“Baby pact” in the news
The national spotlight is shining on Gloucester, Mass., but that’s not necessarily a good thing these days.
The most recent edition of TIME magazine includes a story about a so-called “baby pact” made between a group of girls at Gloucester High School.
The author of the story appeared on NBC’s TODAY Show this morning to discuss her interviews with school officials. She said they told her that several pregnant teen girls, out of a total 17 at the school, had confessed to making a pact that they would each get pregnant at about the same time and raise their babies together.
One girl apparently was impregnated by a 24-year-old homeless man, the TIME reporter said.
None of them, according to reports, is older than 16.
The blogosphere is abuzz with this latest bit of news, particularly since actress Jamie Lynn Spears, 17, reportedly had her baby on the same day that the world got wind of the so-called high school baby pact.
One interesting blog is Pregnant Pause, the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy’s Web log.
What are your thoughts about the Gloucester baby pact?
– Carla Hinton
Surviving the teen years
My son just got a dirt bike. He’s 15.
Apparently, my husband and I lost our minds at the exact same moment. I knew we were slowly driving each other crazy over the years, but I never thought we’d simultaneously snap.
Because of our mental lapses, our son now has a shiny new dirt bike. Well, it was shiny for the trip home and for a brief time in the garage. Then, he rode it. Now, it has a nice scrape along the side, and both signal lights have been demolished. Oh, and he’s proudly sporting a skinned elbow and knee.
We live in the country which gives my son plenty of grass to ride on, and for that, I’m grateful. Of course, when he crashed the first time, he was turning around on the concrete driveway. Funny how that works.
I had a flashback to my own childhood as I watched him tearing across the yard a few days ago. I was raised on a farm and we were around dangerous equipment all the time. I was a kid when seatbelts didn’t exist unless you had one of those “fancy” cars, and even then they were usually buckled and stuffed between the seat cushions. We rode in backs of pickup trucks and sitting on sides of a tractor. We stood on the running board of the big grain trucks as we bumped and jostled our way down to the grain bins or out to the cattle pasture. When the family drove to the swimming hole (yes, that’s what we called it), my dad would put a board across the bed of his truck for kids to sit on. And, the day it hailed on us … well, we just held up the big towel Mom threw back there for us to use as shelter.
Which makes me wonder? How did we survive?
Believe me, I’m not advocating riding in a car with no seat belt or putting kids in the back of a truck. It’s a different time. Things are faster and there are more cars on the roads. The world seems more stressed. The only road rage I ever knew about in my childhood was when you were driving down a dirt road and the car coming toward you didn’t ease over enough and give you both room to pass. And, even then, the road rage manifested itself with only a curt nod to the other person … no smile, no howdy.
Believe me, I’m as cautious as the next parent. When my son was growing up, I dutifully put him in a car seat. I walked him to school to protect him from strangers and I didn’t turn him loose to play in the neighborhood sight unseen. I don’t believe it takes a village to raise a child, I believe it takes parents.
But, now he’s a teenager and has a dirt bike. There’s no car seat on that thing. He is required to wear a helmet, not only be me, but by state law. Thank goodness.
Like it or not, I see that he’s growing up. He’s taller than my husband, wears a bigger shoe, and he’s shaving. I can’t always protect him. He has to be given responsibility to make wise decisions. All I can do is keep medical supplies handy … and pray.
Any parents out there who’ve been down the dirt bike trail with their kids? I could use some advice.
- Guest contributor, Judy Hooper, The Oklahoman
Crossing my fingers and pushing her forward
My daughters have subtle similarities. They like some of the same things, and they both are pretty bright. But their outlook on new situations and new activities are night and day.
While my youngest daughter adapts quickly to new surroundings and wants to do whatever “fun thing” is available, my oldest daughter is more leary, reserved and decides quickly that she is not going to have a good time.
I might as well give up right then … but I don’t. I push her just a little more, hoping and praying that something will happen to make a difference, to switch her sullen mood toward a joyful smile.
And so, it was with hopeful promise that I registered both girls at a summer day camp for a few weeks. Activities! Fun! Games! How could I possibly go wrong?
When my 13-year-old told me, “I said I didn’t want to do that,” I guess that should have been a warning sign. But I laughed it off. Sure, “you’ll have a great time!” I told her. But as school ended and the days drew near, she became even more adament and frustrated with me. She was going to have a bad time. It was going to be awful.
Still, I was hopeful.
And then the night before, she became even more insistent that she didn’t want to go to the camp. She stated matter of factly that she would not go.
I hugged her, told her I understood and that I was so sorry she felt that way … but she was still going.
Day 1, I took her (sullen-faced and all) and her little sister to the camp, signed them in and left quickly, thinking, “It’ll be fine. She’ll make friends. She’ll smile again.”
That afternoon, my husband picked them up and then called me. “One loved it, and one hated it. Guess which one,” he said. That evening I got to hear about how boring it had been and my heart sank a little that I had pushed her into something she didn’t like.
But on Day 2, the clouds of despair parted, hope shined just a little (must’ve been the wind). “How was it today?” I asked. “It wasn’t as bad today,” she said. And by Day 3 she was able to traipse off to camp with nary a tear or outburst. — Linda Lynn
Surviving the first few days of summer break
I should write a survivor’s guide for all the parents out there who are already pulling out their hair now that school has ended.
I have survived many things and have determined that I shall prevail this summer as well.
The last day of school was the calm before the storm. As my teens expressed relief that the school year was over, I prepared for the onslaught of what I call ’I'm bored-itis’.
I didn’t expect it to start just one day after school ended … but I was armed and ready for battle.
As I sat working at my desk, it started with a few phone calls from my daughter.
“I’m bored,” she said on the first call.
“Now, I’m really bored,” she said on the second call, following these words with a huge sigh.
“This is horrible! I’m sooo bored!,” she said on the third call.
Three strikes and you are out.
Never mind that much time and attention has been spent on coordinating a summer full of activities. Never mind that beginning next week she has more than enough commitments that will last well into August. Never mind that she’ll be begging me for a few hours to simply do nothing come July.
No, ‘I’m bored-itis’ had truly set in.
At the ready, I pulled out my secret weapon. Three words that are guaranteed to get rid of that summer plague everytime:
“Clean your room!,” I told her.
Silence.
More silence.
“Hello?,” I said, wondering if she had dropped the phone.
“Guess I’ll let you go,” she mumbled.
“Sure! … And uh don’t forget to clean your room.”
Works every time.
– Carla
Ramblings of a formerly text-challenged mom
I know I’m not the only one out there over 40 who started out text-challenged.
I steadfastly refused to text message my kids for months after they received their cell phones.
“Call me if you want to talk to me and I’ll do the same for you,” I told them in a no-nonsense manner.
That worked for all of two weeks.
One day I needed to talk to my 15-year-old son so I picked up the phone and called his cell. No answer. I tried three more times at different intervals over the next hour.
No answer.
With a huge sigh, I typed out my message. Actually, I wouldn’t call what I did typing. It was more like pitiful pecking.
How did they manage to have whole conversations with people by doing this? This is insane, I thought.
Finally, after many, many stops and starts, I was able to press the “send” button and get that message out.
Surprise! Within a minute, my son answered back.
“Mom, you’re texting now?”
“YES, BECAUSE YOU DID NOT ANSWER MY TELEPHONE CALL!!!!”
I yelled this out at my desk, causing folks sitting around me to stare for a minute. Feeling, much calmer, I pecked out a response: “Just answer my question and we’ll talk about the rest of this later.”
Well later that night, I found myself the center of attention at my house.
By the time I got there, my son had told my 13-year-old daughter all about my inaugural text message.
I thought she was a little too excited.
She was making plans to have these intense conversations via text.
That is so not happening, I told her. I’ll do it when it’s the only way I can get in touch with you. Period.
Since then, I’ve text messaged more than ever. Of course the kids have had some laughs at my expense.
For intstance, they received several run-on messages at first and had to show me how to put spaces between words. Then they think it’s hilarious that I don’t use their text jargon. They find it amusing that I actually text complete sentences.
Look, to do otherwise would be flat-out weird to me.
I told them that if they get a text from “mom” that is short and includes all their usual jargon, they’ll know it’s not me, but an imposter.
It will be someone else having a hard time getting ahold of them …
– Carla
