College Admissions 101 - Notes from a Coffee at my son's school

     I recently attended an “Applying to College 101” coffee at my son’s school.  For me, the timeline described by the guidance counselor was really helpful, and I thought I would share the highlights.  As the Guidance Counselor stressed, this timeline is not for everyone.  We all know each student is an individual, with different backgrounds, goals, etc.  But for someone, like me, who is trying to guide a first child through the college application process, this info may be helpful.

Freshman year :  Try to take the ACT’s if possible just for practice.  Do well in school for transcript purpose (which is stating the obvious.)

Sophmore year:  Start to check out schools if you happen to be in the area, e.g., on vacation.  Try to take the PSAT’s for practice.  Pay attention to grades and transcript.

Junior Year: 

•      Academics is key this year
•       Take PSAT’s in October
•        After Winter break, meet with guidance counselor to discuss a list of schools (what drives search…Social?  Academic? Size? Rural? City? Specialties?)
•      Start to research colleges on the web, and/or use the Princeton Review.
•         Become familiar with your school’s online college research tool.  My son’s school uses Naviance.
•          SAT’s – take them two times before the summer (March, May or June.)  June might be a good time to take the SAT subject tests because students are also studying for finals.
•          Test prep – students may or may not do this …  This counselor seemed to lean toward doing a test prep course between taking SAT’s junior year (e.g., between March and May.)
•          Get 2 teacher recommendations Junior year.
•          Check out Finaid.org for financial aid info.
•          Take ACT’s if you choose to (some students perform better on these, some don’t.)
•       Tour schools over the summer

Senior Year:

•          Take SAT's in October.
•      Work on 2.5 page essay from common application (Commonapp.org) – many English teachers begin Senior year working on this.

•          Decide if you want to apply Early Action (do not have to attend) or Early Decision (do have to attend and can only apply to 1 school.)  These apps are due around November 1^st.
•          Most General Admission applications should be ready to send by Thanksgiving.

Other helpful hints:  Create a chart to track college applications.   Ask to have essay edited by guidance counselors, English teachers, etc.  Guidance may also help with a mock interview.  Also, many students apply to 2 reach schools, 3 middle schools, and 2 safety schools.

I hope this info was somewhat helpful.  Of course, it’s the tips of the iceberg, but it was a good start for me!

Update and New Pup!

I have not posted in so long, and the cliche' holds true, "the more things change, the more they stay the same." The kids are two years older, I've changed jobs, but I have a new foster pup coming to stay with us on Saturday.

With both kids in High School (one of them driving!) my parenting focus has changed from chef, chauffeur, and therapist to short order cook, talented teen tracker, and private investigator. The kids are definitely more self-reliant, but probably need more guidance now than ever.

I've gone from working as a 4th Grade reading tutor back into the business world as a recruiter for software startup companies. It's challenging, certainly interesting, and best of all...I work from home!

Working from home means I can be around to help out a pup in need, who would have otherwise been euthanized at the shelter in Tennessee. Her name is Kenya, and she is an Anatolian/German Shepherd mix from Tennessee. I think that means she is going to be BIG!

Stay tuned to find out where Kenya ends up living in her "forever home!"

Meet Blackie the foster dog

It's been a while since I've written this blog because I've been very busy with my Teen Issues column for the Boston Examiner. Check it out and subscribe if you'd like to receive information, research and news about parenting teenagers.

Now...introducing....Blackie.

I'm picking him up tomorrow from Great Dog Rescue of New England. This is the second doggie we've fostered, but this one is a puppy. (Oscar was about 3 years old.) I may be crazy, but my goal is to have him house broken by the time he's adopted, which I expect will be within a few weeks since puppies are adopted rather quickly.

My rationale for fostering a dog is: a) my family wants to help homeless animals in any way possible, b) we're not going anywhere this spring because the kids' sports schedules have imprisoned us in our own home town, c) the puppy will keep our dog, Indy, company, and d) I LOVE dogs and especially puppies and I'm so excited. I may even be more excited than C, who is beside herself.

Lil'J and Big J are a bit skeptical on this whole project, but I bet they'll warm up to the pup right away. I will take pictures and blog about Blackie, the foster dog (hmmm...may be a children's book title?)

Technically Speaking

When I was in 7th grade, I had my first boyfriend. Basically, our relationship consisted of talking on the phone. When Tommy called, first he had to get through a family member to get to me. My mom would holler across the house, "Joyce, Tommy's on the phone," and this would be followed by the giggles and snickers of my siblings. Tom would usually be chatting into the phone connected to his kitchen wall, and I would be in the family room with my mom folding laundry nearby. Needless to say, we had absolutely no privacy.

I recently wrote about my two encounters with Paul Newman, and my brother responded that with today's technology I never would have met him. The first encounter was in a record store ... remember those? The second encounter was when Mr. Newman borrowed my phone when I was the receptionist at a country club. Now, he would clearly have his cell phone.

So, as my son texts girls, and as my daughter complains that we won't allow her to receive picture texts, I have to wonder how all this technology is effecting my family and communication in general? Am I less likely to meet a movie star or talk to my son's someday girlfriend? Is technology actually making my world smaller?

Here's another scenario: It's my freshman year of college and I haven't spoken to my parents in weeks. You see, the only phone is in the hallway of my dormitory's second floor. When I call home I have to do it collect, and when my parents call it is very unlikely that I'm even around. In five years, when Lil'J heads off to college, we'll have email, cell phones and maybe even video messaging to rely upon. My assumption is that we'll be in touch.

Maybe technology does shut us off a bit from the rest of the world. After all, who stops for directions these days when we all have GPS systems? On the other hand, through Facebook and email, I'm in contact with some people from my past who I assumed I'd never hear from again. Maybe technology enhances communication with those we know, and decreases our chances of interacting in the real world. The real question is, while technology changes are people changing, too? Are Lil'J's text conversations to middle school girls any more or less innocent than my awkward phone conversations with Tommy? Are movie stars any less friendly? Are college kids any more likely to miss their parents? My guess is, probably not. Technology may increase or decrease our access, but in my estimation, human nature evolves at a much slower pace.

Pain in the Neck!

It was a morning like any other. I woke Lil’J, who headed to the shower, and I trudged back to my room to change out of my PJ’s. Somewhere along the line…crick…shooting pain from my neck down my back and into my left arm. Just one small movement did it -- pinched a nerve, poked a disc, or maybe even popped a thingamajig. Whatever it was, my head was firmly cemented facing forward, and looking neither left nor right was a possibility.

Okay, so I popped some Aleve and got a heat pack and went about my day. But, my day was tough. Backing up in the car was totally mirror dependant. I survived, and didn’t run anyone over. Laundry, walking the dog, any household chores were completely out of the question. Even talking on the phone was difficult. By 10 a.m. I was already depressed and frustrated.

So, I had a few hours (24) of pain. Slow stretching and deep breathing helped. Plus, I’ll admit it, I have a stash of some really strong muscle relaxants from a few years ago and one before bed did the trick. I slept like a rock and awoke with at least some neck mobility. But my pain in the neck left an impact. This being the Thanksgiving season and all, I couldn’t help but be really thankful that I would not have to endure another day of pain and depression.

My good health brought to mind many of my friends and family who are suffering on a daily basis. People very close to me are battling with Lupus, Fibromyalgia, neck and back pain, not to mention a close relative who just had a knee operation. If I found one day of pain exhausting, imagine what these people go through every day. So, I’m planning to check in on my friends who are having a tough time, and to remind them of their bravery. It’s a helpless feeling, being around someone in pain. But maybe talking, checking in, or just an acknowledgement that they are doing a good job dealing with their pain can help.

Passing It On (Or, trying to...)

I got a compliment a few days ago at Whole Foods. I was there to buy some sushi as a treat because Big J was working from home and we were planning to have lunch together. I guess I was in a great mood. The cashier and I were chatting about nothing in particular, and he said, “You know, you’ve really brightened my day.” He continued to tell me that people had been a bit cranky that particular rainy day, and our conversation and my smile (I swear he wasn’t hitting on me, I would have known) had cheered him up.
I left Whole Foods in an even better mood. I realized that compliments really do make a difference, so I decided to compliment the next person that seemed to be spreading “the love,” “the good vibes,” “the sunshine,” or whatever you want to call it. Basically, I was on the lookout for a happy person.
Next stop was the bank, which I guess was the wrong place to go to find a cheerful person in this economy. People were standing in line looking a bit defeated. Video store? No luck there. Just some indecisive folks trying to plan which video to bring home. Office supply store to buy envelopes? Nope. No one really in a very good mood there, either.
The next happy, smiley face I saw that day was Big J when I walked in the door with the sushi. He was just finishing a conference call, and either he was really happy to get off the phone, or he was just happy to see me! I’ll go with the latter.
So, I don’t know. Maybe I did deserve that compliment on a dark, dreary and rainy day. Or, maybe I‘m just really lucky to have had something, or someone, to be happy about. In any case, I’m now on sort of a mission. I plan to make an effort to brighten the days of those I see around me, and I’m on the lookout for anyone else doing the same so I can give them a compliment, and some encouragement to go on being upbeat and friendly. So, if you’d like to join me, just smile whenever you get a chance and be sure to chat with your cashiers! And if you get a compliment, pass it on…

A Happy Tail

On Saturday we dropped Oscar off with his “forever family.” What a happy ending for the little dog with a big spirit. At times I wondered if this doggie experiment was really going to work. I wondered if we were really fostering a dog, or if we had taken a dog who would eventually become ours by default.

The truth is, I think we all learned and grew from this experience. My family and I opened our home to a stranger, and made him feel loved and welcome. Yes, it was more work, especially for me. But I got creative, like figuring out how to tie two leashes together and actually get the pups to walk side-by-side so as not to get completely wound-up and tangled by them – sounds easier then it really was. Big J, in the end, may have learned to have a little faith in my crazy schemes. And, he had to be especially tender with Oscar, because the pup was the most afraid of him – we assume some man had been abusive in the past. The kids, in addition to spending afternoons training and playing with Oscar, learned to love and then let go. I was worried we’d all become too attached to Oscar, but as it turns out, I was the one welling up as we drove home without him. The kids had to remind me of how happy and excited we were the day Oscar came to our home, and how his new family was feeling the same. Bottom line is that we all knew Oscar was where he was meant to be.

Oscar was only in our lives for two months, but that’s two months he didn’t have to live in a crate at a kennel. And now, we definitely miss him. He was a wise little pup, with caramel colored eyes that could melt your heart. He was as cuddly as a cat, loved people of all ages and he kept our dog, Indy, entertained for hours. We were a nice transition family for Oscar, and I think we helped him learn how to trust humans again.

So do I recommend fostering a dog and would I do it again? Would I invite a strange dog to come live with us until he or she found a forever home? Without a doubt. We all do what we can to make the world a better place. At different times in our lives our gestures may be large or small. For us, we started with a little dog named Oscar. Welcome home, sweet Oscar.

If you want to foster a dog, contact Great Dog Rescue New England.

Tyler/Oscar -- Dogs are in the House!

We are animal lovers. Since living in our house we’ve had two dogs, two cats, fish, frogs and a guinea pig – not all at once. So when I started getting emails from the Great Dog Rescue of New England, I was somewhat susceptible. Something about those sweet, pleading little doggie faces got under my skin, and I found myself returning to re-read my emails again and again.

Most of the dogs, I discovered, needed foster homes – a place to stay before a permanent adoptive home could be found. Because of a network of volunteers, these dogs were rescued from shelters across the country that are considered “High Kill.” It seems many of the mutts had missed their appointments, standing-up the Growling Grim Reaper himself.

Many of the rescued pups are given a second chance at life and happiness here in Massachusetts. The least I could do was help just one of them on his journey. What’s one more dog? We already have one very energetic Yellow Lab who would love a playmate.

I discussed this idea with my kids and my husband, and the biggest concern was that we would fall in love with a foster pup and have a hard time giving him up. “So, we’re afraid of loving someone too much?” I wondered. That didn’t seem to make sense. As long as we know the dog will go to a good, loving home, we’ll all be fine, we decided. And I responded to the email saying, “We’re in!”

After an application and a home inspection, we now have Tyler, but we call him Oscar. He’s a two-year-old Welch Corgi mix, and he’s a sweetheart. We’ve had him for almost a week and he’s very affectionate with humans and dogs alike. Yes, it’s possible that I’m falling in love with him. He rests his head on my knee when I sit down. He’s very patient and polite around food and toys. He already knows how to sit and shake hands and I’ve gotten him to stop pulling on his leash (sort of.) But, luckily, he does little things to irritate me, like dig out under the fence and run away. So, I’m happy we have him, and I’m happy to help him, but I’m a one-dog woman. Still, after we get Tyler/Oscar happily placed in a new home, I’ll consider helping another lucky puppy get a second chance on life.

Check out the Great American Dog Rescue !

Class Assignments

The texts were flying, cell phones were ring-toning and the old fashioned parents were emailing or using the telephone. 6th Grade class assignments had come in the mail and everyone wanted to know who would be where.
After each communication my daughter moped into the kitchen to tell me, “None of my friends are in my class.” To make matters worse, they were all in another class together. When I sat at my computer, a flurry of mom-mails listed and confirmed class assignments. But no good news came for C.
This is an example of one of those times when the words coming from my mouth sound shallow even as I speak them. “Honey, there are almost fifty kids on your team, you’ll definitely know someone.” Or, “This will be a great opportunity to make new friends and stay in touch with your current friends. You’ll be expanding your social circle.” I tried to say all the right things, the things I would have wanted to hear. And C kept nodding and pretending my words carried some comfort, but I knew she was going to spring a leak at some point that day and cry. She did, very briefly.
The bottom line is, sometimes we cannot fix things for our children, or even make things better. Sometimes we try to comfort, but the underlying message is “suck it up.” I tried to fill the void of anxiety with stories from my own youth. “When I was a kid we moved around a lot and I switched schools in 1st grade, in 3rd grade and then again in 6th grade. Every time I was scared and nervous, but every time I made new friends.” Does that help? Maybe a little…
Ultimately, I will not be able to walk into C’s classroom for her on the first day of school. That she must do alone. As a mom, I cannot make friends for my child, just as I cannot do her homework for her, or practice her instrument for her, or take a test for her. I can only help her along -- coach her, give her advice and the benefit of my own experience.
And, deep inside, I know … she’ll be fine. Still, on the first day of school I will be thinking of her all day. And when she finally walks in the door and drops her backpack in the front hall, I hope she’ll be smiling and bubbling over with exciting news from her first day in 6th grade.

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!)

Knocking Some Sense Into Me

It had rained for a few days straight and I’m not sure who was going crazier, the kids, the dog, or me. My frustration was growing on a number of levels; the kids kept sitting zombie-like, staring at the TV; the dog had pulled up and chewed one of the newly installed sprinkler heads; and I was trying to get the house together and pack for the upcoming weekend. While my husband and daughter delivered my son to his first sleep-away camp, I would be headed to Connecticut to join my father, brothers and sister to commemorate what would have been my mother’s 79th birthday. Already, a year and four months had elapsed since Mom passed away, and we were planning to secure a final resting place for her ashes. The problem was, despite a few rounds of emails, none of us had any idea what we would actually do with her ashes. Furthermore, while we were all in town, we needed a plan on what chores the four of us could do around the too-big house Dad still maintained. I didn’t want to even imagine sitting around, depressed, staring at my siblings for two days and doing nothing.
“Ahhh…the sun is out!” I yelled to the zombies. “I’m taking the dog to the beach.” And I was out the door before I could hear a response. Finally, alone at the rocky “Dog Beach,” balancing on low-tide mussel shells and seaweed, I felt I could breath. I tossed a stick into the ankle deep water and Indy frolicked and danced, eventually returning the stick, dropping it next to my muddy, absorbent sneakers. “Go, get the stick!” I encouraged. But after a few rounds the pup lost interest, so I began to head back toward dry land; that is, until Indy noticed my departure and romped toward me with an eager face that pleaded, “Please…don’t make me go home.” I could totally relate.
So I bent down to pick up a shell, and in her eagerness, Indy went for the shell as well. But she pulled up suddenly and hit my face full-force with the back of her big, square, solid-bone Labrador Retriever head. “Ow!” I reacted; reaching for my nose that I was sure would be spouting blood momentarily. “Ow, ow, ow!” I moaned. My nose was reverberating in the back of my head. Pain shot down my neck. My jaw was throbbing. It friggin’ hurt!
Still holding my nose and still reeling from the hit, I began to whimper and tears overflowed from my watery eyes. I looked around the deserted beach and, realizing no one could hear me, I started to cry louder – though I was in pain, the crying felt, well … good. As the pain began to ease to a dull throb, I decided to really go for it. I actually started to sob, right there on the beach. No one could hear my bawling. Not a sole was around to respond to my greedy intake of air between each noisy bout of blubbering. The dog just sat and stared at me quizzically. Feeling the release, I went on, quite hysterically, for a few minutes.
As I finally began to calm down, I realized what I had been crying about, and from where this deep well of emotion had bubbled up. It was simple, really. I missed my mom. I missed telling her about the kids and dog driving me crazy. I missed having her make decisions, telling my siblings and I what would be on the agenda for the weekend. I missed her as much as I did the day she died, and I knew I would always miss her in a painful and dramatic way. I guess I just needed a knock on the head to remind me how I felt. My histrionics on the beach were very cleansing, I decided. And, as I walked toward home, I knew I was ready to move on again.
“Thanks, Indy,” I told my tail-flapping buddy as we left the beach. “I needed that.”

Talking to Teens

Lil’J barely waits ‘til he’s out of the car from our week long family vacation before running off with his friends. He’d texted them before we’d even pulled into town. I’m surprised they weren’t waiting for us in our driveway – leaning on their bikes, wearing their shorts down to their knees, below grubby, stretched out t-shirts and turned around baseball caps. What a motley welcoming committee of 13-year-old boys they would be!

Lil'J dropped his duffel bag and said, “Gotta go!” He’s a busy boy, but a good boy; he checks in. And, I always call the house he’s going to, making sure the parents are home. Even better, he’ll have his gang at our house. Still, I feel like I never see him.
Recently, I picked Lil’J up after he visited family friends for a few days. I knew I’d have at least an hour with him, alone in the car. I was looking forward to some catch-up time. I wanted to touch base with him on a deeper level than we’d reached in our recent “Hi what’s for dinner can Sam sleep over have you seen my phone charger when will you be off the computer?” conversations. I wanted to find out what was really on his mind.

So as we drove I thought carefully about what topics to bring up. I could ask him about girls…but he hates it when I do that and he’s barely seen any girls over the summer anyway. Lil’J fiddles endlessly with the radio. He listens incessantly to RAP, and he knows to change the station if the lyrics are overtly sexual. He changes the station a lot. I could ask him if he’s nervous about going away to camp. But then if he’s not nervous he might start to get nervous…nah, we’ve talked enough about camp. He nods his head to the rhythm and sings to the backup melody. I could ask him what ever happened to that kid he was friends with… Ron. I’d heard he got into some trouble and was hanging with a different crowd. No, why bring it up when I’m not trying to encourage that friendship?

“Mom?” Lil’J asked with a serious voice. I knew it, if you shut up for long enough, your teen will open up to you. He’ll tell you what’s on his mind, his hopes, fears, dreams and desires. The experts were right!

“Yes?” I responded, with a motherly smile.

“If you have a job, and the boss calls in sick, does everyone get to go home?” he asked.
I had to giggle. Well, at least he’s thinking about the future. Then I told Lil’J about the summer I painted houses and went to the beach whenever the boss was sick, explaining that most jobs weren’t like that because of “personal responsibility.” Some of his other questions during that car ride were: “Is driving hard?” “How do you get tickets for the Olympics?” And, “Can we go through the McDonald’s drive thru?”

So, these are the things on a 13-year-old boy’s mind … at least today.

After a lot of reflection and a bit of research, here are some tips for talking with your teenage son.

Music –Lil’J doesn’t get into U2 with me like he used to. But, even tho’ I’m not crazy about RAP, I let him know when I like a song or an artist. It’s a conversation starter!

Sports – I’m not a huge fan, but when I ask him what’s new in the world of sports, he’ll blab like an expert.

Kiss Goodnight – Lil’J is most talkative when I go into his room right before he falls asleep. This is a time when defenses are down, and sometimes the troubles of the day bubble up and even a teenage boy needs to talk.

Tips Galore from About.com

From Teens Today with Vanessa VanPetten: Her response to "Seven Things You Should Never Say to Your Teen"

Got any tips learned from talking with your teen?

First Blog

At the ripe old age of 45, I've taken a leap of faith. I quit my job and all of my volunteer work and decided to seriously, and I mean seriously, write.

Like most writers, I've always felt the need to write -- to re-live, re-examine and sometimes re-invent the world around me. My limited success thus far has been in the "momoir" genre with some early essays published in Parents Magazine and Welcome Home Magazine ... but that was in the 90's. A lot has changed since then. First and foremost, my children have gotten older. I've gone from warming baby bottles to hiding my stash of diet soda bottles from the kids. I've gone from cleaning up spills to yelling about text messaging bills. They've grown, and clearly I've grown, too.

Yes, I will continue to write about my family. (I have to because it's such great material.) Now my children are 13 and 11, and I can guarantee that family life will only get more interesting as I deal with their teenage years, as well as the persistent memories of my own wild child days.

I will also write about my trials and tribulations of getting this new career off the ground ... finally. In addition to blogging, I will be sending out my personal essays, looking for feature writing opportunities and, of course, working on my novel.

Any input, hints, and encouragement are certainly welcome!