One of our kids is not playing nicely with some of her fellow students. She is doing well academically, but there are some shenanigans going on during the recess and lunch breaks that need to be addressed quickly.

My younger brother struggled to get along with some of his peers, and his troubles were exacerbated by a general lack of interest in school and a sometimes difficult relationship with his teachers (who were not at all curious about why he might not like school so they just stuck him in the corner and told him to be quiet… thank goodness modern education allows for different learning styles in students… but I digress).

My parents were strong advocates for my brother, and I can remember their frustration with The System’s inability to cater to his specific but not unreasonable needs. I think it’s just the perfect happy ending that my brother married a brilliant school teacher and thus restored his faith in teachers and education in general. But at the time, I can remember them being very upset that his behaviour was causing disruption in the classroom; I’m sure they must have felt torn between their concern for his well-being and their concern for the experience of the other kids.

I’m still digressing.

The point is, it is quite confronting to be told that your child is behaving in a way that a) might effect another child’s enjoyment of school, and b) would almost certainly raise the hackles of the parents of that effected child. I know, because my kids have been the target of some fairly unsavoury behaviour in the past and nothing makes my blood boil quite like it. Can’t these parents control their child? What kinds of lessons are they teaching them at home if this is the way they behave at school?

Gulp.

Some of the same behaviours ARE being played out at home, and we tackle it head-on when we see it happening. Perhaps naively, we had no idea it was carrying on in the playground. The teacher was nervous to talk to us about it, no doubt worried that we might react with shock and disbelief and try to blame the other kids. No, we were pretty calm about it. Perhaps not really all that surprised. So we have promised to talk to our daughter about it, and we will check in with her teacher every week to see if there has been any improvement.

I have complained about the dreadful behaviour of other children at our daughters’ school - to other parents, to the Principal - and really all I ever wanted was some reassurance that the behaviour was being managed, that the offending child’s parents were involved, and that the school was employing an effective long-term strategy to not only help that child to learn how to get along with the other kids, but that the other kids (the ‘victims’) were being empowered to stand up for themselves as well. Our goal in this instance is to help our daughter see that this particular manifestation of her very strong leadership tendencies is discouraged, and that she channel that energy in a positive way.

Gosh, this parenting thing is really tough sometimes.

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The additional controversy taking place in California is that parents aren’t able to opt their children out leaving parents to challenge the school district with threats of law suits.

According to World Net Daily, the parents claim the California school district is violating federal law, under the following regulations:

Under the regulation, parents must be notified and given an opportunity to opt-out, if the evaluation addresses topics such as:

* Political affiliations or beliefs of the student or the student’s parent;

* sex behavior or attitudes;

* religious practices, affiliations, or beliefs of the student or student’s parent, etc.

In the past, debates have centered around this “opt out” policy which allows parents the option — to have their children pulled out of controversial subjects, especially in earlier grade levels.

According to The School Library Journal, Jordan Sonnenblick, an author and spokeman for an organization called Authors Support Intellectual Freedom, “People have a very rigid, narrow view of what kinds of sexuality are allowed to exist.”

But is that the problem here or is it an issue, as many California parents are claiming, of indoctrination at such a young age?

While I support efforts to minimize bullying (and hate speech) within schools, this is a slippery slope when parents rights are circumvented by school administrators. Shouldn’t the preservation of parental rights be respected as a basic freedom? While some parents may disagree with parents who choose to opt their children out of such moral teachings, parents disagree all the time, yet unless the child is being abused, it’s not anybody elses business when and how parents decide to education their children in matter of sexual attraction, is it?

I don’t necessarily have a problem with older children, with higher maturity levels, learning about two Dads or two Moms living together (ie; sleeping together), but why force complicated social issues on mere babes? Must children be aware of everything social and grown up, including sexual attraction? Can’t kids just be kids and not pawns of social justice and political motives? Why can’t they simply wait to introduce such complicated issues to extremely young children?

I also have to wonder, what if a Muslim child’s parent wanted to opt out? Would the proponents of the LGBT curriculum be “tolerant” of their rights or is it only Christian whose rights are being dimissed? Just asking.

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I often hear people saying, “American Idol is fixed.”  I don’t believe that for a minute.  The votes are counted properly.  But there is no way that the votes are cast SINCERELY. Here is where the integrity of the show is lost.  And where the truly invested viewers are duped.

But let’s back up for a minute.  The American Idol Season 8 Finale was a phenomenal show! I have been laughing and dancing for almost two hours.  I don’t know when was the last time I had so much fun watching television and I have completely forgotten how disappointing Tuesday’s show was.

When Norman Gentle came out to accept his award I was delighted.  When Fergie came out I thought the show couldn’t get any better.  When she was joined by the whole BEP crew I thought, “Enough already!  I don’t deserve this many treats.”

Allison singing with Cyndi Lauper was the first time of the night I got choked up.  I think because I’m a little broken hearted for her that she was booted a little early, but mostly I think I had a flashback to high school when “Time After Time” came out and Cyndi Lauper was such a big part of that time.  The Danny and Lionel Richie number was very cool too.  Again, sadness when I looked at Danny.  He should have been center stage tonight with Adam.

What a fun time I was having, all the while in the back of my mind thinking, “cool it girl, you’re about to have your world rocked.  This isn’t going to end well.”  Instead of listening to my own warning, I continued to embrace the show and enjoy each moment better than the last.

Kara upstaging Bikini Girl and her new boobs was brilliant.  How do you have the balls to stand onstage in front of all those people and not only sing in your bikini but sing BADLY?!  While everyone is making fun of you?!  Is she so self absorbed that she doesn’t get the joke is on her?  Oh well.  Kara tore it up and tore it off.  Go girl! I know I just told you earlier today to simmer down and zip it but I am glad you didn’t take my advice. :-)  I was certain that was going to be my memorable moment of the night.

Until…

Adam came out on stage.  His face looked SO clear and handsome.  The glitter around his eyes… he was just beautiful.  But what the hell is he wearing, I said to myself.  Then I quieted myself and heard the song, “Beth”.  I scared the crap out of my kids when I yelled, “OMG Gene Simmons is coming out!  He’s dressed like Kiss!”  Within 90 seconds I was jumping up and down and screaming, “OMG KISS IS HERE KISS IS HERE!”  My kids joined in with me even though they don’t know Kiss.  I just appeared to be having a really good time I guess.

The doom and gloom set in for a minute after that.  “I am so totally being set up right now,” I thought.  “Aw fuck it, I’m having fun.”

The biggest emotional moment was Adam, Kris, and Queen.  A flood of thoughts ran through my mind.  I had heard many ugly remarks over the last couple weeks making references between Adam and Queen.  Funny thing is Adam fans would agree with comparisons and see it as a compliment.  So there they were on stage together, and not only was Kris about to steal Adam’s Idol glory, but there he was horning in on Adam’s moment with Queen.  It should have been Adam’s alone.  And then I got sad looking at them all on stage and thinking about the one great performer that was missing, Freddie Mercury.  We lost him too soon and it would have been amazing to see him singing with Adam.

That brings us back to the results.  It was a super show, wasn’t it?  And seeing everyone perform and seeing Adam and Kris side by side it was more clear than ever that Adam is in a whole different league than everyone else, not just Kris.  Shit, he’s in a different league than half the artists on the radio right now!  “Too bad he won’t win,” I thought.

And then the results.  Kris won.  Adam lost.  Even Kris was stunned.  Speechless, the only thing he could say was, “Adam should have won”.  So true.

I knew Adam wasn’t going to win.  Didn’t for a moment expect it and I am disappointed, but my choice for IDOL has never been a winner.  No big deal.  He’s already a star.  But still I am pissed.  Even though I had no hopes that Adam would win, I was desperately wanting the voters to prove me wrong.  Because the only explanation for Adam to lose to Kris is loads of people voting not necessarily FOR Kris but AGAINST Adam. I am so happy for Kris that he has won and if this changes his life in ways that he never imagined.  It isn’t going to hurt Adam’s future at all.   But I feel like I witnessed a non violent hate crime tonight and I am sick to my stomach.

If you think I am being dramatic, please, imagine them both onstage again, side by side, and recall their performances.  How else do you explain this outcome?

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What about the lengthy dance number on recycling? The recycling movement is still alive and strong, right? Well, recycling is not all it’s cracked up to be, either. In fact, if you crunch the numbers the only thing that you can recycle that has an energy and cost savings vs. making it new are aluminum cans — which is why, not coincidentally, aluminum is the only thing you get paid for when you take it to the recycling center.

So what do we do, teach our kids they can just do anything they want on the planet and not to worry about it? Of course not. But it’s not about grandiose ideas like “saving the Earth” and it’s not about recycling, but about reducing consumption in the first place. Do small, practical things like turning out lights and TVs when nobody is in the room — and just don’t do it yourself, make the kids come back after they’ve wandered off to do it, too. Use a rain barrel under your gutter to collect rain water to water the plants. Drink tap water out of a glass or reusable container instead of buying bottled water. Bring your own canvas bags to the grocery store. None of those things take much effort or really affect your lifestyle, but go a long way in reducing the amount of resources used. And, as Julie Marsh points out in her column yesterday, it will save you some cash, too.

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No, really. I could.

I have no doubt in my mind if I made the slightest effort to be a friend to somebody outside of my 8 - 5 job, that it would be reciprocated. The problem is, as much as I like the idea of having friends and happen to fancy myself a people person, I’m totally unmotivated to put in any sort of effort to do so.

Part of the problem is - I work full time outside the home and when I’m home, I’m doing household chores, taking care of children, going to whatever sports my kids are involved in and working on other business ventures and projects, which are conveniently of the Internet variety and require very little person to person interaction. Before I had children, I had lots of friends. My phone would ring and I would weigh my invitation offerings – hmmm…Rainbow Club or Smart Bar?

Now, the phone hardly rings. My kids aren’t old enough for teenage phone takeover, so when the phone does ring, my kids and my husband and I look at each other with curiosity, “Who could that be?”

Recently, I’ve started to examine my lack of friendships further and wonder who would attend my funeral should a random icicle fall from our frozen gutters and knock me down for good. Of course, enough family members would show up that it may fill a 50 x 50 room, but I would still be humiliated from the grave and I’m not sure I can live with myself knowing that I would be unpopular at my own funeral.

Recently, I joined Facebook in effort to reunite with old friends and start socializing again, not because I particularly enjoy it, but because I want more people to show up at my funeral. I want to make my kids proud of their mom and feel as if she was well liked and had lots of friends yada, yada. The whole reconnecting with old friends worked for a while. I caught up with long, lost ghosts of my past and met them at organized gatherings set up by people that actually like that sort of thing. I went, it was fun and now I feel like I can go another 10 years without mingling and making small talk over a Bacardi and Diet Coke again.

I socialize at work, probably more than my bosses would like. This is plenty for me, but I also know that these are not people that would go to my funeral. I just don’t know them that intimately. Maybe a few would go to my funeral, but not enough to garner a popularity wow factor.

One of my old friends at our Facebook outing encouraged me to call her and get together with her again. She suggested I come over — her and her kids and me and my kids would have so much fun.

“But your kids are so much younger than my kids. They wouldn’t play together,” I responded.

“So what?”, said my “friend”, looking at me as though I was high or something.

I don’t get it. How would that work? Do people do this?? I am not of this world.

Of the few times I did do the Mommy Playdate thing, with one of my kids’ friends parents, all I could think about how annoying their kids were. I couldn’t focus on anything else and any argument between our kids proved to more effort to ignore than deal with, especially on a regular basis. I mean, who has time for that?

I can’t imagine talking on the phone with any friend, I have to have priorities, and after all, I hardly have time to squeeze in American Idol. A woman can only do so much!

So, I ask you, women of the friendship club, how do manage your life, family and friends and is it worth it? I only ask because I find it fascinating that parents have the time or energy to have friends and that anybody is interesting enough to provide that kind of time to.

Personally, I like my Internet friends. Very low maintenance. It’s like owning a luxury townhouse. All the amenities, none of the work.

So, am I the only loser here that doesn’t have a speed dial phone book on her cell phone? There’s nobody I want to speed dial. Is that bad?

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Working is for chumps.

Contracts are for even bigger chumps.

Kids, I am about to teach you a life lesson, one that defies traditional work ethic and historical relevance of what our grandparents did to make this a country great. When you grow up, buy whatever house you can qualify for, pay the mortgage for a couple of months and allow everyone else the government to give you what you deserve, what you desire, and what you want. Other peoples The Government’s hard work will always be there to support you my sons. My advice is simple. When you grow up and buy a house, stop paying your mortgage. Good things come to those who get what they want and expect. Don’t do what your folks have done. Don’t bust your butt working day and night to make sure you are in compliance with your binding legal obligations. Your word is not worth as much as your deceit. Only those that cheat and gamble will be rewarded you see.

I know, I know. I have tried to instill in both of you honor and integrity to always try do the right thing. But our dear government has spoken. Don’t allow yourselves to be taken advantage of — nice guys truly do finish last. Sure, you may be strapped with 50 - 70% taxes, modular furniture and mediocrity, but look at it this way — at least everyone is the same. Finally. You won’t be able to tell the difference between you or your neighbors. Nobody will know that your 700k house is being subsidized. Remember those days when you got bullied for not wearing the “right” jersey, because yours was generic and not the super-expensive, “authentic NFL jersey”. No worries my sons. Now everybody is wearing generic jerseys. The harder you work, the more generic your returns, so why bother?

The government will always be there to bail you out sweethearts, unless of course, you are stupid enough to actually pay your mortgage and do the right thing. The choice is yours — you can either pay your neighbors bills or not pay yours at all. This is the country we now live in.

Love Always,
Mom

“By providing servicers and holders of eligible residential mortgages with incentives to modify loans at risk of foreclosure, the program will promote sustainable alternatives to foreclosures on owner-occupied residential properties,” the regulators said in a joint statement. “These incentives should help make affordable loan modifications more attractive than foreclosure.”

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The relationship that I thought was going to last forever has fallen apart, largely at my own hands.

Friends and family are taking sides.

Stuff is being divided.

Schedules are being drawn up.

Lawyers and therapists and judges, oh my!

Mommy needs a drink. And in a bad way.

But is it okay? Have I earned it? Am I sending my kids a message that by knocking a few back, I’m going to make things better? I know that pomegranate martini I’m lusting for isn’t going to fix my marriage, nor will it keep my mother from telling me that I’m making the worst mistake of my life.

But gosh darn it, it sure as hell would taste REALLY good about now.

Paul Clarke posted this piece in The New York Times this week. He explores the impacts of adult alcohol consumption in the presence of children. He observes that, for many of us, our initial exposure to the delicious delight is as a drug, not a a drink. With underage partiers stowing stolen bottles in cars for late-night bonfires and house parties with parents in absentia. The thrill of doing something “bad” and not getting caught adds a new dimension to consumption - one that makes the drink into more of an “act” than merely a beverage.

I was raised in a home where, like the author, there was really no mystique about alcohol. Dad would have the occasional screwdriver at a wedding or card party at the house. We always had Southern Comfort on hand for my Grandma Freda to sip while she taught me how to play King’s Corners. Mom was never afraid to douse spaghetti and lasagna sauces with a giant jug of Gallo, while spilling a bit into a tumbler to quench her thirst while cooking.

I was always allowed a taste, but the flavor never did too much for me. I still can’t explain how I’m half-Canadian and I can’t stand the taste of beer (sorry Moosehead, I’ll pass). Yes, I had a fake ID (Sorry Mom! I’ve disappointed you yet again.), but my desire was for access to where my of-age friends were, not the drink itself. Although I was known to tie one on every now and again, I was the one who was usually holding some poor sorority sister’s ponytail while she prayed to the porcelain goddess. I saw firsthand the price for overindulgence, and experienced my share of it now and again.

So how do I handle it now that I have kids? Yes, Homer and I drink in front of our kids. We jokingly refer to it as “mommy juice” and “daddy juice.” When they get old enough, we’ll probably let them have a sip now and again, like our parents did for us. Do I expect them to make stupid mistakes with alcohol? Of course. But I am responsible for teaching our kids that all food and drinks can be okay in moderation and enjoyed responsibly.

After all, too many Oreos means that I’m holding another ponytail over the porcelain goddess. This time, though it’s on a five year old.

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(Yes, I had to ask my 10-year-old what octuplets meant, because I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. We’re talking about eight babies. Jon & Kate are probably seeing the end of the gravy train as I type.)

That said, a recent news storyis reporting this mom-of-many has not one, not two, but SIX other children.

Which leads me to my question: how many is too many?

The details of how this woman got pregnant with eight babies are sketchy.  There are no known cases of natural octuplets, which leads people to believe a fertility specialist was involved.

I seriously question what kind of fertility specialist would 1) knowingly implant that many embryos into a patient and 2) counsel someone to go through with a pregnancy of eight? Especially knowing there were already six children in the home?  In this case I think modern medicine went way, WAY too far. I would go as far to say this was a really irresponsible decision.

I can hear the uber-religious saying, “But we don’t believe in selective reduction.” If that’s the case, then don’t let the doctor implant 700 embryos into your uterus!

I just hope this mother didn’t go through this pregnancy and birth thinking it would be an easy way to score a television show and make some easy cash. I have a sick feeling that may be the case. Only time will tell if I’m right or wrong.

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The studies they cite show that toddlers who are given clues to find hidden objects via TV are less successful at finding the objects than the children who are given the clues in person. They summarize by saying:

“So while toddlers can understand what’s going on on TV, they don’t think about what they see on TV the same way older kids and adults do. They don’t connect it back to the real things they encounter in their world, so they can’t learn from TV. Whatever it is your toddler gets from watching TV, these researchers say, it’s not learning.”

I see this phenomenon in my kids clearly. They can both watch an episode of Play with me Sesame and have very different experiences. When my 5 year-old daughter watches the program, she gets up, sings along, dances, and responds to the character’s questions. When my nearly two-year-old son watched the same program alone the other day, he sat mesmerized by the 20-minute program - the lights, the colors, the sounds, but he clearly didn’t appreciate the humor and didn’t understand when to sing and dance with the monstery muppets. When the two of them watch together, I used to think that my son mimicked the program, but now I’m realizing that he was modeling his response after his sister.

So, why do we park our toddler’s in front of the boob tube if it’s not really enhancing their cognitive development? Why are products like Baby Einstein still a staple in nearly every baby shower across the country? Well, while I don’t expect my toddler’s brain to get bigger with Elmo’s help, he is entertained and out of my hair for about 20 minutes while I can change my clothes and start dinner.

After all, it’s not as if I’m telling him to play with my steak knives, right?

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When it comes to selling pro-pedophile, child erotica and child exploitative books and DVDs, Amazon.com is the place to whip out your Mastercard and revel in all the free speech child molesters can muster. Brought to my attention by the folks at care2.com, Amazon has continued to hide behind a shameful “free speech” and anti-censorship “principle” in order to sell books that doing nothing short of supporting incest and crimes against children.

As small protests weren’t enough, the continued efforts of child advocates have forced Amazon to slowly, if not reluctantly, take baby steps to make these items unavailable. Several of these books, although still featured on their site are unavailable for purchase.

From my understanding, Amazon.com has been selling books that promote adult-child sex for years and have responded rather arrogantly to the letters and emails of angry parents and good Samaritans.

So, if you find it impossible to protest Amazon.com because of the lure of free shipping and the prospect of all-in-one shopping, please take the time to send them an email about their willingness to promote child abuse as acceptable behavior.

Some examples of books that are available and some recently made unavailable to the dismay of Amazon.com:

Daddy’s Little boy - a book about a child who enjoys his incestuous relationship with his father
Viamund The boylove vampyre - written by an outspoken pedophile and pedophile advocate who continues to promote “normalizing” child/adult sex and portraying pedophilia as a sexual orientation in which he believes ought to be treated like a civil rights issue and that pedophilia ought to be completely legal and acceptable.
We were NOT abused! - a book by pedophile and pedophile advocate David Riegel who believes that accusations of rape or molestation are societal taboos that are without merit. He believes that 18 month old babies not only desire and yearn for 50 year old men to have intercourse with them, but depriving toddlers and children of such sexuality is the real abuse and that parents should be held accountable for not allowing their small children to have sex with whatever man wants to sodomize them at any given moment. (Seriously, you can’t make this shit up.)

I mean really, is Amazon.com really that hard up that they need this kind of blood money?

One has to wonder, is it the money or it is a philosophical value system (or lack of one) that drives the exploitation of the the unconscionable for super saver shipping profits?

Amazon.com and their partnership with child molesters and predators needs some serious attention from folks around the world. Moms need to get with the smack-down program and let Amazon know that we won’t tolerate selling out children for a buck. Many children go to Amazon.com, and this is how they repay their patronage? It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, “corporate rape”.

Please, go to care.com today and start drafting those angry letters. It’s rare that I promote a cause, but this one is just too serious and disturbing to sit back and be complacent about. On the comments section of the above linked web-page are email addresses of the executives and leadership within Amazon.com.

Anybody out there as outraged as I am?

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Yep. I’m feelin’ ya.

I’ve been wrangling with the Catholic Church’s position and mine for years. I’ve pretty much racked it up to “let’s agree to disagree” and it’s become one of those bones of contention that I pretty much ignore unless directly challenged by it (which is largely why my husband and I opted out of a ministry that was actively supporting California’s Prop 8).

When I got to page 32 of the magazine, I stopped. This is what I read. It’s the story of Janet Jenkins and Lisa Miller. Actually, it’s the story of their daughter Isabella.

Here’s what it boils down to: Janet meets Lisa at an AA meeting. They fall in love. They get married in Vermont, who recognizes same sex unions (yea!). They decide to have a child together. Lisa volunteers her uterus to host the chils. Welome Baby Isabella. Seventeen months later, Lisa and Janet split. Lisa moves back to her hometown and, with the help of her pastor brother, has a personal epiphany that homosexuality is a sin and rejects her former life. She refuses to allow Isabella to visit her other mom, violating numerous court orders along the way. Because Lisa’s new home state does not recognize same sex unions, the courts are a bit up in arms over that Janet’s parental rights are.

The Newsweek piece articulates the legal implications much better than I can, but what really makes me sad is the taffy pull that must be going on in the child’s head and heart. I can only imagine what it must be like to be told that your mom is pervert and a sinner by your other mom. I can’t even begin to grasp the agony Lisa must feel over the separation from her child. At the same time, I can appreciate Janet’s well-intentioned, but misplaced passion for protecting her child.

There are no easy answers here. I don’t envy the judges in this case. It’s gonna take a Christmas miracle to resolve this one. For Isabella’s sake, here’s hoping.

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And it got me thinking about the US election.  Maybe that’s what I have been doing - eavesdropping on America.  For the past year and a half I have been reading SO much stuff online, from BOTH sides of the political divide, trying to get my head around all the issues, all the debates, all the opinions and accusations.  There seems to be far more information available online about this election than there was during the 2004 race, and I am spending hours every day reading as much of it as I can.  My husband wants this election to be over, he wants his wife back.

So I have been listening in on the US election, and there’s a lot of yelling going on.

If I had popped my head into my daughter’s bedroom yesterday afternoon and asked them to please try to resolve the disagreement without shouting, or if I had suggested a solution to their problem, or taken sides, or meddled at all, I’m quite certain they both would have looked at me with the sort of contempt reserved for people who stick their heads in where they aren’t welcome.

But here’s the thing.  I want my kids to be respectful to each other.  I don’t want my younger daughter to ‘win’ an argument by telling her sister that her head looks like a monkey’s butt.  I don’t want my older daughter to ‘win’ an argument by throwing the Cookie Monster at her sister and slamming the door loudly on her way out.

I know they will always fight, and they will always find something to disagree on.  I have two sisters and I’m not so old that I can’t remember fighting over clothes and chores.  I know it’s a bit much to hope for while they’re still kids, but eventually I hope that my girls will be able to to have a civil discussion, where each daughter is allowed to state their side of the story in an honest and mature way, without either one of them resorting to nasty attacks involving soft toys.

And when they grow up and get involved in heated online discussions with people who disagree with their point of view, I hope they will be able to keep their anger and frustration in check, or simply recognise the moment when it’s better to just walk away.

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Okay, while The Imperfect Parent strives to be non-partisan, we thought we’d give our readers a rare opporunity on this blog to express their opinions and give you a forum to support and respectfully debate the current issues leading to a critical decision this pending election.

Please keep in mind, — be civil and respectful and remember, just because someone has negative or opposing opinions about your candidate, doesn’t mean they’re a “bad” person or that they’re dumb. The only dumb people are those who don’t vote. Be there or be square on Tuesday, November 4th and post your reactions here.

Happy politicking.

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UPDATE:
Who wants to predict the outcome? Will we know today or even at the end of the week? Could this decision change everyone’s life forever?

Also, be sure to check out Julie’s new column today, to see who’s voice she’s really missing right now.

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Apparently, two families in Pakistan were a bit more anxious. According to this story on BBC, the parents of a five and seven year old couple thought the best way to ease tensions amongst the families was to bond the warring factions through prepubescent matrimony.

I have a healthy respect for other cultures and the different ways we raise our kids. I’m often a “to each their own” kind of girl. This one crosses the line into insanely ridiculous. Do you agree? What other cultural parenting practices leave you scratching your head?

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The friend is one of a handful of slightly younger guys that my husband knows. I know them too, they’re The Lads, and they include my husband’s younger brother. Up until recently none of them were married and only a couple had girlfriends. So barbecues at one of the Lads’ houses was always a boys-only kind of deal. Fair enough, I’ve never had any problem with my husband having his own friends, in fact I encourage him to spend time with them. And they’re all really lovely guys.

In the last few years, though, the Lads have been finding girlfriends and getting married. The barbecues have continued, and sometimes the wives and girlfriends get to go along. I have never been, I’ve always stayed at home to babysit our kids. There has never been any discussion about this, it’s just what happens. And up until that day, back in July, that didn’t bother me. But it got me thinking about the rules regarding barbecues with the Lads, now that the Lads included a smattering of wives and girlfriends.

When he told me about the barbecue I suddenly had this image of all of us arriving at the party, coming into the backyard through a side gate and seeing all the couples standing around - the men around the fire, the women in deck chairs in the shade - and looking over to us and being surprised to see me there, and even more surprised to see our daughters. There would be comments about how big the girls are getting. About how nice they look in their dresses. And the girls would feel a bit awkward and conspicuous because there weren’t any other kids and there wasn’t even a trampoline.

My husband was being invited to a casual Sunday barbecue, but nobody was specifically extending the invitation to his family, and that bothered me a bit. Knowing these Lads as well as I do, I doubt they would mind if we all showed up as well. But they’re guys - it doesn’t occur to them to actually ask. And my husband is happy to go along by himself because, well, that’s what he’s always done. And I’ve always been OK with that. But now, all of a sudden, I want to be recognised as part of a package deal; when you invite my husband you get his family, too.

Maybe the thing that bothers me is that part of me really wants to go along to these barbecues as my husband’s wife, and the other part of me wants to stay home with the kids because all those girlfriends? They’re ten years younger than me and have yet to discover the transforming effect a couple of kids will have on your butt. And of course the fact that I wouldn’t subject my kids to an afternoon barbecue at a house with no toys. Ah-ha! That’s it! I’m still angry at my mother for dragging us along to all those boring parties where we spent the night in an end room with the television, in the years before VCRs, watching The Towering Inferno. I still have nightmares about that.

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I’m not kidding. Reverse Trick-or-Treating really exists.

Here’s how it works. Johnny and Janie don their costumes and head out, like any other Halloween night. They ring someone’s doorbell, say “Trick or Treat!” and accept their candy. Then, the costumed crusaders hand the adult a piece of Fair Trade chocolate and a handy educational flyer.

This is the second year of Reverse Trick-or-Treating, and the web site boasts that 250,000 adults will receive Fair Trade chocolates this Halloween. There are several not-for-profit organizations participating in this initiative, and, of course, three Fair Trade chocolate companies.

Am I the only person out there who thinks this is absolutely ridiculous?  Why do we have to take an American pastime and turn it into a political statement or a social justice project?

Can you hear the young Fair Trade champions out on Halloween night? “Thanks for those Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups Mr. Jones, but now let me enlighten you on the error of your ways.”

Plus, I’m guessing Johnny and Jamie didn’t call a family meeting with their parents and say “Hey! Let’s shill for Fair Trade this Halloween.” It’s all about overindulgent parents thinking they have a natural opportunity to force their values on their children.

The whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

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We signed our two girls up for karate because we would like them to be able to defend themselves against an attack, but mostly because we wanted them to have the confidence that comes from knowing you could defend yourself. I don’t know if it’s an urban myth, but there was a young girl, about 11 years old, who was grabbed from behind by a man who then tried to get her into the back of his car. It happened in broad daylight at the local shopping centre. The girl had been practicing Tae Kwon Do since she was about five years old. Apparently, that’s long enough to learn how to escape a man’s clutches, spin around, and kick him square in the face and render him unconscious. Apparently he started to come round as the police were handcuffing him.

Great story.

Our neighbour’s TKD teacher instructs his students to run away at the first sign of trouble; if you feel threatened, then get out of there. If you can’t get away, then you must defend yourself, NOT attack the other person. A skilled TKD practitioner can actually block a punch so effectively that they can break the attacker’s arm. Apparently.  According to the teacher, only if the situation disintegrates into a full-on fight should you actually strike the other person. And if you’re as good as your training has taught you to be, it should only take one hit. Which is why you should warn your foe three times that you want them to stop.

Our neighbour’s son - who is 11, and let’s call him Joe - was being bullied at school by a kid two years older. To cut a long story short (though I should add that Joe had already tried running away) Joe found himself in a corner with this kid who was threatening to beat him up. Joe told him three times that he didn’t want to get into a fight with him. The 13 year old took a step forward and aimed a punch at Joe’s head.  Joe had steadied himself in a TKD stance, blocked the punch, then delivered a swift kick to the 13 year old’s sternum. The kid dropped straight to the floor, completely winded. Joe said something about not wanting to fight, and left.

When word got out about the first confrontation, everyone in Joe’s class thought he was a bit of a hero. That night, one of the girls in his class who has a 13 year old brother got onto MSN and sent messages to all 13 year old boys she could contact, letting them know that Joe could beat up anyone, and would happily fight every kid who wanted to have a go at him.

The next day, Joe was confronted by three 13 year old boys, including the kid from the day before who was no doubt feeling a bit bruised.  Again, Joe warned them that he didn’t want to fight. The warning was ignored, and the kid with the bruised chest got another swift kick to the sternum. His two mates - who were no doubt there as much for moral support as to see if it was true that Joe could kick like that - were rendered speechless.

The school, to their credit, dealt with the situation extremely well. The three boys were given weekend detention, and the girl behind the MSN campaign was given a strongly-worded warning as well as weekend detention. There’s a zero-tolerance policy toward bullying, especially cyber-bullying. Her explanation? “I just wanted to see what would happen.”

And here’s where my thoughts turn back to my two daughters. We have them enrolled in karate classes but really, where is the biggest threat going to come from? They are more likely to be attacked by other girls than by boys, and the attacks wont be physical, they’ll be personal. How do you defend your daughters against that sort of thing?

The neighbours, my husband and I were talking about how boys and girls settle disputes; boys will confront one another in the locker room after lunch, girls will get online and send white-anting messages to everyone with a computer.  I suspect the messages are repeated via their mobile (cell) phones.

One of my husband’s good friends is a Phys-Ed teacher at a local high school, and also the Year Coordinator, meaning he has some responsibility for the welfare of the kids in one year - in his case, it’s the Year Eight class (sophomore year).  He says that there are a few troublesome boys in the year who get into regular fights, but the disagreements are over and done with pretty quickly, and it usually only takes a bit of a push-and-shove rather than an all-in brawl to settle the dispute.  He says that he spends the vast majority of his time dealing with the Year Eight girls; they bitch and gossip and manipulate and verbally abuse and tease and bully and undermine each other and then the next week they’re all best friends again.  The typical disagreement takes several days and countless emails and text-messages to resolve.  Imagine the pain and suffering that can be inflicted over such a period of time.

I almost wish, if my girls were ever in a situation where another girl came at them with a fully loaded cell phone, that they would hit back with a well-aimed foot to the sternum, and be done with it.  I almost wish.

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I don’t like being scared and worried. And as a parent you give birth to worry. The list of things you can add to your list of things to worry about doubles when you have kids. What am I saying? Doubles? How about increases by a factor of a zillion. I try very hard not to think about the things that can happen to them but I have an active imagination and I’m usually pretty quick to jump to the worst possible conclusion. I’m 37 in a couple of weeks and my head is covered in grey hair. You can’t tell unless you look at the roots, but it’s there. Very, very grey. Grey like Bill O’Reilly’s hair. OK, grey like Anderson Cooper’s.

The problem is that the kids, my two otherwise perfectly innocent little girls, occasionally do things that give me reason to worry. And although they may see their little adventures as just that - an adventure - I see it as the story on the evening news, complete with graphic images and adjectives in bright scary-red capitals. I don’t want to be one of those parents who wont let their kids out of their sight, but I also don’t want to be one of those parents who wish they had been more vigilant. Where or how do we draw the line?

My seven year old went to a birthday party in a park yesterday afternoon. I dropped her off and she ran across the park to join a bunch of girls from her class who were playing under the low-hanging branches of a big tree. There were about thirty kids, a handful of parents, and two teenage girls who had been roped in to help out with kiddy crowd control. So, I left. What’s the rule about staying at a party? Do you hang around for two long hours, making small talk with the other parents, keeping an eye on the kids’ sugar consumption? Or do you take the opportunity to go and do some grocery shopping, unencumbered by your child? I never invite the parents to stay at parties. To be honest, I can’t be bothered catering for all the kids and all the adults. I tell them to go away, enjoy their afternoon, come back later when I’ve made their child sick with chocolate and ruined their party clothes with facepaints and craft glue.

When I arrived back at the park, two hours later, Ella’s friends were back under the tree. I wandered over, expecting to see her emerge from the shrubs, but she didn’t seem to be there. I called her name a couple of times, and then I asked one of her friends if she knew where Ella was. She told me that Ella had wandered off, ages ago, with a dog. Where did she go? I don’t know, she went that way, maybe.

I went over to where the party food and games were set up, hoping to find here there amongst the other kids who were getting ready to leave. She wasn’t there. By this time I was starting to get quite worried. I ran back to the tree and asked the girls again if they might be able to remember where Ella had gone; they told me again about the dog that had been coming over to the park, but they didn’t know where it or Ella had gone.

Just as I started to get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach (the same feeling I got when I lost her for ten minutes in Commonwealth Park on Australia Day) I spotted her in the front yard of a house across the road and down a little way. She was heading down the driveway to the fence into the backyard, and she was with a man I had never seen before. My heart stopped.

I called out her name and ran over to get her. She walked back towards me, and the man came too. I saw the dog, a great big black mangy thing. The kind of dog that you see on the news, right after it has eaten some poor toddler who inadvertently wandered into its yard. The house was one of the few on the street that hadn’t been renovated - overgrown front yard, bits of old cars and some old chairs covered with faded bedspreads on the front porch. The kind of house you see on the news, fairly typical old cottage with the skeletons of five teenagers who had gone missing back in the 1970’s. The man? He was disheveled and middle aged and about six foot three. He looked like he didn’t have an owner. He looked like the guy on the news, the one who the police had picked up the night before on suspicion of being involved in the abduction of that woman from her car in broad daylight.

“Who are you? What are you doing with Ella?” She was carrying something, a navy blue jacket. She gave it back to him as he wandered over to where we were standing on the footpath.

“I’m Mark, I’m Joey’s stepfather. Do you want to see some photo ID?”

He said it with what seemed to be a tinge of sarcasm. I was completely flummoxed, I was so upset to find my child in the front yard of a strange house with a strange man that I could barely form a sentence. I wanted to slap him across the face and ask him if he thought it was a good idea to leave the park with someone else’s little girl, and to wander off towards a strange and dangerous looking house.

“We just came over here to bring the dog back.”

I have no idea what I said to him, and in fact now as I try to remember the situation I can’t recall saying anything to him. Instead I focussed on my daughter, taking her by the hand and leading her back to the party, away from this strange man and this strange house and this unimaginable almost-nightmare. I started to cry, I had come completely undone. Ella was asking me whether she was in trouble, and I couldn’t speak other than to tell her that we were leaving.

We went home, and eventually I calmed down. She didn’t seem to think she had done anything wrong. She was just taking the dog back to its house. With a responsible adult to help her cross the road.

I told Ella to tell Madeleine (her older sister) what had happened, and as soon as she got to the part about going to the house with the man, Madeleine burst into tears and asked her why she would do something so stupid. There, that’s the reaction I was hoping for - I wanted my seven year old to hear it from her ten year old sister. You stupid, stupid girl.

Everyone was crying.

My husband arrived home, and he talked to her in her room. They talked about Stranger Danger. She told him about the dog and about Joey’s stepfather. Meanwhile I called the mother of the birthday boy to ask her if she knew Mark, and if she knew that my daughter had left the party. Left the party while she was in your care, lady.

I had to leave a message, she wasn’t there.

My husband came out and told me that Ella had taken the dog back to Hannah’s house, and that it was Hannah’s dog, and it kept coming over, and some of the other parents had already taken the dog back over there three times because it kept coming out and wanting to eat the birthday cake. And she went over there with Mark because she was worried that the dog wouldn’t be able to cross the road by itself and she knew to cross with an adult.

The birthday boy’s mother returned my call, and confirmed Ella’s story about the nuisance dog. And yes, she knew Mark. He’d been very helpful at the party, helping with games and handing out balloons and such. She apologised to me, she said she could understand that I had been scared by what seemed to be happening. We both agreed that perhaps on this occasion Mark’s judgment was a bit off but all in all, no harm was done.

I took a deep breath and cursed the six o’clock news and the fear-merchants who tell me that statistics show that child abductions are up when really? They’re down.

I really hate that I instantly felt scared that Ella was being abducted. I hate that this was my first assumption. I hate that I scared my ten year old with the story of my seven year old wandering off with some strange man. I hate that I called the mother of the birthday boy, ready to ask her how she allowed a child to wander off from the party like that. I hate that I am helping to create a society that assumes the worst of people because someone on the news told me that I should be afraid. I hate feeling this way.

I wish there was some way to protect my kids from all of life’s evils, without actually having to tell them about all life’s evils.

I wish I could let go of the sensation in the pit of my stomach. It will go, eventually, perhaps in a few days.

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I was standing in the playground this afternoon, chatting with a couple of other mothers as we swapped kids for afternoon play-dates, when I was struck in the back of the head with something sharp and hard. The force was enough to knock my teeth together and send my sunglasses right off my face and onto the ground. I clutched the back of my head and spun around to see what it was and where it had come from. One of the other mothers picked up a small rock as three boys turned away from me with their hands in their pockets and their eyes cast upwards. Wasn’t us.

I looked down at my hand, fully expecting to see blood, but there was none. My head was aching immediately and now, about an hour later and despite a couple of pills, I’ve got a dull ache behind my left eye. So, not a serious injury, but it was all I could do to hold myself together as I turned to look at these boys and try to figure out why on earth they might have decided throwing rocks was a good idea.

They all looked at me with what I can only describe as intense guilt mixed with utter contempt. You know that look? You see it in mug shots all the time. People who get caught doing stupid things have that look. It says, sure, of course it was me, but I’m not saying that out loud and you can go and get stuffed.

Sorry, I’m just still a bit angry.

I asked them who had done it, and they closed ranks. Nobody was willing to tell on anyone else, and nobody was going to ‘fess up. Well, I suppose I didn’t really expect them to. I told them that they all had to come with me, right now, to the Principal’s office, and they didn’t budge. The mother who had picked the rock up was standing beside me, and two other parents were nearby, backing me up. Three little boys and four scary-looking mothers. Quite a showdown. And yet the longer they stood there, stonewalling me, the weaker I felt. My legs were shaking, my eyes were watering, and I was on the verge of losing it. The other parents were urging me on, telling me to go and tell the Principal, but I just couldn’t help feeling as though it would be complete waste of time. Not because the Principal wouldn’t do anything (on the contrary - she absolutely would) but that it would have no impact at all on Those Boys. They literally didn’t care.
The boys walked off defiantly. What was I going to do? Part of me wanted to just go home, part of me wanted to crack their heads together. Suddenly, one of the boys’ mothers turned up. She was carrying a toddler, and she walked up to the boys and started talking to them. Her son pointed at me and said “that bitch was saying I threw something at her.” Quick as a flash his mother grabbed him by the arm and said “don’t you dare!” and he looked down at his shoes. I decided at that moment to talk to her, and tell her what had happened.

What do you say to the mother of a kid who knocked your glasses off your face with a rock to the back of the head? Seriously?

I think she handled it about as well as she could have, although she did seem willing to consider the possibility that it was somebody else entirely. She asked them who else was around, and of course by that stage some other kids were playing where they had been, so he pointed at the group. I looked over at the kids with the football, and told him that they were nowhere near me when I got hit. I said that I turned around the moment it happened and they were standing right there. There was no doubt in my mind, I said, that one of the boys had thrown it. The only alternate story I was willing to consider was that it had been thrown up into the branches of the tree (maybe at a bird?) and come down to hit me on the head. Is that what happened? Did I just get unlucky? They shrugged their shoulders again and said nuh, they hadn’t been throwing anything.
I looked again at the mother. She had the face of a woman who was exhausted from having to deal with a bad seed who started out life like all babies do - as a gorgeous, gurgling blank canvas. I don’t know what has happened in the intervening years, but this boy of hers must be hard, hard work. I know nothing about their circumstances, and I’m not going to judge her. What I want to know is, whose responsibility is it to make sure these kids get through their childhoods without taking somebody’s eye out with a well-aimed rock? Whose responsibility is it to support the parents of these wayward kids, so that they grow up with the best possible chance of staying out of juvenile detention? And whose responsibility is it to ensure these kids get through their school years without, at the very least, disrupting the education of the other kids in the class?

Eventually one of the other mothers convinced me to go and report the incident to the Principal. I took Madeleine with me - Ella had gone to a friend’s house - and found the Principal, Ms J, sitting on a lounge chair outside her office, wrapping up a conversation with one of the teachers. As soon as I sat down I burst into tears, it was the most ridiculous thing. I started shaking all over again, and could barely speak. Madeleine went to get me a glass of water and Ms J looked at me with a very worried expression. I eventually managed to tell her what happened and she immediately sent another teacher out to the playground to see if the boys were still there. We all ended up out in the playground a few minutes later, talking with the boys and the mother and well, I don’t really need to go into details. Suffice to say it was handled as well as it could be, given that nobody was confessing, and nobody could actually say they had seen the boys throwing the rocks. In the end I left them all to talk it out amongst themselves.
I have now relayed the whole story to my husband, and he’s absolutely furious. His attitude is that these boys, all of them, are guilty as long as nobody is willing to confess. He believes that what these boys did was something that had the potential to cause a serious injury, and in the adult world would be called assault. His attitude is that a talk to the mother in the playground is not enough, and whatever that family’s circumstances are, there’s no excuse for what happened and something needs to be done. He doesn’t share my concern about whose responsibility it is to make sure these kids avoid jail. He just wants to know what is going to happen now. You can imagine he’s just thrilled to know that the main suspect is in our daughter’s class.
So I guess we’ll be going to see Ms J on Monday. I still wonder about what can possibly be done. I suppose part of me doesn’t want to make life any harder for this mother than it clearly already is. But another part of me is glad I’ve got my husband standing in my corner, backing me up, and calling this whole thing for what it is - a pretty goddamn serious situation.

I would be really interested to hear from parents who have had to deal with similar situations at their kids’ school. What did you do? How did the school deal with it? And how did you get past your reluctance to cause the imperfect parents of the imperfect child further grief? Oh, and just for the record, my brother turned out to be just fine, no permanent damage was ever done, and today he’s one of my favourite people on earth.

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Oh say can you see

that this country’s lost sight

of the values and God

on which it was founded.

Through long wars and false tongue

we are robbing our young

of a world rich in peace

and a leader who’s grounded.

And the battle for oil

lines their pockets with spoil.

Our leaders live well

from the fruits of our toil.

Oh say does our poor mangled

country cry loud

for return to our first creed

and a truth that stands proud!

While I agree that there are some changes needed and that this is not a perfect land, I still love this place. I feel privileged to live here and think that those who hate it so much, should leave.

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