When your "kid" becomes an "adult"

Being a parent is weird (and hard). On the one hand, our job is to nurture our children, to give them love and a shoulder to cry on, to provide them with shelter, food and clothing, to protect them from the evils of this world, and to teach them right and wrong.

On the other hand, and I truly believe this, one of our chief roles as parents is to teach our children to be independent and self-sufficient, i.e., to not need us anymore. Call it planned obsolescence. Kind of like your iPhone.

This summer, shortly after our just-turned-17-year-old daughter packed up her car with most of her clothes, along with her Vitamix and ice-cream maker, and drove off to Long Island to work on a farm (with a bunch of twentysomethings), I realized the spouse and I had entered that second stage of parenting.

Part of me, a very large part, is enormously proud of the teenager for being so independent and grown up. (She does her homework without having to be told or nagged to do so, loves to cook and is very good at it, is a good, safe driver, and does her own laundry.)

Another part of me, though, will always see her as my little girl (and not just because she's still shorter than I am).

While I worked very hard to make sure our daughter could take care of herself, and be self-sufficient (and succeeded!), I miss being needed (for more than a cash infusion)... and the hugs (though I still get those, just not as many or as often)... and waking her up each morning with a kiss on her forehead (she now sets her alarm and gets up before I do)... and our daily after-school, or after-camp, discussions. (Since she went to Long Island, we rarely hear from her, typically only when she has a money-related question. To find out what she's been up to, we log onto Facebook and Instagram.)

True, we still have a year before the teenager heads off to college. But she has already informed us that she will be very busy this year and to basically "not wait up for her."

Sigh.

I am happy she is happy. (We spent many years dealing with her being unhappy, and I will take happy over unhappy every time.) And I am proud our daughter is becoming (is?) an amazing adult -- and look forward to hearing about all of the amazing adventures to come. But this being a parent thing is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

Visiting colleges with your teen

I have a confession: I love going on college visits with my teenage daughter.

Maybe it's because my (divorced) parents were so not into the whole college visit thing. Maybe it's because I work in Marketing and love to see and compare how brands market themselves. Maybe it's because I enjoy an old-fashioned road trip and sharing in my daughter's excitement about college. Maybe it's because we only had to visit six schools. Or it could be all of the above.

Granted, we only have one child, who knows what she wants to study (Nutrition/Food Studies), and there are only a dozen or so universities that offer undergraduate degrees in Nutrition, and we were able to quickly narrow down the schools she wanted to visit (at least initially) to six, a very reasonable number. (We also had three backups, in case she didn't like more than one of the six.) Still... I thoroughly enjoyed going through the research process with her, planning our trips (one of my favorite hobbies), visiting each college/university, comparing them, and making up taglines (how I amused myself).

For those interested, here are my summaries -- and taglines -- for the six schools we visited.

First up was Boston University, whose admissions team clearly put a lot of time and money into their admissions presentation, which was conducted by an assistant director of admissions, featured a current student, and included a slick video filled with interesting factoids as well as a helpful slide presentation. If I were to come up with a tagline based on the presentation, it would be "BU, better than you think!"

(I could have been just imagining that BU had a chip on its shoulder, but as my memory of BU was as a party school for underachievers, the presentation definitely had me reconsidering the school and viewing it in a much more favorable light. Well played, BU!)

We also liked BU's campus, which, though urban (the school is located in Boston), still had a nice campus feel.

Next up was NYU, whose marketing tagline seemed to be "New York! F*ck yeah!"

I was underwhelmed (and turned off) by the presentation, given in a small, overcrowded room, in a building under construction, by an assistant director of admission who waxed enthusiastically about New York City and NYU's overseas campuses and study abroad programs, yet barely touched on the school itself, provided little admissions info (as I recall), and seemed like he was trying to scare off potential applicants. But the teenager didn't get the same impression (or didn't care).

Our NYU tour guide, however, a Communications (or was it Theater?) major from Kansas, was great -- very knowledgeable and enthusiastic. (We could all see the teenager being a tour guide.) Indeed, shortly after the tour had concluded, the teenager asked us if she could get an NYU sweatshirt. Cha-ching!

As for the University of Pennsylvania, which we visited on a February day when the mercury did not get above 15 degrees (and felt like -15 with the wind chill), if I had drunk a shot of vodka (or pick your alcohol) every time the assistant director of admissions said ivy league during his presentation, they would have had to rush me to the hospital for alcohol poisoning.

That said, we all thought the Penn presentation was good -- very useful, in terms of navigating the admissions process and showcasing some programs that students browsing the Penn website might not be aware of. But if I had to come up with a tagline for Penn, based on the admissions presentation, it would be "We're Penn, and you're not!" or "UPenn, hell yeah!" or "Penn, did we mention we're an Ivy League school?"

As for the campus tour, didn't love the tour guide (blonde sorority girl, though perfectly nice), but we loved the campus, which is very pretty and compact and has a small-town college feel, although it's in the heart of Philadelphia. (One of Penn's big selling points to prospective students is you can roll out of bed and be at your class within 10 minutes, no transportation necessary; Philadelphia is right there; and you can be in New York City in less than 2 hours.)

Next we drove up to Ithaca, New York, in early April, to visit Cornell, which I had my doubts about (big school, cold weather, not close to anything -- all the things the teenager didn't want), though it has a top-rated Nutrition program. I can't say that it was love at first sight, but it was close. Which surprised all of us.

Maybe it was the "Student Experience" package we booked at the Statler, Cornell's student-run, on-campus hotel, which resulted in us being upgraded to a Tower View Suite, and meeting and talking to so many nice students at the hotel and in the restaurant (where we had dinner and breakfast, both of which were yummy -- best yogurt I've ever had). It definitely wasn't the general Information Session, which was the worst, least helpful  admissions presentation I have ever attended. Totally worthless. (Dude couldn't even figure out how to work the 1990s PowerPoint presentation.)

However, the breakout sessions/panel discussions for the individual colleges, where the director of admissions for Cornell's College of Agriculture and Life Sciences, the school the teenager is interested in (who was fabulous) and three CALS students fielded questions from parents and prospective students, was much better. And our tour guide was great.

My tagline for Cornell, or really CALS: "CALS: Smart, creative people who know what they want to do need only apply."

Our last college road trip (for now), over April break, was to Northern California, to visit Berkeley and Davis. We all were SURE, with capital letters, that the teenager was going to love and want to go to Berkeley. In fact, we would have put money on it. And you know what? (You can probably guess at this point what I am about to write.) Of all the schools we visited, this was her least favorite. Mine, too.

The interesting thing was, the info session was one of the better ones we'd attended. (The guy who gave it studied education and was into statistics.) And we had a very articulate, very perky tour guide (another Theater or Communications major). And the campus is very nice. But we just weren't feeling it.

As for a tagline, I've been wavering between "Cal Berkeley: Just as good as Stanford, if not better!" (Berkeley has a bit of a chip on its shoulder re Stanford.) and "Cal Berkeley: Eh. Whatever." (Berkeley also gives one the impression that they don't need you.)

We had the opposite reaction to Davis, Berkeley's sister school to the Northeast. While Davis is reputed to have a Top Three Nutrition program and has a very cool sounding viticulture program (we all loved the idea of the teenager studying and making wine), we didn't know much about the school or the town and were basically just going for a ride.

Boy were we (pleasantly) surprised.

First off, the town of Davis is adorable. Okay, maybe adorable is not the right word, but it's a great college town, with lots of little eateries and shops and things -- very nice. And the UC-Davis campus.... All I can say is wow.

Maybe it's because we hadn't seen the sun, combined with over 50-degree temperatures, and lush grass and trees and flowers in over six months, but walking around the UC-Davis campus, you felt you were in an arboretum (which, actually, you are). And there are bikes everywhere. No vehicles are allowed, so students and teachers bike (or walk) everywhere. And the gym? OMG. Our giant, relatively new LA Fitness pales in comparison.

The academic buildings looked pretty nice, too (as did the baseball players).

As for the Information Session, it was one of the best we attended -- led by a student, a senior, who just happened to be a Nutrition major, and it was full of useful information about the school and applying. It also had us immediately reconsidering Davis (in a good way). As did our tour guide, an African-American student from LA, who was sporting a black Dodgers baseball camp, who confessed to crying when she first set foot on the campus, being an LA city girl, and not being used to the country, and squirrels, which terrified her. Although we don't think she meant to be, she was a hoot.

My tagline for Davis: "Davis: It's really nice here -- and we have good academics, too!" (Everyone there just seemed so happy and laid back, though everyone we talked with said to not be fooled by appearances, that the school was very challenging academically.)

So basically we are 5 for 6, which in baseball (LET'S GO, METS!!!), as well as in the college search process, is an excellent batting average. And the game plan now, for the fall, is for the teenager to attend classes (and stay overnight) at her top thee schools. If we can figure out how she can do that.

Which brings me to my final topic: College Admissions Websites. Why do so many colleges make it so hard to sign up for info sessions, tours, and/or classroom visits? Of the six schools we visited, Boston University, New York University, University of Pennsylvania, Cornell University, University of California, Berkeley, and University of California, Davis, Berkeley had the worst info session/tour sign up process, followed closely by Cornell. Though few of them were a cinch to navigate -- and I write about the web and usability for a living.

And do not get me started about trying to attend a class as a prospective student. (I am looking at you, NYU. Seriously, no online information? You just expect students to go to the Welcome Center the day they want to visit and play classroom roulette? Really? Really, folks. I know. I called. Was transferred twice. And no one could help me beyond saying, "Come down to the Welcome Center." Also, good luck booking an overnight hosting visit, anywhere. The schools that offer them sell out almost as fast as Target sold out of Lilly Pulitzer last weekend.)

ANYWAY.... As someone relatively new to this whole college thing, and fascinated by the process, I'm interested in hearing from other parents, as well as friends who can still recall what it was like when they visited schools, back in the day. Just leave a Comment (in the Comments section).

You might have a teenager if...

How can you tell your children are officially teens (other than, you know, knowing how old they are)? Here are 11 signs to watch out for.

Note: Any resemblance to actual, specific teens is purely coincidental. 

You might have a teenager if... your daughter thinks that a tight, low-cut shirt, a mini skirt, and Uggs are the perfect winter outfit; and your son insists on wearing a t-shirt and shorts to school if it's over 32 degrees out.

You might have a teenager if... you have never heard of the bands or singers your child listens to.

You might have a teenager if... you start to wonder if those ear buds were surgically implanted in your child's ears.

You might have a teenager if... your child cannot go 30 seconds without looking at his or her smart phone.



You might have a teenager if... your child can type way faster than you on his/her smart phone -- and offers to teach you how to use your smart phone.

You might have a teenager if... she says she was "talking" with her friends when she was actually texting or Facebook messaging or Snapchatting with them.

You might have a teenager if... you know what Snapchat is.

You might have a teenager if... when you ask your child a question, make a request, or offer advice (or, okay, just speak), she rolls her eyes.

You might have a teenager if... when you ask your child to do something, she cuts you off with a "Yes, mom," like you are the most annoying person on the planet.

You might have a teenager if... your child thinks you are the most annoying person on the planet.

You might have a teenager if... they think you can't possibly understand whatever it is they are going through.

Life with Teenage Daughter Who Now Drives

As some of you may recall, two weeks ago the teenager acquired a driver's license -- and my nine-year-old Mini Cooper. At the time, I was rather stressed out, first about her road test, because the teenager was so stressed out, and I literally felt her anxiety (and yes, I am using literal in the literal sense). Then because OMG! MY DAUGHTER HAD HER DRIVER'S LICENSE AND WAS DRIVING... MY CAR! At 16!

[And she'll have fun, fun, fun 'til her mommy takes her Mini away.]



As a child of New York City (i.e., Manhattan), I had zero interest in acquiring a driver's license or a car when I was 16... or 17. Why go through the hassle when you can walk, or take the bus, or the subway, or a taxi anywhere? Indeed, in New York (i.e., Manhattan) a car was a burden, and a big expense, where people paid more for monthly parking than they did in rent.

It was only because my father INSISTED that I learn how to drive before I went off to college that I took driving lessons at the end of my senior year of high school. And let me tell you, learning how to drive in Manhattan is not for the faint of heart (nor is the New York Department of Motor Vehicles -- shudder). And even though I did, in fact, acquire my driver's license before heading off to college, I had zero desire to drive in the City (and still don't).

However, I realize that in the suburbs, especially where we live, being able to drive gives teenagers a sense of freedom and independence. Not unlike the feeling(s) I and my friends had being able to get around the City on our own.

So now each afternoon, instead of rushing off to school to pick her up, or take her to the gym or some other activity, I sit alone in my office, typing on my computer, my cat napping in my lap, repeatedly glancing at my mobile phone, waiting for her to text me where she is and that she is okay, and waiting to see or hear the Mini.

And I wait. And I watch. And I wonder.... How did she get to be so big, so independent, so grown up? What happened to my little girl?

The hardest 90 minutes of my life as a parent (to date)?

The hardest 90 minutes of my life as a parent (other than labor, which was the hardest 18 hours of my life)? Waiting to find out if my daughter passed her road test, to obtain her driver's license.

I think I was a bigger wreck than the teenager, who was pretty anxious and nervous. Which is why we had the spouse go with her. (His nickname, back in the day, was "the human Quaalude," for his immediate calming influence.)

The appointment, at her driving school, in a car she had taken lessons in, was for 7:45 a.m. So she and the spouse left the house at 7:20 a.m., to make sure she got there on time, which they did. However, she didn't actually start the test until 8:30. (WTF is that all about?)

Can you say nervous mother?

After pacing around the house, changing light bulbs, doing laundry, cleaning the cat boxes, wiping down ceiling fans, texting the spouse, for what seemed like an eternity, the spouse texted me at 8:50:

"Pass."

"Perfect score."

"THANK YOU JESUS," I texted back (even though we're Jewish -- though so was Jesus).

Now the teenager has to wait 48 hours. Then go to the DMV (again with the spouse) to get her actual license, which will entail waiting on another line, for at least an hour.

Then I will officially hand over the keys to my Mini Cooper and the real worrying will begin.

So, any words of advice from you fellow parents of teenage drivers? This is a whole new world for me, having grown up in Manhattan, where no one drove, at least not teenagers. And I am terrified.

UPDATED 9/26: It's official. The teenager is now licensed to drive. Got her license -- with a really nice photo! -- from the DMV this morning.

Teaching your daughter the facts of life

First a couple of quick disclaimers:

1. By "facts of life" I am not referring the 1980s TV series The Facts of Life. Though you could learn a lot about the facts of life by watching The Facts of Life.

2. I am also not referring to sex, though you really should talk to your child about sex at some point, preferably before they have it.

No, what I am about to refer to are the real facts of life -- or, perhaps, more accurately, the realities of life. Those unpleasant realities that we all encounter, at some point, which make us gnash our teeth and stomp around and complain.

Well, forewarned is forearmed, I say. Herewith, six realities of life. (Listen up, girls. Guys too.)

1. Life is unfair. Deal with it. You may be the best and/or the brightest. You may do all the right things. That doesn't mean you will be successful or rich or happy. Unless you are really good looking. Good looking people have been shown (or proven) to get more jobs, more money, and more promotions. Though that doesn't mean they are happy!

2. Honesty isn't always the best policy. Yes, yes, yes, we all know that lying is bad and no one should do it. But sometimes a situation calls for a fib, or a white lie, to protect someone's feelings -- or your ass from winding up in a sling. Just don't let me catch you lying to me!

3. Cheaters sometimes prosper, but eventually they get caught (most of the time). Cheating (e.g., copying homework, plagiarizing, using someone else's test results or Cliff Notes) is wrong and dishonest. When you cheat, you don't learn. Sure, it's the easy way out, and you probably see people doing it at school, who get As or awards, and you think, "Why didn't I cheat instead of blowing a whole weekend studying?!" But the reality is that while lots of people cheat, and often get away with it, they are missing out -- and eventually they get caught. And it typically doesn't end well.

4. It's not what you know but who you know. (See 1.) As most of us have learned the hard (or, perhaps, the easy) way, who you know -- aka networking -- is typically more effective at getting you a job or a hard-to-get reservation or ticket than what you know. So as you go through life, work hard, but also take the time to cultivate people -- teachers, parents, friends, coworkers, bosses. Be polite and helpful -- and don't be afraid to ask for help, an introduction, or a reference. Just be prepared to do the same -- and remember to say "thank you."

5. Most people suck at time management, aka, People (or their lives) are messy and disorganized. Don't take it personally (when they don't email or text or call you back). As someone who prides herself on being organized and efficient and a logistics whiz, who immediately returns emails, texts, and calls, this lesson was very hard to learn -- and I'm still working on the "don't take it personally part." But trust me, kid, you will be a whole lot happier, or saner, if you just assume that most people are bad time managers and will not get back to you, possibly ever. If it's important, you follow up with them. Repeatedly, if necessary.

6. Guys, especially teenage guys, typically go for girls with nice (or big) boobs -- and tall, skinny blonde girls with pretty faces. True, there are some exceptions to this rule. Unfortunately, I can't think of any right now. See Rule 1.

There are probably some gems I am missing. If you all think of any, please feel free to add it or them to my list via the Comments.

UPDATED 7/9/14: Just thought of one more.

7. No one cares. Unless you are famous. Most people are self-centered and self-absorbed. They don't care about your (seemingly petty) problems. Unless you are famous. Then everyone cares.

They grow up so fast...

but they'll always be our "babies."

Today the teenager turns Sweet 16. Though she wasn't always so "sweet," as this picture can attest to.

(We were so proud. No other baby came close to capturing the title "Crankiest Baby." And for the honor, we received a giant basket of baby products from Whole Foods.)

Like most milestones in her life, starting with her birth (18 hours of labor -- and I'm still laboring), this one was greeted with screams and tears. Indeed, what should have been a joyous occasion, getting her learner's permit, quickly turned to sorrow when our local DMV refused to accept the teenager's carefully assembled paperwork, which included her passport, her official school ID, paystubs from work, bank statements, two pieces of mail addressed to her, and a report card.

What just-turned-16-year-old, btw, has all of that stuff?

Yet it was not good enough for the DMV. No. They wanted AN OFFICIAL SCHOOL TRANSCRIPT or else her social security card, which I thought we lost. ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME?

Long story slightly shortened: The teenager returns home in tears and proceeds to prostrate herself on her bed while I turn my filing cabinet upside down in search of her social security card, which I found. Then I hauled her out of bed and insisted she go right back to the DMV, with her father (bless him), and convince them to let her take the test. So she could drive this fine piece of British machinery, my nine-year-old Mini Cooper, Roger.

And yes, I fully expect her to drive around in the Mini with the bunny ears and nose on the car.

Fortunately, the story has a happy ending.

The bureaucrats at the DMV let her take the learner's permit test -- and she passed. Crisis averted. Onward and upward.

It's funny. When I gave birth, like so many women before me, I thought the worst pain had past. (Did I mention I was in labor for over 18 hours -- and then couldn't sit for another six weeks?) But it was only just the beginning.

As I have learned, being a parent is far more than giving birth and providing food and shelter and clothing to your offspring. Or chauffeuring them around. Or attending recitals or soccer games. You need a master's or PhD in psychology or child development and the patience of a saint (neither of which I have, but I'm working on it).

But I look at my beautiful, smart, talented (did I mention she is an amazing cook and makes us dinner every night?) daughter, now 16, and figure the spouse and I must have done something right.

I just hope to hell she gets into college, or else mommy is going to need a room at a nice sanitarium. 

Anyway.... Happy birthday, daughter. I think you are amazing, and I -- we -- love you very much.

A mother's note to her three little scientists

My friend Liz, the long-suffering mother of three curious (and adorable) little boys, posted this on Facebook yesterday, and I had to share.

[Anyone who is or was the mother of a curious boy will appreciate this.]

Dear Boys,

While I appreciate your enthusiasm for scientific experimentation and laud your quest for empirical knowledge…we need to clarify a few things.

The toilet is not designed to determine whether small rubber animals sink or float. Especially when flushed.

The purpose of a ceiling fan is not to test your reflexes. Unanticipated outcomes are almost guaranteed.

The microwave is not a science lab. One of two things will happen, no matter what you put in there: it will melt or it will explode. Neither outcome will make me happy.

Love,

Mom

And speaking of microwaves and science labs... ;-)



You're welcome, Liz!

Eat your heart out

I have tried over the years not to be or become that parent. You know the one. The one who constantly brags or boasts about their kid on Facebook or in person, whether there is something to brag or boast about or not. Or who constantly one-ups you with tales of their little genius's or athlete's or [insert whatever here]'s accomplishments.

I think I've done a pretty good job of keeping my pride (and bragging) in check. But sometimes your kid does something so awesome, so mind-blowingly sweet or thoughtful or amazing or extraordinary, you just have to brag share. And friends, today is such a day.

For today, the teenager made me (and okay, technically the spouse, too, but she really made them for me) croissants and pain au chocolats, FROM SCRATCH. Because she knew I'd been feeling blue and craving a good croissant and pain au chocolat. (I am still kvelling.)

Here is the scene that greeted me at 8 a.m. this morning as I entered the kitchen: a plate covered with hearts topped with a hot-out-of-the-oven croissant and pain au chocolat (along with orange juice and a selection of condiments).

Never has a mother -- or this mother -- been so moved by baked goods. But OH! what baked goods! I am not exaggerating when I say these croissants and pain au chocolat were as good as -- BETTER -- than any I've had in New York or Paris. And trust me, I have eaten A LOT of croissant and pain au chocolat in my day.

However, rather than continue to drool on my keyboard prattle on about how incredibly flaky and buttery and mouthwateringly delicious these delectable morsels of French yumminess were, I will let the baked goods speak for themselves.

Mmmm...

[And if you think the croissant and pain au chocolat were impressive, check out the teenager's food blog and its Facebook page, which has way more likes than my page does. Okay, I'm done bragging now.]

It takes (smaller) balls to be a good father

Why are some men better fathers -- that is, better at nurturing their offspring -- than others? According to a threesome at Emory University in Atlanta, it may very well have to do with the size of the father's testicles. And it appears that when it comes to nurturing or caring for children, and the family jewels, less is more. (More proof that good things come in small packages?)

How did the intrepid researchers figure this out? In a nutshell, they scanned "the brains and berries" of 70 male volunteers while showing them pictures of their child. And the researchers found that the part or parts of the brain believed to be responsible for nurturing were more active in the fathers with less cojones. 

[Quick aside: Anyone else amused and amazed by the number of synonyms for testicles?]

While the findings are not conclusive, they are consistent with observations of other primates, specifically chimpanzees (larger testicles, not good caregivers) and gorillas (smaller testicles, attentive fathers).

So ladies, when sizing up potential candidates to be the father of your child, "choose dads with smaller 'nads." (Lower testosterone levels also make for a more nurturing parent.)

Btw, you can read the study, titled "Testicular volume is inversely correlated with nurturing-related brain activity in human fathers," here.

Negotiating with your teenage daughter

That post title? It's a lie. You cannot negotiate with teenage girls. Oh, you can try, but it won't do you any good.

Exhibit A

The scene: A video chat with the teenager, who is studying in France.

The spouse: So, do you need us to bring you anything?

[We are about to fly to France to visit the teenager and celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary.]

The teenager: Could you go to Penzey's [amazing spice store not particularly close to here though not that far] and get me some Tandoori spice?

Me: I am not going to Penzey's to get you Tandoori spice.

The teenager: Then why did you ask me if I needed anything?

Me: I have to run errands in town and go to Stop & Shop -- and have things to do. If they have Tandoori spice at Stop & Shop, I'll get some, but I am not going to Penzey's.

[Teenager is pouting.]

The spouse: If I have time tomorrow, I will go to Penzey's. [Big smile from teenager.] What do you need Tandoori spice for?

The teenager: We invited over H and C [two girls in her program] and we all love Indian food, but we don't have any Tandoori spice. 

Me: Okay, I'm going to run errands. Bye.

Meanwhile at Stop & Shop... there is no Tandoori spice to be had. Jamaican spice? Yah mon. Italian spice? Si. Herbes de Provence? Oui. Moroccan spice? Yup. Dozens of spices representing practically every ethnic cuisine, but no Indian or Tandoori spice (though they did have Curry spice and turmeric and coriander).

Two spice aisles and ten minutes later, I was back in my car, heading nearly half an hour away to Penzey's. Sigh.

[Note to the teenager if you are reading this: No, I did not get that amazing-looking Indian spice gift pack. I got you a small container of Tandoori spice, which I bubble-wrapped and will pack in my suitcase. However, had I seen that gift pack, I would have purchased it as a gift for your host mom. And no, I am not going back to Penzey's to get it.]

Words with Friend Alec Baldwin

Welcome to another Shameless Plug edition of J-TWO-O! Today's shameless plug: My stepfather's new book, Eye Rhymes (pictured at right -- and a steal at only $9.95).

What are eye rhymes? Also known as "visual rhymes" or "sight rhymes," eye rhymes are verses based on words that look as if they should rhyme but don't (e.g., bomb, comb, tomb). And the book Eye Rhymes is filled with 47 of them, all written by my stepfather, wordsmith and cryptic puzzle creator John de Cuevas, and illustrated by his friends Sara Ferguson and Janet Young.

And what, pray tell, does this have to do with Alec Baldwin? I'm so glad you asked!

Alec Baldwin -- along with master thespian Blythe Danner -- narrate the online version of the book, which you can listen to (and read along with -- for free) at http://eyerhymesplus.com/. (But would it kill you to buy a book?)

And while I am shamelessly plugging books, it's not too late to purchase a copy of my mother's children's book, Polarity Bear Tours the Zoo: A Central Park Adventure!

Okay, my work here is done.

Mother-daughter chats

There's nothing like a little mother-daughter chat to let your daughter know how much you care.

[Both conversations printed below actually took place. Only the names have been changed, to protect the embarrassed.]

*     *     *

Daughter: I just had a scary thought. Somewhere, out there, walking the earth, is my future husband.

Me: Think how scared he must be.

Daughter: Thanks mom.

*     *     *

Daughter (recounting her day at school): ... and then I helped S. sort out her love life. She's pretty upset.

Me: What's up?

Daughter: This boy told her he really likes her, but she doesn't like him -- at least not that way. But she still wants to be his friend.

Me: Did she tell him that?

Daughter: Yeah, but the problem is, they were going out and then they broke up, but she still talks to him and gives him hugs. [FYI, the individuals being discussed are eighth graders.]

Me: Well, there's the problem!

Daughter looks at me quizzically.

Me: Here's the deal. Guys, especially teenage guys, think with their penis. So even though she may have told him she wasn't interested in going out, the fact that she is still talking to him and hugging him sends a message to the penis that she secretly wants to have sex with him.

Daughter: Ew, that's gross, mom. I'm going upstairs to do my homework.

Daughter heads up the stairs.

Me (shouting): You're welcome!

Note: To read more motherly advice re the teenage male brain, see my post titled "Explaining boys to your daughter."

You can learn a lot from driving teens

At the risk of divulging a big secret (and drying up a key source of juicy information), it often seems to me that my daughter and her friends think there is some kind of invisible, soundproof barrier between the front seat and back seat that prevents all conversation from being heard in the front seat, and, as a result, often talk about things they probably wouldn't talk about at, say, the dinner table (which is even more amusing, to me, because I drive a Mini Cooper, not a minivan).

Whatever the reason for their (often uncensored) chit chat, I am grateful for the opportunity it has given me, over the years, to learn about aspects of my daughter and her friends' lives that they might not normally share with a parent (even one as hip as I am*) -- even more so now that they are teenagers.

So what exactly can you learn from driving teenage girls?

Without divulging any personal information (concerning my daughter or her friends), following are some samples gleaned not only from my back seat but from the top secret back seats of other Russian chauffeurs (aka soccer and basketball moms who have sworn me to secrecy):

• What music they like (names of groups, lyrics and which ones have the hottest lead singer);

• How they are doing in school -- and which teachers they like/don't like;

• The latest teenage fashion trends and where they like to shop;

• Who has a potty mouth or is always getting into trouble; and, perhaps the most invaluable...

• What boys they like, who is dating whom, and what they say to each other (girls will often read aloud texts they receive/send to boys while chatting with their girlfriend(s) in the backseat)
  

(Note: I dread the day when I hear these girls discussing who is sleeping with -- or performing sexual acts on -- whom, which is hopefully many years down the line, but you never know.)

So what have you learned from schlepping your kids and their friends? Let me know via a comment.

*That would be sarcasm, just one of the many services I offer.

How to pack for camp like a teenage girl

Yesterday, the spouse and I took our now teenage daughter to her sleepaway program, which runs for three weeks. And this year, for the first time, I had my daughter pack herself (armed with the packing list from camp). And let me just say, I'm pretty sure my daughter would give Ginger and the Howells, from Gilligan's Island, pretty stiff competition in the packing department. (I read the student manual, and I am pretty sure it did not say "Bring everything you own." Also, do you really need six 8-inch bottles of perfume... at camp? Or eyeshadow? I know: "Clearly, J., you are not a 13-year-old girl." To which I say, "Thank goodness!")

Now granted, this post is coming from someone who has been known to bring only a carry-on bag for a week's trip -- or who can cram clothes enough for two people for two weeks in a single regulation suitcase. But I am not a 13-year-old girl, and when I was approximately her age we all went to sleepaway camp (albeit for eight weeks, not three) with rather large trunks. Still.

So somehow the spouse manages to fit our daughter's suitcase, which could sleep a family of three (I exaggerate only slightly), her laundry basket (which is crammed with stuff, including a fan -- a total necessity as there is no air conditioning -- laundry detergent, her rain boots, a small desk lamp, and a blanket -- again, all necessities), her backpack (crammed with stuffed animals), her beach bag (not sure what was in there -- but I think a neutron star may be missing some of its mass), her small trunk (again, no idea what was in there -- but I checked and both cats are present and accounted for), and the three of us into his Honda Civic Hybrid, and we motor to camp. (FYI to all you hybrid car owners, if you want to see what crappy mileage you can get, try taking your daughter to camp or college.)

When we arrive at camp, it takes all three of us to transport her stuff to the unloading area where a U-Haul truck will take everything to her living quarters -- and then all three of us will need to haul it across the courtyard and up a flight of stairs (or in the teeny tiny elevator) and down the hall to her room. In 90-degree weather.

And then I see him. This 13- or 14- year-old boy -- or rather his luggage. Which consists of one average-size suitcase and a carry-on-size rollerboard, both of which he is wheeling himself. And then I spot another boy, with just a suitcase and a backpack. And another one. And as I glance around the unloading area, I realize that our daughter has a lock on the award for most stuff. Indeed, no one is even close. I am so proud.

What's worse than the sound of whining?

According to a new study, not much (if anything).

This finding, of course, comes as no surprise to anyone who a) has flown on an airplane with children; b) tried to have dinner out (at a restaurant other than McDonald's or similar) with children; c) gone on a long car trip with children; d) spent more than a few hours with a child; or e) all of the above.

Indeed, what is amazing to me is that anyone would need to conduct a study -- and got funding to do so! -- to figure out that whining (as well as the sound of a baby or child crying and parental baby talk) is highly annoying and distracting. I could have told you that for nothing -- as could any parent or any non-deaf adult who has spent a few hours with a whiny child (or teen).

Btw, the spouse is so going to throw this post in my face. (Whining, it's not just for kids!)

[To read a short summary of the study, click here.]

The best children's book (for adults) ever?

Many of you have no doubt heard about the tongue-in-cheek* new children's book Go the F*ck to Sleep by Adam Mansbach, which is really meant for weary parents. (As a parent of a child who has from nearly the moment she came into the world stayed up later than I did and would scream her head off -- sometimes for hours -- when placed in her crib at bedtime, I can totally relate.)

Now, however, you can actually hear the book being read aloud -- by Samuel L. Jackson. [Note: This video clip is NOT safe for listening to in public.]



Now I don't know about all of you but if Samuel L. Jackson told me to go the f*ck to sleep, I sure as hell would.

Btw, for more great Kids' Books to Read after Your Kids Go to Bed, click on the link (which goes to Slate).

*or f*cking hilarious

[H/Ts to StrangeAppar8us and TLEC]

They grow up so fast

In a few hours my "baby" will be a teenager, and I'm feeling a little verklempt all of a sudden.

How did she get to be this big, this old, this... this... this person?

As the spouse said to me this morning, he still remembers massaging my tailbone as I labored for 18 hours (most of them without drugs -- I know: WTF was I thinking?!) trying to get this stubborn little being the f--k out of me as we listened to the Chicago Bulls battle the Indiana Pacers in the NBA Eastern Conference Finals. (Was a HUGE Chicago Bulls fan back in the 1990s, when we lived in Chicagoland. And I insisted on watching the game, but the doctor made us shut it off so I would focus more on the bigger picture, pushing. On the positive side, I was spared watching the Bulls lose that game -- and I scored a baby out of the deal.)

Hopefully, over the last dozen plus years the spouse and I have given our daughter a solid foundation to build upon. But I worry about today's teenage girls. There is so much pressure on them -- academically, socially, emotionally. And we can't --and shouldn't -- protect our daughter forever. But still.... (The only thing tougher than being a pre-teen or teenage girl? Being the mother of a pre-teen or teenage girl.)

Which leads me to Britney Spears. (Bear with me here.)

Early this morning I saw a clip of the opening number from last night's 2011 Billboard Music Awards, featuring Rihanna and Britney singing Rihanna's hit song "S&M," and I thought, I wonder what their mothers think? And, How did Britney go from the cute, perky girl next door (if you happened to live in Kentwood, Louisiana) on The Mickey Mouse Club...



to Playboy bunny dominatrix simulating sex on stage in front of millions of people? (Fast forward to 2:45 in the clip if you are interested.)



Yeah, yeah, I know: fame... a broken home... bad decisions... bad managers... surrounding yourself with the wrong people... alcohol... drugs... The spouse and I have nothing to worry about. Stop overreacting, J.! But I do worry. While not every fresh-faced, seemingly innocent kid winds up in rehab or on a reality TV show or pole dancing for extra cash, you never know.

Oh geez. I'm tearing up again. And I gotta get to work. Just do me a favor: tonight, before she goes to bed, give your daughter an extra big hug and tell her you love her.

How to keep the boys away (from your teenage daughter)

People always joked that the spouse would need a shotgun to keep the boys away from our daughter when she got older. Well, now she is about to become a teenager (and has discovered boys) -- and next thing I know the spouse sends me this picture (of him firing a shotgun), taken while he attended a "retreat" with fellow members of the Loyal Order of Water Buffaloes Lodge No. 26 last weekend.
















And no, those were not blanks he was shooting.

Despite much trepidation about shooting a gun, the spouse admitted he enjoyed the experience -- and would do it again. (No mention of what -- or whom -- the target would be next time.)

All I can say is prospective suitors, watch out.

Explaining boys to your daughter

Just like Andy Hardy, love has found J-THREE-O. Puppy love, that is. And just like Nazareth sang, love hurts. Especially when one of your supposed good friends is supposedly putting the moves on your (12.5-year-old) man. Oo oo oo, love hur-ur-urts.

Typically when my daughter is upset, I give her empathy rather than advice, as I have read and heard enough to know that when people (especially female people) are in pain what they really want is for you to acknowledge their pain not disgorge pleasant but meaningless platitudes like "It will get better, honey. Promise." (Seriously, "that sucks" works way better.)

But sometimes when female people ask for advice, they really want advice. From everyone. So they can form a consensus. Because that is what women do. Particularly when it concerns men. And here was my big opportunity to scar my daughter for life explain how men think to my impressionable adolescent daughter.

What I really wanted to do was point my daughter to the second half of this blog post on i could cry but i don't have time, which I think succinctly explains how the male brain works. But I don't think either of us is ready to have the conversation where I explain what "head" is. (I am still not over the memory of my mother explaining what 69 was when I was around 16. Shudder. Hi Mom!)

Instead, when my daughter asked why this boy who supposedly liked her would pay attention to and hang out with this other (very pretty) girl, I blamed it on the penis. (And yes, I used the word penis.) More specifically, I began to explain that men are wired to procreate and when a pretty girl shows any interest, the penis senses an opportunity and responds. Or to quote Robin Williams, "See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time."

At this point in the conversation, my daughter, utterly mortified, cried "Mo-om!" At which point I threw up my hands and responded, "Go talk to the parent with the penis."

On the plus side, she is doing much better now -- and I have another item for my list of things to do to embarrass your teenage (or pre-teen) daughter! (And I wasn't even trying!)