Do I prefer my virtual world to my real one?

I remember her finger tangled in the mustard color curly phone cord. The sporadic stream of conversation and burst of laughter.

She was talking to her best friend. Possibly for the second or third time that day.

Or she was organizing an event at the synagogue, or countless other tasks.

She was always on the phone.

I would be sitting at the table a few feet away, sometimes watching television, sometimes listening in, or maybe just drawing which was my favorite pastime.

She was constantly on the phone. And when she was off she was making dinner or some other household task. She talked a lot, just not to me.

I know she loved me, but other than discussing school work, or report cards or activities I was involved with we never really had conversations.

She conversed a lot. Just not with me.

Here's what I imagine my son writing one day:

The clicking of the keyboard was constant. Her eyes were always glued to her laptop which sat prominently on our kitchen island. The one I'd sit at to watch TV, to do homework, and often to eat at before she and my dad sat down to dinner later.

Click, clack, ping. My eyes would sneak a peek over at all the tabs she had open where she would be tweeting, chatting and IMing with loads of people. Just not with me.

While I sat in the TV room unwinding on Friday afternoon, she would relocate to the living room, laptop in her lap, looking for solitude to reach out to her world of virtual friends, read online articles, disappear to take care of stuff around the house, or go talk on the phone with friends.

We'd talk briefly about my day at school, or an idea I had for a project I wanted to do. Sometimes she'd face me, sometimes her eyes would stay trained on the glow of the screen as she would give a distracted "Oh! Uh huh. Sounds really cool, Bud."

Ugh. I am painfully aware that I am often around my son, without being with him.

I am distracted.

I hear about all these parents who turn off their electronic devices to tune into their family--be in the moment. Be present.

I struggle with that.

I'm know I'm a good mom. I have an incredibly close relationship with my son. But I know my clicking away on my keyboard is no different than my mom having the phone surgically attached to her head.

And yet I've become her.

At this very moment I sit quietly in the dimly lit living room blogging, instead of just curling up on the couch and watch whatever crazy show he's watching.

Anyone else struggle with this?

And, if you broke the cycle, tell me how. Tweet

LinkedIn invited my printer to join my network

What happens when good technology goes bad?

Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of technology--it would be hard to write all those scripts for Digitwirl if I wasn't, but I have to say LinkedIn--you've gone too far.

I prefer programs and applications that assume you're an imbecile and always double check with you before you do anything drastic, like cancel an email you were sending, close your browser, or wear white after Labor Day.

"You are about to close four windows, are you suuuuuure you want to do that?

Oh crap! Thank God you asked! I was about to close my Twitter, Facebook, Klout and LinkedIn pages. That was a close one!

So last week when I was on LinkedIn they thoughtfully made some suggestions about who I might want to connect with. Kind of like a blind date, without having to wear Spanx.

In fact, they were going to make it easy for me. They were going to check all the people I already know and see who I might have overlooked to join my network.

Sounds good. Sure.

*Click*

Up popped a comprehensive list of people I know, all selected of course. I unselected everyone and then carefully went through and put a check mark next to all the people I was interested contacting.

Done and done.

*Click*

"Congratulations, you have sent out 216 invitations!"

I blinked a few times and stared at it the same way I did my pregnancy test.

What? Can that be right? (The same thing I thought when I saw my pregnancy test).

If I could have jumped into the computer and snatched up invites the way one might if 216 pieces of paper one was carrying went flying in a gust of wind I would have.

But it was done.

No, "Are you suuuuure you want to invite everyone you have ever interacted with in the history of ever?"

So, here are people I am now connected with:

My exterminator.

A kid who was a lifeguard at my pool club.

A friend I had a major falling out with four years ago.

My mother-in-law.

And, my printer.

Not the company that printed my book. My actual desktop printer. It has an email address and when I came home a printout of my invitation was waiting for me.

My printer clearly had no desire to link with my professional network (and exterminator, lifeguard and mother-in-law) and ignored my invitation. Jerk.

In today's day and age when a simple click of a button can link everything everywhere at anytime (yes Twitter and Facebook I'm looking at you), I think we all have to be very mindful before we breezily press any "submit, allow, or send" buttons.

If you've every done a reply all that eviscerates your boss and she was on the recipient list you know what I'm talking about. Do it once and I promise you will triple check every email you reply to.

So please, internet, applications and computer, treat me like a 3-year old. Let me take a second to think about the consequences of my actions.

If it means I won't accidentally connect with my gynecologist I'm totally ok with that.

[PS: Except for the tweet button below. You should definitely click that.]

*******

(By the way, if you want to know more about the printer you can email to, click the link above)


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If you want to be as good as a French Parent just be a little lazier

You Americans.

What with your enrichment programs, your responding to your child's every need, your willingness to play a 38th consecutive round of Candyland. Man, you really are sucky parents.

I've always said the key to being a great mom is being just a little bit selfish and fairly lazy.

And I think this recent article "Why French Parents are Superior" in the Wall Street Journal about the French being better than us bears that out.

I have one child. I knew very early on that I was not up to the task of being his playmate and his sole source of entertainment. I mean I guess I could have, I just didn't want to.

So I use a method that many of you may be uncomfortable with for fear of breaking your child.

I say "No."

"Mommy, do you want to play Candyland?"

"No, not really." (I say while taking a nap).

Voila!

"Mommy I'm bored."

"Sorry, honey. Find something to do." (I say while blogging).

C'est magnifique!

And off he'd go. He'd build a cool Lego structure. Read a book. Make up stories and, ok, fine, watch a lot of television.

"Mom. Mom. Maaaaaaahm..."

"Sweetie, this is not a lambchop, it's a phone. I'll finish up and then you can tell me what you have to say." (I'm going to assume it's obvious what I'm doing).

Vive la moi!

Of course I'm joking. Mostly. But I do have a parenting philosophy that I like to call "benevolent neglect."

My son is the center of my world, I just don't let him know it.

So take a page out of my book entitled "Lazy Parenting: How never to play Candyland again."

We might never be able to pull off a jaunty scarf like a French mom, or master the art of looking constantly aloof, but if you really want to raise kids like they do, just do a little less for your child and a little more for yourself.

De rien.

Photo credit: Zazzle Tweet

The best friends you've never met.

 I know blogging is not as bright and shiny and new as Twitter or Piniterest or Flshtb. (I made that last one up, but you thought you were out of the loop for a second, didn't you?)

In fact blogging may be downright old fashioned even though it only charged into the mainstream about 6 or 7 years ago.

Or maybe that's just mom-blogging. For myself, and I imagine many of you, what drew me to writing post after post after post was the sense that I was not alone. Even if sometimes my pitifully small (often none) number of comments made me question whether or not I was shouting into the abyss.

But as my blogroll (remember those) grew and I spent hours a day reading what my fellow moms had to say I formed bonds with so many incredible women. I marveled that people outside of New York could write with crackling wit and sarcasm that I thought only existed within a 50 mile radius of Times Square. How arrogant and stupid of me.

I would sob reading Kate Inglis' (who I only knew back then as Sweet & Salty) story of having lost one of her newborn twins. Liz's (Mom101) posts were, to me, the gold standard of how impeccably written and thought provoking funny posts could be. And they continue to be today.

My husband couldn't understand when I would tell him what my friend Christina was up to, or the hilarious thing Wendi "said." I'd have to clarify Christina, (sigh) Fairly Odd Mother! Wendi--you know the tampon thing?

I've always written anonymously so when I finally went to a BlogHer conference I'd wore a badge that said "Gray Matter Matters" and wrote my name underneath. And I'd be so excited when someone would grab and hug me and say "It's so nice to finally meet you!!"

Mom-blogging is a powerfully strong community. We laugh and cry and support one another in ways that are unfathomable to those who don't "get it."

Today Susan Neibur died after fighting Inflamatory Breast Cancer for years. I didn't know her. I may have ridden an elevator with her or sat at her table at BlogHer for all I know. I read her blog occasionally and my heart would ache. Sometimes I just couldn't read it, because I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in her shoes. It was too scary.

We all knew she was going to die very soon. But today Twitter and Facebook ignited with a wave of sadness and sympathy for @whymommy. Just the words form a lump in my through. Why. Mommy. Unimaginable.

And beyond the devastation so many felt what moved me even more was how much we (yes, even those of us who didn't know her personally) loved her and would miss her. "One of our own."

Mom-blogging may seem old fashioned and blogrolls laughable, but one thing is still true--We are a true community. We come together. We support each other (usually). And we genuinely care deeply for one another.

Today I'm proud to be a mom-blogger. Tweet

Places worse than Punxsutawney to live.

Don't you think that residents of Punxsutawney want to kidney punch everyone who makes reference to Groudhog's Day when they meet? Which I would imagine is every single person they meet.

I know I would.

It got me thinking about other places I'd hate to be from.

Here's a few:Intercourse, PA. Located in Lancaster, in the bosom of Amish country. Go figure.Boring, Oregon. Redundant? (With apologies to what I'm sure is actually a very exciting place to live).

How about Hell, Michigan? What? Did they rename Flint to more accurately reflect the city's character?

Jumping across the pond--Penistone, UK. Can you imagine all those Brits constantly saying, "Nooo, actually it's Pen-ES-ton or PEN-iston," or just trying to eliminate the "i" all together and claim they live in "Penstone."

And how can we forget our neighbors to the north, and this, I truly think--would cause me to relocate immediately--Dildo, Newfoundland. Once a thriving whaling town, by the way until some dicks outlawed whaling.

So, cheer up Punxsutawneyans, if you think it's annoying to be forever linked to a bastard rodent just remember, it could be far worse.

Photo Credit: From official Groundhog Day website! Tweet

Can you teach a child to be motivated?

I remember it like it was yesterday, not 30mumblemumblemumble years ago. My dad flipping out at me, because I got a (ok, another) crappy grade on a math test. Of course in my house if you got a 99 on a test my parents would ask what happened to the other point?

I swore I'd never do that to MY kid. Of course I figured that by marrying a super smarty pants I wouldn't need to. Sadly he got my math genes.

So I cringed the other day as I heard from upstairs my husband yelling "YOU. ARE. SO. LAZY!" He was beyond frustrated by my son's progress (or lack thereof) studying for an upcoming math test. And yes, my son is maddening. He gets the concepts and blows it in the computation. Basic stuff like adding incorrectly or forgetting to carry the "2."

"Careless errors! You're not focusing! Jesus Christ! Apply yourself!" That was what I heard a lot of during my formative years when it came to math. And now I know how my parents felt. I hear those words coming out of my mouth.

"If you were stupid I'd understand!" he'd yell at me.

I get it now.

I was in "gifted" programs. Teachers always used the phrase "extremely bright," usually followed by, "but doesn't work up to full potential."

Oh that is soooo my son. He is brilliant in so many ways, but he shows no determination or motivation to do better if something is challenging for him.

He is not driven by his weaknesses, he surrenders to them.

I'm sure my dad felt the same way about me.

I know screaming doesn't work.

I know we can work with him so that he does better on tests.

What I don't know is how to make HIM want to do better.
 Because I swear, if he really did work to his full potential amazing things would happen.

And that would mean more to me than any grade on any test.

Homework sucks. And my kid hates it too.

I used to roll my eyes at parents who "did" homework with their kids.

I felt that at a certain point the most you should do is make sure your kid did everything, but it was up to them to sink or swim.

How else would the teacher know what was sticking and what wasn't?

But it soon became apparent that if I didn't make sure he understood the concepts then everything that followed was pointless. Math is his weakness. It was for me too.

Most of the time when he says "I don't get it," he really doesn't. I get that. It was me.

"Does he actually attend school?" my husband asked testily one night after my son got nearly every problem on his math worksheet wrong.

Here's my biggest problem with homework: First, as they get older the amount they get grows exponentially (exponentials, another math concept he doesn't "get"). Honestly I think it's too much. I think much of it is busy work. And I feel bad for him.

If you had to go to your job all day, stay hyper-focused with very few breaks, had to be an expert in five extremely different areas then come home and dig into another couple hours of work, eat, shower and go to sleep how would you like it?

Oh, and factor in if, God forbid, you want to have a hobby. Squeeze that in too.

I feel so bad for him. We expect so much of our kids.

Does anyone else feel this way?

I think our kids would be better served with longer term projects that they could work on a little at a time so they could both learn the material and how to manage their time. I find when he has assignments like that he is far more diligent about getting it right, rather than getting it done.

It would be wonderful if teachers were able to identify children who are consistently struggling with their lessons and give those students homework that simplifies the concepts and then pushes them to apply them. That type of homework makes a lot of sense to me.

Allowing a portion of each day to work with those kids while others have a chance to get a head start on their projects or homework makes a lot of sense to me.

Instead I watch him struggle, wilt under the fatigue, get stressed out and I feel bad for him.

I know our teachers are doing their best. I cannot think of a more important job, and we all know that each of our lives has been touched and affected by a few great teachers.

I know many are mandated to work the way they do. But I would ask everyone involved with the education of our children to spend one month working the way they do, and then decide if it's the best way to get the most out of our children.

Am I the only one who feels this way?