High School football: moving from no way to okay

Recently, Slate's parenting podcast "Mom and Dad Are Fighting," aired a segment on kids playing tackle football. As my own kid (oldest, ninth grade) has started doing this very thing for the first time, I listened with interest, and responded to the conversation via email, and am sharing a version of that email here. I'll add that this captures much of what I've found myself saying to people who give me side-eye or offer outright judgment when they learn that my kid plays high school football. It doesn't happen often, but it happens enough to be a real thing. People + football = opinions, it turns out. Read through for an update, of sorts.

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Over the years, I've shifted from "no way" to "okay" and perhaps even "yay!" on the subject of football and my oldest kid, who is now a ninth grader and member of the freshman football team at Classical High School in Providence, Rhode Island (go Purple!). 

Though he's been wanting to play football for years, this is his first time on a team. When he was younger, I "no way"-ed his interest. His dad and I didn't particularly share it, and football seemed like a bummer combination: dangerous, time-consuming, and endlessly expensive, necessitating intensive, parent-driven fundraising commitments. Clearly, no way. 

High school approached, and at freshman orientation, he indicated interest in both soccer and football as fall sports. When the time came to choose, he broached the football subject again, and I knew that a flat "no way" wasn't going to cut it. Complex factors drove his interest in football: branching out socially (most of his close friends are soccer players), physical suitability (the kid is big, strong, and quick), and autonomy (football was finally within reach, at school - he didn't need us to help him find a team or make the necessary commitments). 

So we researched. We talked with football families at his high school about the coaching staff's training and responsiveness to head and other injuries. We talked with the coaches themselves about their training and experience and the ways they'd deal with a football novice (the coach's first words to me: "How do YOU feel about this?" Good question, coach). My son interviewed his pediatrician about football injuries. His pediatrician's take: kids get hurt in football and soccer, pretty much in equal numbers in high school. They are injured in other high-intensity contact sports, too. Avoiding football while embracing other sports in the interest of injury prevention is irrational.

After our info gathering, I felt that my son's serious interest in playing for his high school's football team, and all the good that might accrue as a result, outweighed my concerns, which didn't necessarily apply immediately. Worries about the effects of multiple concussions and other impact injuries may matter if he plays in college (highly unlikely) or professionally (vanishingly unlikely). But now, long-terms concerns about injury to his brain, body, and soul aren't rational.

As I listened to the three of you cover this ground, I identified with each of you in some ways, but also suspect that none of you are yet dealing with the specific focus and passion of an adolescent, who can and should have a meaningful say in the matter. Ultimately, had I forbade my son to play football in a carefully-run program, I would have been indulging my own prejudices to the detriment of my son's growing independence. Saying yes to football has strengthened our relationship meaningfully in ways that help him see that we care about his welfare and trust his judgement.

And he loves it. He's playing a lot, as a tight end, defensive end, kicker, and punter. I see him thriving as he masters new skills, makes new friends, and adjusts to high school's challenges and delights While I still don't love football, I love this kid wildly, and am glad that he helped me get to yes on this issue.

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Update: At last week's home game, a player from the opposing team was injured onfield at the start of the second half. The game stopped, and as far as I could tell, the coaching staff handled the situation as needed. Eventually, an ambulance arrived. Paramedics put on a neck brace and backboard and carried him off the field on a stretcher. Thank God his family was there, and I dearly hope he is now doing well and not significantly banged up. 

I realize that this could happen in any high-intensity contact sport, but it was still scary. Though we understand that this particular incident didn't actually involve a head injury, it nevertheless prompted us to talk with our kid about concussion symptoms and the urgent need to report them to his coaches if he were to experience any symptoms, a conversation I avidly hope that neither my kid nor any of his teammates (okay, nor any kid, ever, anywhere) ever need to have. 

Are snow days for learning (to do nothing)?

As of yesterday, there have been three snow days so far in 2014 for the Providence Public Schools, On such days, my kids' needs are to find entertainment and food. Mine are to find time work from home (make no mistake, I'm grateful that I can do that and know that I'm lucky to be able to do so) and a semblance of sanity. Let's just say that some days have gone better than others.

Yesterday's snow day was mostly successful. No one yelled, no one cried, and we made Bunny the Snow Individual during my lunch hour.

It wasn't perfect. We forgot to feed one kid lunch, which resulted in a 5pm meltdown which was ameliorated by an emergency bowl of Cheerios. And I got enough work done.

What we didn't figure out, and what I'm trying to determine, is whether snow days should be a time for formal learning, which some districts are considering (I have no idea whether PPSD is one of them). The most feasible method is some kind of online learning that kids would need to walk themselves through when bad weather keeps them at home.

Good idea? I am not sure. I'm appreciating the range of opinions in this New York Times Room for Debate feature, in which a few people weigh in on the topic of virtual school on snowy days. Most seem mostly for it (Khan Academy representative, your support for online learning is not the biggest shocker). One, a charter school teacher, pointed out my biggest concern, which is the lack of online access that's a real factor for many families.

I do encourage my kids to use their brains when they're home from school due to weather. They read and write and draw. They also indulge in sleeping late, board games, lolling about, and some screen time. Coming from a place of privilege and with kids who are fairly successful in school, I'm not too worried about learning loss. I just want them to keep their heads in the game a bit.

Is that the motivation for teachers? That kids keep their head in the game? Or is it to try to keep classes on pace - a legitimate concern because for so many, there's so much to cover. I'm intrigued by the idea but suspect that unless there were a much more robust technology initiative, it wouldn't work well. And I am not sure that all parents - including me on a busy work day - would have the capacity to monitor their younger and/or ditzier kids properly to make sure the work actually got done. It seems that there would need to be some meaningful communication, training, and expectations-setting for this to have a chance at doing more than keeping some percentage of kids occupied in putatively studious pursuits.

This weather thing seems likely to continue to be a thing for those of us in snowy and cold regions, so at the very least, it makes sense for all of us to have a snow day plan in place that ideally leaves a time both for family fun, some learning, and the essential work of learning to entertain oneself when school and family aren't right there to make it happen. That, I think, is the biggest lesson of all, probably worth far more than whatever math problems might get done online.

First week of school kaleidoscope (2 days down, 2 days to go)

Forms filled out. Forms forms forms. More forms.

NO PEANUT BUTTER! NO PEANUT ANYTHING! NO NO NO A THOUSAND TIMES NO!

Three trips to Staples (and one last week, too).

Label maker! Resulting, probably temporary, sense of calm and organization.

Campaign to pry information from children about what happened at school relaunched. Children proving wilier than ever. Learned little.

School drop off in a four-dimensional craze of children. Fourth grader disappears immediately. First grader clings to my hand. Mayor Taveras visiting. Trying to talk education with him and say hi to first grade teacher at the same time. Hugs and kisses and handshakes with parent and teacher and kid friends. So good to see everyone.

Homework. Realization that middle kid has apparently forgotten how to form legible letters over the summer. Realization that oldest kid has somehow figured out that writing clearly is a useful skill. Realization that there is hope.

No bus passes. No idea if/when they may be bestowed. Resulting drama brewing?

PAC meetings. Meetings meetings meetings. PTO meetings next week. All the meetings.

Kids tired, voluntarily going to bed early. I am right there with them.

Photographic evidence of second day of school:

Henry and Leo, shady characters.

Afterschool with the fabulous Adelle.

Providence Public Schools 2012-2013 start and stop times

Equally useful and intriguing, here's the full schedule of Providence Public Schools' start and end times for 2012-2013, which the district posted on its Facebook page yesterday and made available on its website as well in PDF form; click here to access it in English, here in Spanish. The version below is small and hard to read, so go download the PPSD PDFs and follow along.

The utility of this is obvious, as is the intrigue once you take a look at the middle schools. I'd love to know what's behind the "later" start at all but Gilbert Stuart? For that matter, what's with the 8:04 start all of the other days? 

Presumably, this is happening in some attempt to handle 144 extra minutes per year (an extra minute a day for 4/5 of a 180 day school year). Why? I'd love to know. I suppose it doesn't really matter how that additional 2 hours and 24 minutes will be used. Parsed out as one minute per day, that time won't have any meaningful impact for most teachers and students.

With all that deserves inquiry, conversation, and energy within PPSD, this is low on the list. But it is odd.

More interesting is the longer days at some school, which strikes me as sensible. Every school should be different to accommodate its plans and goals, and I want to interpret the variety of schedules as a sign that the district is pulling back from insisting on lock-step scheduling for all and allowing flexibility, and that the PTU is in support of the same. It seems like every varied schedule will have its own story and process.

I look at the Roger Williams Middle School schedule, which creates a longer school day 4 days a week and then an earlier release time on Tuesdays, as an indication that faculty are meeting and working on Tuesday afternoons. I'll be interested to hear whether people interpret that as early release (which it isn't - kids aren't losing instructional time as was the case several years ago when middle schools released early so that faculty could meet) and/or feel inconvenienced by this. Presumably community partners who run afterschool programs will adjust.

As for my own middle school kid, who's entering seventh grade at Nathan Bishop, I hope he doesn't see this. We happen to live across the street from the school, and it takes him just about a minute to get there, and I believe that he thinks that school starts at 8:00. He's a very letter of the law guy who often is responsible for getting himself to school on time without a huge amount of parental nudging. So he gets there "on time" which really means he has a few minutes to hang with friends and deal with whatever 12 year old boys need to deal with. If he knew that school really started at 8:06 (except Tuesdays!), he'd act on that and luxuriate in his perceived extra time at home reading the heck out of the sports section or staring into space (when I catch sight of him, these appear to be his primary morning activities). So if you see him, keep this whole schedule thing under your hat, okay? Thanks so much.

thoughts from the sidelines, part 1

Readers of this blog know that I was on hiatus for much of the spring due to the demands of Little League. Three kids on three different teams added lots of logistics to our already busy lives. As I previously have hastened to clarify, I am not complaining. Every scrap of evidence indicates that my sons adore playing baseball, and most spring evenings, there's nowhere I'd rather be than watching them and their teammates do their thing. I see Little League season as nine weeks of insanity in which we are totally invested, knowing that the demands of that  investment will ease after the last All Star and playoff games. As much as I deeply dig it, I was eager for the end of the season in mid-June so we could get back to some semblance of a routine that, for example, allowed us to eat dinner together before nearly 8:00pm.

A couple of weeks ago, when that end was in sight, a curve ball came our way. The truly awesome volunteer coaches who run our neighborhood Little League got organized to pull together teams for a summer tournament that will, eventually, produce a local team that proceeds to a regional tournament that will, eventually, feed into the Little League World Series. Our oldest and middle sons were chosen for the 11-12 year old and 9-10 year old teams. Practices started the day after the last playoff game, with the double elimination tournament starting in late June (on Thursday of this week! 2 days from now!) and running for a few weeks. 

Of course, the guys were totally up for it, superproud and thrilled they had the chance to keep playing. And so were we--not only my husband and I but the bigger we of grandparents, friends, relatives, teachers, coworkers, pretty much anyone with whom any of us struck up a conversation. This tiny thing, their participation on these teams, gave me a glimpse into what athletic success means to people. It's something to celebrate for which most of us have a shared cultural context. 

I am proud of my kids in a thousand specific ways that have not one thing to do with measurable achievement, of course. Just to name three: I am proud of the way my oldest son took on a great deal of responsibility around the house when I started a job with a long commute last year. I am proud of the compassion, empathy, and peacemaking skills that my middle son possesses and values. I am proud of my youngest son's prodigious Lego skills and his ability to focus on what he's building for hours on end in order to achieve his vision. 

These are the things that matter most to me. Nevertheless, I found myself sharing this baseball tournament team news widely and loudly, and really enjoying people's positive reactions. I know full well that their baseball prowess has little to do with their parents. Our support and enthusiasm have made their participation possible. But the fact that the guys are good athletes who are willing to put in hours of practice--that's all them, and we celebrate them for this milestone which will very likely be over quickly. Yes, it disrupted our summer fairly significantly. We changed the dates of our summer vacation, which camps they are attending, and the hours we work. We're still eating dinner at 8:00pm when we want to eat together. My poor littlest kid, who is six - he is one tired guy and he isn't even playing. 

This has given me a peek into what the life of a sports parent - not a soccer mom, but whatever is beyond that - must feel like. And we aren't doing any of the crazy stuff. We have drawn the line at travel teams. While the guys do neighborhood sports camps, we aren't seeking out superfancy training options, and we don't plan to do so. Sometimes, people who are enthusiastic about developing kids into competitive athletes will look at the guys and suggest that we pursue these things. But right now: no. I am happy about this tournament thing, but it's as much additional disruption as we can take.

It's not easy to draw that line, and I suspect it won't get any easier as they get older and want to keep playing. I worry that we're putting our needs for convenience and a stable family life ahead of their pursuit of their passions, though I also know it would be all too easy to put them in a situation in which they could overdo it and be dealing with overuse injuries and/or burnout as teenagers. I'm just starting to discover what parents of kid athletes know very well, that figuring out what's best for your kid is tricky.

Enough for today, though there's way more to say about this and I'll be pursuing that in upcoming blog posts.

Leaving it all on the field

Am still here! Busy week at work--am working on producing three new products for release in the coming months. Exciting and intense.  On the other side of the work- life balance, a huge weight just smacked down on the life side; this week, Little League games started. Three kids playing in three divisions on three fields in two locations, each with two to three practices a week is totally awesome! It truly is.

It is also totally intense and requires a whole lot of planning and management to get kids to games, equitably spread parent attention among games, make sure uniforms are clean and equipment isn't scattered to the four winds. Also: how and when to eat dinner with games that go from 5:30 to 7:45 or later and full-time working parents handling the whole deal.

I am so not complaining. I really do love baseball season's eight weeks of intensity. All the guys have played one game do far and they are fired up for the season.

Again, not complaining, but acknowledging that a whole lot of my energy is going toward baseball logistics. I'm leaving it all on the field.  Posts are coming--more on high stakes standardized tests (lots of grumbling out there now from New York and elsewhere), the school shutdowns/takeover situation that's unfolding in Philadelphia, our family's experience playing with Khan Academy, and of course local stuff.

The Persuasive Essay

Hot enough for you out there? It was hot enough for my 9 year old today, hot enough to want to wear shorts to school. This is a topic that comes up every year, of course, usually in May or June and then again in the fall. We have a clear, well-understood policy on shorts to school: if it's above 70 degrees before we leave for school, shorts are fine. Otherwise, shorts are not fine. End of subject.

It's worth noting that I am not known among my children for my desire to negotiate with them about anything. If I err, it tends to be on the rigid side. So I was not at all prepared to entertain conversation about the shorts issue. However, somehow, the 9 year old got to me. Not that I wanted to debate this issue with him. But there was a part of me, the part that had looked at online weather reports and knew that is was going to be above 80 degrees (!!!!!) before the day was out, that was willing to consider letting the kid wear shorts.

At dinner last night, when Leo attempted yet another one of his countless verbal assaults on the shorts policy, the solution came to me. He had to write his way toward a policy change - specifically, a several-paragraph persuasive essay. I let him know that when he produced a credible essay, I would consider his arguments. Here's what was waiting for me this morning:

Why I Should Wear Shorts: It Is Getting Hotter

Mom, in the morning here this time, it's in the 60s. And it gets hotter near recess time and wearing pants is uncomfortable. And it gets you even hotter than normal. And when I have gym, you get even hotter then when you're outside.

Because of this reason that I told, how it will get hotter and then I will be too hot, you should let me wear shorts. Today, it's 61 degrees outside, same as yesterday, and it got hotter then, and the weather report says it's going to be 77 degrees today, so I really want to wear shorts.

His writing fell short of what I thought the standard should be, but not too bad for a first draft, and yes, I was persuaded and he was delighted. Perhaps we can use the time we had spent dealing with the shorts issue in better ways, such as fun mom-son bonding over clarifying first-perosn vs third-person pronoun usage. Good times! Or maybe we'll just put on shorts, pretend that writing skills, parental consistency, and global warming don't really matter, and go play in the sunshine.

Join the elephant mother herd.

February 2012's East Side Monthly is out; the content isn't yet online but if you stumble upon it at a coffeeshop, you can read my latest column, "Tiger Moms vs. Elephant Moms," which I had originally titled "The Herd of the Elephant Mothers." I am not terribly thrilled with either title but did enjoy writing this quite a bit, and here it is, in case your travels don't take you to East Side coffeeshops for the above mentioned stumbling-upon:

The Herd of the Elephant Mothers 

Image from here.

For families with kids in transition from one phase of school to the next, midwinter is application and registration time. As families get down to the brass tacks of the school choice process, I am riveted by the conversations you’re having about what’s next educationally for your kids. Yes, I am listening to you three at the corner table at Seven Stars, huddled over coffee and obsessing about which kindergarten will be the best fit for your four year olds, wondering about the unknowns of public schools, the price tag of private schools, the lottery-driven gamble of charter schools, or the possibility of moving to a new town “for the schools.” I am shamelessly eavesdropping, and sometimes I will ask to join in, because I am fascinated with parents’ motivations about their educational choices that they make for and with their children.

While our rationales for school choice vary widely, the desire to find alignment between our own values and those to which a school is committed is our preeminent guide. We want to know that our kids attend schools that want for our kids what we want for our kids and--as the kids themselves build more sophisticated visions of the future--what they want for themselves.

As arguments about choices and charters dominate our Facebook and face-to-face conversations (well, mine, at any rate), it’s essential to acknowledge that not all families have access to the same sort of choices. Obviously, the wealthy have more options than the poor, including though not limited to choice of town and neighborhood. While I won’t be spilling much ink this month exploring the implications of and possible ways to address this inequity, I would be remiss if I didn’t note it.

No matter where we are economically and otherwise, the hopes and dreams we have for our kids (and those that the kids have for themselves) depend in large part on the skills, habits of mind, content, attitudes, and ways of relating to others that they learn both at school and at home. So we seek schools that value what we value in order to achieve a measure of understanding, continuity, and support network for young people that extends from home to school and back again.

I was thinking about this need for a good fit when I recently read Amy Chua’s Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. If you aren’t familiar with the book, you have likely heard the phrase “tiger mother” as a description of a parent who demands sky high achievement from their kids, who expects perfection and beyond in pursuits that the parents choose, who requires obedience and is willing and even eager to limit many of the common (in our culture) joys of childhood for the sake of the attainment of such perfection.

I will admit that when my kids bring home grades that don’t match the levels of achievement of which I know they’re capable, my own inner tiger mother has been known to emerge for a growl. However--and this is why it may be instructive to read Tiger Mother itself rather than read about it--Chua is willing to ride her myopic quest for perfection to crazytown. She bullies, harangues, and verbally abuses her daughters, with mixed results: one acquiesces, one rebels. Though there’s no way I endorse or would suggest emulating her methods, I feel muted admiration for Chua’s willingness to put her experience of extreme parenting out there and for her ability to describe how her understanding shifted when her seemingly irresistible force meet the apparently immovable object of her daughter’s will.

I had expected the relationship with her daughters' schools to be a substantial aspect of Chua’s story, but alas, no. The most significant discussion of school is when Chua describes herself pacing the hallway waiting for the start of gym, recess, or lunch (irrelevant, in her view) so she can whisk her daughter away for yet more violin practice. Chua also grumbles about time-consuming community building events such as parent association potlucks as ridiculous, distracting nuisances. She makes it clear that school is for mastering math, science, and literacy--not for the arts, not for athletics, and certainly not for socially oriented community building. When school doesn’t conform to Chua’s values, it too is pushed aside.

At that point, I knew that my occasional grade-related roars do not qualify me to be a tiger mother. I would not be able to stand the hyperfocused life that she describes. I understand how endless hours of practicing and sky-high expectations can push kids to reach their potential. I admire that Chua has equipped her kids with resilience and ability to confront obstacles. However, I couldn’t stand the resulting loss of community, which I value so much for our family.

I’m really more of an elephant mother. Elephants learn socially and mother their young collectively. Experienced elephant mothers model parenting behavior for younger elephant mothers. Young adult female elephants serve as “allmothers” (my new favorite word) as they practice their skills by looking after all of the younger offspring. This seems like a much more resonant metaphor than the tiger mother, frantically focused on her own offspring to the exclusion of other people’s children as well as nearly everything else in life.

While I have high academic expectations for my kids, I also expect them to thrive amidst diversity and respect differences. I expect them to identify the assets of their communities and be a part of solving challenges. In order for this to happen, you need to be an elephant mother (or father) and appreciate not only being part of the diverse, multicultural, multilingual herd but also taking on some real responsibility for the welfare of all kids, not just your own.

This Digital Life - October 2011's East Side Monthly Column

My education column in October's East Side Monthly focuses not on school but on learning as it happens throughout our lives--in this case, learning as a family about ways to live safely and confidently in the digital world. It's not yet online as I write this though it may be as you read this--click on the link back there in the previous sentence to see it in context once it's available, or keep reading.
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This Digital Life 

Recently, our family traveled internationally. My kids left the country for the first time, a fantastic experience that allowed them to see the world from an alternative perspective, hear the business of daily life conducted in a different language, and, because we didn’t purchase international data plans for our phones, interact rather more than usual with their father and me. This unanticipated benefit revealed how habitually we tend to peek at email and other information served up on our little handheld devices. This is a real boon, as it untethers us from our desks, but it also chips away at sustained interactions with our kids—not to mention each other and the world around us—in ways of which I had not been particularly thoughtful.

Now that we’re back in Providence with data flowing freely, I’m incorporating aspects of lessons learned from our analog week to our daily lives. After absorbing the insight my inadvertent or intentional uses of interactive technology teach my kids about the role and value of technologically mediated communication, I’m committed to spending far less time and attention monitoring messages while we’re together. This, of course, increases my chances of thinking an uninterrupted thought, and one of those thoughts prompted me to wonder about the ways family members can learn from each other about our increasingly digital lives.

To get my head around this issue, I connected with local experts Trevor O’Driscoll, Wheeler Middle School’s dean and creator of Wheeler Middle School’s parent technology handbook, Anisa Raoof, founder and publisher of Kidoinfo.com, and David Niguidula, educational technology researcher and founder of Ideas Consulting. In addition to their professional perspectives, they live what they learn: O’Driscoll, Raoof, and Niguidula are parents of kids ranging in age from preschool to college. Here are some of the takeaways:

According to the Pew Research Center’s Internet & American Life Project, 93 percent of children in the United States between the ages of 12 and 17 are online, and that online connection increasingly comes from any form of technology that has a screen. The days of using a desktop or laptop to get online are long past. For many parents and educators, this ubiquity of social media may make us feel like we’re at the fabulous hub of technological innovation—as Anisa Raoof put it, like “kids in a candy store.”

While this newly digital life feels tempting to many adults, it’s the native habitat of our kids. Many adults formed interpersonal and work habits without the current presence of ever-present connectivity.  Our kids are digital natives who can help us understand our world now, and in turn often need help understanding how to navigate it. Parents and teachers can help by “modeling good behavior,” says Raoof. “As parents we need to set boundaries for ourselves. What messages am I sending to them if I behave as if it’s okay to be online all the time? It’s extremely important to have boundaries that apply to everyone in the family.” The analogy of teaching kids about building lifelong healthy nutritional habits applies.

Henry and R2D2 IRL

At the same time, expressing interest in our kids’ online lives allows us to become more fluent in the online world’s opportunities and challenges and helps parents stay connected to our kids’ interests. All three experts strongly advocated situating online access in a family’s public spaces when possible in order to encourage family interaction as well as visibility. Raoff notes, “Putting the computer in kitchen works well for us. When my kids use it, we can have a discussion. I am right there and they are excited to share what they find with me.”

Online access made visible to parents also allows us to coach our kids to make good decisions about their technologically mediated interactions. The best filter, Trevor O’Driscoll suggests, is between a kid’s own ears rather than site blocking software, and that filter is best installed through family conversations. “First of all,” says O’Driscoll, “You have to know what kids are expected to do and want to do with technology. Adults in kids’ lives have to stay up to date and everyone needs to keep talking. If we never have the conversations with kids, then they have no guidelines. If your decision is to ban online access or install site blocking programs, that will backfire, because when you release them into the wild, which will happen sooner or later, they will have no concept about how to filter any of this independently.”

David Niguidula offers another useful analogy, suggesting that teaching kids about how to conduct healthy online lives is similar to teaching children to be safe drivers. He explains, “You’re in control of a machine that is very cool and gets you to places you want to go. The skills and understanding about how to work that machine doesn’t come automatically; adults need to teach levels of safety and consciousness. We want kids to have the ability and benefits, and that requires training and conversations about behavior and an awareness not only of your own actions bout also about what everyone else could do.”

Your family may already have agreements and ongoing conversations about your online lives. If your family is more like mine and could use some help thinking more coherently about the benefits and possible pitfalls of online interactions, here are a couple of resources: check out Common Sense Media at  www.commonsensemedia.org and the Family Online Safety Institute at www.fosi.org. In whatever way makes sense, you do take the time to talk with the people in your life about how to be smart digital citizens.

it's an ill wind that blows no good (sense about parenting)

Today's Providence Journal features "The Polarized World of Parenting," an editorial by Brown Medical School researcher and developmental psychologist Richard Rende that precisely captures why a description of sound, effective parenting would likely fail to ignite a Tiger Mother book buying/hand wringing hurricane.

Rende provides a canny analysis of the publishing industry and his take on the kind of information we really need to help us raise happy, resilient, successful kids:

What we need is less hype and more information. Do substantial numbers of kids suffer from depression and anxiety? Yes. Are teens particularly vulnerable to the effects of stress? Yes. Does this mean that kids can’t be expected to excel? No. Is it wrong to foster excellence? No. Do we have answers from research and clinical practice? Yes, we have some. For example, it’s been shown for decades that authoritative parenting — a combination of having a close and nurturing relationship with a child, maintaining an open line of communication and respect, and consistently upholding high expectations — is the most effective way to raise a happy and successful child. That said, we have a pressing need to understand how the modern realities of the scholastic and social worlds may be putting a strain on achieving balance in our parenting. One way to do this is to have open dialogues and exchanges of ideas between parents and other interested parties, not brash statements and the taking of sides.

A meaningful, substantive book on authoritative parenting, as Rende outlines it, may not be hot stuff. It may not impel reaction from here, there (<--- Marjorie Ingall's delicious take on Tiger agita), and everywhere, but it easily could be engaging and excellent. The open, balanced dialogue that Rende advocates: not so easy, but essential.

If only I were a tougher mother, this kid would stop throwing up

Given the hour, that there's no way I will write the coherent couple of paragraphs that I'd hoped to crank out in response to "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior," the Wall Street Journal's recent excerpt of Amy Chua's new book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, which, as represented by the excerpt, is a strictly no-excuses approach to parenting that's engineered to produced high-achieving kids. The fairly terrifying excerpt is engendering major buzz on the internets. I'm not normally one for a bandwagon, but this particular piece caught my interest, I had been sketching out a response that analyzed this approach to parental partnership in academic achievement, and whether an isolated focus on academics could possibly be the best approach to every kid in every school situation.

But then, my four year old, Henry, was sent home from preschool with a stomach bug and in terms of anything that requires sustained thought, like a couple of coherent paragraphs, my battleship is sunk. I suspect that Chua would handle this situation quite differently. She'd have no trouble making her deadlines. I imagine she'd harangue her child into finding the fortitude and character necessary to stop upchucking.

Clearly, Henry just isn't trying hard enough. It actually seems like he's not trying to stop at all. I can't imagine he's enjoying being sick, but I am probably reinforcing his weakness by allowing him to watch TV. Chua reports that her children don't watch TV, presumably not even when sick, which they probably never are, possibly terrorized by the wrath that would descend for allowing their immune systems to be anything but perfect.

My willingness to needle Chua without giving her ideas their proper due indicates that this isn't my approach. I am actually a tough-ass (not by Chua-ian standards, of course) mom on many fronts, including sick days and TV. I'm about to sign off and go turn off the TV and read with him, so I will wrap this up by saying that I wonder how schools handle a parent like Chua and her fellow tiger mothers (and, I suppose, fathers), and I wonder if there's anything truly redeeming or worthy of attention in her approach? Parenting approach, not sure, though I may break down and read the whole book so I can respond more fairly. In terms of her marketing approach, I am taking avid notes. Thanks for the tips, Professor Chua; that you've gotten me and many others to promote your book is awesome. Emulate, I surely will. And now I need to go and read to this poor sick kid, who I think is just great, bad tummy and all.

This is not a vacation. It's a business trip.

The recent disappearance of Providence Schools blog posts corresponds directly to the onset of school vacation A great line from Modern Family (which you should watch, and if you already do, you're agreeing with me) keeps flashing into my mind. On a family vacation, Claire, mom of three kids, can't chill out and explains her wound-up-ed-ness by saying, "For me, this is not a vacation. It's a business trip."

Since I am "on vacation" this week, it's pretty much all business around here with 24/7 kid action. We're actually having a great time, but blogging? Not so much this week. Monday's snow brought sledding. Yesterday, duckpin bowling. Today, with cousins visiting, doubleheader of snow tubing* and laser tag. Totally epic. Tomorrow, probably ice skating downtown. And Friday, New Year's Eve party action with small kids. Break out the Martinelli's!!!

As an example in action of what this week is like, I wrote the two preceding paragraphs 24 hours ago and only now have had a moment to finish. And finish I will, before something else happens. More soon!

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*Snow tubing update: shockingly, we were not the only people who thought that school vacation + boingingly energetic kids + recent big snow = go to Yawgoo! Go we did but it was sold out for the morning. So we explored the wilds of Rhode Island, ended up lunching at Middle of Nowhere Diner in Exeter, which was excellent, fantastic clear clam chowder, everyone else's food looked great, and wicked cheap. Then laser tag, which someday I want to play for real, not as the palace escort/guard/monitor for King Bosser Leader Dude Guy (our 4 year old's self-proclaimed and honestly accurate title). Fun was had by all. And I got to play skeeball!