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.  

Summer School

Lately, my teenage daughter has been complaining that she isn't having much of a summer. I have a mixed reaction to this.

On the one hand, I want to say "Welcome to my world, princess." My work doesn't stop over July and August. In fact, many of my ad agency's clients want their marketing campaigns out in September, so we are typically extra busy at this time. If there does happen to be a lull, I don't enjoy it because I'm too worried about grownup things like income and revenue, mortgage, retirement and college savings.

On the other hand, I have to concede that my daughter has a point. With what felt like countless snow days (six in reality), she was still in school, finishing classes and taking final exams, until the bitter end of June. She started one of her jobs, counseling at an equestrian camp, the very next day. She's had horse shows nearly every weekend, some of them out of state. These are all good things, but it's been too much.

And, speaking of too much, what a perfect segue to the point of this post.

My daughter, and every other high school student I know, has too much summer homework.

She has to read Heart of Darkness for Honors English. (Not too long but a guaranteed snore-fest.) She has to read A Brilliant Solution by Carol Berkin and write a paper on it, plus analyze two essays on Locke and Hobbes for Civics. And, finally, she has to read and take copious notes on chapters of her larger-than-life AP Bio textbook.
 
We weren't exactly blindsided by the assignments. And, this is nothing new for her; in fact, I've written about this before. But it still boggles my mind. I went to a super competitive high school and an elite university. I can only remember one summer assignment from either distinguished institution.

We were asked to read the novel 1984 prior to starting college. We would be the class of 1984, so someone thought it would be a good choice and would give us a shared literary experience to discuss during freshman orientation week. I had already read it in ninth grade, but I dutifully re-read it (Can you say "geek?"). Apparently, I was in a distinct minority. I think just two of the ten kids in my orientation group had bothered to read it at all.

Today, most high schools assign work in an attempt to reverse what's referred to as the "summer brain drain." Teachers will tell you (and research and test scores support it) that students lose as much as six weeks of learning when they shut down for the year. So, much of every fall semester is taken up with re-teaching what was taught the previous spring. There is definitely a strong case for continued learning.

But, and I really want to type BUT here, just because something makes sense in theory doesn't mean it will play out in reality. Since when do teenagers automatically buy-in to what's good for them? Here are just some of the issues as I see them ...

Teenagers are excellent at procrastination. I think it's the very odd over-achiever who actually starts a summer assignment at the start of summer.

The assignments are long and dull and dry. My daughter and her peers would be far happier to pick up a book if it was actually interesting or entertaining.

There's virtually no support from the teachers. Don't get me wrong, each of my daughter's instructors has posted his or her email address and invited questions and comments from the students. But I'm guessing that very few (or none) of said students are taking them up on it.

Summer homework takes teens away from other important activities. A lot of teenagers, including my daughter, work or volunteer. With better weather and more discretionary time, the summer months should also be used for socializing and physical activity.

And, perhaps, most importantly ...
 
Year-round schoolwork means year-round stress. Even though my daughter still hasn't started her assignments, they've been on her mind. And, not in a good way. Junior year was stressful enough, believe me. 

A break would have been welcomed and deserved. By me, as well as by my daughter.

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

Can Teens Stress Less?

Earlier this week, I attended a workshop at my daughter's high school with another mother (and good friend). The topic was helping teenagers handle stress. If you've been following "Lovin'  the Alien" for the past few years, it will come as absolutely no surprise whatsoever that I left the program ...

STRESSED!

About 35 parents attended, mostly moms, as per usual. The woman who spoke — she was tall, thin and French, grrrrr — presented findings from the APA, the American Psychological Association. The rather disturbing results were part of a recent Stress in America study.

Our speaker was quick to point out that stress in and of itself is not necessarily bad. Stressors exist (oy vey, do they exist!), and our physiological, cognitive and behavioral reactions enable us to respond. Appropriately. Or not. (It's kind of like a more thoughtful version of the primitive "fight or flight" idea.) It's how we handle the stress, how we cope, that makes the difference.

Today's teens are under an inordinate amount of stress and their coping mechanisms are ... shall we say ... a wee bit underdeveloped.

In the study, teens were asked what they perceived to be a "healthy level of stress." They identified an average of 3.9 out of a 1-to-10 scale. But, when they were asked how much stress they were actually under, they averaged 5.8.

That's a lot of extra stress!

When asked about symptoms of stress, 74% of teens reported having experienced more than one of the following:

Feeling irritable or angry
Feeling nervous or anxious
Fatigue
Lying awake at night
Headaches
Feeling like they're about to cry
Feeling overwhelmed
Feeling depressed or sad
Changes in sleeping habits
Skipping meals
Upset stomach

Teenagers aren't typically great decision-makers; at least not where the concept of consequences comes in. So even though there are positive, productive things they might do to address stress, many choose exactly the opposite. For example, physical activity (doing calisthenics, taking a walk) relieves stress. But, more teens choose sedentary activities like video games, going online, and watching TV. 

My own daughter is very bright; she certainly knows that vegging in front of Dance Moms isn't going to get her French essay written. Any relief an hour with Miss Abby and the Junior Elite Dance Team provides will be temporary at best. She knows it. And, I certainly know it. But, in the constant push-me/pull-you of parenting a teenager, we choose our battles. Pointing out that procrastination will only increase stress would be ... well ... stressful. Hella stressful!

What about suggesting yoga, meditation, mindfulness?

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Pardon me. Okay. I can continue now.

All I can do is try to be aware, try to (quietly, gently, subtly) affect her attitude when I can. Try to model positive behavior and stress management.

Just keep going, I guess. That which doesn't kill us, makes us stronger. (Or makes us play video games and eat chocolate.) And I'll try to remember ...

"A diamond is just a piece of charcoal that handled stress exceptionally well."

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

Working Mothers and Other Nut Cases

Having grown up in New York City, I'm used to crazies. On the sidewalks, on the subways. In delis and doorways. Some are angry. Most are harmless. All are really sad.

Greater Boston isn't immune to these characters. They panhandle at intersections and I slip them a couple of dollars when I can. I keep a roll of ones in my glove compartment just for this purpose — right next to my precious Sacred Heart of Blessed Jesus Auto League medallion, a gilded plastic premium item I once received in a direct mail fundraising package. 

It can't hurt, right?

These encounters aren't confined to cities either. I spend an inordinate amount of my life in a Dunkin' Donuts on Boston's North Shore. It's about a mile from my teenage daughter's stable and has WiFi. I typically order a large hazelnut decaf with skim milk and nurse it for the hour and a half or so that my daughter needs for tacking, riding and untacking her horse, typing away on my laptop all the while. This particular "Dunks" attracts the usual suspects: high school students buying super sweet frozen Coolattas, young mothers breaking soft bagels into pieces for their toddlers. And, of course, a handful of crazies.

One older gentleman comes and sits with me sometimes. The restaurant has a half dozen or so tables for two. I'm only a single, obviously, and if the whole place were full and someone really needed a seat and the seat across from me was the only empty seat left in the entire place ... well, that makes sense. Right? But no, this dude comes and sits across from me when there's no one else sitting down at all. The first time it kind of freaked me out. Now, I just roll with it.

There's also a young woman who sits alone at the other end of the donut counter. We're maybe twenty, thirty feet apart. But, this doesn't stop her from talking to me ... FULL VOICE.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'M DOING THIS AFTERNOON?" she yelled to (at) me across the store the other day.

"Uh ... no," I shrugged with a friendly face.

"I'M GOING BOWLING! DO YOU KNOW WHY BOWLING IS THE BEST STRESS RELIEF THERE IS?"

"Uh ... no."

"BECAUSE YOU CAN PICTURE THE FACE OF THE PERSON YOU'RE MAD AT ON THE PINS BEFORE YOU KNOCK THEM DOWN."

Truth. Crazy, but ... truth.

So, here I am, the only sane person in the bunch. At least, that's what I tell myself. Until I take a closer look. 

I'm usually in the middle of a hundred different things when my daughter shows up at my office door with that impatient "Mo-o-om, we're going to be late" 'tude, so it's rare that I arrive at the donut shop in what you might call a pulled together state. Often I'm still in yoga pants and a sweatshirt purloined from my husband. Chances are, I've thrown the work I need in a tote bag and have my arms full with laptop, cables, and mobile phone. 

Have office, will travel. Welcome to the 21st century.

Once I acquire my tasty beverage, I tend to spread out at one of the tiny tables (unless, of course, my gentleman caller mentioned above happens to be there). But from then on, everything I do is perfectly rational. Absolutely normal. N-o-r-m-a-l. For example ...

I write advertising copy, and then read it (out loud) to make sure I've said what I think my client needs to say. It's very important to read aloud, you know. That's how you catch awkward phrases. The process itself isn't awkward at all. Especially in public.

If there's no agency work to be done, I go through back issues of The New Yorker, dissecting each magazine and creating piles: to read, to toss, to pass along. No one minds the tearing sounds, do they? And, the activity certainly doesn't resemble anything related to OCD, right?

Work or play, my behavior is completely apropos. And heaven forbid I use the time to actually relax. "Too much time, too little to do." Wait! Reverse that.

Of course, all of this busy work does lead to a certain amount of stress. But, that's okay.

I can always go bowling.

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

Caution: Explosives Ahead

I love movies. There is nothing quite like that feeling of anticipation when the lights dim, you settle into your seat, and taste that first piece of delectable popcorn with "golden topping." (What is that stuff? Never mind, I'm quite sure I don't want to know.)

Over the years, I've related to various silver screen heroines. I went through my Juliet phase, my Scarlet O'Hara phase, my Sister Maria phase. As an adult, I understood why working woman Holly Hunter cried after her run each morning, why Sally fell for Harry, why Hannah felt taken for granted by her sisters.

But these days, the movie in which I most clearly see myself is a tremendously gory low-budget horror film from 1981. It's David Cronenberg's Scanners. And there's one infamous scene in particular that reminds me of ... well ... me. I'm not going to link to it (because it truly is disgusting), but if you're curious, you can Google "exploding head scanners." Just don't say I didn't warn you.

In Cronenberg's cult classic, scanners are people with superhuman telekinetic powers: they can read others' minds and make things happen through their own thoughts and concentration. A renegade scanner who is participating in a "harmless" demonstration decides to show off, focuses on another scanner's cranium and KABOOM! there is blood and guts and brains everywhere. The effect was created with raw beef livers and a shotgun. Not for the weak of heart (or the recent of lunch).

Despite the spectacular 1980s special effects, there is something basic and human and motherly about the scene. You see, I often feel as if my own temples are about to burst. In fact, this exceptionally unpleasant sensation happens almost daily. And, the movie's tagline pretty much says it all ...

10 Seconds: The Pain Begins.

15 Seconds: You Can't Breathe.

20 Seconds: You Explode.

Here are some, but not all, of the reasons this particular mom fears for her head:

When I have to repeat — for the hundredth time — that a certain someone can't go on Facebook until her homework is done.

When it's below freezing and that same young person refuses to wear a hat or a scarf or a pair of gloves, even though she has several of each of these apparently unnecessary accessories.

When there are dirty dishes in the aforementioned offspring's bedroom, in the bathroom, in the living room, the TV room, in pretty much every room in the house ... except the kitchen.

When there is a complete and utter disregard for rules despite the fact that said rules have been in place for years and have not changed one iota in all that time.

When I've had a particularly gruesome day at work only to learn that there is a humongous social studies project due the next day that will require all hands on deck, not to mention supplies we don't happen to have.

When I learn, through a strategic series of questions, that the social studies project in question was assigned not today, not yesterday, not even last week, but A FULL MONTH AGO!!!!!!!!

KABOOM!

Until today, I thought that the perceived combustion of my brain was simply a manifestation, a symptom of a greater disease state known as mother-of-a-tween-itis. But, some quick web research has shown that "Exploding Head Syndrome" is an actual parasomnia disorder in which the patient is awakened by a fantastically loud noise inside his or her head. How horrible! Although these EHS episodes do not include physical pain, they do lead to anxiety and understandable difficulty sleeping.

The cause is unknown, but EHS appears to be connected to stress and extreme fatigue. Oh, and more women suffer from it than men.

Yep, that sounds about right.

Loosing — Er, Losing It

Even before I was pregnant, when my darling daughter was just a gleam in my eye, I knew the type of mother I wanted to be. I wouln't yell or scream or berate her. I would be kind and loving; like Marmee in Little Women, I would guide my child with a gentle firmness. We would always always see eye-to-eye. We would never never fight. And, she would love and respect — dare I say, revere — me.

Dream on, Mamacita! (Can someone please invent blog sound effects so I can audibly slam on the brakes or scratch a record here?)

It started out well. I don't think I ever raised my voice when she was a baby or even a toddler. There was no reason to, really. My daughter was even-tempered and compliant. We rarely had to say the word "No." And, despite some opinions to the contrary, it's not because we were spoiling her. She was just a super easy child. That, and the fact that she was in full-time daycare while I worked, meant that the few hours we had together each day were invariably sweet.

But, she grew up as children are wont to do. These days, we are at odds more often than evens. And, the other night ... I lost it. I mean, LOST it.

I will try to relay the story without sounding too defensive. It was nearly 10:00 and I was still at my desk, trying to hit not one but two deadlines (I told the clients EOD, "end of day" — obviously, my day hadn't ended yet). Meanwhile, my daughter sent an email with a chirpy note "Proof & print!!!" and an attached Word document. It was her two-page movie review assignment for eighth grade English.

So, being a concerned mother, I stopped writing my client's 19-page brochure and took a look at the homework. My daughter came up, eager to collect the proofed and printed paper.

"There are just a couple of typos," I told her. "See here, I think you mean 'lose' not 'loose.'"

She stared blankly at me, so I continued, "I mean, the character is going to lose his family, right? Not unleash them and set them loose in the woods or something." She shrugged 'whatever' so I changed it and went on.

"You have practically the same sentence in here three times ..." I started to point to the redundant phrases on the screen. She barked at me.

"No! Mrs. B likes that part! Leave it alone! Will you just print it already?!?"

That's when I lost it. In fact, I didn't just lose it, I cut loose with a loud shriek ...

"PLEASE!?!?!?!?!?"

Her eyes went wide, like one of those felt reindeer when they see Rudolf's nose glow for the first time. She caught her breath, "What?"

"PLEASE! CAN'T YOU EVER SAY THE WORD PLEASE!?!?!?!?!?!?"

I sounded like Mommy Dearest when she found the wire hangers in Christina's closet. Or maybe it was more like the Dark One speaking through pre-exorcised Linda Blair. Regardless, it was not my finest maternal moment.

My daughter rolled her eyes and said "Sorry."

You probably think the word 'sorry' has two syllables, right? Well, when my daughter says it, she uses three. "Soh-aw-ree." This translates to: "I'm saying 'sorry' because you want me to although I'm not at all sorry because there's really nothing to be sorry about." She grabbed her paper and left my office.

Suddenly I felt pain. (Not remorse, mind you, pain.) Not only had I made a superhuman (or maybe it was subhuman) noise when I exploded at her, but the whole thing bubbled up from so deep inside me so fast and furious that I had bitten the side of my tongue. So, there I was, still sitting at my desk, still working, an object of my child's disdain, and feeling real physical discomfort.

Did I already mention that this wasn't my finest moment?

A little later, I knew my daughter was getting ready for bed, so I left my work (still not quite finished) and went down to say "good night." And to apologize. I firmly believe that parents are not always right simply because they are the parents. Yes, my daughter needs to say "Please," but I don't need to bite her head off. It's not her fault that it was late and I was tired. It's not even her fault that I was so stressed out. Well, maybe partly her fault, but not entirely.

"Sorry," I told her in two syllables. "I'm exhausted and feeling very unappreciated right now." She nodded. "Can we please try to treat each other with respect?" She nodded again. "And courtesy? Y'know: please and thank you." She nodded a final time.

The next morning, we were back to usual. It was nearly impossible to get her out of bed. But, she was somehow dressed and fed and out on time. I don't think she even remembered my explosion. But I remembered it.

And my tongue still hurts.