The Myth Of The Family Meeting

With graduation less than a week away, I've been taking a lot of stock. (And Tylenol, actually; I've been taking a lot of Tylenol.) Eighteen and a half years of parenting behind me. 

For the record, that's the longest I've ever stayed at any job. 

What did I do particularly well? What did I screw up?

Becoming a mother is the greatest act of faith we can undertake. It can also be a huge slap in the face. It rocks our inner vision and is at once a source of great pride and the most humbling experience in the world.

My husband and I were a little late to the game and we had already watched most of our closest friends deal with transitioning from being happy-go-lucky "DINKs" (dual-income, no kids) to sleep-deprived, car-pooling zombies. We weren't ready yet, but we were very self-satisfied. If and when we were ever parents, we assured ourselves, we wouldn't make this or that mistake. We would never raise our voices. Or let our offspring walk all over us. We would do everything perfectly.

As my favorite classics professor Dr. Zarker would have remonstrated, "Hubris, hubris, hubris!"

Raised in the 1960s and 70s, I had a wonderful weekly example of perfect parenting: Carol and Mike Brady. Their six (count 'em, six) children were respectful and remarkably well-groomed. Their house was orderly; their dinners were on time.

And, Mr. and Mrs. Brady never lost their sh*t.

If there was ever an issue in the Brady household, they simply had a family meeting in that tiny little room off the kitchen. Crisis averted.

Last week, I insisted on a family meeting in our house. I was feeling stressed over our packed schedule of school events (white water rafting, graduation rehearsal, awards banquet and the big day itself), out of town visitors, horse shows, theatre tickets, work deadlines, business trips, and more. And, yes, I was ready to lose my sh*t.

Lest you think I'm just an anxious person (I am, but that's beside the point), let me give you a couple of examples ...

So far, I'd rescheduled my daughter's tuberculosis test three times. (No, she doesn't have tuberculosis. Well, I assume she doesn't have tuberculosis. But, she has to have the test for college.) I can practically hear the receptionist cringing every time I call the doctor's office.

Apparently, my daughter needs polypropylene long underwear for the rafting trip. This is not something I had on hand (or had time to run to the mall for), so we ended up using my sister-in-law's Amazon Prime account to get it here in two days.

We gave my husband a flying lesson for his recent birthday. But, finding a day when all three of us can take a few hours to drive up to New Hampshire and watch him fly a Cessna 172, take pictures (or, in my case, pray) was anything but clear skies.

Add to all this year-end activity the arrangements we still need to make to actually transport our little freshman and all her gear to her out-of-state university, and I think you can appreciate why I'm having trouble sleeping.

So, we had a family meeting, but it wasn't as peaceful or productive as the Bradys'. It required more than a little bullying on my part — before, during and after. We walked through the next nine weeks and took notes. I gave out some assignments (and ignored the eye-rolling). 

And, for a full five minutes after the meeting, I actually felt better. Even if things still slip through the cracks — and they will — I can smugly say, "See? That's why I wanted to have a family meeting."

At this point, I'll take what I can get.

Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Brady.
 
If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.  

The 3 Ps: Privacy, Protection and Parenting

Earlier this week, I posted a story about some so-called calculator apps that offer users (read, "teens or adulterous spouses") a way to hide secret pictures (read, "sexts"). The post generated a lot of emails.

Some friends thanked me (and, no doubt, ran rather than walked to their offspring's cell phones to search for fake apps).

Others questioned whether parents should micromanage their child's mobile. How much supervision is too much? How much is, in reality, snooping?

Privacy vs. protection. It's a tough call sometimes and it can be a very fine line.

When we first broke down and gave my now teenage daughter a cell phone, I thought we were so on top of things. We knew her passwords; we checked her emails. She gladly friended me on Facebook. She agreed to all the parental surveillance because ... OMG! ... dreams do come true ... OMG! ... she was getting an iPhone! (OMG!)

It's been six years now, and any control we had then (or, at least, thought we had then) has pretty much gone bye-bye. We're still friends on Facebook, but my daughter and her peers rarely use it anymore. (How can you blame them? It's full of old people. Like me.) I don't know her passwords, her user names, where she has accounts. All that oversight kind of evaporated over time.

Did we get lazy? Maybe.  Did she also make valid points about her own maturity and privacy? Yes.

At any rate, despite the big bad of technology, my daughter (at almost 18) has about the same amount of autonomy I had. The devices change. But, the secret life that your parents don't know much about? Well, that remains the same. Not that I was any kind of bad girl, and (I assume, hope, pray) neither is she. It's just that when you're "17 going on 18," you need some privacy. I wouldn't have wanted my mother going through my diary any more than my own daughter wants me snooping around her cell phone.

I don't recommend checking up on your teen's online activity unless you have some reason for concern. Chances are, you're not going to find anything to make you happy. After all, how many kids text their friends to praise their parents' parenting ways? If your child is doing fine in school and doesn't seem to be having any trouble with alcohol, sex or drugs (or even rock and roll), let them have their privacy. 

On the other hand, if you have legitimate worries (falling grades, changes in health, signs of depression, or trouble at school or with the law), that's different. Or if your daughter or son is too young to know what's right and what's wrong online. Then, invading their privacy becomes more than your right. It becomes your responsibility.

For anyone who argues that you should never break your child's confidence, let me tell a sobering story. When my daughter was still a tween, our PTO presented a number of programs on online safety. One evening, we learned about a boy who had been savagely bullied online and eventually committed suicide. His father had respected his son's privacy but insisted that the boy write down all his passwords and leave them in a sealed envelope. After the suicide, the father was able to use those passwords to track down the kids who had made his son feel so hopeless. They were then held accountable (in whatever half-assed way juveniles are held accountable for online cruelty and harassment — yes, that comment's meant to be as bitter as it sounds). All the parents were nodding and making mental notes to go home and get those secret passwords onto paper and into sealed envelopes.

I wanted to scream. "But, it's too late! The kid is dead!" 

In hindsight, doesn't that father wish he had looked at his son's texts and emails sooner? You know he does.

Of course, this is only one story and most (statistically it would be: "virtually all") online activity doesn't end so tragically. But, I don't think you can condemn scrutinizing kids' usage altogether. If there are warning signs (legitimate, objective warning signs), go for it. 

Risk their wrath; that's your job.

Just ask yourself if you're doing it for their sake or for yours. And be as honest with yourself as you've asked them to be.

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

Home Is Where The Homework Is

We live in a nearly 200-year-old house (one of the newer models in our pre-Revolutionary neighborhood, actually). It has charm and personality, nooks and crannies, crooked wide pine floors and rooflines that rival Nathaniel Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables in neighboring Salem. There are pass-throughs behind staircases and trap doors down to the cellar ("Pirates," we've convinced more than a few young visitors). A primitive and decidedly spooky oil portrait of one of the home's ancestors hangs above the fireplace in our front room.

Generally speaking, my husband and I agree that history and character trump new and modern amenities. Once in a while, I daydream about a walk-in closet or a master bath with a Jacuzzi tub. And I do envy MacMansion owners who get to hear that satisfying little "swwwiittzz" noise when they close a window that actually ... well ... closes.

Lately, I've found myself wishing that we had one of those newfangled real estate inventions: the ubiquitous, so-called "great room."

Because, if we did, my teenager and her father would stop fighting about where she does her homework.

My husband has a strong case. When we moved into this house more than sixteen years ago, we (generously, selflessly, saint-ish-ly) gave our then toddler daughter the master bedroom. The largest room in the house, it has exposed beams and a vaulted ceiling. It was originally a rather sickening pink, but we since repainted and carpeted it for her in a cool blue. It's filled with treasures: riding ribbons and trophies, a select assortment of stuffed animals and "pillow pals," autographed pictures and CD liners from her favorite bands.

Originally, the room housed a wonderful dollhouse, a tea party table and chairs set, and a toy ranch complete with stables, paddocks, and countless plastic livestock. When she started getting homework, toys were moved to the side and a small oak student desk was brought in. By middle school, the small desk was too small, so we added a butcher block table and created an L-shaped study area. In all our parental wisdom, we congratulated ourselves on this well-eqipped, ergonomically excellent solution. Desk lamp? Check. Laptop with monitor, printer, keyboard and mouse? Check. Filing system? Check. Shelves and drawers? Check. School supplies? Check. Swivel chair? Check, check, check.

So, what happened?

First of all, the desk area is rarely if ever uncluttered. Piles of paper everywhere, pictures, iPhone accessories, tchotchke treasures. There are empty orange soda cans, popcorn bags and bowls with the crusty remains of Ben & Jerry's.

Next, and despite my husband's skepticism that this is a real issue, her textbooks have gotten bigger. When open, the AP World History one looks like the Audubon Society Baby Elephant Folio.

Then, there are all the distractions. Magazines and beauty products, not to mention the constant barrage of incoming electronica.

So, my daughter, recognizing that homework is next to godliness, chooses to bring her books (including the elephantine ones) down to the dining room. She sets herself up there and does seem to be able to concentrate and get things done. The only problem is that our TV room is right next door — next door but without the benefit of an actual door. So whether my husband wants to watch the news or I want to troll through old Masterpiece Theatre episodes, we can't do so without disturbing our little bookworm.

First world problem, I know, I know.

Many moons again, when our daughter was a mere baby (or maybe not even one yet), my husband and I agreed — in principle — that we would always support each other. That we would present a unified parental front. This homework-in-the-dining-room situation has pretty much undermined our best intentions.

You see, my husband still wants to watch the news.

But, I think homework trumps all. 

At least for about fifteen more months.

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

I Got The Music In Me

It's March 19th in New England and we have yet another snow day. After sleeping in and grumbling a bit, my teenage daughter settled herself on the TV room couch. My husband is (yet again) shoveling and I'm working in my home office. 

But, my teen is not exactly alone; she has her iPhone and my iPad.

These days, it seems like the age-old divide between adolescents and their parents can be measured in personal electronic devices. Yes, I own as many as my daughter does, but they are not my lifelines (or more like additional limbs) as they seem to be for her.

When I was fifteen, the only new-fangled technology I owned was a Sony Walkman and a Texas Instruments calculator — both of which I cherished, BTW. If I wanted to watch something, I used my parents' TV. If I wanted to listen to music, I did so via cassette tapes and vinyl records, just like my mom and dad did. But that's where the common ground stopped.

At fifteen, music plays a critical role in helping us define who we are. In a recent New York Magazine story (Why You Truly Never Leave High School), Laurence Steinberg, a Temple University developmental psychologist and expert on adolescence, explained it this way:

“... no matter how old you are, the music you listen to for the rest of your life is probably what you listened to when you were an adolescent.” 

Puberty and adolescence are the periods when our brains sort us into the categories that determine the type of person we are. "I'm the type of person who does this. I'm the sort of person who likes that." And then it follow us ever after. As Steinberg relates to himself, “There’s no reason why, at the age of 60, I should still be listening to the Allman Brothers.” But, at an earlier, impressionable, formative age, he determined that he was "the type of person who likes the Allman Brothers." And the rest, as they say, is history.

These days, my daughter is all about Imagine Dragons. This morning, she approached me with great excitement because the band has published (online, of course) its upcoming concert schedule. This summer at Boston University, but not open to the public. ("Arrrrrrrgh! Mom! Dad! Who do we know at B.U.?") December in Columbus, Ohio. (Errr ... no, despite the presence of our best friends there, we are not going to spend $1,000 on airfare to see a concert on a school night.) And, some future date that I can't remember in Paris. (Okay, that one I might consider ... Not.)

I asked her, reasonably enough, if they are her favorites now because she got to see them live a few weeks ago. She said they would be her favorites anyway. 

Her love runs deep.

Mine does not. 

Frankly, like countless mothers before me, I don't get it. I know — I'm vaguely aware of, would be a more appropriate choice of words — some of their songs. "It's Time" was covered on Glee, and "Radioactive" has a bizarre video with a gangster Lou Diamond Philips and a bunch of Muppets on crack. I am by no means an expert.

But, that's okay. 

Frankly, I don't have to like her music. Just like my parents didn't have to like mine (although, in truth, my mom and dad were way cooler than the average moms and dads back then). I don't get the music, but I do get the feeling. And that feeling will stay with my teenager long past her teen years. Just like Steinberg, I'm a focus group of one that proves this.

What's in my car right now?

Eagles: The Very Best Of
Janis Ian Between the Lines
Billy Joel, Greatest Hits Volume I and II
Elvis Costello, My Aim is True
Carly Simon Hotcakes
The Best of the Commodores
Changes 1 Bowie

And, as always, a lot of Elton John.

This selection is more a snapshot of a moment in time than loyalty to a particular genre, artist or style. Most of these CDs would not please either my husband or my child. But, when I'm alone and I hit "Play," I am instantly transported to my teens — an emotional period, certainly, but one that was filled with hopes and dreams and expectations that have faded over the past 35 years.

Until, that is, I hit "Play."

The Kids Are Online (The Parents Are On Edge)

My husband and I don't worry about problems with our iPhones, iPad or laptops anymore. You know why? Because we have a digital native in the family, a self-taught cyber-savvy young woman who can troubleshoot blindfolded with her hands tied behind her back.

Our teenage daughter doesn't wait for us to ask for her help either. She jumps in and rights our wrongs even while we are blissfully unaware of them ...

"You should turn the screen brightness down to save your battery."

"You need to close out the apps you just used or they stay open under your homepage."

"You can post more than one picture at a time you know."

"Blah blah blah."

Suffice it to say, the doctor may be in but her bedside manner leaves something to be desired. Nevertheless, it's nice to have an in-house expert.

However, while our frantic calls to "tech support" and "The Geek Squad" have diminished, we face new worries every day. At fifteen, our daughter is growing up faster than we can comprehend. As a freshman in high school, she has more autonomy, more freedom and more responsibility than ever before. We used to have a strict "No electronics after 8 pm" rule. That just isn't feasible anymore.

She's still doing homework — much of it online — after 10.

When the sun goes down, my imagination lights up. How many stalkers, cyber bullies, identity thieves and privacy-busting data miners will my daughter encounter online tonight?

And, even if she doesn't run into any of these bad Internet elements, what is she herself posting? Will her pictures, tweets and status updates be seen by guidance counselors? College admissions officers? Employers? Supreme Court nomination committees?

Agh. I need a glass of pinot grigio, stat.

They say, "Misery loves company." I assume that holds true for "Anxiety" as well. The Berkman Center for Internet & Society at Harvard, along with the Pew Internet Project, just released a study called “Parents, Teens and Online Privacy.”

The study included phone surveys of 802 parents and their 802 teens ages 12-17 across the country, as well as focus groups of another 120 students. The results are remarkably similar to the conversations I have with other mothers at Starbucks. But, I guess these are a bit more statistically valid:


• 81% of parents of online teens say they are concerned about how much information advertisers can learn about their child’s online behavior, with some 46% being “very” concerned.

• 72% of parents of online teens are concerned about how their child interacts online with people they do not know, with some 53% of parents being “very” concerned.

• 69% of parents of online teens are concerned about how their child’s online activity might affect their future academic or employment opportunities, with some 44% being “very” concerned about that.

• 69% of parents of online teens are concerned about how their child manages his or her reputation online, with some 49% being “very” concerned about that.

There is additional information about actions taken by parents to protect their teens. The most telling is a sharp increase in the number of parents jumping into social media themselves:

• 66% of all parents who have a child between the ages of 12-17, say they use a social networking site, up from 58% in 2011. 

So, my net net on all this? I was most surprised to learn that more parents are concerned about advertisers tracking their teens' behavior than about strangers. That's a switch, I think, from the frightening headlines we were bombarded with a few years ago.

And (I'm embarrassed to confess), even though I run a direct marketing ad agency that lives and breathes data, it didn't occur to me that my daughter is rapidly building her own online profile that might be used — or abused — by marketers.

Crap!  Something else to obsess about.

Please pass the pinot.