Facebook: Friend or Frenemy?

I'm the first to admit it. These are tough times to be raising a tween. But, I'm always surprised when my fellow moms behave like ostriches.

Let me give you an example ...

We are very lucky that my daughter's middle school sponsors an informative "Family Center" series with invited speakers on such topics as "Balancing Homework and Sports," "Raising a Resilient Child," or the always popular "Don't Panic, It's Just Puberty."

Recently, we had guest speakers from the county district attorney's office and a university research center for teen aggression. They came to talk to us about "Online Safety." Clearly, the topic was timely; the room was fairly packed with worried and white-knuckled parents. I don't mean to sound flippant. The issues are real, of course. There are criminals, pedophiles and sex offenders who prey on young people online. Far more common are instances of cyber bullying by peers, and we've all seen the headlines about some truly tragic consequences. A lot of these incidents begin on popular social networking sites, like Facebook.

None of this surprised me. What did surprise me was how many parents thought they could keep their kids safe by ignoring the whole thing.

"My daughter's not on Facebook!" one mother announced.

"Facebook is the devil," asserted another.

"We. Simply. Don't. Allow. It."

The guest speaker asked, "How many of your children have Facebook pages." Just about a quarter of the attendees raised their hands, a bit sheepishly I might add. The speaker shook his head. "I can pretty much guarantee that the real number is at least double that, probably triple." It turns out that millions, literally millions, of tweens post pages on Facebook without their parents' permission or knowledge. Virtually all middle school kids have played around on Facebook at a friend's house if it's not allowed in their own. Needless to say, my fellow parental units were none too happy to hear this.

As my daughter might say ... "Clue phone, it's for you!" Really, were these other parents living under a rock? Do they honestly think they can police their child's every move? Even if you have the strictest rules, state-of-the-art PC parental controls, or don't even own a computer ... chances are, your little darling has been exposed to the wonderful world of Facebook at someone else's house, at the library or even on a phone. Because, let's not kid ourselves. Those smart phones aren't just for calling and texting; they're fully-functioning palm-sized computers with access to the Internet and parents' enemy number one: Facebook.

But, I'd rather not look at Facebook as the big bad. In today's world, it's simply out there. Like traffic or unwashed fruit. As modern parents, I think we can teach our kids how to negotiate it safely. In fact, I'd rather be involved in giving my tween daughter some Internet savvy than pretend she doesn't need it. And, Facebook is a fairly easy place to start.

Despite much lobbying on her part, I waited to let my daughter join Facebook until she turned thirteen. This, by the way, is the minimum age allowed by the site itself. But, we all know how easy it is to fudge your age. After all ... "On the Internet, no one knows you're a tween." I waited, not because I was terribly worried about what would happen to her on the dreaded social network, but because I think that as a parent I should instill a respect for rules. I also believe that it doesn't serve anyone for me to just give in every time she discovers a new toy, new technology or new media channel. I'd like to think I'm teaching my daughter patience. I know I'm pacing things for my own sanity.

So she enthusiastically joined Facebook on her thirteenth birthday. I offered to help her set it up. Who was I kidding? Within minutes, she was not only up and running, she had dozens of "friends." Clearly, she had been practicing elsewhere.

Of course, I set up some ground rules:

1. She had to "friend" me. Not just me, but my entire network of loving spies: my mother, my sister, my business partners, my roommate from college.

2. She had to provide me with her user name and password. She is fully aware that I may check up on her at any time. This was unequivocally the cost of entry.

3. She had to promise never to post anything off color about herself or cruel about anyone else. I reminded her then (and still do fairly frequently) that nothing you post is private. And, everything you post is permanent. Just ask one of those idiot adults who lost a job, political office or grad school scholarship because of something they posted one intoxicated evening.

4. And, finally, she had to use full sentences, proper spelling, grammar and punctuation.

All right, I confess that this last rule was fairly unrealistic — actually utterly hopeless — from the beginning. But a middle-aged English major can try, can't she? Oh well ...

Spelling (or lack thereof) aside, we have had very few issues, I am happy to report. There have been a handful of occasions when my daughter has "Liked" an inappropriate page. And, I have been soundly reprimanded for calling her "munch" (short for "munchkin," I'm embarrassed to tell you) in a post on her wall. Otherwise, Facebook has given us (and our extended family and friends) a chance to catalog vacations and horse shows, share photos and anecdotes, enjoy memories and birthday wishes. I feel I know my daughter's friends a bit better thanks to their posts.

And, I will happily embrace any medium that keeps me connected to what's going on in her life as it begins to separate itself from mine.

Facebook is no more inherently evil than a telephone or a note passed in class. It's how you and your tween use it that matters. For this particular mom, making "friends" with Facebook has made a lot of sense.

Instant Gratification

A couple of years ago, I read an interesting article about little kids and their ability to postpone gratification. It was in the New Yorker, which means that it was well-researched and extremely well-written. The point of the story was that one of the most accurate predictors of future success is a child's ability to wait for what he or she wants.

In the study referenced in the article, children were given a treat — a marshmallow, I think. They were told that they could go ahead and eat it, or if they waited they would get two marshmallows. Then they were left alone ... alone with the marshmallow. You can probably guess how most of the stories ended.

I guess one marshmallow in the hand is worth two in the bush.

After reading this, I couldn't help but wonder how my daughter would fare in such a test. She's bright and determined, and she would certainly see the benefit of waiting. But then again, she has an insatiable sweet tooth. (Um, that would be one of the traits I wish she hadn't picked up from moi.) And, like all of her friends, she is the product of an age that seems to place a lot more emphasis on instant gratification than self-discipline.

Self-discipline is tough. It's tough for people my age let alone for tweens. I'm sure this was true thirty years ago, but it seems especially true today. And, its no wonder. With smart phones and PCs, kids have instant access to information, media, entertainment, shopping and each other. Working on a research paper? No need to bike over to the library; the biggest library in the world is right on their desktop. Want a new outfit? They can find exactly what they're looking for and buy it (with their mother's credit card, mind you) in less time than it would take to find a parking spot at the local mall. Feel like going to a movie? No need. Between DVDs, DVRs, and "Instant Queue" Netflix, today's young audience members can pretty much see what they want, when they want, and as many times as they want.

When did we all become so impatient?

Growing up in the 60s and 70s (ouch, that hurts), I had considerably less control over my entertainment. Each Christmas special was only on one night in December. If you happened to have Nutcracker tickets when Rudolf was showing, you were out of luck that year. Similarly,The Wizard of Oz was shown on TV annually and it was a very big deal; the entire family sat down to see it together. On a more regular basis, if you were devoted to a favorite show (The Partridge Family in fourth grade and Happy Days in seventh come to mind), you scheduled other activity around it. When my father brought home our first VCR, we were thrilled. It was a Betamax and weighed about 40 pounds.

Being patient wasn't limited to entertainment either. Long distance calls were expensive, so you only talked to your out of town family on major holidays. When we went away each summer, we waited — albeit a bit over eagerly — for my dad's weekly call from New York City. We lined up in my grandmother's dining room and took turns filling him in on the week's adventures. This process didn't change much when I went away to college; I phoned my parents about once a week and we kept the calls brief. The rest of the time, we wrote letters (gasp!). Or at least they did. I sort of stopped when I found my first serious boyfriend right before sophomore year. But, that's another story.

These days, local, toll and long distance calls are all pretty much the same. I have friends and relatives with kids away at college who talk, text and Skype multiple times a day. On the one hand, it probably makes the empty nest feel a little less empty. On the other hand, it isn't giving anyone a chance to learn about independence, or to synthesize or edit information before they share it. "How can I miss you when you won't go away?"

It's easy for me to shake my head and say "Tsk, tsk." The truth is, when my daughter leaves for college in just a few short years, I'm quite certain that I will be glued to my phone, eagerly waiting every call or text she sends my way.

Still, it makes me wonder. What will become of us when all these impatient little people are big people? By the time my daughter is a young adult, will the world have changed so much that instant gratification is valued above the rewards of diligent study or thoughtful strategy? Will the future belong to those who can not only see it coming ... but can access it digitally in under .05 seconds?

We'll just have to wait and see.

Swimsuit Shopping or Nightmare in the Dressing Room

The days are getting longer. The weather's getting warmer. Soon, the beaches in our town will fill with families having fun and they'll open up our pool. This can only mean one thing ...

'Time to shop for a bathing suit!

If I knew how to embed sound into my blog, this is where I would insert the eery tinkling soundtrack from Halloween. Or maybe John Williams' famous theme song from Jaws. That might be more appropriate.

Ladies, truly, is there anything more frightening than trying on bathing suits? Oh, the horror! The horror!

Recently, my tween daughter asked if I would take her to buy a new swimsuit. Did she need one? Absolutely not. Did I say, "Yes?" Absolutely! The way I look at it, she only has a few years to enjoy choosing, trying on and buying a bathing suit. After that? Well, I've already explained how I — and every other grown woman I know — feel about it.

Up until now, it was easy to buy swimsuits for my daughter. She had 1-pieces and 2-pieces, racer backs, halter tops, flirty little suits with skirts. The fit wasn't a big concern; whatever I chose simply had to be small enough to stay on and big enough that she wouldn't get a wedgie. I didn't have to worry about how a suit would slide over her curves because, quite frankly, she didn't have any yet.

Contrast this with how I feel every time I realize that I need a new swimsuit. The dread in my gut as I head to the store. The garish dressing room lighting in which my winter skin becomes ghostly white, and every dimple on my cheeks (I'm not talking about the cheeks on my face, friends) becomes a crater the size of the grand canyon. And, let's not forget the ridiculous prices. Seriously, it's not unusual for a suit to cost $125 or more these days. For a piece of spandex in which you feel downright unattractive?

'Talk about adding insult to injury!

I remember the last time I felt slim and confident in a bathing suit. It was right after an 8-month battle with a severe bacterial infection in my GI track, one of those nasty "super bugs" you can pick up in the hospital. I lost 35 pounds and felt like death warmed over. But, man oh man, I looked good in my tankini.

More recently, I found a 1-piece with a flattering surplice top, the kind that crosses over and maximizes what you want it to maximize (and minimizes what you want it to minimize). It had a silly name that some copywriter had come up with: "Slimtastic" or "Slimplification" or "Slimply You." It's not that I felt particularly good in said suit. But, I didn't feel nearly as bad as I expected to. So, I bought it ... I bought it in every color.

Back to my darling daughter. Off we went to the mall to look for swimsuits. She wanted a "real bikini," the kind that looks like three little triangles held together with strings. Browsing through freshly stocked swimwear departments was a pleasure I have long forgotten if indeed I've ever known it. Virtually everything we picked up looked fantastic on her. If something was a bit too tight, she asked what I thought and I told her. We either moved on to another suit or went to find a larger size. No self-recrimination, no desperate vows to diet, no fleeting thoughts of liposuction, no drama.

We ended up with two cute bikinis, one from Kohls and one from Pac-Sun. They had just the right amount of fabric and showed just the right amount of skin. They were sexy but not sleazy. One of them had a reversible top, so we agreed that it was a good deal because we were really getting two suits for the price of one. My daughter looked, and more importantly felt, great in them.

Clearly, when it comes to swimwear departments the current retail system is set up to satisfy thirteen-year olds with their trimmer bodies and not-yet-damaged egos. Here's my suggestion if stores would like their 40-something customers to feel as good (and, consequently, buy as many new suits) ...

Schedule after-hours "girls night out" events. Play soft, relaxing music. Cover the full-length mirrors with flattering, gauzy fabric. Offer a complimentary spray-on tan and dim the lights in the dressing room. And last but not least, ply the customers with extra-strong umbrella drinks.

Yep. The extra-strong umbrella drinks would definitely be the key.

Only the Lonely

One day, when my daughter was about four years old, it suddenly occurred to her that she didn't have a brother or a sister. I think this must have coincided with a growing awareness of her preschool playmates and how their families were similar and different from ours. She asked us to have another baby so she wouldn't be an only child. But, she had misheard the expression and said, "I don't want to be a lonely child." It was a sweet and funny mistake — her juvenile logic was irrefutable and a little bit heartbreaking.

When I was pregnant, my husband and I agreed that we only wanted one child. It's not because I had all-day morning sickness for 21 weeks (although I did). There were other more strategic reasons. First of all, by the time we had our daughter, we weren't exactly "spring chickens" (my hospital record at the Salem Birthplace listed my condition categorically as "advanced maternal age" — nice). We were doing well financially, but the idea of multiple concurrent college tuitions was downright daunting. Plus, we really liked our life; we especially enjoyed traveling, entertaining, eating out, going to the theatre. And we assumed, correctly I think, that limiting our family to only one child would enable us to continue to do these things. There would just be three of us where there had once been two.

We aren't alone in seeing the advantages of having an only child. Here's some census data for you. There are an estimated 20 million only-child households in the United States; that number has more than doubled in the past twenty years. In fact, both in the U.S. and in most Western European countries, only-child families are the fastest growing family households.There are several factors, such as timing (working couples are waiting longer to start families), and economics. It costs on average between $200-$300,000 to raise a child and that's before you add in any college. Both of these factors come into play big-time in New York City, my hometown, where over 30% of children are "onlies."

The typical family has certainly changed since the 19th century when G. Stanley Hall, the so-called "founder of child psychology," said that "Being an only child is a disease in itself." A disease. Ouch.

We made our decision, and fortunately, because of where and when we live, it was ours to make. But, over the years, I've often wished for another child.

Princess Diana was expected to produce an "heir and a spare," and the Duchess of Cambridge will probably follow suit in the near future. I confess, even as a commoner, I see some sense in that approach. My daughter is not in line for any throne that I know of, but there would be comfort in having a more diversified family portfolio. In terms of my maternal affection, all my eggs are in one basket.

I've heard new mothers wonder how they could possibly love another baby as much as their first one. Yet most of these mothers go on to have a second and sometimes third. Clearly, the heart is infinitely expandable. Having loved my own baby, to this day, I find that I love all babies. Forevermore, I am part of a great sorority of mothers.

Lately, I've found myself wishing for a second child when I find I'm out of favor with my first and only. This happens often (oh, so so often). I feel sorry for myself and think, 'Maybe if I had gone ahead and had more babies, at least one of them would appreciate me.' But with my luck, they would meet in secret, share their grievances, band together and stage a coup.

Mother-tween conflicts aside, there are indisputable good things about being an only-child family. I'm able to give my daughter more of my time, more attention, more homework help. As expected, we do indeed still travel and go to the theatre and eat out. There's better cash flow for things like designer jeans, riding lessons, state-of-the-art cell phones and over-priced, under-nutritious junk food. And, quite honestly, I believe that my daughter has benefited from all the adult company over the years. I'm proud of her high grades, her attention span, and her ability to hold her own when she's the only short person at the table.

But what about that little four-year old's concern? What about the loneliness?

It's a matter of semantics. I encourage my daughter to think of "family" in broader terms. It's not just the three humans (and one tiny, neurotic dog) that live in our house. She has two BFFs she's known since she was two; she literally can't remember a time when they weren't in her life. She has six older cousins on my husband's side who are all smart and beautiful and athletic, who set a good example for her in so many ways. She has one younger cousin on my side, the sweetest little girl who is also an "only." They call each other "sister-cousins." And, she's about to celebrate her thirteenth birthday (we're calling it her "shiksa-mitzvah") with my best friend's teenaged daughter, who is as beloved as any blood cousin or sister could possibly be.

So, G. Stanley Hall, we're going to have to disagree. Being an only child is certainly not a disease. According to Mother Teresa, it's a disease "to be nobody to anybody.”

My daughter is somebody special to an awful lot of siblings.

No "Glee" for Glenn

A good friend once described me as the most liberal person she knows. Well, I don't know about that. But, I do know that I don't usually agree with Glenn Beck.

Actually, let me rephrase that. I never agree with Glenn Beck.

This past Thursday, Beck decided to critique a cultural phenomenon that is near and dear to both my heart and my tween daughter's: the TV show Glee.

He began his rant by decrying the lack of values in our culture and consequently, in our children. "Children aren't tethered to anything," he explained, "So we need to be über vigilant." The example that he gave was Glee. The entire clip from Beck's show is only five minutes long, yet I have a few issues with it. All right, many many many issues with it.

If I'm going to debate Mr. Beck, I'd better establish my credentials. My daughter and I have watched every single Glee episode since it premiered in the Fall of 2009. We watch them in real time; we replay them via DVR or online; we listen to the music; we buy the DVDs when they come out. We're "gleeks" and we're damned proud of it. Let's contrast this with my opponent. Beck told his audience that he's seen the show twice. Wow. The first season comprised 22 episodes. There have been 18 so far in the second season. Some quick math ... Beck has seen 5% of Glee's content.

Yep, he's über qualified to critique it.

Beck describes his experience watching Glee as a combination of "stunned horror" and "admiring awe." He's quick to point out that the show is "brilliant, brilliant." But in his mind, this simply adds to its ability to trash our values and corrupt our youth. Here are a few of his observations ... followed by a few of my own.

"All the characters are extremely good-looking, extremely talented."

There is certainly no lack of talent in the show Glee. (OMG, I'm agreeing with half of one of Beck's sentences!) But, all the characters "extremely good-looking?" Which two episodes did he watch?

One of the remarkable things about Glee is its diversity — in fact, the series has received multiple awards for it. And, they don't stop at black, white, Hispanic, Asian. Or even straight, gay. There are characters who are conventionally pretty (head cheerleader Quinn, for example), but there are many more who don't quite fit the mold. This year, a new member of the glee club breaks the mold altogether. Wrestler Lauren Zizes isn't "big and beautiful;" the girl is unequivocally FAT. And, not only has she become a major character, she's captured the heart of McKinley High's sexy bad boy Puck.

What message are we sending our untethered children?

I don't think my daughter or her friends are going to gorge themselves to look like Lauren Zizes. But, if any of them do feel less than pretty, they now have a high-profile Hollywood happy ending in which the ugly girl gets the guy. Go Glee!

"Everyone is sleeping with everyone else."

Glee takes place in a public high school in Lima, Ohio. News flash, Mr. Beck! Some high school kids do have sex. But, just as in real life, some of the McKinley High School kids don't. In fact, there have been several story lines about deliberately choosing not to have sex (McKinley High has a very active — and sometimes musical — celibacy club).

One episode last year revolved around Madonna songs and included the 80s hit "Like a Virgin." The song was presented with cleverly edited ("brilliant, brilliant") scenes of different couples hooking up for the first time. But, of the three couples, two stopped before the act itself. The boy in the one couple that went through with it, immediately regretted it. Not only are these scenarios and decisions something I want my daughter exposed to, but Glee has opened the door to a lot of valuable conversations between us.

"There's no values; it's all self-gratification. It's a nightmare."

Wrong again, Glenn. If anything, Glee can get a little preachy with its values. Earnest Mr. Schuester, the glee club's endearing coach, teaches the kids a lesson every week. These have included self acceptance, empathy for others, overcoming disabilities, standing up to bullies, finding faith, not drinking ... the list goes on and on.

I, for one, am filled with "stunned horror" at what Glee has been teaching my daughter. Not.

Beck showcases one particular musical number (yes, that would be one out of the more than 200 songs performed on the show to date): the anthem "Sing," originally recorded by My Chemical Romance. He reads aloud the antiestablishment lyrics with righteous outrage. We have moved past renouncing valueless entertainment and into conspiracy theory territory. Now, this is getting silly. Clearly, the entire show has been created in order to poison our children's minds with a single liberal musical number.

All über vigilant things must come to an end. Beck wraps up his tirade about Glee and it's "brilliant songs and performances, brilliantly edited, brilliantly shot" (I'd like to add: brilliantly redundant) with a touching real-life story. Beck's "Chief of Staff" (excuse me, is he the President now?) and his siblings have all achieved amazing things because of a single incident. One day, they weren't doing their homework, so in a burst of superhuman parental responsibility, their tiny immigrant mother threw the television out onto the front lawn.

Maybe I should try that the next time my daughter won't do her homework.

But, then how would we watch Glee?

Kissing an Icon Good-Bye

It's one of the most famous photographs of all time. V-Jay Day in Times Square by Alfred Eisenstaedt appeared in Life magazine a week after Japan surrendered in 1945. The black and white picture shows a young sailor passionately — and spontaneously — kissing a nurse. The contrast between the dark and light of their uniforms, as well as the way their bodies curve together and around each other has led some skeptics over the years to ask whether the scene was staged. In the decades since the war ended, multiple men and women have come forward claiming to be the subjects.

Today, in Sarasota, there's a 25-foot sculpture of the kiss by John Seward Johnson II, aptly titled Unconditional Surrender.

When my in-laws picked us up at the airport on our recent visit, they made it a point to drive by this impressive piece of public art on the way to Long Boat Key. Of course, my husband and I recognized it immediately. But, my daughter was confused.

"It's awk-ward," she said at first, singsonging the word's two syllables. For those of you who don't have a tween, the word "awkward" doesn't always mean clumsy or difficult to deal with. These days, it means exposed. Like someone who arrives at middle school and doesn't realize that their underwear is showing. Or someone who posts how they feel about a crush and then the crush in question happens to see the post. Awk-ward!

Of course, there were four full-grown adults in the car, eager to explain the statue and what it meant. My in-laws were just kids during World War II, but certainly aware of what was happening overseas. They remember V-J Day firsthand, as I'm sure my own mother does. And, in all fairness, there are likely more retirees in Sarasota County than tweens.

"It was an amazing day because the war with Japan was finally over."

"During World War II, practically everyone had a brother or son or husband fighting overseas."

"People were celebrating in the streets all over the country."

But, my daughter wasn't buying it, and our conversation moved on to details about our flights and the latest family gossip. A few days passed.

The next time we drove by the statue, we were on our way back from a field trip to the Ringling Museum. There were tourists taking pictures at the base of the statue, some hamming it up for the camera by adopting the iconic pose. We drove on.

The last time we passed by was on our way back to the airport. This time, my daughter made a declaration, "I don't like it." I asked her why, and she explained that the sailor had no right to kiss the woman. He didn't know her. You can't just attack strangers in Times Square. She's obviously not embracing him back. Duh.

"And, look at his left hand. He's making a fist."

I took a closer look at the image. My daughter was right. The sailor is holding the woman with one hand around her waist and the other under her neck with her head resting in the crook of his elbow. His hand is clenched into a fist.

And, what of the so-called surrender? The nurse's right leg is raised in what a young Anne Hathaway called a "pop" in Princess Diaries. Hathaway's awkward (as in, clumsy) Mia was hoping that her foot would pop when she shared her first kiss. But the figure in the sculpture, as well as the mystery woman in the photograph, may just be caught off balance.

I know the original photograph, and a similar image of the same unidentified models captured by U.S. Navy photo journalist Victor Jorgensen which ran the next day in the New York Times, is near and dear to so many people's hearts. In fact, I believe that the majority of the retired sailors and nurses who have claimed to be the people in the picture actually believe they are. The day and image are burned into the collective memory of the greatest generation and its baby boomer descendants.

But, my daughter brings up a good point. At age thirteen, she's living in a world where only some people in our country are at war. She doesn't have a relative or friend serving overseas, and she cannot relate to the mass jubilation her grandparents lived through 66 years ago.

And, she has been taught that she owns her body and that no one is allowed to touch it without her permission.

Whether they've just won a war or not.

Radio Gaga

In 1983, Pat Benetar warned that "Love is a Battlefield." In our family, battles often happen on roadtrips because each of our cars only has — gasp — one radio.

I like soft rock; give me a little Elton John or Fleetwood Mac and you have one very happy mamma. My husband prefers classic or album rock, a little harder, longer hair, more guitar riffs. Then, there's our daughter.

Our daughter is a tween living in the greater Boston area. She recognizes no station other than KISS 108!

No indoor voices, please. There seems to be some unwritten rule that you have to practically yell KISS 108! whenever you say it.

At any given time, KISS 108! has only about a dozen songs in rotation. This means that if it's Tuesday afternoon and you are driving to and from the stable for a riding lesson, you're likely to hear the same three songs, four times apiece. Do you know what an "earworm" is? Well, if you don't, try listening to KISS 108!

Sometimes, they break things up a little. They'll play a timeless deep cut classic like Katy Perry's Teenage Dream, which is almost a year old. Can you believe it? I actually have no issues with Ms. Perry, although I'm a bit confused by her choice of spouse. Perry is bright and creative, and she writes her own lyrics which always wins big points in my book. Her song Firework is an anthem urging misfit young people to have faith in themselves. Her earlier songs I Kissed a Girl and You're So Gay may be politically incorrect, but you have to admit they're funny.

So, when KISS 108! plays a Katy Perry song, I'm down with it. When they play something by Ke$ha? Uh ... not so much.

Ke$ha, described by Glee's airhead Britney as someone who has "been a cultural icon for weeks," seems to be building her career on the tried-and-true values of sex and booze. Seriously, based on her hit songs Tik Tok, Take it Off and We R Who We R, we can only assume she is both a slut and an alcoholic. Also, sometimes she wears blue lipstick, which makes her look like the cadaver of someone who was both a slut and an alcoholic. My daughter doesn't agree with Ke$ha's values (or lack thereof), but she likes the music.

This particular mom will be very happy when Ke$ha's 15 minutes of fame are over. The millions she's already made will pay for an awful lot of "bottles of Jack," with which she allegedly brushes her teeth. Ouch.

And, no posting about contemporary radio would be complete without a mention of that queen of bizarre Lady Gaga. Again, the woman is a singer and songwriter, and from what I understand a talented and serious musician. (My six degrees of gaga separation story is that my sister-in-law's mother remembers teaching piano to a little girl named Stefani Germanotta — how cool is that?) Many of her songs preach a kind of girl power, although her attitude about her own sexuality is a bit suspect. I haven't had to explain to my daughter what "I'm just bluffin' with my muffin" means and I'm not looking forward to the conversation. Most of the men in her videos end up dead, poisoned or incinerated by a lethal blast from her brassiere. And, speaking of the House of Gaga, the Lady G. dresses even more outrageously than her pop music grandmother Madonna. After all, Madonna always tried to look good even when she was wearing party hats in unexpected places. Gaga, on the other hand, doesn't seem to mind looking hideous, like a demon or an animal or an alien. She actually wore a dress made out of meat to the MTV Video Music Awards. Was it a comment about the objectification of young women in entertainment? A protest against industrial farming for PETA? I don't get it.

And there's the rub (no pun intended). I don't get it. When my daughter begs for KISS 108!, my husband and I react differently. He resists and then when he finally gives in, he makes fun of the singers and the songs. I let her listen, happy that she's still willing to sit in the car with me without retreating into her iPod earbuds. Like my husband, I really don't like most of the music that comes on. But, I've realized that if I say anything, anything at all, it will simply confirm what she already believes: that I just don't get it.

So, to quote the Go-Go's, rather than Gaga, when we listen to KISS 108!, and we will, "my lips are sealed."