Mama's Musings

It's not The Talk until You've Said the S-Word

We live in Europe. It's a place with deep roots and broad cultural overlap. It allows for topless sunbathing in public parks. It's a place where children's books talk about where babies come from for the 3+ crowd.

I really didn't think I'd have to talk about anything, really, until my daughter hit puberty. But when I overheard her pretending to run a movie theater under the basement stairs with her classmate, I knew I might need to prepare her for the Real World of Boys sooner than I thought.

My daughter offered a few innocuous movie titles. "We can show Alvin and the Chipmunks, Shrek, and, I know! Kung Fu Panda!!"

Then her classmate asked, "Hey, do you know Sex and the City?" Not yet, but she will.

Enter Dr. Maxwell's The Talk: What Your Kids Need to Hear from YOU about Sex. It raises your awareness about how incredibly sexualized our world has become. Have you ever seen a perfume ad? I mean it's rubbing alcohol with a dash of floral essence, people. But you've got Eva Langoria or whoever is the Flavor of the Week, promising you wild nights with a spritz of this...

The book is not prudish, nor is it old-fashioned. Although I stumbled over her handling of certain sexual preferences, I thought the book cast an overall positive light in how to approach the subject of sex education with our kids. It's about The Talk 21st-century style. It's not like the film American Pie. In fact, it is an antedote to prevent the same scenes from playing in your own kid's world.

According to Dr. Maxwell, we should talk, but more importantly, listen. She pleads for parents to discuss sexual desire and not wait for kids to approach you. Because we've been talking about where babies come from since our kids were young enough to speak (thanks, in part, to a book we bought after my daughter's fascination with it at a friend's house), it doesn't seem like a large jump to talk about their own feelings about sexuality. But it does seem weird because the talk will eventually shift from what parents do to what kids want to do themselves.

One of the most helpful tips Dr. Maxwell gives is looking at your teenager as you would the birthing process. You birthed a baby, and now you are birthing an adult. It takes a lot longer and can be a lot messier, but the end result is equally gratifying.

The problem many parents have is where to start? Wait for an opening in the conversation, then pray your way through it? I had visions of being at McDonald's and saying, "No, you can't have a Happy Meal, and by the way, do you know what sex means?"

It wasn't gonna happen.

In a Maxwellian moment, I found myself in the kitchen with my two kids. My six-year-old son was bantering about, pulling his drawers down as he is inclined to at the oddest moments and saying "Sexy baby, yeah!" I stopped him, sat him down (after he pulled his shorts back up), and said, "Do you know what sexy means?"

Yeah, women. He smiled his impish grin.

No, it means attractive and that you want to have sex. Do you know what that means?

He proudly told me all about it. Astounded at his breadth of knowledge, I later asked my husband about it.

"He chose that children's book about babies for his bedtime story," my husband said casually over his own bedtime reading.

Thus the dialogue has begun. Thanks to Dr. Maxwell, we have a guide to help our children sort out their feelings as we sort out our own.

The Un-American Vacation

Only seven more weeks, four days and eight hours until our two-week unplugged vacation to Italy. No laptops, one cell phone, no Internet.

I can't wait.

Taking an unplugged holiday is a scary prospect, especially when people might think you will reduce, not eliminate, communication during those well-earned days of sun and fun. I'm not having any of it, and when I get emails from colleagues who are allegedly on vacation, I shriek. I want them to unplug so I have permission to do the same.

For five weeks in April/May I had no Internet access at home, and while online banking became a thing of the past for a suspended period of time, I actually felt better. I got the same amount done, albeit in tighter timeframes with 'limited access'.

Don't you love that term? It makes our life pulse sound as scarce as the air on Mount Everest. Having a hard time breathing here, but we'll make it. Just another fifteen thousand feet to climb...

Internet for an hour a day. Someone, get the defibrillator!

I am an advocate of hard work and passion. And I'm an advocate of respite, too. Does that make me un-American? I worry that it might.

As Alanis Morissette sings, I'm a citizen of the planet accompanied by an Indian-sounding twang.

Namaste, Alanis I'll meet you in Nepal. Unplugged, of course...

The Starbucks Factor

It's not something I am proud of, but I made my son do it. He had to walk the half-mile from the US consultate to the 'nearest' Starbucks as we had twenty minutes to kill before the passport services opened.

"Come on! I'll race you!" I even grinned.

Not one of my proudest mommy moments. What is it about the dark green, black and whilte logo that makes us adults go crazy? Conditioning at its best.

It turns out Starbucks is shuttering its doors on 500 stores. In the last fiscal year alone, according to the Wall Street Journal, they were opening stores an average of seven per day worldwide. Now that's a lot of lattes.

The article goes on to report:

Last year, as Starbucks's sales began to soften, it became clear that the company's expansion was cannibalizing its sales in a way that was threatening the chain's success, as well as causing the quality at its existing locations to slip. Analysts have said that Starbucks lowered the bar for choosing new locations in recent years.

You can say that again. Why don't they have one outside the consulate?

The article ends by remarking how the market abroad (as in, um, here) is still strong so they'll be looking to places such as Germany to spread their tendrils.

Alanis rules

Technology is not my friend. On the same day that my telephone went dead and the TV went blank during the most contested part of the UEFA Cup semi-finals, my iTunes wouldn't release my newly downloaded Alanis CD. Flavors of Entanglement got entangled in my playlist that just wouldn't play.

Unlike my man friends who are too proud to ask for directions, I immediately (well, okay, after some fitful tampering) emailed the service dudes at iTunes. Short of weeping, I pled my case.

Help me free Alanis from the grips of my own technological rage.

A cheery email returned, not in the predicted 72 hours the autoresponder suggested, but within minutes.

The rep felt my pain. And showed me a way with the click of a mouse and the restart button to unshakle Flavors and bring me the joy only Alanis can.

She rules. She rocks. And that on my iPod now, thanks to the grace of one rep somewhere in cyberspace!

We are the Champions

It must have been the donut. Germany won against Turkey last night 3:2. Lahm smashed in the winning goal one minute before the game ended.

The kids were so excited to be allowed to stay up for the first half of the semi-final European Soccer Championship match between two phenomenal teams last night. A collective spirit blanketed the nation. We're gonna win. We're gonna win! Because many Turks live in Germany, I felt we were on the winning side no matter what. It was a dream-team constellation.

Even the baked goods expressed the country's confidence. Sipping my morning coffee, I glanced over at the bakery window during a brief break yesterday morning. Two bright green disks, aptly named Amerikaner, smiled at me. They were decorated to look like a soccer field. Graced with a chocolate circle that read "We are the champions" How could I not get them for the kids? I bought them both.

The game proved to be instructive on many levels. For historical reasons, the Turkish population in Berlin is the largest outside Istanbul. The kids were rooting for Germany, hoping the other team wouldn't win. I told them no one could lose because we are all one. Yeah, yeah, Mom. We might be unified in your world, but for now, we're for Germany!

The game started off by each team capitan reading a short message about tolerance and racial diversity. I found it comforting in some way, as if they wanted to signal to the crowd that they were both winners, worthy of respect...and the gold.

In the end I cried mixed tears - of joy for Germany's triumph, and of sadness for Turkey. The Turkish coach almost broke my heart as he said, "I would have loved to give my people the gift of victory. For that, I am very sad."

What humility, what beauty, what truth. Sports moves us forward in more ways than one. And we can teach our children that there is much more to be learned from losing with grace than from winning without compassion.

Wings to Fly

We all want our children to grow up to be self-reliant, discerning adults. We want them to be able to problem solve, discuss pros and cons, and generally have a great life.

But they never told me I'd have to let them go in the process.

Do I sound dramatic and slightly neurotic? I don't mean to. I really encourage their independence. Want to have a friend over? There's the phone book. Want more juice? See the fridge?

Last night we tried out a new babysitter. She is fourteen and simply lovely. She is the daughter of a friend, and she is both competent and friendly. Since my husband is travelling, I arranged for her to stay until 11 pm while I attended a meeting in Munich.

It went fine.

So why did I keep glancing at my cell phone, half willing it to ring? Why did I think the kids would somehow melt like a polar ice cap without me?

They were snoring happily in their beds when I got home. The babysitter was still awake, smiling. As I drove her home, I noticed how good I felt, even at that late hour. I had walked the streets of Munich from my car to the meeting place with a new-found sense of freedom.

Sure, my children's wings will unfurl. And I may rediscover my own in the process.

Money lying around the house

The delivery man breathed down my neck this morning. Well, not literally, because I wouldn't get that close to him, but he was already here on Friday, and I didn't have the 133€ to get my package out of his hot little hands and into mine.

"I'll be back," he promised, whipped the box from my grasp, and lumbered off.

He was.

Only, he didn't have change when I presented him with 140€. I mean I was proud of myself. I had not only remember the amount I owed him, but I remembered to go to the bank to get it. A none-too-easy task during the European Soccer Championships when the streets of Munich are swept clear of sleep-deprived people watching match after match at the game hour.

So I challenged my son to find the right change (I only needed 3€). We scoured the shelves, drawers and pockets of everything in sight. Jackson happily presented me with 2€ in the nick of time. I had managed to scratch together 1,90€, which I pressed into Jackson's hand in gratitude. His eyes grew big. In his world, I gave him more money, not less. God bless him. He doesn't know the difference between more coins equalling less currency.

It made me realize what a cash-driven society Germany is. You can't go to certain places without paying with the mighty Euroback. Thankfully, there's money lying in my closet, and a pair of jeans I've misplaced somewhere. I just know it!

Hi, my name is Christine, and I'm a hyper-parent

Hyper-parenting has gotten a beating lately, and I can't seem to stop myself from reading books about it. We're bad people for putting our kids through schedule Hades. We want too much too soon before it's too little too late. We're compulsive, kid-centric morans. It makes me want to stand up and introduce myself with a tone of shame.

Dag. It's a tough time to be a parent.

A little competition never hurt anyone. Take the European Soccer Championships. I mean, Germany pulled out an unexpected win, catapulting them to the semi-finals against feared Portugal. The German 11 made 40,000 stadium spectators go wild (in a good way). How cool is that?

But when does competition become unhealthy for kids? According to Carl Honoré's new book, Under Pressure: Rescuing Our Children from the Culture of Hyper-Parenting, we could all stand to relax a little more. I really liked this book, not only because Carl's witing is astoundingly good, but also because he strikes at the heart of 21st century parenting. He quotes organizations such as the British action group Give Us Back Our Game that have launched a campaign to protect child soccer players from overbearing trainers and parents. Spend one hour on any soccer field in Germany, and you might feel the urge to found your own group.

My six-year-old son has been playing soccer for two seasons. He went from chasing the ball to actually passing it with grace. When he is in the goal, he captures most of his opponents' goal attempts (the ones he can reach, any way), and his entire team has really learned how to play - together. It's an amazing feat of which I am extremely proud. So it's a bit mind-dazzling to hear parents cat call, moan and throw tantrums on the sidelines when the little six to eight-year-olds play their hearts out and don't win.

"It's not about winning!" I want to shout, then point out how the team has melded to one unit instead. Most shrug their shoulders, then advise the next move to their kid in loud tones.

Sure, we all have ambition for our children. But isn't it more important that they have it for themselves? I guess I'm not as hyper as I thought. I'd love to relax a little, swing in the hammock and smile at my innately brilliant, radiant children cum straight-A students. It's not that easy, and Rome wasn't built in a day. I just hope we parents don't take too many punches while figuring this thing out.

Autism, Arts and Days of Our Lives

Autism seems to be a topic circling around me these days. My children are not autistic, nor are there any children I know of who have the same condition. But according to the new release, The Soul of Autism by William Stillman, one out of 150 Americans is diagnosed with it every year.

It's a stunning statistic, really, and I recently learned that Days of Our Lives head writer, Dena Higley, and her husband have raised an autistic child. He is now 19, graduated high school and will be attending college this fall. It's an inspirational story they've set to Dena's art. This summer Days of Our Lives will introduce a storyline about a couple with an autistic child.

Dena feels so strongly about it that they offered up a teleconference call on the topic YESTERDAY at 10 am PST/1 pm EST. A replay will be up 24/7 through July 18 and accessible by dialing 866/421-6936.  A transcript of the call also will be made. Let me know if you want the contact to receive the transcript.

If you've ever wanted to chat with someone at Days of Our Lives, now's your chance!

Soap opera's making a difference (besides sex education for youth and what not to do to have a great relationship?)? I'm impressed.

Cyber-bullying and other parenting nightmares

My nine-year-old has been introduced to the opium that the Internet is. Her American friend, who moved to our pastoral town a few weeks ago, showed her some cool Web sites with games and tokens and things. To the tune of $59.95 a year, she could even become a member.

Not.

So her persistent friend showed her another Web site, which is free. My argument wilted like a daisy in the July sun.

Okay, here's one for you. You can't because I use my computer to feed you. You like to eat, right?

Well, what about your laptop that you use when you travel? my daughter quipped.

Oh, you mean the dinosaur that barely boots up?

Uh huh.

MySpace has no space in my daughter's life. Yet. But I know kids, including my niece who lives in Virginia, who is rapidly being exposed to the Internet through school.

Worried about cyberbullying? You should be.

According to educator and digital expert Dr. Uma Gupta, "parents [need] to take an active role in monitoring the activities of their child on the Internet and to be prepared to take action on their own if their child is being cyber-bullied." Freedom of speech is pretty big in the United States, as well it should be since it is constitutionally protected after all. The lines blur quickly when it comes to a child's welfare. Is it okay to post mean things about someone for everyone to see? When is it slander?

I spent a good ten hours crafting a new chapter for a book I'm hoping to sell (soon). It discusses our compulsions, our poor relationship to time, and our cyberinsanity. I was hoping my kids would be spared.

It looks as though I was dead wrong.