~Mommy Advice Column~

Unbelievably Horrible Coincidence

2012-02-16T13:12:00.000-08:00

What kind of sick twist of fate was at work today when, only hours after I published my post entitled School Buses - Really??? in which I questioned the wisdom of putting our children on school buses, I read about a horrible school bus crash that happened in NJ this morning, probably at the very moment that I was writing my original post: http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/nj-state-police-1-student-a-state-troopers-daughter-killed-in-school-bus-truck-crash/2012/02/16/gIQA0fksHR_story.html. My thoughts and prayers go out to the families and children involved.

School Buses - Really???

2012-02-16T05:56:00.000-08:00

So, this morning as I waved to my son as his bus pulled away, I started thinking about what an odd concept the school bus is. I mean, we live in an age where our kids have to sit in the back of our cars, propped up on a booster seat and strapped in by, at a minimum, a lap and shoulder belt, and at most a 5-point harness. I know moms whose kids are in 2nd grade still using the 5-pointer. We teach them that they have to behave quietly in the car so that the driver does not have a car accident. And we teach our kids not, under any circumstances, to get into a stranger's car.

Yet, every morning, a big yellow bus comes roaring to a stop in front of us, driven by a person whose past and present lifestyle is a complete mystery to us, and we scoot our kids in line to climb aboard. We actually willingly place them in a vehicle, with a stranger, where they will sit unrestricted by a seatbelt, possibly hanging into the aisle a few feet from a giant glass windshield, often standing, yelling, fooling around. We put them on a bus where the driver will spend part of his/her time watching the road, part of her time staring into a big rear view mirror screaming at 30 or so kids that are behaving like a barrel full of monkeys, distracting the driver to no end.

This is particularly ironic if you are an overprotective mom, like myself. I do not let my kids get into a car with anyone that I have do not have a complete resume on - job, family, personality, etc. And I have to know the driver very well personally to even consider placing my child in their car. It took years for me just to trust family members to drive my kids, and even then I gave them endless instructions as to how to properly buckle my kids into their seats! I can count on one hand the number of people allowed to drive my kids. Yet I actually let them go each morning with anyone who shows up at the bus stop sitting behind the wheel of a giant yellow vehicle!

I remember my college roommate telling me that in grade school her bus driver would pull off of the route, tell all of the kids to put their heads down below the windows, and exit the bus for a few minutes. Was he selling drugs? Buying drugs? Grabbing a quick kiss from his girlfriend? Who knows? All we know about the stranger driving the bus is that they have passed a basic security clearance. However, criminal and sex abuse checks mean nothing to my paranoid mind other than the person has not been caught doing anything bad, not that they do not actually do anything bad.

I guess the best we can do is talk to other moms and go with our gut. My son's first day of school, I stood at the bus stop terrified, preparing excuses in my head that I would tell the bus driver if the doors opened and I did not like the looks of him/her and would not put my son on the bus. Luckily, my bus driver turned out to be a good one, although, on paper, she was not at all someone I would ordinarily entrust my child to. She wears a baseball cap with a diamond-studded skull on it, and she moonlights at a Harley-Davidson shop. But after talking to her every morning and afternoon and talking to other moms in the area who have known her for years, it turned out that, luckily for us, she too is a mom, as well as a caring, wonderful person with a spotless driving record. Phew!

What has your experience with school bus drivers been (either your own or your childrens')? Any horror stories? Good stories? Have you ever taken one look at the driver and pulled your kid off of the bus? Please share with the rest of us!

Where Is Jenny McCarthy's CinderFELLA???

2012-01-05T04:00:00.000-08:00

So, being that it is now 2012, there are many relevant topics that I could choose to discuss; presidential candidates, the Mayan prediction that the world is about to end, etc. But do you want to know what is really weighing on my mind?

That NYC cop that gave Jenny McCarthy "the smooch heard around the world" on New Years Eve. If you didn't see it, take a look at this video and then get back here. I'll wait... OK, so now you are up to speed. That video didn't even show the half of it. That kiss lasted longer than it took to spray Dick Clark orange. Ever since then, people have been wondering, who is this mystery man that had the honor of locking lips with one of Hollywood's most gorgeous celebrities, only to disappear again after the strike of midnight like some kind of reverse Cinderella? Perhaps we should call him "CinderFELLA"! Instead of a glass slipper, Jenny can search New York City for the man whose holster fits the 9mm Glock that was dropped in Cinderfella's hasty dash home!

I have seen this story run on countless t.v. stations, and it is all over the web. Jenny herself appeared the next day on a morning talk show and said, in what appeared to be only a half-joking manner, "if he's out there, please get a hold of me!". Now I ask you, why would the guy who was brave enough to lock lips on camera for what seemed like an eternity and then stand there with a goofy look on his face giving an interview afterward shy away from this invitation? I mean, he seemed to like her, given the fact that he sucked on her face for an embarrassingly long length of time. She has stated that she loved the kiss. So where is he? Why hasn't he come forward? What could possibly keep this guy from the limelight he so obviously craves and possible true love with the beautiful Jenny McCarthy?

As someone who comes from a family of cops, I can hazard a guess. My guess is that this guy is at home counting down the days until his suspension from the NYC Police Department is over. I mean, cops and firefighters alike are notorious for being disciplined quickly and harshly for the slightest infraction or indiscretion committed while on the job and wearing a uniform. And here is this goofball, supposedly protecting a crowd of thousands standing smack in the middle of terrorist central during the most symbolic, televised moment of the year (i.e. prime time for an attack by any number of nutsos and fanatical groups), and instead of doing his job, his eyes are closed and he is swapping spit with some chic ON LIVE T.V.! And just in case that didn't seal the deal with his higher-ups, he makes sure to look into the camera afterwards with a self-satisfied "yeah, I just did that" look on his face, and babble something about fireworks! Heeeelllloooo, Officer Kissy-face, you can't do that when you're on the job!

So, I implore you, I've just gotta know, if anyone knows Cinderfella, will you please tell me whether he still has a job? Thanks!

Is "Bullying" The New Buzzword?

2011-12-22T04:00:00.000-08:00

When I was in junior high, I was a very shy kid. I also had somehow attracted the attention of my science teacher, who made it clear to everyone that I was the "teacher's pet". Those two unfortunate things combined made me the perfect target for the class bully, "Chris" (a girl). She would harass me every day, with such witty taunts as " 'Lauren' sounds like 'urine' ". Unfortunately, I was too afraid to respond with the equally witty "oh yeah, well 'Chris' sounds like 'piss' " that I was screaming inside my head. So I suffered in silence every day, letting Chris pick on me, enduring it while her friends would push each other into me, slam into the locker next to mine, etc. Needless to say, it was a living hell and, for several weeks, I was scared and miserable every day at school.

In those days, there was no anti-bully campaign. Rather, it was every kid for him/herself. If you had a problem with another kid, you either put up with it, or you found a way to resolve it yourself. So the bullying continued, until one day I reached my breaking point. I waited for Chris after class, and with my little fists shaking, I beat the living tar out of her. Now, when I retell this story to my kids, I say that she threw the first punch. But the truth is, her bullying hurt far worse than anything she could do to me physically, and to this day I stand behind my decision to throw the first punch. After that, she and her little gang of future minimum wage workers left me alone. That day I learned to stand up for myself, to not be afraid of bullies, and to refuse to take crap from anyone. That self-taught lesson served me well as I grew up and was able to hold my own as a 5'4" woman in a corporate world filled with men and assorted grown-up bullies.

Fast forward almost 3 decades, and you have a whole new atmosphere. Schools have swung 180 degrees in the opposite direction and are now hyper-sensitive to bullying. You can't pass a school without seeing "Bully Free Zone" spray painted on the side of the building. Heaven forbid two kids have the slightest altercation, or bump into each other on the playground, the school immediately goes to DEFCON 1 - doors are locked down, parents are beckoned from work and swat teams are called in.

I exaggerate of course, but not by much. I recently had an issue involving one of my kids that illustrates the current over-the-top anti-bullying climate in our schools. My son, who is in 2nd grade, became the object of desire for a female classmate whose crush on him was approaching the level of Glen Close in Fatal Attraction. She hounded him relentlessly to be his project partner, gym partner, to sit next to him at lunch, play with him at recess, etc. While at first I found this adorable, it soon became too much for my son, who came home in tears one day asking if he could transfer classes to get away from this girl and the teasing from the other kids who were aware of the situation. So, at the yearly parent-teacher meeting, I calmly explained the situation to the teacher, and asked that the girl and my son be separated in class and not be partners for class projects. Her response? "That is bullying! She is bullying your son, and with your permission, I would like to get the school psychologist involved." I was completely taken aback by this response. Was she crazy? "Um, no, this is not bullying, it is just a crush", I responded, "and you certainly do NOT have my permission to subject this girl to psychological counseling just because she has a little thing for my son!"

Don't get me wrong, I am all for raising awareness of bullying and teaching kids that it is wrong and will not be tolerated. But this knee-jerk reaction of labeling every student altercation "bullying" seems way over the top to me. How are our kids ever going to learn to resolve conflicts themselves if they are not allowed to even try? If they are herded off to the school psychologist every time they express themselves or have a disagreement? What is that teaching them about handling conflict or emotions, and how will they ever survive in the real world?
What do you think? Have the schools taken the anti-bullying campaign so far that it is actually hurting our kids more than it is helping them?

Why I Can't Bake Christmas Cookies Without Crying:

2011-12-15T11:05:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, I heard Gwyneth Paltrow tell Rachael Ray that she cried into her pancakes every time she made them, because the recipe was taught to her by her father, who had since passed away. Gwyneth tried to laugh about it, but I knew only too well the pain she was feeling because, unfortunately, I can relate. I cannot even think about baking Christmas cookies without landing somewhere between welling-up and outright sobbing, depending on whether or not my kids are around.

The reason for this annual holiday meltdown? My grandma Rose ("hot-rod Rosy" to those of us who had ever dared to sit in her passenger seat). She is no longer with us, and every Christmas season I miss her even more than usual. You see, I was born to a mother who, although wonderful, supportive and giving in every way, was more tomboy than Betty Crocker. You would be more likely to find her on a softball field than standing over a tray of freshly baked, well, anything. This is where my grandma Rose came in. She was everything that a grandma should be. She baked, sewed, sang silly songs while playing the organ, jumped rope, played hopscotch, and powdered us from head to toe with a big pink powder puff. She was sweet and loving and never once scolded my sister or me.

But my best memories with grandma are the times we spent together baking Christmas cookies and pies. She would let my sister and I help with every step, never losing patience or raising her voice. She let us decorate every cookie, and taste them fresh and warm out of the oven. She had the magic touch, and when I say that they were the best cookies anyone has ever tasted, you can take that to the bank. Everything she made turned out perfectly.

At the time, I enjoyed spending this time with my grandma, but I am not sure that I appreciated it and cherished it the way that I should have. I did not know that before she would pass, old age would rob her of these very memories that were so precious to me. As her mind faded, I regretted desperately not spending even more time with her, not taking notes, not asking her every question about her life that I could think of. When she left us at the age of 95, I was left with equal parts happy memories and regrets.

My grandma was in large part a role model for the type of sweet, nurturing, Betty Crocker mom I strive to be. So far I have not been able to match her sweet nature or patience, or her unbelievable baking skills, but I try. And because of my grandma, I make sure every holiday season, no matter what is going on in our lives, to set aside time to bake with my kids. It is messy, and at times a bit frustrating, but I keep a smile on my face and patience in my voice because I know, without a doubt, just how precious these memories will be to them someday when I am gone.

So this year I will put on the faded and torn housecoat that my grandma wore all those years ago when she baked, and I will do my best to hide my tears from my kids as I pass on my grandma's beautiful tradition. If you are one of the ones to whom I deliver a tray, please forgive me if the cookies are a bit too salty - some of my tears may have escaped into the batter.