Mom, Mom, Mom #25

This column is scheduled to run in the Thursday, February 28 issue of the Alameda Sun: 

TRANSL8, PLS

My twins turned 13 recently. I gave them each what I thought was a cool coming-of-age present:  a cell phone with unlimited text messaging plan. They thanked me enthusiastically for ending their misery; until this point, they were the only 13 year olds in the world without a cell phone. (I know that’s not true, but the drama of their teenage years has hit our home in full force.)

Now they spend their nights, not talking on the phone as I did when I was their age, but responding to the buzz of their cell phones bursting with text messages (because I have banned the blippy alert sound of when the message hits). Back and forth, back and forth, they chat with their friends. They passed right by IM (Instant Messaging) on the computer to instant texting through their phones. My Dad gave my four brothers and sisters and I a separate “teenage phone” back in the 1970s. I have accommodated the latest trends for my kids with cell phones.

Because of my professional career in the high tech industry, I am familiar with most technologies and can even use some. So, I can text. And often do, even though the majority of people I communicate with are my age and don’t text at all. It’s all fine, I get it—the convenience, the novelty. I’ll admit that sometimes it’s just much easier to send a quick text rather than place a call. What I cannot get past is the language of texting. Because of my career as a writer, I hit a wall when it comes to the quicker, easier shortened form of English in the SMS (Short Message Service) dialect. My kids have taken to using it as easily as if they were born into it.

It didn’t just start with their getting cell phones. One of them once sent me an email, replacing “you” with “u” and “for” with the number 4, and then, to contribute to my madness, signed off with “thnx.” When I told her that I would ground her for life if she ever did it again, that habit quickly stopped.

But now I realize I am just about the only person who tries to text in complete English sentences. I don’t shorten anything. It takes me twice as long to write and send a text message as it does anyone else in the world.

My children have adapted. One just calls or sends selected messages; the other forges ahead, trying to convince me that this is a great way to communicate. She throws in acronyms every chance she gets. (And I just keep writing “What?” back.) I suppose it’s what happens with a living language and the reason we don’t say “thou” anymore (or speak in Old English or Latin, for that matter). Eventually, we may all have to master SMS.

Certainly, I don’t want to be part of the older generation who cannot accept the changes that advances in technology bring. I thought I could influence their thinking, skewing it a bit towards mine. BWDIK? 

Mom, Mom, Mom #24

Hey, It’s been busy lately and someone pointed out that I haven’t been keeping up with my posts. Sorry about that. Here’s the latest Sun column (January 24, 2008): 

Questioning Fitness in a New Year

Recently, a reader posed a question for us to ponder at the start of this new year, when many thoughts turn to fitness and resolution:  What makes a fit mother?

I suppose you start with what makes a mother unfit. On the surface, that seems to be obvious—she’s someone who cannot care for her child or children. But everyone has a different level of fitness. For me, it starts with the basics:  a place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear, some form and level of education and social interaction. In other words, you can’t provide all the basics, but then shut them up in a room without talking to them—at least not until they turn 13, when both you and the children want them to be shut up in a room away from you for extended periods of time.

There should be a mention of love or loving interaction here, but this is where it starts to get sticky. Yes, it’s better to tell people that you love and appreciate them, but if you don’t say it, does it mean you don’t love them? Can your actions as a mother, doing all the care and feeding basics and providing a fundamentally good life, add up to being a fit mother? Or, is there more to it?

My aim here is to note that mothering fitness is only clear-cut to a point. I wholeheartedly believe that you can provide the basics of life to a child and still be an unfit mother. Alcoholism, drug addiction, emotional neglect, physical and verbal abuse qualify for me. But how do you determine a state of mothering unfitness, especially if the basics are in place and obvious addictions and behaviors are not?

Maybe, a happy and well-adjusted child is the benchmark of good mothering.

There seems to be plenty of mothering lately in the press. Yes, I have to mention the unmentionable Britney Spears. However, I really don’t feel equipped to comment, because I only see what the tabloids promote and being a reporter for many years has made me realize that there are usually several sides to every story. Somebody, somewhere is caring for Britney’s children. It doesn’t seem to be her since she seems to have a lot of free time on her hands, what with all those photographers following her around all the time.

If a mother is chronically sick—physically or psychologically—and needs medical help, does that make her unfit? I suppose it does. It’s up to her to ensure the well being of her children. But, what if she is too sick to know that she’s unfit? It’s a crazy world out there.

Many people are questioning the fitness of Britney’s mother. Britney is 26 years old now, does that qualify as an adult? On behalf of Britney’s mom, when do you stop taking responsibility for your children and when do you stop blaming your parents for all of your mistakes? And, I suppose the ultimate question here is really this:  Is a bad mother better than no mother at all?

It’s time to turn the camera around, so to speak, on me and let the evidence speak for itself. My girls have a roof over their heads, they have nice beds to sleep in and they have food in their bellies (with two brand-new teenagers in the house, it’s getting harder and harder to keep those bellies full! Where does all that food go?)

We live in Alameda, a modern-day Mayberry, with close-to-excellent schools, multiple physical activities and lots of social interaction. I tell them I love them as much as I tell them to empty the dishwasher, do their homework and say please and thank you. I am not a perfect mother, and never claimed to be through this column or otherwise. I lose my temper, I make mistakes and I have a tendency towards never-ending clutter.

This year, I resolve to continually review my actions and behavior and how it affects my children. Fit kids and fit moms are all you can ask for in a crazy, mixed-up world.