Cut Michelle Obama Some Slack!

There has recently been a lot of talk about the First Lady's trip to Spain, and how much she spent on the trip.

I know I'll get some flack for my viewpoint, but I commend Michelle Obama for taking a mother-daughter trip abroad with Sasha. Michelle Obama does not apologize for putting her family first, nor should she. Yes, the trip to Spain came with a hefty price tag, but unfortunately, the Obamas no longer have the luxury of traveling without an entourage, including a security detail, and if I were in Michelle Obama's shoes, protecting my children would be at the top of my list, no matter what the cost.

Could they have gone somewhere domestically? Sure. But that is not what they chose to do. As a mom, I'd love to expose my children to as much of the world as I can. Sure, they can learn about Spain or Greece or Korea by reading books, watching videos, and even taking a trip to a local Spanish, Greek, or Korean restaurant. But the journey, the experience of leaving what is familiar and immersing yourself in another culture is an education that no textbook can teach.

Let's be honest. If you had the opportunity to travel to Spain this summer with your children, stay in a five-star hotel, and have lunch with the king and queen, would you pass it up? I know I wouldn't!

Parenting is hard. There are many days when I, your average citizen, second-guess myself about decisions I've made or a comment I've made. I sometime worry needlessly about my children's safety when they leave the house to catch the bus for school, or carpool to a party. I cannot imagine parenting with the world looking on. All I say, "Keep up the good work, Michelle Obama!"

When Mom's Not Perfect . . .

Tonight, while watching Violet's gymnastics practice I made a mistake. I pulled out my camera and forgot to turn off the flash. Pop! The flash illuminated the gym, causing several gymnasts to turn around. I apologized as Violet glared at me and ran her pointer finger across her neck from left to right. Of course, this wasn't the last of it. Violet continued to frown and roll her eyes at me whenever she looked my way. I finally got up and left the gym.

However, at pick-up time, the first thing she mentioned was the mistake I made. OK, yes, I admitted my mistake and had already apologized. How much longer was I going to be chastised for my error?

So, I decided that if I have to be perfect, Violet should be held to the same level of accountability. There is a skill on bars called a squat-on that Violet mastered earlier this summer, but lost. She fell once on the skill during practice, and now does not attack the skill, but is holding back and falling out of it. I told Violet that since I have to be perfect, I expect nothing less on bars now. I am insisting that she re-gain this skill at Thursday's practice, or she can move back down a level.

Is this fair? I think so. If I have to be the perfect mom, she has to be the perfect gymnast. Of course, I know there is no such animal as a perfect person. . . hopefully, Violet will realize it soon, too.

UPDATE: At the next practice, Violet got her squat-on back! I knew she would. She has the skill, she was allowing fear to get in her way, which caused her to "bail out" instead of going for it. She is happily remaining a level 5!

Divide and Conquer

If two's company and three's a crowd, nowhere is this truer than with my children.  When two of them are together (it doesn't matter which two), there's very little arguing and fighting.  But add the third child and all hell breaks lose.

It is always two against one--whether it is boys against the girl, the youngest two against the oldest, the oldest two against the youngest--someone is left out, picked on, ignored, or tormented.  And it escalates in the summer when everyone is home, and when we are in close quarters on vacation in a hotel room or suite.  It turns what is supposed to be a relaxing vacation into a stressful experience.

So this summer, for the first time ever, the five of us are not vacationing together.

This week, Violet, Jack-Jack and I are in Orlando, FL.  Violet is a Harry Potter fan, so we are here at Universal Studios to check out the new Wizarding World of Harry Potter, and to drink some butter beer!  My husband and Dash are spending the week in the Poconos in PA where they've been go-karting and fishing, and plan to spend a day at the Eagles traning camp at Lehigh U.

Below: Violet and Jack-Jack entering Honeydukes in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter for bagsful of candy, wizard-style!

While this divide-and-conquer approach to vacationing is proving to be a great success, I hope that it won't become the norm.  Maybe I can use the wand I picked up to cast a spell and turn my kids into perfect little Stepford children!

Too Cool for Radio Disney

Until a few months ago, my children were content listening to Radio Disney because it wasn't "babyish" as were the Raffi, Two of a Kind, and Classical Kids CDs I'd pop into our minivan's CD player.  However, recently they've decided that Radio Disney is just not cool anymore.  Or, rather, they are too cool for Radio Disney.  The station of choice is now Philadelphia's Q102.

This past week, I relented and allowed them to turn on this station while on our way to the pool.  I was dismayed as they sang along to Eminem and Rihanna's hit "Love the Way You Lie."

Here are just some of the lyrics:
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn/But that's all right because I like the way it hurts

And right now there's a steel knife in my windpipe/I can't breathe but I still fight . . . It's like I'm in flight/High of a love/Drunk from the hate

It's like I'm huffing paint/And I love it the more that I suffer I suffocate/And right before I'm about to drown she resuscitates me/She f*ing hates me/And I love it

What?!?!  Are you kidding me!  Huffing, f*ing, loving someone who is hurting you?  There's NO WAY I want my kids listening to this.  But, they are listening to it.  They knew the song when it came one.  Somewhere, somehow, they are listening to this garbage.  And I know that I cannot police their every move.  I am not with them when they are at school, at their extra-curricular activities, at sleep-overs with friends.  But shouldn't they have the sense to know that this music is trash?  That it's not appropriate for pre-teens?  Yeah, right . . . I know. . . it's the forbidden fruit.

I've been reading thought Dr. Michael Bradley's book Yes, Your Teen is Crazy.  So, when I got home I flipped to the index to see if he offered any advice for parents dealing with the horrible music their adolescents are listening to.  I found a few pages on this topic.  I can't say that I agree with everything he says, but I did grudgingly have to admit that Dr. Bradley is correct when he says that adults are the ones producing and marketing this junk to our kids in order to turn a profit.  Adults are taking advantage of our teenagers' young minds.  With that in mind, I read the rest of the section on music with an open mind.  Here's an excerpt:

Is much of the music of today's adolescents outrageous, disgusting, evil, racist, chauvinistic, violent, and poorly harmonized?  Without a doubt.  Does it cause kids to become outrageous, disgusting, evil, racist, chauvinistic, violent, . . . and poorly harmonized?  No, it doesn't.

Okay, he's the expert and I guess I should feel relieved to read those sentences, but I don't know if I fully agree that music doesn't have an impact on adolescents.  Heck,  how many of us feel uplifted when we hear certain songs, or moved to tears when we hear others?  (Did I really just write "heck"?  I hope my kids don't read this because any "coolness" points I've earned from them will go right out the window!) Anyway, that's just my opinion.

But some of Dr. Bradley's suggestions  I am going to try to employ.  For instance, he suggests that parents bargain with their teens and tell them that they can listen to the music as long as the parent and child listen to it together and talk about it.   Dr. Bradley also suggests that parents try not to forbid music and not to fight with their teens about it, but to save the big fights for really huge issues that will come down the pike (sex, drugs, alcohol).  Hmmm . . . we'll see how well this goes when I begin a discussion about someone being burned and liking it!  I'll keep you posted.

Until then, I'll throw the Raffi CD into my personal CD player, pop earphones into my ears, and wish for the times when life with the kids was simpler.

Am I Crazy, or Are They?

I consider myself to be a pretty laid-back person--a go-with-the-flow, non-argumentative, don't-worry-be-happy person. However, until recently, I had never encountered the type of people I am dealing with now on a daily basis . . . pre-teens!

My oldest two children (especially my 12-year-old) challenges me daily. Nothing is ever his fault and he constantly tortures his younger siblings. I, of course know nothing about anything, according to him, and get this. . . he yells that I over-react!

Me--calm Mom--over-reacting. I feel as if I am losing control. I feel as if I am going crazy. Where is SuperNanny when I need her?

Two years ago while my children were all still cute and thought that I was the best mom in the world, their school invited Dr. Michael Bradley to come speak to parents. Dr. Bradley is an expert in adolescent behavior. After the event he signed copies of his book, Yes, Your Teen is Crazy! Loving Your Kid Without Losing Your Mind. The book has been collecting dust on my bookshelf for the past two years. This past week I plucked it off of the shelf and began reading it.

The following story in the beginning of the book has given me a little clarity and hope, and is helping me restore what little sanity I have left:

Michael's mom sat in my office sobbing, repeatedly attempting to reason with her raging and verbally vicious adolescent son. After watching his endless bullying and her tormented begging for too long, I sent him out of the room, turned to her and said, "Why are you talking to him like he makes sense?" "What do you mean?" she sobbed. I gave her the same shrugging "Duh" gesture her son had just used a dozen times and I almost yelled, "He's nuts! You can't talk to crazy people like they make sense."

Her eyes and mouth flew open, astonished at my insensitivity. Slowly her wrenching sobs transformed into chuckling, softly at first, then building to a crescendo of raucous laughter that rang off the walls. "Oh God," she howled, "How I needed to laugh like that! It feels wonderful. You're right. Michael is nuts. And I'm nuts to sit here and talk with him like that."

Every time I read that, it reminds me that maybe I'm not as crazy as I think I am. Maybe they are!
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