Technology and Teens

Last weekend, I discovered something quite interesting.  Contrary to the propaganda I have been fed, my kids are not the only kids in the world with limited access to social media and technology.  They are NOT the only teens in the US without smartphones.

Last Friday, we were at the pizza party the night before the oratorical competition and Susan had saved us seats...at a round table...where every other seat save one was occupied by another teenaged competitor.  yay.

Talk about people watching.  Listening to these teens was exasperating, mind-numbing, and yet weirdly illuminating.  One or two of the girls were Totally Vapid.  "OMG, I want a tattoo but I don't know what I would get.  I mean I guess I would have to get my two cats because they are the most important things in my life right now."

But underneath all of the chit chat, there were some eye-opening realizations.

We were sitting with a higher class of nerd.

When Mason asked everyone, "What do you play?"  Every teen at the table named at least THREE instruments, and/or mathlete, competitive dance, voice, glee club, or competitive speech.

When it was Susan's turn, she was dumbstruck.  I mean she had just asked her neighbor, "What IS a bassoon?" and it was her turn.

Seeing her slack-jawed state, I blurted out with a big (scary) smile, "She plays volleyball!"

Everyone oohed and ahhed.  These kids were NOT athletic = Understatement.

Another epiphany was when Rebecca told Zoe, "I just got a Facebook account like a month ago, and I have only been on there like twice.  I don't even have Twitter."  Zoe replied with an eyeroll, "I don't have Facebook or Twitter."

Then when Sanji said, "Do you want to see my phone?"  Rebecca (of the future cat tattoos) said, "OMG, if you EVEN pull out the new Samsung Galaxy 4, I will DIE!"  Sanji pulled out a flip phone circa 2000 and grinned.  "It doesn't even get texts!"  he said proudly.

We were also treated to a litany of Mason's weekend and after-school activities.  That kid is so (over) scheduled, I doubt he has time to text or be on Facebook, much less play Fruit Ninja or do Snapchat.

I had been given the impression that my three high-schoolers were rare in that they might very well be the only teenagers in the 'verse who don't have smartphones, iPads, laptops, or ANY access to WiFi or the web without going through a parental portal, but apparently I was wrong.

It didn't start out this way.

It started out with limited texting.

Then one Kindle Fire.

Next came two iPod Touches.

And somewhere in there, texting became unlimited because the fees for going over their limits are more than the fees for unlimited.

Then it all got taken away, when we discovered a lot of ugly truths in a very short time period.

I knew there were apps on the Kindle, like Fruit Ninja and Temple Runner.  We discovered that people were up waay past their bedtime (yes, I make my high-schoolers go to bed) wasting time slicing virtual fruit.

Or texting people of the opposite sex at all hours of the night.

Or using more than 10,000 texts in 2.5 weeks.

We discovered that our WiFi password was common knowledge.  We periodically change our WiFi password, but here we made a critical error.  We did not change our router password.

Teens KNOW EVERYTHING about technology.

There is some site where you can get your WiFi password if you have your router number (and if your router is not password protected) and the primary email, and even though I forgot what that site is, chances are your teen, or their friends know it.

With that discovery, the YouTube viewing history on the Kindle revealed several hours, like 70-100 hours of YouTube videos watched, mostly from a show that is verboten here, some from a movie that I would have let them watched had they just asked, and some silly videos that were slightly suggestive and linked to more dangerous content.

The iPod Touches that I naively thought could only be used for the music we had purchased (because the WiFi was supposedly password protected), were being used for texting (it's an app) and access to the entire internet, just like the Kindle, via the pirated WiFi password.

Everything went away.  Completely.  For every teen in our home.

And THEY SURVIVED!

Apps are dangerous.  Did you know that there are apps out there that appear to be games but are actually hiding illicit content?  I foolishly tried to search for articles about these apps, but including the terms "porn" or "illicit content" in my search got me nowhere (thank you filters!) except on some FBI predator watch-lists.

And no, my kids had no apps like that, but other kids I know have had those apps.

Good kids.

Kids with good parents.

Our children live in a world filled with temptations and danger beyond anything we dealt with as kids.

Starting with a clean slate, we have been able to re-instate some of the privileges that were lost, one at a time.  We went on a huge learning curve, educating ourselves about things that we really don't have an aptitude or interest in, taking time and great pains to Teen-Proof our cyberspace.

Passwords:

EVERYTHING that can be password protected, should be.  My cell phone and my laptop are password protected.  Well, you need my right index fingerprint to use my laptop. The WiFi and the router are both password protected.

We still change the passwords regularly, and we use "holy" passwords, an idea that we stole from my parents.  Religious things like "MaterDei128" which is Latin for Mother of God and the date of the feast of the Immaculate Conception.  The more obscure the better.

We could even password protect our TV so that they can only watch programs of a certain rating, but unfortunately that prevents all live sporting events.

We blocked all offensive channels from our satellite receiver.  Literate people could probably do that by reading the owner's manual, but we had to call our provider and have them walk us through it.  Tedious for all involved, but worth it.

We don't do this because we think that the first second our back is turned, they are going to seek out terrible things.  We do it to remove temptation, to protect their innocence, and because Patrick and I are revolted when WE have to scroll through those channels as well.

Filters:

We have a WiFi filter, and though it is far from perfect, it does work.  I was unable to see some of Hallie Lord's favorite websites without the password for the filter, and I am unable to search for anything that includes the letter p, o, r, and n all in a row.

Did you know that Google has a filter called Safe Search?  You can filter results on your own computer, which can be very nice while doing image searches of things for this blog.  It's a button at the top of the Google page.  Patrick says that everybody already knows this, but it was news to me.

This article has loads of tips for installing or activating filtering software on your devices.

Limits:

Primary account holders can limit just about everything on cell phones.

The AT&T Smart Limits feature has allowed us to limit cell phone use past a certain time of day.  After 10 pm, our children may only call or text our numbers.

We can limit quantities of texts, as well as what numbers can be texted and when. See above.

We can set up a time block to our wireless router so that it stops working at certain hours of the day or night.

Constant Vigilance:

With AT&T Smart Limits, we can see not only how many texts are being used by each cell phone user, but to what numbers and at what times. We can see who they call, and how long they are on the phone.

We check their Facebook pages and the email accounts.  We have suggested that they unfriend this person or unlike this page from time to time.  We have coached them on spam and phishing and helped them get unsubscribed from lists.

We helped them choose email addresses that do not reveal gender, name, or age.

My own Instagram account troubled me when I started getting "follow requests" from sleaze balls with offensive pictures.  My mom told me to take my gender off my profile.  It has also been suggested that "Housewifespice" isn't the best name for social media.  I changed the gender to unidentified, reported the offensive photos, and I haven't had any problems since.

We have given them real examples of real life individuals who lost their college acceptance, got expelled from high school, or lost their jobs from what was posted on Facebook or Twitter.  When I see articles like this one or this one, I make a point of educating them on how stupid mistakes can have huge consequences.

My teens' phones are subject to random checks from their parents.  We pay for the phones, we own the phones, we are letting them have the privilege of using them.

We have suggested that they get their own two year contracts and pay their own cell phone bills with all the texting and apps they want, but surprisingly, they would rather play by our rules, for free!

A Case Against Smartphones

We are adamantly opposed to smartphones for our kids.

Smartphone addiction is a real thing. (Warning:  This article from Psychology Today speaks of some unsavory behaviors.)

Studies show that smartphone addiction leads to increased psychopathic behavior in teens.  Personally, I believe teens have enough psychopathic tendencies without cyber addiction exacerbating them.

This article calls for BANNING HANDHELD DEVICES for all children under 12, and sites addiction as one of the reasons.

Who really needs a smartphone?  If I could get a phone that was just a phone with email and Mapquest (because I forget stuff and get lost sometimes), that would be perfect.  I don't need to carry the entire internet with me all the time.

Kids know we use our smartphones too much.  Kids notice everything.  Perhaps, we should all dumb it down a little.

This is Greg.  Don't send him a group text.

Two of my brothers are in college right now.  They are successful students, one a business major, one in grad school for chemical engineering and planning a wedding in June.  They are good-looking, nice guys with lots of friends.  They have never owned smartphones.   My brother Greg can't even get my texts if I text him as part of a group.

Don't forget the higher class of nerd from last weekend.  I have no doubt that (maybe with the exception of cat tattoo girl) they will be very successful adults.

My point is that not owning a smartphone has not affected them academically or socially.

Contrary to the picture my children have painted, it IS possible to be a well-adjusted, highly successful person WITHOUT a smartphone.  I think more of us should try it, myself included.

I was recently asked if my kids resented the way things blew up and were removed, and they don't.  Not anymore. There were some sullen and sad and shameful moments in the beginning, but they know we make the rules and pay the bills, and (hopefully) they know we did this because we love them.

Suddenly, having a phone from 7 am to 10 pm without texting seemed better than nothing at all.  Now, a mere one hundred texts a month are a generous and precious commodity.  Those prehistoric basic iPod minis that are only good for playing music have been located and charged again.

Sometimes, late at night the home phone rings and I get to hear, "Hello Mrs. Thornton! Is Peter there?"

I like it like that.

Because I'm Cheap...and Lazy

I breastfeed because I'm too cheap to buy formula and bottles and I'm too lazy to heat the formula and wash all the bottles.  Plus, I would probably go out for an all-day excursion and forget something critical to the operation, like a bottle, or the formula, or the baby.

Also, I like the excuse to sit down for a couple of hours a day, with my feet up and a good book.  Oh, how I love a good book.

I sleep with my babies because I'm too lazy to get up in the middle of the night and go to another room to nurse a baby, and I'm too cheap to buy a baby bed.  If I bought one, I'd have to make it, and then there would be more sheet changing and sheet-folding and laundry.  I'm too lazy to sign up for more of that.  In fact, I've been known to throw a bath towel under the damp spot, under the baby, in the middle of the night.  Yup.  I'm that lazy.

Nursing a baby while sleeping is something I've gotten really good at.  Also, I really, really like the smell of a baby's breath.  And the top of a baby's head.  Or the back of a baby's neck.  Falling asleep next to my baby helps me to practice gratitude at the end of most days.

We don't believe in circumcision.  This is the part of the post where I could go into Natural Law and male mutilation, but I'm too lazy.  Plus, circumcision is expensive, and I'm cheap.

I don't buy baby food, because I'm too cheap, and you guessed it, too lazy.  It's easier for me to cut up some of our food or throw a handful of goldfish (the whole grain kind, cause that's the healthy kind) at her and let her feed herself than for me to take the time to spoon feed her.

I'm way too busy spoon feeding myself.

When I did an image search for "no schedule,"  this image came up.  It speaks to me.

I don't put my kids on "schedules" because I'm not that organized to be on a schedule myself, again with the laziness.

Also, if she was on a schedule, and I wanted to party til midnight, then she wouldn't want to party with me, and she certainly wouldn't want to sleep til nine the next day.   Of course, she wanted to sleep til nine today, because she wanted to party til eleven last night.  Sometimes, she picks the parties.  I'm cool with that.  I can drink caffeine.

So, that's my parenting style, lazy and cheap, with lots of self-sleeping and self-eating, and some baby sniffing, reading and caffeine.

Please, don't judge me.  I'm way too lazy to judge you.

How many cars will you own in your lifetime?

Cari, of the 11 Things post, also wrote a beautiful post on generosity called On Being Open to Life.  Cari writes lots of beautiful posts.

"The point of re-running this article isn’t even to add to the NFP discussion, per se.  It’s more meant to explore an aspect of being open to life: namely that being “open to life” means all life- not just the the possibility of new life.  NFP certainly helps us connect reason to biology in the area of fertility, but it is, in and of itself, a neutral thing.  It is not a virtue, nor is it a vice.  The real virtue lies in learning how to trust God’s plan for our lives, and agreeing to participate in that plan."

She says it so well.  And that's just part of the intro to the real article.

The Chef used to answer the question, "How many kids are you going to have?" with the perfectly just answer, "None of your &*$% ing business."  But he has since tempered justice with charity, and has crafted a more creative response, by responding with a question.  "Do you know how many cars you will own in your lifetime?"  We don't know the answer to either one of those questions.

But when it comes to the question of roller coaster or merry-go-round, we agree with Grandma.

A Few Things About Edmund

Last week, I missed the all school mass.  A friend called to see if I had been there.  I said, "No, why? Did Edmund answer a question?"  "What do you think?"  was her reply.

Now, I have given Edmund strict instructions not to answer any questions at Mass. You just never know what he's going to say.  I've chuckled when some kid confused Mother Teresa and Oprah.  Or when one little tike promised a visiting priest her dad's tickets to the Bears vs. Packers game.

I knew it would happen someday.

Actually, Edmund did not embarrass himself.  He answered the question quite well.  It was after the homily, when our pastor decided to share with the congregation the comment Edmund made 5 years ago when they first met.

"You're old."

Apparently, everyone thought this was hilarious.  Especially, Edmund's third grade class.  In fact, they couldn't stop giggling.  Fr. Tom had to reprimand them, "It's not that funny."

Right now, the assistant chaplain from Peter's prep school is watching the Knicks game in my family room.  I can hear Fr. John cracking up because Edmund had to give him a "gun" show.

He's the only nine year old I know who works out.  He does pull ups on our stairwell.  He likes to do sit ups and push ups too.  He's always asking me to check to make sure he's doing his push ups correctly.  Like I know or something.

Today, I was walking the mall with a friend.  I think we may have burned more calories gabbing than walking, but the great thing is....I didn't buy anything.  Figures, since I have a store credit that I couldn't find anything.

Any who, we were talking about how little kids turn into big kids SO freaking fast!

And it makes me ache.  The way one day, they can't fall asleep without you and the next day they are taller than you and the only thing they want from you is unlimited texting.


Edmund has some allergies, and he frequently has eczema.  Last night, he was particularly itchy, so I made him a bath with one of these.

 

After his bath, I was slathering Eucerin creme all over his scaly limbs, and I said, 

Remember when you were little, and I used to lie down with you on your bottom bunk to take a nap?  You used to say, "I don't want to take a nap."  And I would tell you, "You don't have to go to sleep, you just have to lie here quietly for awhile."  And we would pretend to be bunnies hiding under leaves in a forest."

He said, "Yeah, and I used to always make sure I was touching you, because I thought if I'm touching her, I will wake up when she gets up, but I never did."

Oh, to snuggle my little guy again.  To nap in his cozy bunk, to sneak downstairs with my mad ninja skills only to hear his little feet coming down moments later.  

Damn, I love that kid.

Kids at Mass: It Can Be Done!

We get compliments a lot after Mass.  Our kids are really well behaved in church.  It has been known to happen that total strangers will give them donuts (back when Krispy Kreme was available after Mass) or even cash just because, "They are so good!"

Truly, if they are ever good, it's in Church.  Lord knows it's not in the car on the way to Church, or on the way home.  Years of research have given us some insight into church and children, which I now will now share with you for this low, low price of absolutely nothing.  I'm not making any promises.  Maybe these tricks won't work for you.  Every child is different, every church is different.  But they did work for us.  You get what you pay for, I guess.

We Always go as a family.  Good cop, bad cop.  Four arms are better than two arms.

We Always sit toward the front.  "The better to see you with, my dear."  We (I) have the best intentions of getting there a good 10 minutes early (The Chef is fine with 3 to 1 minute early), so we can take a whole pew on the side where we can see if our altar servers are paying attention.  Then we have room to pile our coats and spread out so we are not touching each other. No fourteen or twelve year old girl wants her brothers of any age touching her.  Ever. We prefer to sit with outside aisle access for clean get-aways.

The Chef and I rarely, if ever get to sit next to each other.  Divide and conquer.

When anyone is overcome with restless leg syndrome, or drumming fingers on the pew back in front of you syndrome or picking off all my nail polish syndrome (more on this below), I've learned not to use the Death Claw of Pain, but instead really gross out my kids and try to hold their hand.  Lovingly.  They hate it. 

We Never bring snacks or juice.  I learned the hard way that those cheerios will end up stuck to the pants of the dear souls in front of you.  As a sidenote to this, don't let your teen daughters pick off their nail polish at Mass.  Those flakes of Purple Passion also end up stuck to the rears of those poor souls in front of you.

We Never bring toys that have wheels, or anything that might roll toward the altar.  Our church is on an incline.  I learned the hard way that a Hot Wheel in motion tends to stay in motion.  We only bring silent playthings for babies.  And we've said that too.  "Toys in church are for babies.  You are a big boy!"

We did bring religious picture books and/or coloring books or maybe just the envelope I write my grocery list on and a pencil.  And occasionally a few crayons.  Maybe 4.  That's it.  No baby dolls or GI Joes, or anything else that's going to distract the kid behind you.  I once witnessed a darling person in the pew in front of us unzip her purse and turn it upside down.  Out fell about 50 poker chips, which clattered and spun.  Another time, I spent 55 minutes trying not to watch the little girl in front of me do her lipstick and her hair over and over and over again.  No purses either, except mine.  I'll take charge of the crayons.

Once a child is four of five, the picture books should do it.  At age six or seven, a child's picture missal should about cover it.  First Communion is right around the corner, so they should be paying attention and participating.  Fake it til you make it.

I have used gentle reminders throughout Mass. I've whispered things like, "You know the Our Father, here it comes."  "Hear the bells?  This is the most important part."  "Wait for the basket.  Here is the envelope."  Now that my brood is mostly older, and we switched to electronic giving, I just open the missalettes to the song or reading page and pass them down. 

We exit stage left as soon as, if not before, a child makes a fuss and becomes loud.  Everyone heard the thunk when he whacked his head on the missalette rack.  We might be able get him out while he is still holding his breath before the big scream.  Don't do it for the parishioners.  Do it for the priest.  I've heard from more than one priest that a crying child is very distracting, and makes saying Mass and giving a homily much more difficult.

When we leave the main body of the church with a child, whether to a cry room, the narthex, a gathering space, outside, WE DO NOT PUT THEM DOWN.  If you put the child down, he or she will wander and play and have a grand ole' time.  Then next week, when she is bored or fractious, she will misbehave and fuss, until you take her out and then she gets to play again.  See a pattern here?  It's a pain the back, but if held, the child will learn that she has slightly more freedom and a more enjoyable time if she behaves and stays in the pew.

Daily Mass Disclaimer:  Now, anyone who sees me at daily Mass, alone in the cry room with Baby J, knows that I do put her down and let her do Tobias rolls (gosh, I wish I could find a clip of this scene from Arrested Development) and eat goldfish.  But that's daily Mass.  I have no helpers.  Baby noises in church at daily Mass are way louder.  And I usually have to jerk her out of a deep sleep to bring her.  

We DON'T let them leave the pew.  Just like a roller coaster, please keep arms and legs and hands and feet inside the pew at all times.  Put someone on the end who can play by these rules, like a Dad.  You may not think anyone notices, but we are all watching Junior take his shoes off and stick his legs in the aisle.  Though he is adorable, the old lady with the walker is going to trip.  And meanwhile the rest of us just want to spend some time with our Lord without wondering when he's going to make a break for it.  Because he will.  Either up the aisle or around the altar.  I know parents who've changed parishes after such events.

We occasionally surprise them with donuts.  Our church doesn't have Coffee and Rolls.  But sometimes...you never know when...everyone gets rewarded with a trip to the bakery after a good showing at Mass.  And sometimes everyone gets lectured about what went wrong and why, and then we get donuts anyway and eat emotionally and promise to do better. 

This is all much easier if everyone is well rested and fed and watered.  That's why we go to the late Mass.  We like to sleep in and have a leisurely breakfast with a variety of pork products, before we realize the time and make a mad dash for our two bathrooms.  "Don't Flush!  I'm taking a shower!" Or we just show up smelling like bacon.

Attachment Parenting and Permissiveness

Lots of people parent, everyone has been parented, and everyone has strong opinions on the subject.  Some people confuse parenting with discipline.  Some people confuse parenting with friendship.  It is neither and both.

Recently, I liked this article (about the practices and success of French parents compared to American parents) on Facebook.  I also read a few blog posts about it.  In the combox of one blog in particular, I noticed some negative comments about attachment parenting and permissiveness.

I would say that I practice attachment parenting.  The fact that I use a highchair, 2 exersaucers, and a stroller means that lots of attachment parents would disagree with me.

By attachment parenting, I mean that I breastfeed for up to 2 years (maybe longer, never needed it longer), and we co-sleep.  We want our baby sleep on our schedule (if I stay up late, she'll sleep in late) and do not impose some other time table.  And we do not purposely let her cry.

Not that she cries anyway.  Really.  We've never had a baby like this one.  She's always happy and smiley and jolly.  She's the polar opposite of our firstborn who cried from 1996 through 1998.  Though I did not intend to "let him cry it out," that's just what I had to do, because I had met all of his needs and nothing made him stop crying, except Steve Earle CDs or running water.

But permissive?  I don't think so.  Yes, our firstborn slept in our bed for 2 years and then in a sleeping bag on the floor next to our bed for another 3 or 4.  But we taught him the word, "No" and what it meant from a very early age. Go ahead and ask him.  We are the meanest parents he knows.  Ask him what we always say when he tells us about somebody else's parents.  "We don't give a rat's a$$ what other people's parents do."  He knows not to tell us about other parents.  That's when we get ugly mean.

We have rules.  No Wii unless it's raining, you're sick, or you have a friend over.  No technology in your bedroom.  Say Please and Thank You.  When I call your name, come to me and say, "Yes, Mom?" or "Yes, Dad?"  You don't get to holler, "Whhhaaaat?"  from the next room.  Permission required for using the computer or the television, and both have time limits. 

One of the more difficult and newer rules that my kids hate is that we require 24 hours notice for social events, playdates, basketball games, whatever.  Tell me the night before, because if you're asking the day of, the answer is no.  Of course, there are exceptions.  It became very important for everyone to learn to make plans and to not take your ride (Dad) for granted.  In the same regard, I cannot take my babysitters for granted and also must plan ahead. 


I think the key point in the article about French parents is that they say "non," and they say it with conviction. It's important that kids learn that you mean what you say.  Baby J is learning the word, "No," right now, every time she tries to touch the fireplace screen.  Our other kids learned it this way, she will too.  Even if I do wear her in an Ergo sometimes.

This Hurts Me More Than It Hurts You

I know you don't believe me, but truly, it would be so much easier for me to sort your dirty laundry for you.

But then you would never learn responsibility.

It would be so much easier for me to do the dinner dishes by myself, in complete blissful silence, and there would be the added benefit of actually having clean dishes and clean counters in the morning.

But then you would never learn diligence and perseverance.

It would be so much easier for me to let you go skating, even though you were disrespectful to me.

But then you would never learn respect. Or that I mean what I say.

It would be so much easier to let you off the hook when you told me that you didn't "really" have any homework, when you actually did "really" have homework.

But then you would never learn honesty.

It would be so much easier for me to say "Yes, you can go see any rated PG-13 thriller." without having to do online research, or let you manage your own i-Tunes account, without checking.

But then you would never know how much I care about your innocence.

It would be so much easier for me to let you wear that shirt, or that make-up, or that bathing suit.

But then you would never learn modesty. Or how much I care about your true beauty.

It would be so much easier if I could have a peaceful afternoon and let you play Poptropica for hours.

Believe me. It hurts me more than it hurts you.

Expectation Management

And the winner is MJD Mom. I will be sending you the Happy Mama Hand to Toe Foaming Soap, the Angel Baby Shampoo and Body Wash, and the silk sock liners. Baby JJP is going to smell delicious! Now, for today's top story...

Expectation Management

In middle school, I ran for secretary in the Student Council elections. And I lost. And I was angry and bitter.

But then I grew up, and had kids, and suddenly my daughter was 7 years old and Irish dancing. Her teacher told me she was good enough to go to the National Championships in Nashville, Tennessee that summer. I was blown away. Having grown up with no athletic ability, or physical grace, it still amazes me that my children are good at this kind of stuff.

So began a whirlwind of travel, driving, spending, competing on an international scale, spending, driving, spending, making some lifelong friends, and learning some hard lessons about Expectation Management.

I learned that even though I can pay for all the lessons, pay for extra private lessons, pay for a stunning new costume and wig, drive to all the lessons, ensure at home practice time on a stage built in the basement, dress her, do her make-up, glue her socks on (yes, they glue their socks on), I couldn't dance for her. Not that I would be better. But, no matter how good I was at being the Irish Dance Mom, at the end of the day, what she won or lost was based on her and her alone. So, I learned to let go. I stopped feeling nauseous and losing sleep the night before competitions. I learned to look beyond today's competition.



And she learned how to win. How to be gracious when you do well and someone you know didn't. How to be encouraging. How to be humble.

And she learned how to lose. She learned how to see a disappointing score, and smile at the winner, and congratulate her. How not to blame the judge or the musician or the competitors or me. How to resolve to do it better next time.



She learned how to be friends with the National Champion because she's a nice kid and fun to hang out with, and how to never resent her for her crown. And how to be friends with all of the nice kids who never qualify for the big competitions, but they dance because they love it.



We used role play. Literally. I saw some very upset children at these things, and I didn't want that to be her. That doesn't mean we didn't get upset. We just didn't do it in ballrooms with hundreds of people. That's what the ride home is for. That's why God invented ice cream.




All of these lessons prepared her for middle school basketball. After having one team per grade for a few years, an influx of new students increased enrollment, thus necessitating the Dreaded A and B team. Of course, as her mother, I always thought she was good enough for the A team and those coaches are blind. But she didn't make the A team. And she was okay.

She ended up being the star of the B team. She played nearly every minute of every game. Sure, they lost them all, but she played, because she wanted to. She wanted to play basketball and she didn't care if all of her friends were on the A team, or if they never won a game. Well...that was disappointing. But what really bothered her was when her teammates wouldn't show up on time. Or at all. She was a Team Player. I was never more proud of her. Not even when she qualified for the World Championships of Irish Dance. Twice.

I've learned a lot too. I've learned that the B team is usually the best place to be. Superstars and Ball Hogs always make the A team. I've seen lots of talented players spend a game or a season on the bench with little to no playing time because they are the worst of the best. I think kids learn more on the B team when the pressure to win the Championship has been lifted. And sometimes they have more fun.

So, now I am applying all of these life lessons to play auditions.

Last year, my son got a decent part in the Fall Play. He loved it and he did really well. The director announced at the cast party that the Spring Musical would be the Hobbit. Immediately, Peter told the director that he wanted the lead. He wanted to play Bilbo. Did I mention that this was a musical? That my son had never sung publicly before? That he has never had voice lessons or even choir practice?

I tried to prepare him. I told him that it was highly unlikely that a Freshman would get the lead. I told him to prepare himself to receive a small part. Of course, as his mother, I thought he'd be great as the lead.

The day after auditions, he rubbed all of that in my face. He was cast as Bilbo. He accused me of not believing that he was good enough. That was never the case. I just wanted to prepare, to cushion the blow, to force him to entertain the thought that he might not get what he wanted. Because no one did that for me when I ran for Student Council. And it should not have been that big a deal.

So he sang and danced on stage. I was so proud! I sat in the second row, hugely pregnant, on the aisle, so as to have easy access to the nearest ladies' room, which is never near enough, at an all boys' school.

For his big solo, he came and stood in the aisle and looked at me and sang, "I Want To Go Home." I beamed. My sister-in-law says there wasn't a dry eye in the place.



I love that song. It's about when the journey has gone on long enough, Bilbo realizes he'd rather be where his greatest treasure is, home. I was so proud.

"Why did I come so far away? There's just one place I want to stay. I tried Adventure now I'll say I want to go home...Your life depends on what you're looking for and my quest ends inside my own front door. Some love to journey forth for gold. I guess I'm not that brave and bold...so I want to go home."

No, that's not him singing.

Then Susan, former Amazing Irish Dancer, had play auditions. She's a freshman. Her brother got the lead in his musical when he was a freshman. See where this could go? See the dark clouds of disappointment looming ahead?

Never fear! Well-adjusted, big-hearted Susan practiced her song, she auditioned for song and dance. She was cast as a Napkin in the upcoming performance of Beauty and the Beast and SHE WAS THRILLED! I am so proud of her.

And this week, Lucy is auditioning for a part in a musical produced by our local Catholic children's theater group. This group is the real deal, run by lots of professional theater and music people, really wonderful Catholic parents.

I'm so nervous. They won't cast everyone. She's never sung in public before. Of course, as her mother, I think she's amazing and should be given a fabulous role.

So we've discussed best and worst case scenarios. We've reviewed the facts, that there will be cuts, that she might not be cast, that there are some very talented kids auditioning. She's picked her song. I've helped download a karaoke version onto her ipod. I've encouraged her to practice, given her positive feedback. I've reminded her to smile, to sing loudly, to act out her song. I've filled out the forms and written the check and I'll get her there in plenty of time.

But at the end of the day, I can't sing it for her. I can only be there for her.
I will be so proud.