UnchartedParent.com

(Photo credit: GoodNCrazy via Flickr.com)

Katherine Rosman of the Wall Street Journal wrote an article last week that I found a bit scary.  “Tweens’ Secret Lives Online” discussed the burgeoning use of social media sites aimed at kids.  Sometimes parents know what their children are doing on these sites; other times, they don’t really have a clue.

The complexity of being–and raising–a kid in a digital world is a familiar topic at Uncharted Parent.  For example, if you’ve been reading along, you know that ten-year-old “Jack” got his own email address a few months ago, and I found it somewhat painful to say yes to this request.  But I recognize that our kids are growing up in a technological age and they need to learn–with our guidance–how to operate and cope with the technology that makes up their world.

But does a twelve-year-old really need a “personal brand”?  (I’m assuming for the sake of this argument that said child hasn’t been cast in the next Hunger Games film.  If I’m wrong about that, well, then, this kid falls into a different category.)  I appreciate the value of a website that allows kids, say, to design their own clothes, but why is a social media component necessary?  Why the focus so early in life in “creating content,” teaching kids to present images of themselves that may or may not reflect who they really are, creating personas and trying to understand if the people with whom they’re interacting really are the people they claim to be?

What’s the rush? (more…)

We finally did it.  We boarded a plane–a couple of planes, actually–and brought our children to the land of Mouse Ears and all things sparkly: Disney World.

My children are now The Happiest Children on Earth.  (This buys me good behavior for at least a month, right?  Right?)  We walked for miles through four theme parks every day for six days, devoting ourselves to their entertainment.  To be fair, we grownups had great fun as well, even if I did have to make a nighttime run to the nearby Nike outlet to buy new sneakers because my feet definitely were not feeling the magic.  But my kids.  Oh.  Between rides at various Disney parks and Universal Studios that twisted you upside-down and left you soaking wet, and the artistic imagery of It’s a Small World, both ten-year-old “Jack” and seven-year-old “Emmie” found numerous outlets to fulfill their wishes.

Plus we let them eat absurd amounts of spaghetti, hamburgers and candy all week.  Kid heaven.

Naturally, I do have a few less typical observations to share with you.  Here are some high–and low–notes from our week in the Most Magical Place on Earth:

• First thing I observed as we pulled up to our hotel: a jock strap sailing off an upper-floor balcony, then drifting to a gentle landing in the hotel’s front courtyard.  I spent some time considering whether this was a bad sign for the week to come or, perhaps, a really good one. (more…)

Ugh.  Another piece about the Mommy Wars.  I KNOW.

Someone–and we all know who it was–misspoke, and now the Mommy Wars are back.

Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think they ever really went away.

Stay-at-home moms versus working moms.  Work-outside-the-home moms versus work-at-home moms.  Single moms versus married moms.  Wealthy moms versus low-income moms.  Middle-class moms versus all the other moms.  Adoptive moms versus moms of “their own” kids.  (Thanks for that last one, Catholic League.)

Stop it.

This notion that some moms are better than others by virtue of their work status is crap.  And each of us fighting the Mommy Wars contributes to it.

(And dads, if you’re feeling left out, don’t worry; I’m about to bring you in, too.)

The bigger problem is that we live in a society that, in 2012, pays lip service to the notion of supporting parents who want to devote time to raising their children, but has not altered its policies or culture in a way that actually supports mothers or fathers so that they can actually do so without being substantially penalized in their careers.

Early in the life of this blog, I wrote a post about the futility of looking for part-time work in my former profession.  “I Can Bring Home the Bacon OR Fry It Up in a Pan” described my experience right after moving to New England, when I participated in a slew of initially enthusiastic conversations about job opportunities, each of which came to a polite, door-closing end after I mentioned the phrase, “part-time.”

Women (and men) who try to strike a balance between successful careers and participatory devotion to their families often end up feeling like there isn’t enough of them to go around, because full-time devotion is expected–especially of women–in both places.

Yet–reality check–a woman who doesn’t work outside the home isn’t valued the way politicians love to say she is.  Witness the social security a woman doesn’t earn if she doesn’t engage in paid employment, as if she’ll never grow old and need support in her golden years, too.  Witness the disdain with which an interviewing employer regards the “time off” a mother has taken when she attempts to “return to work.”  (Just look at those common phrases.)  Witness the multiple times certain work-outside-the-home mothers close to me personally have said that I “couldn’t possibly understand” how busy their lives are because “your time is your own.”  (Cue the psychotic, over-caffeinated writer, sharp object in hand.  Hope for the commenters’ sakes that object is a pen.)

It works the other way, too. (more…)

Got a kid who loves basketball?  Sports in general?  Maybe even looks up to Celtics guard Ray Allen?  Have I got a story for you.

We all know that sports figures don’t play 24/7.  What do they do with the rest of their time?  Frequently, the answers to that question make parents cringe.  But look for Allen off the court, and apparently you’ll often find him with his nose in a book.  Read this Boston Globe article, then print it out and give it to your kid.  (Or just direct them to the article on your smartphone or iPad, which you know is more often in your kid’s hands than yours, anyway.)

In another kid-book recommendation, I have to point you in the direction of The Ultimate Top Secret Guide to Taking Over the World, by Kenn Nesbitt.  It’s not great literature, but I can tell you this: ten-year-old “Jack” is reading the book now, and I can literally hear him laughing from the other side of the house.  Any book that brings this much joy to my child gets a thumbs-up from me.

Side note: This is an unusually short post for me.  My brain is functioning at reduced capacity as a result of a steady diet over the past few days consisting of nothing but matzoh, inadequate condiments spread on the matzoh and Easter candy.  Really, I’m amazed I’m able to sit upright and form sentences at all.  Counting the minutes, I am, until Pizza and Pancakes Saturday night.

I’m thrilled to be guest posting at Beyond the Margins today, where I’m taking on the question of whether fiction and creative non-fiction writers should ever discuss politics in “A Bit of Controversy in Your Platform?”  The prevailing wisdom says no.  I disagree, but if you engage, you must use a great deal of thought and care.

Also, I realized I never posted the link to my most recent Writer Unboxed piece here.  So here it is: “Take Your Characters to Therapy.”  (And you think fictional characters aren’t real.  Hmm…)

(Photo credit: courosa via Flickr.com)

Since I wrote in February about our decision to allow ten-year-old “Jack” to have an email account, a number of people have asked me about the rules I said Jack would acquire along with his new privilege.

My husband and I did indeed draw up a list of rules to go with Jack’s email account.  We posted them above the family computer (which is in a public area of the house–not his room).  I offer them here to anyone who may find them useful in setting rules for your own child.

A few points to consider regarding the list of rules below:

• There are seventeen rules here.  Yes, seventeen.  My son does well with structure.  If he finds himself in a gray area, he likes to be able to look up a rule and figure out where he stands.  (The child of two lawyers–go figure.)  If your child prefers a less structured environment, you might want to pare down the list.

• Most of the seventeen rules boil down to three basic principles:

• Protect your personal information; 
• Don’t click on anything or talk to anyone without permission; and
• At this stage of your life, you have no online privacy with respect to your parents.

• A few of these rules will mean little to a ten-year-old unless you talk about them.  For example, we had to explain rule #10 to Jack.  We will have that conversation with him many more times over the course of his adolescent and teen years.

Jack’s Email Rules

1. We have to approve an address before you’re allowed to email with someone, open an email from someone new or add someone to your address book.
2. If you don’t recognize an address in your inbox, don’t touch the email & come get one of us.
3. No opening attachments or clicking on links without approval.
4. We can and will access your emails at any time.  You must give us your password(s). (more…)

Any way you look at this, it hurts.

On the most basic level, an innocent boy was shot to death.  A promising life was cut short and that is always a tragedy.  As the mother of two children, I can’t help but imagine for a terrifying half-second, “What if that had been my child?”  Then, unable to sustain that threat within my mind for even a full moment, I push it out, think of something else, something further from my own heart.

But that insupportable, irrevocable loss is only the opening point of this deep, deep wound.

The fact–yes, fact–is that I, as a white parent, enjoy a luxury that many parents of color in the United States in 2012 do not.  Like any parent, I worry for my children’s safety.  As my kids grow older and venture further into the world without me, I have to bite my lip to keep from constantly proclaiming to them all the world’s dangers.  But I don’t have to teach them that some people will twitch with an uneasy, visceral reaction to them, find them dangerous merely because of who they are on the outside.  I don’t have to teach my children that because of the color of their skin and their gender, their very existence may put their lives in danger.

What a horrible, terrifying lesson to have to impart to your child: that when he is out in the world, some, if not many of the people he encounters will view him as a lesser degree of human than everyone else.

But the African American parent must teach this lesson to her son.  She must, because if she doesn’t, he won’t be prepared for the realities he’ll encounter: the people who will cross a street to avoid walking next to him on a sidewalk, the police officers who will stop him to question him about “what he’s up to,” the self-appointed, armed neighborhood watchman who will decide he looks suspicious and will follow him, confront him and and injure or even kill him.

I have peeked into the tiniest corner of this world, and I’ve experienced, too, the denial of its existence.  When I first had to explain anti-Semitism to my own, seven-year-old son in response to a question he asked, I wrote a column about it and was accused of “using the [question] to frighten and warp her young son’s mind.”  I dread the talks I’ll someday need to have with my Asian daughter about the sexual objectification of Asian women, something I myself couldn’t believe I was seeing at first when I witnessed older white men directing inappropriate attention at “Emmie” before she was even four years old.  These are just a few of the racial and ethnic realities I have to integrate into raising my children.  Deny it all you want, but I am an irresponsible parent if I don’t prepare my children to cope with the realities of the world outside our home.

Yet, none of that compares with the father or mother who must teach his or her son the risks of walking on the street while being a young black male.

Ten-year-old “Jack” asked me about Trayvon Martin a few days ago. (more…)

It’s that time of the year: tax time.  (What?  You’re not excited?)

For the adoptive parent, adoption may be all about love and building a family, but there’s no question that it’s an expensive proposition in many, if not most cases.  The good news for adoptive parents is that the federal adoption tax credit offers some financial relief.  The bad (but not shocking) news is that the adoption tax credit is, well, let’s be blunt: it’s taxes.  So it’s complicated.

Please join me today in welcoming writer and tax professional Linda Lawrence to Uncharted Parent.  She’s going to untangle the adoption tax credit for you so that you can determine if the credit applies in your case, and, if it does, how you can claim it.*

Claiming the Federal Adoption Tax Credit for 2011

If you have adopted a child or were in the process of adopting a child during 2011, you may be eligible for a tax credit.  Depending on the total amount of your adoption expenses–as well as the circumstances of the adoption–you may be able to claim a portion or even the full amount of out-of-pocket expenses that you paid for the adoption when you file your 2011 year-end income tax return.

How Does the Adoption Tax Credit Work?

As previously stated, if you adopted a child or were in the process of adopting during the 2011 tax year, you may qualify for the adoption tax credit.  According to the IRS, the credit that you receive will lower your tax bill dollar-for-dollar.  Furthermore, if your adoption was finalized during the 2011 tax year, you may be able to receive a credit for additional expenses that you paid in past years.  Adoption expenses made in 2011 are considered to be refundable, which means that you may be entitled to a refund even if you owe no taxes.  (Note that unless Congress acts to change the law, the adoption tax credit will not be refundable for 2012.)

Children Who Are Considered Eligible

In order to be eligible for the tax credit, the child that you adopted must meet either of the following criteria:

• The child must be age 17 or under.
• The child can be any age if physically or mentally unable to care for himself and is either a US citizen or resident alien.

What Expenses Qualify for the Adoption Tax Credit? (more…)

Charlie picked me.

I’d gone to one of those big box, pet-supply stores on an overheated July Saturday morning because they were hosting the local animal shelter for a “pet adoption” day.  I was tired of coming home to an empty, law-school apartment and I’d missed having a pet ever since I first left home at the age of eighteen.

I played my way through the assortment of mewing, four-legged bundles of energy to find the best match.  Eventually, I settled on an orange-colored kitten that in my head I named “Pumpkin.”  I moved to the end of the pen to grab the paperwork, and couldn’t resist picking up a black-and-white kitty from the same litter.  I held it up to my face.  It considered me for a moment, then reached out and nuzzled its nose against mine.

“That’s an expression of affection,” the shelter worker said.  “She likes you.”

Sold.

Charlie–named after Charlie Chaplin, whom she resembled when a kitten due to the marking on one side of her mouth–first liked me almost eighteen years ago.  She was mine pre-husband, pre-kids, pre-so much of my adult life.  She’s been with me at my best, and my very, very worst.  She’s followed me through three states, nine apartments/townhomes/houses, countless illnesses and career and existential life crises.  Through every instability, she’s been the feline constant.

But Charlie has been sick on and off for the last two years.  After beating the odds in true, nine-lives fashion, Charlie lost most of the use of her back legs on Wednesday night.  I drove through a snowstorm to the emergency vet, but I knew what the answer was.  Later I brought her home, and on Friday the vet came to our house to end Charlie’s life in peace.  (Thank you so much, Cilley Veterinary Clinic, for doing this in the most humane and caring manner possible.)

How is it that our animal companions, who can’t talk, can’t hug us, can’t give advice or tip a sympathetic glass with us, how is it that they mean so much to us that our homes can be filled with people yet still feel wrong and empty when our pets are gone?  If you have or have ever had a pet you love, you know this answer, but I’ll write a bit anyway.  (Because I need to.) (more…)

When your child goes to a friend’s house, do you ever wonder if there are guns present in the friend’s home?  Do you ever ask the child’s parent?

Last week, The New York Times Motherlode blogger KJ Dell’Antonia relayed a story about a reader who was trying to help her thirteen-year-old son come to grips with the death of his friend, who had shot himself to death with a gun the writer didn’t even know her son’s parents owned.

This writer, her son and their community face a painful recovery from this tragedy.  But Dell’Antonia, herself the mother of four children, found herself wondering about the writer’s friend’s son, who had spent considerable time at this boy’s house.  He had slept there overnight.  And his mother had had no idea that there was a gun in the house or that her son’s friend could gain access to it.

Dell’Antonia questioned whether we talk as much to our children’s friend’s parents about whether they keep guns in their homes as our kids get older as we do when they’re young.*  But I’d like to pose the question of whether we truly engage in these discussions at all, as so many pediatricians and safety groups recommend.

Have you asked other parents if they keep guns before letting your children–of any age–spend time without you in someone else’s home?  If these parents have responded that they do own a gun, have you asked follow-up questions?  Which ones?  Do you ask how the guns are stored?  Do you ask if they’re locked?  Do you ask if the ammunition is stored separately from the guns themselves?  Do you ask if the children ever have access to the guns, if they’ve had safety training, if there are trigger locks?  At what point do you feel like you’re going overboard?

Is it realistic to interview other parents about guns each time your child asks for a play date? (more…)