids into the world and suddenly we're Socrates -- so full of wisdom and clever quips, and spewing forth important life lessons. We are teachers, they are grasshoppers.

My own father didn't teach me much that I can remember. But when I was a teenager and starting to date, he did impart some knowledge that has stuck with me all my life: "Lynn, keep your pants up and come home in a group."

While I'd like to pass along grandpa's words of widsom to his granddaughters, well, I just dont think my girls are ready for it. Besides, I'd like to think that my daughters are learning valuable lessons from me. But I can't be sure.

When a teaching moment presents itself, though, I jump on it. Last week, while my teenager was studying for finals, I kept saying to her, "Finish strong! Finish strong!" I told her that no matter how hard she struggled in the beginning of the semester, it mattered most how well she finished. Not sure if it sunk in. We'll see when the finals grades start coming in this week.

Then tonight, my sister sent me a link to this video that had the same message I had been drilling into my teen for weeks. Only this message is delivered in a much more powerful way, by a truly inspirational man. My teen and I watched it together, with tears in our eyes. I think she finally gets it.

Nagging Pays Off

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If your teen tells you to stop nagging, stop harping, back off and get out of her face . . . DON'T! Especially when it comes to homework. Because when finals time rolls around, all that clucking will finally pay off.

Last week, my teen made me proud. She took six finals in three days, and she is confident that she aced them all. While I would like to take some credit for her success, being the Homework Police and all, she really deserves all the praise. She approached her finals with a carefully laid-out plan, putting extra time into classes where she was teetering between grades. I was impressed!

I did my part by quizzing her on her memorization and delivering cups of hot chamomile tea to her.

And, of course, I turned off her phone.

We'll find out for sure next week how well she fared. But even if she doesn't get A's, I saw the A+ effort, and isn't that really what we're trying to teach our children, anyway?

"Give life your best shot. That's all you can do."

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License To Worry

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Probably the single greatest worry for parents of teenagers, ahead of dating, drugs and pregnancy, is when their adolescent children start driving. It is one rite of passage we parents celebrate reluctantly. And can you blame us? Our insurance rates go up, car keys mysteriously disappear, the gas tank always registers empty, but tantamount to all that, we worry that we’ll lose our precious son or daughter, an inexperienced driver, in a fatal car crash.

We hear a siren in the distance, we wait for a phone call, we breathe a sigh of relief. They turn 16 and we turn neurotic.

Our paranoia over teenaged drivers is not unfounded. According to the California Highway Patrol, teenagers in our state are 42 times more likely to be killed on our highways than adults. And here’s another zinger from the CHP: Teens driving with a peer in the first year of their license are 70% more likely to be involved in a fatal or injury accident, especially at night.

Makes you rethink that whole giant-red-bow-on-the-brand-new-Hyundai thing, doesn’t it?

Technically, I shouldn’t have to worry about this nightmare for another year. My oldest is 15. But her 17-year-old stepsister and 16-year-old stepbrother both have their licenses. The ex and stepmother celebrated in giant-red-bow style and bought the stepsister a Mini Cooper. And I mean “mini.” I’ve seen dogs bigger than that car! Now, thanks to a divorce and the ex’s remarriage, the greatest fear I have -- my children driving --- has been accelerated a few years.

I picture these three free-spirited blondes driving to the mall, the radio tuned into THEIR channel, blaring THEIR music in loud protest to all those years they had to listen to MY music, as they haphazardly negotiate the twisting, curving roads of Palos Verdes in that microscopic Mini Cooper. Giddy, clueless girls, a teenaged driver, winding roads, rocky cliffs, the ocean below . . . in my overactive mind, it’s a recipe for disaster. And I can’t do a darn thing about it. I am the ex-wife, the persona non grata. I have no authority, no voice in Stepland. I have to have faith that my daughters’ angels will be working overtime.

But alas, there is some hope. In 1998, California enacted one of the toughest graduated licensing laws in the country, and in 2006,they got even tougher. The minimum age for getting a permit was raised from 15 to 15 ½, and learners must get at least 50 hours of supervised practice. Once licensed, 16-year-olds can’t drive unsupervised at night after 11:00; and they can’t carry passengers under age 20, unsupervised, for an entire year.

And guess what? These new laws are keeping our children alive. Studies reveal a 23% overall reduction in per-capita crashes involving 16-year-old drivers and a 38% decrease in crash rates with teen passengers.

I'll admit that gives me SOME peace of mind. But not much.

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Freak . . . Out!

If you have a teenager, surely you’ve heard of Freak Dancing. I first heard of it when my now-teen was in 8th grade, but I did a little research and found out that kids have been dancing like this at school dances for about 10 years.

So, what is it? It is a VERY sexually suggestive kind of dancing where partners will grind each other and simulate sex on the dance floor. As one parent described it, “If the teens didn’t have their clothes on, you’d swear they were having sex.”

My teen claims it’s very innocent, that it’s “just the way we dance.” To watch teens “freaking,” it doesn’t look so innocent. In fact, watching it borders on voyeurism. What I am so appalled by is that boys my teen has never even met before will walk up behind her, grab her torso and start grinding her from behind . . . and that’s acceptable??!

Parents and teachers all across the country have expressed outrage and have tried, unsuccessfully, to ban Freak Dancing from school dances. I just had a dean of students at my daughter’s school tell me that they made the entire student body watch a spoof on Freak Dancing to hammer home the message that it was forbidden at dances.

Yeah, I’m sure that was real effective. It probably did nothing more than teach those teens a few more sexually-charged dance moves that they couldn’t wait to try out at the next dance.

I try to do my part and explain to my teen that life isn’t one big music video; real people in the real world don’t go around rapping and acting like gangsters; and strange men don’t come up behind me in line at the grocery store and start grinding me. (Though it could be one more reason to spend more time at the grocery store, huh, moms?)

As cool as it looks on YouTube and MTV, “freaking” with a total stranger isn’t really the best way to start a conversation with someone, in my opinion. But what do I know? I’m just an out-of-touch parent from another planet and a bygone era.

The era, I should remember, when Rock ‘N’ Roll was considered scandalous, too.

Maria's Teens Make The News!

Image by Bekah Stargazing via Flickr Teenagers gravitate in their own little world most of the time, focused on themselves and only those friends in their immediate orbit. Their priorities usually have something to do with (in my alien's case) boys, music, shopping and making plans for the weekend as early as Monday.

So it's pretty amazing that Maria's teenagers have widened the lens on their world view and, like their socially conscious mother who runs marathons for various charities, they started a nonprofit group that collects shoes and sends them to children in South Africa.

Read their incredible story right here: http://www.sun-sentinel.com/community/news/pompano_beach/sfl-flshoe0111cwjan11,0,6992000.story

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Vexing And Perplexing Texting

Image via Wikipedia I should be posting this blog on "A Mad Mom" (amadmom.blogspot.com), the place where I rage about the crazy world of parenting, because I'm really, REALLY mad at the phone companies for inventing text-messaging! I believe that technological advance, alone, has turned our teenagers into uncommunicative, thumb-struck message junkies! I can barely have a conversation anymore with my teen without being interrupted by the "beep-beep-beep" of an incoming text message. Of course, she has to respond right away.

Last night, we were playing tennis in our living room (don't you just love Wii?). She had the Wii remote in one hand and was texting with the other. I was livid that she wasn't "in the moment" with me. And what really ticked me off is that she still beat me!

Between online social networking and these damn text messages, our teens are carrying on entire relationships with their friends without ever using their voices. I asked my teen why she doesn't just pick up the phone and call her friends? You know, the old-fashioned way of communicating. She said that she gets uncomfortable with "awkward silences." What about when she's texting from the bathroom, isn't that a little awkward, too?

The real tragedy of texting is that teens aren't really getting to know each other very well; there isn't a mutual exchange of personalities. I mean, anyone can send a smiley-faced emoticon. But a hearty, soulful laugh heard during a real-time, late-night phone call or while sharing a pizza is your unique vocal signature and something that can never be replaced by a peppering of "LOLs."

I bumped the alien's text messaging limit to 500 a month. We had an agreement: If she went over that amount, which she promised she wouldn't, her phone would get turned off until the next billing cycle. Her texting activity really stepped up this week, I noticed, so I checked in with Verizon today and was shocked to discover that just halfway into the billing cycle, she had already exceeded her text messages by 300! In terms parents can relate to, that's about an extra $70 on the next phone bill.

True to my word, I turned off her phone, and when I pick her up from school today, I'm driving her straight to the ATM where she is going to withdraw $70 and hand it over to dear old mom. Of course she'll be upset. And she'll probably want to bitch about it to her friends. But she's going to have to pick up a phone and use her voice to do it.

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"Italian boys are HOT!"

Image via Wikipedia Well, my daughters' plane landed safely, and the girls are back under my protective wing. (Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, God and St. Christopher and all the angels and saints!) Yes, I worry when they're not with me. It's my job, and I do it well. Where most normal people check an airplane's arrival and departure times, I turn on CNN, if that tells you anything.

I hadn't seen them in 11 whole days while they were in France with their father -- that's, like, almost half a month! So when they walked through my front door again, I gave them both the biggest, fattest, tightest hug. The first words out of my tween's mouth were, "Hi, Mom! I missed you SO much!" She really gets it.

My teen, the alien, looked at me with this naughty sparkle in her eye and the first thing she said to me was, "Italian boys are HOT!"

Gee, I missed you, too, Honey.

Too Young To Die

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We're baaacckk! After taking a nice holiday break, Maria and I are back in the blogging business. We hope everyone had a happy and restful holiday with family and friends. Time to get this year started. Strap yourselves in, folks! We're in for a bumpy ride.

Not that I want to start this year out on a sad note, but I have to say how deeply sorry I am for John Travolta and Kelly Preston on the death of their teenaged son, Jett. Only 16 years old! That's just one year older than my teenager. I can't even imagine . . .

As moms, we worry about our children dying from the moment they are born. It seems every age brings with it a new neurosis about the dangers our children face: Newborns dying from SIDS, infants choking, toddlers drowning, schoolchildren getting hit by cars. But as our kids get older, we start to feel a little more secure, I think. Especially when they're tweens and teens, you don't worry so much about them dying. You figure that they made it this far, they're pretty much home-free, right? That's why teenager deaths are so difficult to accept. These kids are almost adults, so young and full of life. They seem immortal at 16 and 17, and perhaps that explains some reckless behavior on their part.

I'm not sure this blog has much of a point at all, except to say that all children are too young to die, whether they're one hour old or 16 years old. My heart goes out to the Travolta family, and anyone else who has lost a child. I hope I never, ever, have to feel your pain.

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