Teen Pregnancy and Weight Loss: We are What We Watch/Read

In case you missed it...here's a couple of interesting health notes for tween-aged girls.

1. Read a book, lose weight!
At Duke Children's Hospital, a study followed 31 obese girls. Some were given an age-appropriate novel to read about an overweight girl who alters her lifestyle, loses weight and feels better. The book, Lake Rescue, was created for this project and written with the help of health experts. Guess what? The girls who read the book lowered their BMI while the other girls didn't. Wow!

2. TV and Teen Pregnancy
A Rand Corporation study published this fall demonstrated a link between watching high levels of sexual content on TV and increased likelihood of teen pregnancy. The study followed almost 1,000 girls ages 12 through 17 and found that the teens watching the most sexualized content were twice as likely to get pregnant.

One explanation is that "teens" engaging in sex on TV rarely talk about contraception or other negative consequences of early sex, like SDTs or unwanted pregnancy. (And of course, most teens on TV are played by 20-somethings.)

I myself am a secret fan of "Gossip Girl" (I suppose now it's not so secret). But this is a show where every teen kid is having sex and there's never a mention of a condom.

So it looks like your grandma was right--books are good. TV is bad.

Actually, the Rand study acknowledged that TV shows and movies highlighting the risks of sex also were effective. So TV can be entertaining and beneficial, but it takes a brave network to opt for healthy over hot.

The bottom line: Pay attention to what your daughter reads and watches. It could change her life.

The Gratitude Game

My kids and I have started a new holiday tradition. Each night at dinner, we go around the circle and each name 3 things we're grateful for. Each night, we have to come up with a different 3 items.

Here are some things my kids are grateful for.

My mom. :)
Snow.
That we're not poor.
My green blanket.
Time.
That mom threw away the disgusting cookies she made and started over (in reference to a batch of gingerbread that tasted like salt water)
My teeth.
This yummy dinner.

I've watched sour moods turn sweet as we go round the table and list our 3 items.

Gratitude is a powerful potion!

Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Joy and Peace to All

What NOT To Say

In my work with tweens (Tween Tribe) we talk a lot about what's up in their lives, what's bugging them, what's going great.

At one Tween Tribe, we asked the tween-aged girls to think of a time they'd been misunderstood. A time when the other person just wouldn't listen to them. Who was the "villain" in most of their tales? Mean girls on the playground? Demanding teachers? Nah! You guessed it--Moms! Okay, so we moms are the villains in many of our girls' stories. No shock, right? After all, if we didn't mess up our kids now, then there would be no work for therapists twenty years down the road.

But in listening to these girls tell their tales week after week, I do sometimes want to take us moms aside and just have a little pow-wow about what NOT to say!

So...here's the first one.

YOUR DELIGHTFUL 5th GRADE DAUGHTER SAYS: Mom, I really want a pair of Ugg boots.

YOU SAY: What? Are you kidding? Those things cost like $200. And you'll just end up getting them all muddy like all your other shoes?

DAUGHTER: But all the girls have them.

YOU: Well, I'm not all the girls' mothers! I can't help it if everyone else spoils their daughters on ridiculous shoes. I don't even wear shoes that cost that much.

DAUGHTER: I hate you! (door slams)

Okay...let's try again.

DELIGHTFUL DAUGHTER: Mom, I really want a pair of Ugg boots.

What is she really asking for? Not boots, really. What's she's really asking for is the ability to fit in with her peers at school. The strong desire to fit in is a natural, developmentally appropriate urge for tween-aged girls. In fact, it's a healthy sign that she's aware of her social surroudnings and picking up social clues. Much of this social "mind reading" works in your favor. For instance, your previously slovenly daughter might start brushing her hair and washing her face unprompted by you. She's noticed the other girls don't show up to school with giant knots in their hair or poppy seeds in their teeth, and she's on board with fitting in.

The Ugg boots, however, may strain your budget or tolerance. Or both. That's okay. You don't need to get the boots, but you also shouldn't shame your daughter for her wish to be like her peers. You could probably glance around your own kitchen or closet and find plenty of examples of purchases you made in order to fit in at work, at a PTA meeting or when the neighborhood gals come by for wine tasting night. I mean, how many of really need those cutesy little wine glass charms, after all?

Okay...so instead of shaming, yelling, lecturing, let's try exploring, understanding,compromising and problem-solving.

YOU: Why do you want Ugg boots, sweety?

HER: Because all of the girls have them.

YOU: Well, I can understand you wan to fit it. Is there a girl in particular who wears Uggss?

Opportunity might be knocking! This might be a chance to explore the girls she knows, the girls she emulates and where she fits into the school's social heirarcy. The conversation could go on for quite awhile, and you might learn a lot of useful stuff. But let's get to the heart of the matter, from your perspective.

YOU: Do you know how much those boots cost?

HER: No.

YOU: I think they're about $200.

HER: Oh. I didn't know. Can I still have them? For Christmas?

YOU: That's just way out of our budget for clothing for you. I'd be willing to give you $40 for boots, and if you want to save up allowance money for the rest, that's okay. Or, we can find some faux Uggs that will only cost about $40. Do you want to go online right now and we'll see what's out there?

HER: No, I want real Uggs like the other girls have.

YOU: Okay. Well, let's start saving for them right now. I'll put aside the first $40 and you an earn the rest through allowance and other things. Why don't we go down to the bank today and start a saving's account for you.

Now, things might not go this swimmingly, of course. But you get the idea. The boots offer you an opportunity to explore Girl World. They also offer you an opportunity to talk to your daughter about money, budgets and savings. Who knew Uggs could be so useful?

Magic Breath: Or sucking sadness and sending sundaes

This short story for middle grade readers will be published in "Oracle Story and Letters" in the spring. The events in the story introduce children to a Buddhist meditation practice called "tonglen."

Here's an excerpt:


Olive hated birthday parties.

And yet here she stood at Polly’s front door, waiting to be admitted to the most “totally awesome” birthday party of the Centerville Middle School social calendar. Polly, the birthday girl, lived next door to Olive and they had been gal-pals since the stroller days. It was an odd friendship because Polly was everything Olive wasn’t. Polly lived in a huge house with an in-ground pool. Olive shared a room with her sister. Polly dressed in the latest fashions and had a TV in her room that got tons of channels. Olive wore hand-me-downs and watched PBS documentaries with her parents. But Olive liked hanging out with Polly. So long as it was just the two of them, it was pretty great. But today it would not be just the two of them.

Olive was miserable.

The door opened and Polly’s mom chirped, “Hi, Miss Olive. The girls just ran down to the basement. You can go on down.”

Olive dropped her present—a book about famous women—on the table with the other gifts, noticing that hers was the smallest. One giant box actually had a book tied to it as a “topper” gift. Olive sighed and headed downstairs.

When she reached the basement, she gasped. The giant playroom had been transformed into a theater, with an actual stage, real spotlights and microphones.

“Hi, Olive,” Polly said. “Isn’t it great? It’s just like American Idol. Now that everyone’s here, we’re going to pick costumes and then we’re all going to perform karaoke.”

“Hi Olive,” said a tall, dark-haired girl named Lucy. Olive remembered Lucy from last year’s party. “I’m doing Because of You, you know, the Kelly Clarkson song. What’ll you do?” Olive didn’t really know what karaoke was, but she understood she was supposed to name a song she could sing. At home they listened to a lot of classical music.

“Um. Beethoven’s Ode to Joy?” she ventured timidly.

“Oh my God! They’re not going to have that song,” Lucy said loudly. “Hey everyone. Olive wants to sing to Beethoven.”

“Ode to Joy…” Olive said, feeling jittery, “…it’s part of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony,” she prattled on nervously. “He wrote it when he was deaf. My mom says it’s a celebration of joy over sadness…”

“I know who Beethoven is,” snapped Lucy. “I’m not dumb. But it’s not going to be on a karaoke machine. Everyone knows that,” she was laughing now, and the other girls had started laughing, too.

“Let’s go get our outfits on,” someone called, and the girls crowded around a rack crammed with sequined shirts and glittery stretch pants.

Olive stayed behind and ducked into the bathroom, locking the door. She slid to the floor, crammed between the toilet and the sink, her head in her hands. “I am so stupid,” she muttered to herself “Beethoven. What was I thinking? Why can’t I just be like other girls? I hate being me.”

Olive began breathing hard and fast, trying desperately not to cry. She didn’t need red, puffy eyes giving her away. She had to get back to the party. “Just breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe,” she muttered to herself.

She sucked in a big breath and let it out. She stood and looked in the mirror. Don’t cry. Just breathe. Just breathe, she chanted silently. She closed her eyes, took another deep breath, and then opened her eyes again.

She looked in the mirror.

She blinked. Squinted. Shook her head, blinked and looked again.

Because staring out of the mirror was not her own pale face, but a completely different girl, a girl she knew from school named Willow.

--Get "Oracle Story and Letters" to read the rest...

This Place Smells Like Love

A short story for children.

Every morning, Tara Jane got a kiss from her mother, “Good morning, sweet love.”

She got a belly tickle from her big brother, “Good morning, funny girl.”

She got a snuggle from her father, “Good morning, yummy one.”

When her mom picked her up from preschool, Tara Jane got a big kiss. “How was your day, my sweet love?”

When her brother got home from school, he tackled her and gave her a giant bear hug, “Let’s practice football, funny girl!”

When her dad got home from work, he’d call out “Where’s my yummy one?” and scoop Tara Jane up into his arms for a giant snuggle.

When it was time for bed, Tara Jane put on her pajamas and brushed her teeth.

Then she said good night to her big brother. He gave her a bear hug, lifted her PJs and blew a giant raspberry on her belly. “Good night, funny girl,” he said.

Tara Jane’s mother sat in bed next to her and sang her a song. Then she kissed Tara Jane’s forehead and said, “Good night, my sweet love.”

Tara Jane’s father climbed in bed and snuggled under the covers with her. He read her a story. Then he wrapped his arms around her and gave her fifteen snuggles, and said, “Good night, my yummy one.”

He turned on the night light, turned off the big light, and left.

But Tara Jane could not sleep.

She went into her brother’s room. “I cannot sleep,” she told him.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because of the monster,” Tara Jane explained. “I am afraid a monster will come and take me away while I am sleeping.”

“Do not worry, funny girl,” her brother said. “There are no such things as monsters. Now go to bed.”

Tara Jane got into bed, but she was not so sure her brother was right. After all, he also said that playing football was more fun than playing tea party. Well, Tara Jane knew that was not right.

So she went into her mother’s office. “I cannot sleep,” she told her.

“Why not?” her mother asked.

“Because of the monster. He might come through my window and take me away.”

“Do not worry, sweet love,” her mother said. “There are no such things as monsters. Now go to bed.”

Tara Jane got in bed, but she was not so sure her mother was right. After all, her mother also said that fruit was better than candy. Tara Jane knew that was not right.

Tara Jane went down to the kitchen and found her father washing dishes. “I cannot sleep,” she said.

“Why not, yummy one?” he asked.

“Because of the monster,” she said.

“Oh,” her father said. He kneeled down next to her. “I understand. But maybe you do not know the secret of monsters and their noses.”

Tara Jane shook her head.

“Well, monsters have very good noses. They can smell just about everything. They love the smell of garbage and old, wet towels. That is why we always put a lid on the garbage and hang up our wet towels.”

Tara Jane nodded. This made perfect sense.

“But,” her father continued, “there are lots of smell monsters cannot stand. Like the smell of spring flowers or fresh-baked cookies. And the worst smell of all for a monster, is the smell of love,” he said. “They cannot stand the smell of love. It makes them feel sick. So, if a monster came into our house, he would pinch his nose closed” – her dad pinched his nose closed – “and he would say ‘Pee-ewe, this place smells like love!’ And he would have to get out of here as fast as he could.”

Tara Jane thought about this for a moment, and then nodded. Her dad scooped her up and took her back to bed. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her twenty big snuggles. “Good night, yummy one,” he said. “And do not forget, if the monster comes into our house, he would just say ‘Pee-ewe, this place smells like love!’”

Tara Jane went to sleep, smelling love all around her.

In the middle of the night, she awoke. She went to her parents’ bedroom and shook her father’s shoulder.

“Yes, yummy one?” her father said sleepily.

“I cannot sleep,” Tara Jane said.

“Why not?”

“The monsters,” she said.

“Remember,” he said, “they would just pinch their noses and say, ‘Pee-ewe, this place smells like love.’”

“I know,” Tara Jane said. “But then the poor old monster would have to sit outside, and it is so cold tonight.”

Her father thought for a moment and then said, “Perhaps you do not know the other secret of monsters and their noses.”

Tara Jane shook her head.

“Well,” her father said. “If a monster gets enough kisses, then his nose changes and he likes the smell of love. He loves the smell of love, in fact.”

Tara Jane nodded. She went downstairs and peered out the front door. There, sitting on the porch, was a big, furry old monster. He was pinching his nose closed and muttering, “Pee-ewe. This place smells like love.”

Tara crept out onto the porch and sat down next to him. She put her little arm around his shaggy shoulder.

“Hello, monster,” she said, and she gave that monster a big, warm kiss on the cheek.

The monster unpinched his nose and took in a big deep breath. “Hmmmm,” he said.

Tara Jane took the monster’s hand and led him into the living room. She showed him the sofa. He lay down on it, and she covered him with a warm quilt.

“Good night, monster love,” she said, tucking him in and giving him another kiss on the cheek.

“Good night, little love,” the monster said back.

Then Tara Jane went back to her own bed, and the whole house slept in peaceful, loving warmth all night long.

Bored to Enlightenment

I meditate. Almost every day. For years now. And yet sitting still and doing basically nothing for 20 minutes is ridiculously challenging. It’s a pain in the butt—literally and figuratively. My Mexican-jumping bean brain bings around wildly and I squirm (again, literally and figuratively) in discomfort. I’m bored, really! Bored in that ten-year-old kid way. “Mom, I’m bored! There’s nothing to do!” You remember that restless, stomp around the house in search of something mood? Obviously there was plenty to do, in one sense, but there was nothing that captured your interest. Or maybe more accurately, nothing that soothed and comforted your restless soul.

Possibly when you were ten, you turned to Twinkies or TV. Lovely comforters. But often, of course, the TV had nothing but Jerry Lewis telethons and possibly your mom, like mine, didn’t stock Twinkies. And so I ended up flopping down on my bed in frustration. And then—sometimes--my attention would be drawn to the raindrops rolling down my window pain. I’d become absorbed in their funny, halting race. Which drop would win? And then two drops would magically merge into one and proceed onward united. And I’d contemplate whether people were like raindrops, just gliding down an invisible track toward an unforeseen but inevitable end. And then I’d just listen to the patter of rain on the roof and hear the musical rhythm underneath. And 20 minutes would slide by unnoticed. Twenty out-of-time minutes.

And without knowing it, I had meditated.

Is it a coincidence that so many religious and spiritual leaders have advocated some form of present-mindedness? Be it meditation, or repetitive chanting, or counting beads, or uniform praying. So many great spiritual teachers tell us to engage in a form of ritualized boredom. I think contemplative teachers realized the power of boredom. Something must happen to our synapses when we force our minds and bodies to settle. It’s such a struggle. And yet if you wrestle through the discomfort, something profound happens.

And I further wonder whether American children today spend enough time being bored. There are so many more opportunities for distraction, comfort and entertainment. Maybe boredom is the what’s really missing from the ADD/ADHD world we live in.

The Martyred Mom

"Mom, watch. Mom! Watch!"

I turn away from the onion I'm chopping. "Yes, sweetie. I'm watching." And my 5-year-old son executes a twisting "pirouette" that resembles someone slipping on a banana. Then he looks up at me and beams with pride.

"Did you see?" he asks triumphantly.

"Yes, sweetie. I saw. It was wonderful!"

I turn back and chop some more. Before I've diced one slice, my daughter emerges. "Mom, I just made all of my horses wreaths. Want to see?"

"Of course." And I follow her into her room, where she explains the intricate design of each of 7 miniature horse wreaths.

And on and on.

As moms, we spend our day watching. We praise indecipherable art. We applaud awkward dancing. We cheer off-key singing. We watch. We witness.

We martyr.

I read once that martyr means witness. It comes from the Greek and dates to the days of early Christians who claimed to have witnessed the risen Jesus.

What a perfect word for motherhood. Witnessing--the martyrdom of mom--is such an essential act. Children crave to be seen, to be witnessed. All humans crave it, really. And we know that people who do not experience themselves as seen on a deep level are in some fundamental way damaged. Or incomplete.

So we martyr ourselves for our children. We witness the triumphs and tragedies, from first step to graduation and beyond.

And sometimes we mothers can't help but wonder...who witnesses us?