These Are The Good Old Days, Aren't They?

When teenagers stress, it's tempting to pooh-pooh the whole thing. How often have I found myself dismissing a complaint with some condescending parental retort? Answer: a lot.

"Oh, you think you're tired? Try being in my shoes." This is typically followed by a litany of middle-aged woes. (Don't worry, I'll spare you.) Somehow, we assume that because these younger people have a free place to live (not to mention, smartphones and North Face jackets, and in our case, an actual horse), they have no worries.

I've changed my tune lately. As high school draws to a close, I wonder how my daughter and her classmates will look back on it. Will they cherish the hours spent studying for AP tests, filling out the common app, or trying to secure enough community service hours (doing something, let's face it, that they probably don't give a shit about)? 

There seems to be a lot less fun than there should be.

These days, anyone who assumes teenagers have time on their hands and nothing on their minds is just plain wrong. They are under tremendous pressure to take the right classes, get the right grades, apply to the right colleges. And, that 's just academics.

Here are some things teens worry about:

1. Their peers
Mean girls are nothing new (there were mean girls even back in the dark ages, when I went to high school). But, digital media adds a new element and a whole new dimension of meanness. If you were unpopular or bullied back in the 1970s, you could leave it at school. Go home, shut your door, put on Elton John's "Good-bye Yellow Brick Road." These days, your troubles follow you home, compliments of group texts, Instagrams and Tumblr. And, even if you're not a victim of bullying, per se, social media can make you miserable. Remember when you couldn't go to the amusement park because you had to work? Well, apparently all your friends went without you — and they're having a wonderful time.

2. Sex
Like everything else, sex is more complicated than it used to be. There are entirely new concepts around which today's teens have to navigate. Like "sexting," "friends with benefits," "virginity pledges," and every parent's worst nightmare: Tinder. Some kids move too quickly, while others seem paralyzed. (Some parents buy their daughter a horse and with it the knowledge that she's at the stable all day every day with nary a randy teen boy in sight.)

3. Drugs and booze and cigarettes and, and, and ...
Whether they're experimenting themselves or watching their friends, traditional teenage bad behavior causes a lot of stress. In addition to illicit substances, more and more teens are using prescription meds — they're cheap and easy to come by. In fact, too many teens abuse drugs they've been prescribed themselves, for anxiety, depression, ADHD, and sports injuries.
 
4. School
I talked about it above, but I can't underscore it enough. Today's teens have too much homework. Summers, vacation weeks, it doesn't matter. In our quest to raise the quality of education, we are ignoring the value of down-time. The kids are burned out. This week is February break and since we returned home Sunday, my daughter has been studying AP Bio pretty much non-stop. And, the weekend itself was a college visit, so there was inherent stress there as well. 

Which leads me to ...

5. The future 
At a different, also recent, college visit, an academic dean told us that she encourages freshmen not to declare a major right away. This was refreshing, but met with skepticism by most of the parents assembled. There is tremendous pressure for students to already know their major, their post-graduate plans, their career path. They need to be focused and driven. And countless articles analyzing the R.O.I. (that's return-on-investment) of various institutions really doesn't help. What about going to college and trying something new? Or learning about yourself? Or falling in love? 

It's difficult to measure the R.O.I. of these things. But, they are just as important. And, I can't help wondering, what happens when this generation of über-focused, ultra-motivated young people suddenly realizes that their youth was hijacked? And, botox aside, they ain't getting it back. 

I'm reminded of an anecdote that's often attributed to John Lennon. "When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down 'happy.' They told me I didn’t understand the assignment and I told them they didn’t understand life."

If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.  

Halloween and the Hoochie Horseback Rider

It's that time of year again, my friends. Candy corn, "Trick or Treat," ghosts and ghouls and girls dressed like ladies of the night. 

Time for my annual rant about the short, the sheer, the utterly inappropriate Halloween costumes available for girls.

In 2011, the year I launched Lovin' the Alien, I wrote about the Candy Cane Ho, a costume so ludicrously offensive, it simply couldn't be ignored. Two years later, I talked about skimpy witches and sexy penguins, and the other classy options available to our girls. (Happily, my daughter has never felt compelled to show that much skin on an October evening here in chilly New England. Brrr.)

This year, my now teenage daughter forwarded a picture of a new costume which has both of us shaking our heads. It's a "Sexy Equestrienne," and it's about as far from depicting an actual athlete as it can be.

Let's start with that word: "athlete." My daughter and her pony-loving peers are athletes. No question. A gym teacher once told her that riding was "a hobby, not a sport." Well, I'd like to challenge him to a little friendly competition. Can he post up and down in a saddle for 45 minutes? Tell a 1,200-pound animal to change gaits or direction by squeezing his thigh muscles? Lug tack trunks in and out of trailers? Or carry 50-pound water buckets uphill to the barn?

Hmmm. 'Didn't think so.

That's all in a day's work for my daughter. 

As far as sexiness is concerned, I assure you it is the last thing on any equestrienne's mind while she's training or competing. Don't get me wrong, most girls who take riding seriously have great figures (see typical workout described above) and I've seen many of them, my daughter included, clean up very nicely. But, when they're on their horse, in a ring or on a trail, they are working too hard to worry about how alluring they may or may not look.

The "Sexy Equestrienne" may be new, but it's not exactly news. Most costumes available for girls — even tweens and younger — can aptly use the adjective "sexy." There are sexy policewomen, sexy nurses, sexy vampires, sexy kittens, sexy crayons, sexy bumblebees and, of course, my all-time favorite sexy candy corn. Often, there are sexy girl versions of the same decidedly un-sexy boy costumes, as my friend's then 8-year old daughter pointed out in this video.

Do girls really want to look like ... um ... professionals? According to the much-loved movie Mean Girls, the answer is "Yes." As Lindsay Lohan's Cady Stanton learns "Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it."

But, I'm not buying it. 

A big part of how girls (and young women) define their attractiveness and value is driven by the media. From very young ages, they're bombarded by sexy images. I also think that a big factor behind the "every costume looks like a hoochie-mama" phenomenon is an economic one. Less fabric, more profit. It's that simple.

Actual equestrienne clothing (as opposed to the "Sexy Equestrienne" costume) requires significantly more fabric: reinforced seats and knees, layers that actually protect and perform.

If someone attempted to do dressage, stadium jumping or cross-country in the Halloween costume depicted above, my daughter and her teammates would choke with laughter.

And their horses probably would too.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  
 

Burned

My husband and I — we met when we both worked in the cable TV industry — always notice and comment when there's a movie in particularly frequent rotation on cable channels. Princess Diaries, for example. Or Dirty Dancing. There was a period a couple of years ago when Overboard seemed to be on non-stop, every basic cable station, 24/7.

Right now, Mean Girls seems to be having its moment in the syndicated sun.

Written by Tina Fey, Mean Girls is smart-funny, with dead-on impersonations of horrid high school types. It's also one of the last movies that Lindsay Lohan did before she became a certifiable loon. It's the kind of movie that you can dip in and out of (especially if you, like my teenage daughter and I, have already memorized most of it).

Last night, while I was zapping before dinner, I landed on the scene when Regina George (the queen bee) and the other "Plastics" convince new-girl-home-schooled-in-Africa Cady to vent her feelings about her "pusher" math teacher in the "Burn Book."

"Let it out," they tell her. "Put it in the book."

The Burn Book is essentially a giant scrapbook of mean. Pages are dedicated to vicious gossip, insults and criticism. And, for any of you who haven't seen the movie, when the contents of the Burn Book become public knowledge, all hell breaks lose.

Mean Girls, as astute as it may be, is just a movie. But a new app has a lot of parents, educators and child psychologists concerned. The aptly named Burnbook app lets people search for a community (in most cases, a high school) and then post anonymously. The app promotes itself this way:

"Jokes, fails, wins, sightings, shout outs, revelations, proclamations and confessions — they all happen on Burnbook. Together, we can keep a secret."

But, the completely anonymous nature of the posts (users don't even have to create a username) opens the door to unprecedented cyber bullying. The reviews on iTunes are pretty harsh (although, probably not as harsh as the posts on the app itself):

"This app was created to increase cyberbullying. There's no other reason.The app has become popular at my school and is specifically targeting a small group of people. I wish I could repeat the evil things that were posted so I could get my point across, but I cannot bring myself to spread those gruesome things even further." 

There is a growing backlash against the app. Other students are voicing outrage and in some communities, students and adults are posting only positive comments. There have also been threats made against schools and, to their credit, the Burnbook team has cooperated with the police in those situations.

Burnbook founder and CEO Jonathan Lucas defends his app, as you might expect, in the name of "freedom of speech." He's 23 (23!), so we can safely assume he doesn't have any of his own teenagers to worry about yet.

So I guess it's up to us to hope that our teens understand — and appreciate — the difference between freedom of speech for themselves and compassion for others.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  

Teens in Tinseltown

After my teenage daughter left for school this morning, I went on my usual walk. 

I wore thermal leggings under my yoga pants, a quilted lining in my ski parka, fleece gloves and hat, plus two scarves — one around my neck, one tied tightly over my mouth and nose. 

It was 12-degrees, and even though the air was crisp and clear and the frozen harbor sparkled, my walk ... well ... it pretty much sucked.

Here in New England, winter is the perfect season to ski and skate and snowshoe. If you're so inclined. Myself? I'd rather be reclined. Temperatures dropping mean couches beckoning. 

Winter is the perfect season for an on-demand film festival. 

Sadly, video stores are few and far between these days. But, thanks to the combined magic of Fios, Netflix and Amazon Prime, I can pretty much find any movie I want. And, with my daughter's competition season still a few months away  we do sometimes find ourselves together in front of the TV. Recently we watched Love Actually (for about the three thousandth time).  

For future film festival reference (ours and yours), here are some of Hollywood's best teen girl titles.

Mean Girls
Pre-lunatic Lindsay Lohan is terrific in this inside look at high school politics and popularity. It was written by and co-stars the brilliant Tina Fey, so you can count on it being smart and funny.

The Hunger Games and Divergent
I'll list these together, because they're cinematic soulmates. Dystopian drama wouldn't be my thing if I weren't always looking for common ground with my own teen. And how can any feminist argue when the heroines are so heroic?

Easy A
With The Scarlet Letter as her inspiration, a fairly straight and literate young woman makes a name for herself (and amasses a wallet-ful of gift cards) pretending to be the school's raciest adulteress.

Juno
Funky teen finds out she's with child (thanks to single coupling with the world's nerdiest boyfriend) and decides to go through with the pregnancy and put the baby up for adoption. A movie pro-choicers and pro-lifers can agree on! 

High School Musical
Okay, this title may be better suited for tweens, but the singing and dancing (and singing and dancing and then some more singing and dancing) is so adorable. It predates (and outglees) Glee.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
This one's a little long and a little preachy at points, but the collection of denim-clad besties is diverse (well, not racially, of course; they're all white, white, white). Their quirky personalities and love for each other are endearing.

Clueless
"Okay, so you’re probably going, “Is this like a Noxzema commercial or what?” But seriously, Cher actually has a way normal life for a teenage girl. As if! And besides, a watch doesn't really go with her outfit."

Sixteen Candles
This one my daughter didn't dig so much, but I think 16-year old Samantha's birthday was as "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad" as any day Alexander ever had. Brutal bridesmaid dress, public panty humiliation. Bad but pretty funny.

Bend it Like Beckham
'Love this cross-culture girl-power story with Parminder Nagra, Keira Knightley and Jonathan Rhys Meyers (pre his stint on The Tudors). There aren't enough movies about girls and sports and this one is a winner on so many levels.

Dirty Dancing
My husband complains that this is always on, and it does seem to enjoy a fairly heavy cable rotation. I probably know it by heart (and we may even have the DVD somewhere), but I still have to stop and watch. No one puts Baby in a corner!

Grease
There were pretty much no teens in this classic teen movie from the late 70s. (I remember thinking 'They all look so old.' Now, of course, they look pretty young. And so it goes, right?) Regardless, it's still just so fun!

Actually, they're all so fun. Pass the microwave popcorn. (And if I've missed any, please post your favorite in the comments.)

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  

Let's Get Physical

No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving federal financial assistance.

When Title IX was passed into law back in 1972, it was a major win for the feminist movement. Although, technically, it applies to everything from law school acceptance to science curricula to scout meetings, the main focus has always been sports. Once Title IX was mandated, schools had to scramble to create equal opportunities for girls.

Today, when I look at my daughter's high school and its athletics program, it's hard to believe how far we've come in just forty years. In our relatively small town, girls can choose from: Cross-Country, Field Hockey, Golf, Soccer, Cheerleading, Basketball, Ice Hockey, Swimming, Gymnastics, Indoor and Outdoor Track, Skiing, Wrestling, Baseball, Lacrosse, Tennis and Sailing.

Phew! I'm out of breath just thinking about it.

The benefits of organized sports for teens of either gender are plentiful. Student athletes develop close, collaborative friendships. They learn how to handle pressure, to work as a team, to deal with success (and failure). They're busy; they have less time to "hang out" and get in trouble.

For girls, the list gets even longer. At an age when appearance and popularity can mean everything, girls who participate in sports can feel better about themselves through physical activity, dedication and accomplishment. Because most sports help girls build lean muscle, participating can (should) help them avoid eating disorders and yo-yo dieting. (I say "should" because we've all heard stories about athletes who take dieting to extreme.) Strong becomes more important than thin. And, in this era of mean girls, being on a team may help facilitate friendships and avoid bullying.

I was never much of an athlete myself (although I did a lot of dancing and took many an aerobics class). Nevertheless, when my daughter started high school I wanted her to do ... well ... something. Her earlier seasons in girls softball were less than spectacular, but there were so many more options available. She agreed and focused on Cross-Country (she's always been a fast runner, and — way more importantly — some friends were doing it). 

I figured that one sport and one after school club (French, peut d'être?), along with her part-time job and the hundred million hours she spends working at the stable and training for equestrian events, and we would be welcomed with a full scholarship to the college of her choice.

I figured wrong.

Not about college (we're not quite there yet), but about one sport. In fact, it was over before it even began. She signed up for Cross-Country as she wrapped up her last year at middle school. The captain of the team would get in touch over the summer so they could start training. Well, that happened as expected, but the training turned out to be pretty much all summer and six days a week. Between camp and family vacations and riding her horse, my daughter didn't have the bandwidth to run.

September, when high school officially started, we took a look at the other options. Every organized sport practiced every weekday after school and competed every weekend. This was hardcore; no dilettantes need apply. With her lifelong commitment to riding (not to mention our enormous investment in the horse and all that comes with it), there was simply no way my daughter could participate. Even the so-called "Volleyball Club" quickly evolved into a highly competitive, time-intensive, official (if injury-ridden) team.

I was disappointed. My daughter? Not so much.

Still, I wish there was a way for her to get physical and enjoy some of the benefits of sports, to somehow participate without such a full-on commitment. In fact, I'd argue that encouraging a more balanced athletic program would better serve our kids. Yes, these long hours of practice keep them off the streets and out of the malls. But, they also keep them from their homework. Too many moms I know, too often bemoan the fact that their student athletes are still up at 2:00 a.m. studying. That can't be very healthy.

That said, wouldn't it be great if our kids grew up active, enjoying physical activity in a moderate, real-life way? Someday, when they're salespeople or doctors or teachers or lawyers or engineers or baristas, maybe they'll know how to get and stay healthy, manage stress and enjoy their free time.

After all, how many of our kids are really going to win athletic scholarships? A few, maybe. How many will go on to be professional or champion athletes? None, maybe. 

Not even maybe. None, most likely.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.    

Selfies Are A Lousy Way To Take A Picture

I've been a mother for sixteen and a half years and we have never had lice. 

Quick, give me something made of wood so I can knock on it!

I'm not one of those snobby people who thinks lice could never ("neveh, neveh, neveh") happen in my emaculate home. This is the real world. Sh*t happens; so does lice. And, believe you me, we've had close calls. A voicemail from daycare, a notice sent home in an elementary school backpack, a veritable epidemic at gymnastics camp. I've bought the skinny-toothed nit combs; I've examined the scalp. (I've even experienced the psychosomatic itching.) But, to date, thank-you God, we have not had a single louse in the house. 

Amen, sister. 

What we have had our share of are "selfies," the ubiquitous self-portraits that today's teenagers take (and take and take). These get posted on Facebook; they are Instagrammed and Tweeted and Tumbled and who know what else. "Here I am in my room." "Here I am with a bowl of Doritos." "Here I am with my new haircut." "Here I am trying on Sophomore Semi-Formal dresses." "Here I am." "Here I am. "Here I am."

Old-timers like us don't know from "selfies." I'm not sure whether it's because shooting a self-portrait with an old-fashioned camera (remember film?) would be awkward, or because we had nowhere to show them off. My husband (a high-tech professional, but an analog guy at heart) once told me that he was about to take a "facey" because there was so much snow out front. I, being slightly, but only slightly, more fluent in mobile lingo, knew what a "selfie" was, but not what a "facey" was. I thought he was about to fall on his face.

For those of you who weren't born after 1990, basically the "selfie" drill is this: you pose, you point, you post, you wait for all your friends to hit "Like" or make insightful and original comments like "U so pretty."

My daughter isn't vain about her looks. (In fact, if anything, I think she underestimates how pretty she might be to the opposite sex, which makes my husband very happy.) But, she certainly puts up her share of "selfies." I know this because whenever I help backup her iPhone, I get to see all her photos. I try not to make a big deal out of it. So far, they've all been nice, smiling, fully-clothed.

That's the issue, isn't it? Between Justin Bieber, Amanda Bynes and Anthony Weiner (really, could the man have a more unfortunate name?), it's painfully obvious that "selfies" can get you into quite a lot of trouble. People, please. Put your junk away. No one really wants to see that.

And now there's something new to worry about. According to several stories in today's news, taking "selfies" is contributing to the growing cases of lice among teenagers.

Altogether now ... "Ewwwwwwww!"

Yes, the popular plural version of the "selfie" (a bunch of besties crowding together for a group self-portrait) seems to be the culprit. According to Marcy McQuillan of Scotts Valley's Nitless Noggins (a place I will never work), “I’ve seen a huge increase of lice in teens this year. Typically it’s younger children I treat, because they’re at higher risk for head-to-head contact. But now, teens are sticking their heads together every day to take cell phone pics." She goes on to warn that "Parents need to be aware, and teenagers need to be aware too. Selfies are fun, but the consequences are real."

On behalf of mothers of teens everywhere, thank you, Ms. McQuillan. Just what we needed, right? 

One more lousy thing to worry about.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.   

Think Twice, Text Once

About twelve years ago, I was running a much larger ad agency than I do today. There were good things about it: a schnazzy office, a corporate credit card, a reason to wear something other than yoga clothes. There were also significant downsides ... 

45 creative, passionate people. 45 sensitive, supersized egos. 

In a word ... drama.

One afternoon, a vice president account director rushed into my office in a panic. "What do I do? What do I do?" It wasn't so much about what he needed to do as it was about what he had already done. He'd received an unfortunate email from a colleague. When I say "unfortunate," I mean she was snotty, stubborn, downright condescending. He immediately forwarded her email to me (I was his and her supervisor) with a snide observation including a term that rhymed with Ducking Rich (hint: try an F and a B). As often happens in the wonderful world of email, he did not in actuality send it to me. He accidentally sent it back to her.

"What do I do? What do I do?"

When email became the norm for interoffice communication, we had to teach all of our staff some new rules for this new world. Don't use all caps (IT WILL SEEM LIKE YOU'RE SCREAMING). Never hit "reply all" unless you really, truly, absolutely, unequivocally want to reply all. Don't hit "send" without proofreading the message first. Don't say anything negative about clients or coworkers (or the Bush administration). 

And, perhaps most important, never put anything in email that would be better communicated in person.

Alas, our teens need similar guidelines in their all-text, all-the-time social lives. There are many conventions (and assumptions) that I don't understand. (For example, did you know that if you include a period in your text sentiment it means that you're mad? Ugh, I can't keep track. Period.) But, what I do understand is how words can clear things up or muddy them completely. How you can diffuse a potential storm or stir one up out of seemingly nothing at all.

And, in this at least, my daughter recognizes and truly appreciates that I can help.

Typically, my intervention (she actually seeks it out, believe it or not) occurs in the car when I'm driving her somewhere. Or she bursts into my office — whether I'm on a conference call or not — distraught because so-and-so misunderstood what she said about what's-her-name. "What do I do? What do I do?"

While I hate to see her so distressed, I welcome these opportunities to teach her about all the nuances of effective communication that they simply do not cover in the Honors English program. Like ...

• Giving the other person a graceful way to save face (even when you think they are — and should admit they are — utterly in the wrong).

• Apologizing for any misunderstanding (even when you believe that any such misunderstanding is theirs and not yours).

• Backing away from a conflict (even when it would be way more satisfying to stay and fight it out).

• Realizing that less really is more (even though you have so much more you want, need, frrrrkin' must say).

• And, finally, giving up a new argument in order to save an old friendship. 

Teen girls (I can only speak for the girls; it may be very much the same for teen boys) are all about the drama. They are quick to find offense and not always quick enough to forget it. And girls like my daughter wear their hearts on their sleeves. Or, these days, on the text screens of their iPhones.

With careful wordsmithing, together, we have extricated my darling girl from many a thorny text situation. She appreciates this ("She likes me. She really likes me.") and I derive more than a little satisfaction from our successes.

It's nice to feel that mother knows best once in a while ... even if it's only once in a very, very long while.

If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

Bet We Don't Know Lilo

It's a Lilo, Lilo, Lilo world.

Lindsay Lohan is everywhere today. She's in my news feed not once, not twice, but three times. (And, believe me, it isn't as though I've requested Lohan alerts or anything.) She may not have had a hit role lately, but she hasn't exactly faded from view.

First of all, there's the story about whether she will indeed do jail time for her latest infraction. As part of a plea bargain, she was supposed to spend 90 days in a rehab "lock-down," but logistical issues may make that impossible. (As some media are reporting, the so-called logistical issues may be that the locked-down program she proposed to attend doesn't actually exist. As in, she may have lied. As in, to a judge. As in, "Oh Lindsay!")

The second story is in some ways more complimentary, but goes salaciously downhill almost immediately. Supposedly, Lindsay was very professional on the set of Charlie Sheen's Anger Management, on which she was guest starring. She knew her lines, she arrived on time. (Apparently, this is newsworthy.) Of course, the two tidbits that reporters really jumped on were a prison scene (her character was doing community service there), and a scene in bed with her hot-headed costar Sheen.

Yikes. What a combination!

The third story involves James Franco — not exactly the poster boy for sane behavior, himself (did anyone catch his strung-out, missing-in-action evening as Oscars host?). In a recent interview with shock-jock and all-around pig Howard Stern, Franco confessed that Lohan had tried unsuccessfully to lure him into bed.

As my teenage daughter would text: "TMI" (that's "too much information").

Clearly the girl has issues.

Lindsay Lohan's story makes me sad, as a mother and as a consumer of Hollywood. The first roles I ever saw Lilo in were the two twins in an ill-advised remake of The Parent Trap. The movie was a snore, but the little Lohans were (both) adorable. My daughter watched it many times although even at the age of five or six she knew enough to prefer the 1961 original with Haley Mills. Still the fault didn't lie with Lindsay. She held her own (with herself, but also with Dennis Quaid and Natasha Richardson). She was doubly adorable.

The next time I sat up and noticed her was in Freaky Friday. She did an incredible job channeling Jamie Lee Curtis when an enchanted fortune cookie made them change bodies. The following year, she had the lead role in another better-than-your-average teen film, Tina Fey's Mean Girls. Many moons later, my daughter and her friends still quote these movies and one BFF uses "Regina George" as her text avatar.

Here are a couple of things you probably don't know about Lilo.

She's actually smart. In fact, she was a straight A student as a child. You can still see her intelligence — when she's not shoplifting or driving drunk, of course — as a guest host on SNL.

She may be just 25 years old, but she's had a longer career in front of the camera than most. She was a Ford model at the tender age of 3.

And, she's a solid actress. But, don't take my word for it. Meryl Streep is a fan too. When they worked together on Prairie Home Companion, La Streep had this to say: 

“She’s in command of the art form. Whatever acting is — I don’t know what it is — she’s in command of it. I think she could do anything she puts her mind to.”

I hope Meryl is right, because here's what I'd really like to see in my newsfeed one day soon: "Lohan Getting Critical Acclaim for Latest Role ...

... After Getting Life in Order."

Those Were the Days, My Friend

When I hear the mother of a much younger child — like a baby or toddler — complain about their stress and fatigue, I can't help but smile. 

"Sister," I think to myself, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

Not that I've forgotten those early days. I remember them all right. I remember checking to make sure my sleeping daughter was breathing. I remember tormenting myself over her first eye infection. I remember crying through a 2:00 a.m. feeding, a sloppy emotional bag of exhaustion and postpartum.

"She hates me," I sobbed to a coworker the next day.

"No, she doesn't hate you," he said knowingly. "She will hate you. But, she doesn't hate you now."

This man, you see, was the father of a teenage girl.

Really, now that I look back, what was all the fuss about? Basically, our job as the mother of an infant is to feed them, burp them, change their diapers and get them to sleep. Along the way you have to support their little head and change them from one adorable outfit into another — six or seven times a day. Their tiny hands curl around your finger and (whether it's just gas or not) they look up at you and smile.

Oh sure, some days are tougher than others. At six months, after I nearly fell asleep in the Sumner Tunnel on my way to work, we finally gave in and tried the dreaded "Ferber Method" so she would sleep through the night. Basically, you teach them how to "self-sooth" by letting them cry for five minutes, comforting them, then letting them cry for ten, then twenty, then thirty, etc. etc. etc. Forty-eight hours later, she was all set, and her mother (that would be me) was permanently traumatized.

But even on those endless nights, life was easier than I realized. If I could go back in time and counsel my younger self, I would say, "Stop. Breathe. Enjoy this."

I'd say, "Sister, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

Here's a short list, in no particular order, of the things that keep me up at night these days:

• Grades. She's in ninth grade, that's freshman year high school. Suddenly, there are hours upon hours of homework. Suddenly, there are tests and quizzes and mid-terms, oh my! Suddenly, good grades count. (And, just as suddenly, they are much harder to come by.)

• Cutting. Sadly, I don't mean cutting class. I mean cutting one's arms (or legs or God knows what else). It bothers me that some of my daughter's friends are doing this. It bothers me that she even knows about such a thing.

• Online safety. Texting, sexting, Instagram, Tumblr, Skype, Snapchat. Just a couple of years ago, we were concerned about letting our then tween daughter have a Facebook page. That was so yesterday!

• Mean Girls. This topic comes at me from both sides sometimes. Within the same week I can be comforting my daughter as the victim of a particularly nasty encounter and trying to help her see how she herself might be perceived as mean.

And last, but not least, there's the time I spend missing and mourning my baby. The days when that baby, practically grown now, barely mutters a single pleasant word to me. When I can tell that I am no longer her bestest, most favorite person. In fact, I'm more like her least favorite, most annoying, barely bearable person.

We used to play that game ... "I love you more. "No, I love you more." "No, I love you more." "No, I love you more."

Well, for now at least, I win. I love her more.

Model Moms

No, this post is not about Heidi Klum or Gisele Bundchen or even Kate Moss. I'm talking about a different kind of modeling. I'm talking about modeling the best behavior for our daughters. 


It is something we are advised to do from the time they are tiny — but oh-so-watchful — tykes. At that point, we were showing as well as telling our young ones to fasten seatbelts, look both ways at an intersection, eat vegetables. "Do as we say and as we do," we demonstrated. And, in all honesty, it was pretty cut and dry back then. "Cross at the green. Not in between." Get it? Got it. Good.


Now, there's a whole lot of grey area. And, as my daughter and her friends negotiate the treacherous waters of teenhood, I see moms modeling some very poor behavior. I'm not talking about drugs or alcohol (although there's plenty of that). I'm talking about how people treat each other.


The stakes are higher and too many mothers (in my tidy little town at least) seem to be pulled into situations that would be better left to the younger generation. Yes of course, I want my daughter to be popular. But, I'm not going to undo all of the insight, maturity and compassion I've picked up since I was fourteen myself. Alas, some moms seem to regress pretty quickly right back to their own junior high days.


For example, at my daughter's recent middle school graduation, I overheard a disturbing conversation. Two mothers sat above me in the bleachers. They were both slim and tan, nicely pressed and dressed. Here's what they said. (The names have been changed to protect ... well, whomever.)


Mom 1: "So are you all set for Katelyn's graduation party this weekend?"


Mom 2: "Almost. But, can you believe it? The other night, she gets a call from Molly." 


Mom 1: "No!"


Mom 2: "Yes! So, she says ..." (Here, her voice gets a little higher, as though she's imitating the unfortunate Molly.) "Oh, you didn't invite me to your party. Is it okay if I come?"


Mom 1: (laughing) "No!"


Mom 2: (laughing) "Yes! Can you believe it?"


Mom 1: "What nerve! I hope she said 'No.'"


Mom 2: "Well, duh!"


Moms 1 and 2: (laughing in unison)


At this point, I think they realized that I was listening, so they continued their discussion more softly. Also, one of them had to text her husband. And,the processional was starting. Probably a good thing, because I was finding it very difficult to keep my mouth shut.


Now, obviously I don't have the backstory. Katelyn may be a perfectly lovely young lady. Molly may be a terrible little bee-yotch. But, let me tell you ...


That's not the impression I got.


Talk about a teachable moment. If Molly was willing to swallow her pride and ask to be included, good for her. If my daughter was having a party and someone felt left out, I would use the situation to help her practice empathy. Not only would we include Molly, but we would make sure that she had a great time and was included ever after. 


Instead, here were two (allegedly grownup) queen bees who were very satisfied, delighted even, that their daughters were also queen bees. What I heard were two prideful mothers who were relishing their daughters' popularity and making fun of someone less fortunate. Their laughter was tinged with cruelty, and the underlying message was "How could that loser think she could come to the party?"


Y'know, for Molly's sake (and Katelyn's too), I hope I'm wrong. 


But, I was there. I really think I'm right.

When Mean Girls Grow Up

They say that youth is wasted on the young.

Well, I don't know about you, but I wouldn't go back to being fourteen for a million dollars. The insecurities, the anxiety, the endless drama. Between clique politics and adolescent hormones, middle school is an emotional roller coaster that I do not care to revisit, thank you very much.

To say that there's a lot of pressure to be popular at this age would be a ridiculous understatement. And, the moment of truth — when you are sized up and all too often put down — invariably happens in the school cafeteria. The administration at my daughter's school recognizes this and proactively does what it can to minimize the collateral damage. Lunchtime is blessedly short. The principal and guidance counselors patrol the room, keeping a watchful eye out. Kids choose their own tables at the beginning of the year, but then they have to stay there.

This system has its pros and cons. It avoids the daily jockeying for a place next to the cool kids (and the inevitable exclusions and hurt feelings when those seats are denied). But, on the flipside, you don't get the chance to cultivate new friendships. Hit it off with your lab partner? Too bad. You can't switch tables midstream to sit together. An established friendship is going through a rocky patch? Too bad. You're stuck next to each other day after day. And, if a friendship that was fast in September has cooled by November, you still have to break bread with your ex-bests for the next seven months.

Too bad.

Overall, I think the system makes it easier on the adults but puts strain on the students. And, while it may deter some forms of bullying, if a chum is going through a mean girl stage, you're trapped in the line of friendly fire.

The form of bullying that's going on among my daughter's classmates is very subtle; in fact, it's almost passive-aggressive. It isn't physical and doesn't even include teasing. A couple of queen bees decide, on a day-by-day basis it seems, who they're going to include and who they aren't. If you're not on the A-list that particular moment, you're pretty much ignored all through lunch.

Being attacked hurts. Being ignored hurts too.

Recently, I was talking about this subject with my mother and she reminded me about my own encounter with a mean girl. It was fourth grade and the girl was new to our school. She wasn't prettier or smarter or richer than any of us but, for some reason, she had the power. And I, for some reason, was her target. She cultivated my friends and pulled them away from me. She made fun of my glasses and told everyone that I didn't really need them but just wanted attention. She announced to an entire party that my mothers M&M cookies weren't any good so no one would try them (for the record, my mother's cookies were not good; they were fantastic). Relived forty years later, these slights feel ... well ... pretty slight. But, that girl made my life miserable for an entire year.

Thinking of my nemesis, I wondered what had become of her. I mean you can't be pushing fifty and still be the class bully can you? I did a quick search on Google and there she was. She may or may not be nicer on a personal level these days, but professionally she is pretty amazing. She is a renowned journalist and AIDS activist. Who'd have thought?

For now, I do what I can to help my daughter be strong when others are weak, and kind when others are cruel. I try to help her put things in perspective, and be resilient and thick-skinned when she needs to be. We talk about the choices she makes and how she can give mean girls less power over her. We brainstorm ways that she can strengthen her more positive friendships (and pull back a little from the hot-and-cold ones). More than anything else, I explain that whatever the current injury is, it won't hurt forever. These girls will grow up and maybe they'll be wonderful people.

This morning, I read a quote that's worth repeating: Remember, if they're trying to bring you down, it must mean that you're above them.