LifePundit

How a Passion for Global Warming will Help My Child Make the Right Decisions in High School

Here comes a rant. But first, a little background. Lily starts high school a week from today. She's going to be slammed with difficult courses (and some easy ones), a monstrously big new school, the need to make new friends since none from her middle school are going to this school, and the difficult choices that face our teenagers.

Already she's feeling the pressure to join a high school sorority. They have lots of parties and underage drinking. (The answer is "no" on the sororities until I find out better things than I have already heard.) Whether she joins a sorority or not, she'll have many opportunities to make good and bad choices.

She was supposed to go on a Presbyterian-sponsored high school retreat for all of last week, but came down with a stomach bug and couldn't go. The kids that went had a great time and I'm sorry she missed out.

Or I was sorry, until I got an e-mail about the retreat encouraging us parents to follow up on the things that they learned about at this "World on Fire" retreat, such as global warming.

No matter what you think about global warming, is this the biggest danger facing my teenager? Will it keep her from getting pregnant or contracting an STD? Will it help her evaluate her choices in light of what she believes and the potential consequences of those choices? Will knowledge of global warming, which is now the spiritual center of our secular society, draw her closer to the real God who created her?

I am a global warming skeptic who believes that it is our Christian duty to be good stewards of the earth. But even if I thought global warming was something other than iffy science that makes Al Gore rich, I'd still be dumbfounded that with all the challenges our teenagers face that they are asking us parents to help our children decide how they are going to change their lives based on what they learned about global warming at the church conference.

I chose became a member of the Presbyterian denomination because it has an intellectual tradition and tries to educate its members on how to think for themselves. I love it that I can ask my minister a question and get told six possible ways of looking at multiple answers without getting told what "the answer" is. I do hope we haven't fallen into group-think.

So the retreat prepared the kids for high school by trying to get them motivated to do something about global warming. Last week Lily was home throwing up. After hearing this, I think I'll do the same.

But maybe Lily will find her knowledge of global warming useful. "No thank you. No ecstasy for me. It's too hot in here. Global warming, you know."

Or, "I'd love to sit out here in the car and have sex with you, but we need to watch our carbon footprint and it's too hot to turn the air conditioning off. Global warming, you know"

Or, "No, I won't text you the answers. Uses too much energy. We have to be careful of global warming, you know."

Better go before I throw off enough steam to raise the atmosphere by several degrees.

Back from Holden Beach, North Carolina

You probably figured it out, but I've been on vacation. This required a flurry beforehand as I prepared for vacation, then the vacation itself, then the flurry afterwards as I tried to remember what I do when I'm either not in a flurry or on vacation.

We went to Holden Beach, N.C., and stayed at The Barnacle, my favorite place. I was a little girl when Jak Smyrl, my cousin and idol, carved this sea captain's head on a support beam of the house. I think I'd gotten into trouble the week before for writing on the walls, so seeing Jak carve up part of his house left quite an impression. I'd like to go to the house every year, but we don't seem to make it that often. When I see the crusty old sea captain's face, I feel like I'm visiting an old friend.

Here's my favorite reading place. I love the beach but sunburn easily. Holden Beach has a rough, challenging ocean and is often windy. Here are the before and after pictures. As you can see, I was blown out of my reading spot.

Covering Up

Graduation is tonight (the first of two for one girl graduating from one middle school) and I have come up with a solution to the bosom problem.

A foot of lace trim, an old T-shirt cut into a strip, and some safety pins.

Lily had the choice of death or taking the lace ($1.59 at Hobby Lobby) and facing it with the doubled-over T-shirt strip, then pinning both sides to her undergarments. Voila! A modesty panel.

I don't get mad at her very often, but she found out this afternoon that it does happen.

She looks very nice and we'll be off shortly. We're not showing anything but our smiling faces. We're smiling, right?

We Don't Show Our Bosoms before 4:00 O'Clock

I'm in a crisis. It's funny, the things that come to you in a crisis. Things you think you remember but can't find any evidence of. And the headline for this post shows how I am already in the midst of a battle I am losing.

First off, I said "we don't show our bosoms."

And now I'm negotiating not to show them before 4:00.

Didn't Mammy say that in Gone with the Wind? "We don't show our bosoms before four o'clock." I can see her talking to Scarlet while the rest of the girls are napping and Scarlet has A Plan. Hence, she needs to show her bosoms before 4:00. Or was it 5:00?

At what time of life and time of day is it all right to show our bosoms? From the look of things on TV, as soon as you wake up is a good time to be showing your bosoms (note -- I am talking about low-cut frocks, not naked skin). Coffee and bosoms every morning on the news. And do hospital administrators really dress like Dr. Cuddy on "House"? My den overfloweth with images of overflowing, button-stressed tops.

A couple of weekends ago Lily and I went dress shopping for a dress for her for church confirmation and for middle-school graduation. (Didn't I already whine about this? Well, if I did, I'm not done.) There were NO dresses that didn't show bosoms. My child is 14. She shouldn't even have bosoms. I think she should leave them home in a box, under the bed. Save them for later. But no. She has bosoms and the fashion designers have plans for them.

They are to be emancipated. Yes, as soon as bosoms sprout, they are to be displayed, set free, let loose upon the world. Yes, the dresses are even pretty. But pretty doesn't equal appropriate.

On our very painful shopping trip, Lily picked out several dresses. Hmmmm. Lots of spaghetti straps. Dresses that were nothing more than bikinis with skirts attached. So I went through the racks (no pun intended) looking for more modest clothes (we were in major department stores, not your local Hookers 'r' Us), and they were not there. There are no modest clothes. We are all hookers now.

So, we tried to do the best with what they had. Lily looked stunning. Like a sexy 25-year-old. She'd have to wear a nametag that ready, "Sorry. I'm really 14." with any of these dresses.

We haggled. We negotiated. I looked back through the racks. There were two other mothers in the dressing room, and we were all having the same argument with our 14-year-old daughters.

"You're not planning on wearing THAT, are you?"

Why yes. And before 4:00. In fact, before I'm 16. Before I'm 18. Before your very eyes.

Well, one of the dresses was marked down to $12 and actually was lovely, except for the fact that there was no fabric across the bustline. So I told Lily she could get it if she wore a camisole. She agreed. And tonight she tried on the dress with a camisole. She said it looked terrible and made her look like a hillbilly.

Better a hillbilly than something else.

Hear that stomping? That's me putting my foot down. I'm getting quite a rhythm going. Pretty soon it will be a real 'ho-down.

I may have a new play, though. Something that will be a real game-changer. Okay. She can show her bosoms.

Two can play at that game. Or would this make it four? I, too, have bosoms. And I'm not afraid to use them. 

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, though some apples may have fallen a lot farther South than others. But you didn't need to know that.

Yes, I have a plan. Can there be anything worse than having your mother show up somewhere not fully dressed? And there's only one thing that will stop me.

"When I say, 'WE don't show our bosoms,' I mean 'WE.' You show yours, and I'll show mine."

I will win. This time.

S. C. Authorities Search for Mother and 555-lb. 14-year-old Son

I wish this news was really a movie because then it would be funny. A South Carolina mother didn't show up for a custody hearing and so the authorities are looking for her and her 555-lb. 14-year-old son. The reason she is in trouble with the law is that his size critically threatens his health.

You can read the breaking news story here.

Somebody suggested they look for them in all-you-can-eat restaurants. But I didn't just type that, did I?

How can you hide a 555-lb kid? How can you fit him in the car?

And I know from personal experience that 14-year-olds can be a bit frustrating. Obstreperous. Difficult. And that's without messing with their food.

I'll resist all the things I want to say, like maybe he ate her.

The Piano Recital

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To whom much is given, much is expected. 

It's easy to pick on Lily, because she deserves it. She is gifted musically. A few years ago she began to compose her own music. It was good enough to get her some invitations to perform, including in church and as part of a Women Composers Program sponsored by the local piano teachers guild. I don't know how this could be my child but there she is. And she's won scholarships for piano lessons the last two years.

She plays violin in the school orchestra because the alternative is to take gym. When she first started she was a second violin and when one of the first violinists (who took private lessons) would choke and stop playing, Lily would switch parts and play the first violin part to help carry the music. She's not a star -- the first chairs are filled with dedicated violin students (mostly Asians) but she doesn't work at it either.

She has long wanted to quit music. We told her what my parents told me. You can quit music anytime. And that same day you quit riding. 

At the piano recital last night there was a little boy who wanted to take piano so badly that he's doing yard work for the teacher in exchange for lessons. Another teenaged girl has decided she wants to be a piano teacher and had three beginner students playing in the recital. Music is a gift to us all.

Lily's piano teacher is a very stern but sweet elderly woman whose back hurts so much she can hardly sit in the chair while she gives lessons. But she has a job to do, and she's going to teach these children music. No fudging, either. It has to be right. She's an old-fashioned kind of piano teacher. Everybody needs one of those. Lily says Mrs. S is the nicest person in the world until you get on the piano bench. We're all afraid of her. 

When I need to tell her something I know she won't like, I call and leave a message on Tuesdays when she's teaching in another county. I will never feel like a grown up with this woman. I turn into a seven-year-old who didn't practice my music. "Yes m'am" is all I know how to say.

At the end of the piano recital, the teacher gave out awards for the most improved, best student, etc. At the end she had a special award. She described a student who didn't practice and in fact, practiced the least. She said that this student was gifted. Lily immediately knew it was her. The teacher went on to say that she hoped this award, the Most Creative, would encourage this student to use her gifts. 

I hope so, too.

In the car on the way home I tried to talk with Lily about it. (Paul is absent this weekend -- he's part of a Kairos Prison Ministry weekend in Broad River Correctional Institution, a maximum security prison.) 

How do you get a person (a teenaged person) to recognize her gifts and to want to use them? I could use force (take away her cell phone until she practiced) and might end up doing that. But there's something more fundamental here: the squandering of gifts.

She says she doesn't care about piano, though she likes to compose and play her own pieces (yet she's quit doing that). I asked her why when she has been told repeatedly that she's gifted that she doesn't use her gifts. "Because I'm lazy," is her honest and heartbreaking answer.

We will talk about this further. This talk should be called "The Day I Beat My Head Against the Wall Again." 

To whom much is given, much is expected. How about we drop the "much" and say "a little"?

I am out of ideas. 

Her piano teacher says that she has been told a million times by adults that they wished their parents had never let them drop music. And she says that she has never been told by adults that they were sorry their parents made them continue to play.

Choices: punishment, bribery, logic, cajoling. Something creative, like an hour of practice for every hour of riding. Except then I think she'd just not ride, since that passion is wavering with her growing awareness of boys. (Wonder if the boys are aware of her? They're all 14.)

To whom much is given, much is expected. It was given to her, not to me. But she was given to me. 

Need to figure out something. 

The Drama Mama

"You'll probably be getting a call from Carla's mother," Lily said on the way to school yesterday.

Carla is her best friend. They're both 14 and don't date. They do text. I think that's how a crush works these days. You text. Then when you're with the boy in person, you don't know how to talk to your crush. Carla liked a boy, then told him she didn't like him. It (the like), was over. So Lily asked Carla if it was all right if Lily liked him, and Carla said yes because Carla was finished liking him. So Lily likes this boy. And now Carla has changed her mind, I suspect with some help from her mother. Carla likes him. And doesn't want Lily to like him anymore.

Is this like a dog chasing a car or what? What would these girls do with these boys if they had them? Never mind, don't tell me. I'm enjoying my innocence.

Carla's mother has told Carla that Lily violated "Girl's Rules," which include but are not limited to that you never like your friend's ex- what would he be? Ex-crush? Ex-like? I was not aware of it, but something called "Girl's Rules" were handed down at Mt. Sinai. My mother apparently didn't know them either, as she didn't teach them to me. I wonder what other Girl's Rules are out there to be violated.

Carla's mother has called the boy's mother. And now Carla's mother has called me.

Carla's mother is a really nice person. She's just overly involved in her daughter's life. And a bit of a Drama Mama.

"I just wanted to warn you that there may be a bit of drama when you pick up Lily from school today," she told me. I'm afraid I wasn't much fun. I said that this was the girls' problem and that I wasn't going to get involved.

I also said that I was sure their friendship was strong enough to survive this. "I'm not so sure," Carla's mother said, with great warning in her voice. That would be a shame as they are best friends and very compatible. They even have the same taste in boys.

Where is the boy in all this? And how far has his mother been sucked into the drama? Don't know. Don't these people have lives?

So I said again to Carla's mother, "I'm sorry, but they need to work this out themselves. I'm not going to get involved."

"Neither am I," said the Drama Mama. And I didn't say, "Then why are you calling me?"

Be a Fountain, Not a Drain

Lily's been on spring break all week. We've spent her vacation in the car, either driving to go look at a horse to buy, or hauling our horse in hopes that someone will buy him, or hauling the horse we've selected home for a two-week trial (Markus, pictured at left). I drove. She listened to her iPod while texting her friends. For hundreds of miles.

Still, we had a lot of quality time in the car. We had a lot of confessions. So far, I'm the only one to confess anything. She said she's not old enough to have anything to confess, and let's hope she keeps it that way. We've talked about:

• What really happened to Princess, the hamster (Tiger ate her, leaving only her hands and feet and head on the laundry rug.)
• Why I would be in a long-term relationship with a guy who thought the overhead passenger handles on the London Tube were germy so he got ME to hold them and then he held onto me.
• Why I would still date a guy (same as above) when he couldn't remember why he was standing outside a men's room so he left with me in it, unguarded. He wasn't there very long -- I promise. I had gone in there to use the facilities and he was supposed to stand guard at the door so I would have the men's room to myself. He was reading a book, forgot why he was standing there, and wandered off. His roommate came in the men's room, saw my sandaled feet under the stall door, said, "Hi, Anne. How are you?" and proceeded to use the urinal. I used my Invisible Walk to exit as quickly and as invisibly as I could. (And no, I was too mortified to cast even a backward glance.)
• And other things that don't make sense from my past.

She laughed until she cried. She even turned off her iPod and stopped texting for a few minutes.

When I ran out of things to confess, I took in the scenery. And I saw a country church sermon sign that I think I will take as my new motto: Be a Fountain, Not a Drain.

Happy Easter, all!

Trying Out Cats

We're low on cats -- down to just Izzie, who likes me best. This makes Lily crazy because she saved up her money and jumped through hoops to get Izzie as a kitten from the pound three or four years ago. If we're watching TV, Izzie will only get in my lap. If I hand her to Lily and settle her in Lily's lap, Izzie hops right down and hops back into my lap. Once I get past thinking this is funny, I feel sort of bad about it. Having a cat in your lap is a most pleasant thing and I'd like it to be a memory from her childhood. Unfortunately, her memory will be that her cat liked her mother better. 

Izzie sleeps under my side of the bed. She sits on the back of my office chair while I work, or on the floor nearby. I have an advantage in Cat Charming because I work at home and am here more than anyone. The cat hangs out with me. Plus, there's that little business where I take care of the cat, feed her, pick catnip for her, clean out her box, etc. 

"That cat is biased," Lily says. "She likes you best." I used to deny it but it is true. 

So, since we've always been a two-cat family, when Tiger died Lily figured it was  inevitable that she'd get another cat. One that liked her. (Note: Tiger liked everybody so that wasn't an issue with him.)

Unfortunately, Tiger's medical expenses (diabetes care and various infections) made Paul wary of getting another pet. If you are a responsible pet owner, pets can be expensive. And besides, Paul says that Lily doesn't play with Clover, her rabbit, so why should she get yet another pet?

I'll talk about the bunny later. I do believe that Paul has a point but I also believe that having a cat in your lap is good preparation for life. No, I believe that having a cat in your life is a necessity, up there with food and water.

So, Lily and I go to the pound a couple of times a week to see what's in. And almost every visit we fall in love. The pound seems to specialize in the exotic, if that's a possibility in stray cats. White blue-eyed cats with grey-striped legs. Cats with six toes. Cats with no tails. Very sweet cats. Very fat cats. A calico that was split down the middle, one side of her face grey tabby and the other side -- clearly marked by a straight line right down the middle of her face -- was orange tabby. Her tail was tortoiseshell with an orange tabby tip, like God had dipped her the end of her tail in orange tabby dye. She was sweet, too. She's gone, quickly adopted out.

The fancy ones and the plain but loveable ones don't last. The lady who works there said that they all eventually get adopted. I guess if you make it into the adoption room you get to live, I don't know. 

Lily is working on Paul to get him to go along with another cat. She's not nearly as good at getting things out of her father as the average daughter. She's too nice or something. Anyway, we visit, knowing that we won't be taking a cat home....yet.

In the meantime, Lily has devised a test to see if a cat is right for us or not. We sit down on the bench in the cat room, side by side. Lily holds the cat. If the cat leaves her lap to get in mine, the cat fails the test. She's looking for a cat that will like her best. (I suggested that she feed it and take care of it....)

It's not really a fair test, because the cat is out of its cage and wanting to move around. If it starts in Lily's lap, the next place to go is mine. 

A few days ago we found a cat biased in her favor. A 9-month-old long-haired male that just wanted her to hold him. His family lost their jobs and had to move. They gave up this sweet cat. We stayed and stayed, the cat never wanted to get down. Lily put him down, and he was playful and followed her around. 

"What shall we do, keep this cat or dad?" I asked. "Never mind, don't answer."

"I've never had a cat act like this," Lily said, holding him like a baby. He was so content, just limp and purring. "I need this cat."

"Call your father."

"That never works. He just gets mad," she said.

Maybe I should have overridden Paul and brought home the cat. This cat was special. But Lily was leaving town for the beach on a confirmation retreat with church, and this might sound silly, but I thought if I brought home this cat and was the one to tend to it while she is gone and they never have a chance to bond alone, I'd end up with two cats in my lap and she'd have none. 

That cat is probably already adopted. In the meantime, Lily came home and tended to all the animals. The dog got a bath. The rabbit got a rejuvenated hutch and some play time. The horses got massages. She even picked catnip for Izzie, though Izzie let her know that she wanted something else that Lily will never, ever discover. 

I'm sure there's another cat or kitten in our future. And even if it is against my nature, I'm going to be mean to it (or at least ignore it) so that Lily can do all the cat charming.

And Izzie and I will just go off somewhere in a huff.

It's 50 Degrees and Cloudy, So They Cancelled School

I love South Carolina. Right now it's 50 degrees and cloudy. I just got an e-mail, a text-alert on my cell and an automated voice-call on the land line: School is canceled tomorrow because it might snow.

I do hope that it does. I could use some snow, so long as it doesn't hang around. Snow is best for one day or two. Not the whole winter.

Snow is a reason for a holiday. Outside will smell wonderful -- the air heavy with pine because our poor trees weren't made for snow. The snow will collect on the needles and in the branches and be too heavy for the tree. Snap! Down they'll fall. Which is all fine provided they don't fall on your power lines because then, in your all-electric, not-too-warm-from-the-heat-pump house, you'll be cold and in the dark. And if you live in the country and are on a well, you'll also be thirsty and stinky because your well won't work without electricity and you won't have water.

But sometimes it snows and the power doesn't go out. That, my friends, is a real holiday. A reason to cancel school, stay home with your family, and drink hot chocolate and marvel at the stuff floating down from the sky. Snow. That rarest of weathers.