Politics in the Home

I have to admit, I’m trying to remain emotionally uninvolved in the Presidential race this year. I know who I like, but I’d prefer not to talk politics with my friends and acquaintances because I know from past election years that we don’t always agree. Political discussions hardly ever change anyone’s mind, but they often give me unwanted insight into worldviews that I find confounding and completely at odds with my own beliefs. So, this year I’m vowing to keep my mouth shut and not to get caught up in the debate.

As a 6th grade tutor at the local elementary school, I saw the passion of politics played out at a very young age. Last year, 11 and 12-year-old students would debate in class or even on the playground about candidates in the presidential primaries. I noticed that instead of explaining why they liked a candidate, many of the kids simply delivered negative sound bytes about each other’s candidates that were most likely parroted from their parents. “Everyone hates Hillary Clinton and she’ll divide this country even more.” Or, “Barak Obama has no experience and could never be president.” Or, “McCain is so old, he’s out of touch with the country.” The tone the kids used was reminiscent of the childhood arguments, “My (Dad, Dog, toy, etc) is better than yours.” I began to wonder, is this negative candidate bashing human nature, or is this a learned behavior?

After listening to the kids, it was easier to detect the same whiney, childish tone in my own defense of candidates. I started to noticed that adults while we weren’t parroting our parents anymore (in fact some of us had grown into our own political beliefs) we were mostly parroting whatever news source we happened to be partial to – whether FOX, NPR, the Boston Globe or Herald, etc. Yes, adults do think on a more complex level than children, but the negativity and the “my candidate’s better than yours” sentiments still seep into the debates. Believe me, I’m as guilty of this as anyone.

So, I decided to try to keep my mouth shut this year. And, as for the kids, Big J and I decided to record both Obama’s and McCain’s speeches. Tonight we’re going to watch both speeches as a family, and Big J and I are going to try not to editorialize. Our job as parents is not to indoctrinate, but to help our children get primary source information and come to their own conclusions. I may even let Big J answer most of their questions this year because he is much better at keeping an emotional distance from the quagmire of political negativity than I. The question for me is, can I keep my mouth shut?

How do you talk to your kids about politics? Here are some links to good articles about talking to your kids about politics.

Elephants, Donkeys and the Media, Oh My! Talking to Kids About Politics

Carpooling with Barack Obama

How to Talk Politics with Your Kids
A Jewish Perspective

Facebook

When I first joined Facebook, my friend Dave wrote, “Welcome to another great way to waste time.” Boy, was he right! I’m addicted. I am now in touch with friends and acquaintances from my High School and College, not to mention my co-workers from jobs I left long ago.
On Facebook, the term “Friend” is used loosely, but it’s sort of exciting. People I know invite me to be their “friend,” and if I recognize a name on someone’s profile, I can invite them to be “friends.” We don’t necessarily have to email or even talk to each other, though it’s convenient if you do want to check in, or give someone a hard time about the Yankees, etc. There’s a little bit of a thrill when I ask someone to be a friend – will they say “yes,” or will they ignore me? Socially, I’ve had to put myself out there in a way I haven’t for a long time, even though it’s only a cyber request and not a real, face-to-face, awkward, “Will you be my friend?”
Facebook is at the top of my checklist when I sit down at my computer. If I click on my “friends,” many of them have listed their “status” and I can see what everyone is up to. For example, I know that Dain is golfing today, Maria went to a concert last night, and Matt is home working in his PJ’s. I can also see photos of my friend’s families, which I love! I know Facebook has been around for a while, but I think it’s the coolest thing since … umm…yogurt in a tube!
A word of warning: if you have a teenager, your Facebook worlds may collide. As I was looking for “friends” in my hometown, I came across a few of Lil’J’s friends, mostly girls. Of course they were lying about their ages because they’re too young to have a Facebook page, but some of the pictures were a bit questionable as well. No, I didn’t ask them to be my friends. (Though I have heard of parents who create false identities to spy on the kids.) Also, I almost joined a group titled “Everything you want to know about Marblehead,” until I realized it was a group of high school kids – my photo might be a bit out of place there.
So, maybe Facebook started as a place for college and high school students to network. Let me tell you, it’s pretty fun for a 45 year-old, too! Just make sure you add some extra time to your day, get up ½ hour earlier or something.
PS – If you want to join Facebook, I’ll be your friend.

Manners Matter

On our most recent trip to Cape Cod, it seems like we spent more time in restaurants than we did on the beach. Being face to face with each other across a small table a few times each day brought a different meal dynamic to our family. Having the kids across from me, as opposed to next to me around our little kitchen island at home, was like putting a magnifying glass on their table manners. It was a significant reminder that I’ve been slacking-off in the etiquette department.
Every parent knows how chaotic meals can be. At my house we juggle meals around sports schedules, or I feed the kids early while I wait to eat with Big J; and often, even though we dine together, I simply focus on my own plate because by the time we sit down I’m tired, famished and ready for some relaxing conversation. Yes, I noticed at the restaurant when the food arrived and both kids started eating while their napkins remained neatly folded on the table, some basic manners were lacking.
The key, I decided, was to remind C and Lil’J how to behave at the table without ruining the meal. “Napkins,” I said in a singsong voice, and immediately they were snapped open and placed appropriately. “Drinks stay at the top right of your plate,” I reminded as I gently rearranged the table. Meal after meal I spoke sweetly through grinding teeth as I a prompted the young diners: “don’t reach across the table, ask the person next to you to pass,” or, “place your knife at the top of your plate, not back on the table,” and the worst, “no double-dipping your bread into the olive oil.” I tried to be nonchalant, and nag nicely. As the week progressed, I definitely saw some improvement.
Spending seven days together highlighted even more than manners, I started to notice gaffs in the grammar department as well. And to me, grammar is really a form of verbal etiquette. For example, Lil’J has a habit of putting himself first in a sentence. “Me, Tom, Dick and Harry went down town,” he’ll say as he launches into a story. The thing is, I do want to hear his story. Any time my 13 year-old wants to share what he’s doing with his friends, it is a rare and wonderful treat! So, rather than interrupt him, I made a few mental grammar notes as the week passed.
On the drive home I decided to broach the manners subject. “You know,” I started, “manners do really matter.” My husband joined in and we explained that how a person speaks and behaves socially has great impact. I told the story of a boyfriend who had such bad grammar I was afraid to introduce him to my parents, and I eventually broke up with him (true story!) Big J talked about business dinners when adults chewed with their mouths open or talked with food in their mouths. I specifically told Lil’J that he has to put himself last in a sentence, and that he has to pay attention to using “me” or “I” at the end. The kids listened politely. I wasn’t sure if any of it stuck.
A few weeks later, we found ourselves at IHOP on a back to school shopping break. As we were receiving the check the waiter stopped and said, “You may think this is weird, but I just want to congratulate you on what a great job you’re doing raising these kids.” He continued, “I deal with a lot of children, and yours were extremely polite, and have wonderful manners.” Can you even imagine how proud I was at that moment? Okay, I know I still have to constantly remind the kids about proper etiquette, but it was nice to get some encouragement.
So here are a few manners tips from me, and a link to more information from Etiquette Expert, Kelly Solway, because manners really do matter!

Don’t nag or interrupt your kids about manners or grammar, they will stop listening. Rather, have specific conversations at a later time when no one is defensive.

Find a signal you can give your children to remind them of their manners in public. For example, I point to my chin if one of my kids is chewing with his or her mouth open.

Find ways to make it fun. Start a meal every now and then by saying, “Let’s use our best manners tonight!” And, don’t forget to ask, “Please pass the Grey Poupon,” with a snobby English accent.

Check out Kelly Solway’s web site for more etiquette info: oneetiquetteplace

Mount Laundry

In the quiet evening hours, I often find myself faced with a mountain of laundry looming on the sofa in my living room. White-sock-topped peaks flow into dark ravines of twisted pant legs and rush by smooth ledges of cotton sweat shirts. The mountain intimidates by sheer size, color and intricacy. I would prefer to turn my back on this mangled mass of fabric, to ignore its insistent call. Yet, I am an experienced laundry sherpa. Like the wise, weather-worn climbers of Mount Everest, I have seen how laundry mountains can turn ugly, even unruly. Even a small storm (in the shape of a child or a dog) can topple the clean-clothes mountain, creating an avalanche that traps a stray socks or favorite t-shirts behind a sofa cushion for months. The mountain needs to be attacked and dismantled, I decide, with the conviction of a demolition engineer. I vow to create order out of chaos.
Surveying the terrain of my family’s laundry landscape, I begin to focus on each piece of clothing, yanking it free. Socks first. I match them when I can, but really just make a mini-pile, a mere foothill to my mountain. There are eight feet in my family, including mine. My daughter has the littlest feet and the prettiest socks, I note, as I matched a white ruffled pair. I pull her favorite dress out of the pile and smooth my hands over the soft cotton flowers. It used to be down to her ankles; she now wears it above her knees, constantly tugging at the snug arm seams. “I want to have this dress forever,” she told me. And there she is, indelibly etched into my memory, wearing this dress. Sinking my face into the fabric, I inhale her little girl smell, fresh as a mountain stream.
I am not, on the other hand, tempted to bury my face into my son’s grungy jeans. Yes, they’re clean...but are they ever really clean? I take a look at the knees, the knees that hit the ground first playing football in the back yard, the knees that have sunk inches into the mud while digging post-rainstorm worms, the knees that have scraped the bark off his favorite climbing tree. I soaked these knees for two days in stain-fighting detergent, but my efforts were in vain. The stringy grass stains still expand outward, looking like miniature trail maps of unexplored denim territory.
My husband’s clothes are a mixture of work and play. Gnarly, wrinkled khakis and button down shirts wage age-old battles with layers of sweat pants and t-shirts -- volcanic rock versus sedimentary rock on my mountain. Some of his faded tie-died t-shirts are even older than our ten-year marriage. I appreciate their soft, comfortable durability.
In my mound, I have a plethora of work-out clothes -- well-worn tank-tops, frayed leggings and shorts. This is good because it means I’ve been exercising. Like my body itself, some of my clothes have lost their shape and elasticity; they are a more relaxed version, I decide, of the lively athletic clothes they used to be.
As each person’s stack of clothes reaches higher and higher, I gain perspective on my family. While my husband works on the computer in the next room, and the kids comfortably snuggle in fresh flannel sheets, I fold and sort -- mentally checking-in on each of them. I’m thankful we are all healthy, active, relatively clean and growing in our own ways.
Folding the over-sized night shirt my daughter sleeps in, I glimpse into the future to see more laundry, bigger laundry, a Mount Olympus of laundry. I visualize the laundry mountain reaching the living room ceiling and crushing the old sofa below. It’s growing too quickly, bursting sharp precipices of future laundry -- sports laundry, dating laundry, an avalanche of college laundry. Dizzy and disoriented, I gasp, trying to take in the thin air at the top of my laundry mountain.
Desperately, I grab the last piece, a twisted sheet featuring a rumpled and faded picture of Cinderella. I stand and fold the sheet with crisp snaps that return me to the reality of my living room . All around me, I suddenly see the riches of my laundry mining. I’ve created a mini-mountain chain, an organized and connected version of that intimidating, chaotic alps. Each person in the family is represented by his or her neat, clean, fresh-smelling clothes. In a small way, I’ve ensured the well-being of my family, at least for the night. My consolation is that I will always defeat the laundry mountain, making order out of chaos, taking care of my family. In my mind, at least, I will always watch them and love them from right here, folding laundry in my living room. (Note: I wrote this a few years ago and not much has changed, except the clothes have gotten bigger!)