Grasshopper New Media Presents...

My mother-in-law, a retired school guidance counselor, recently passed on a couple of great books about dealing with bullies.  Written by Trudy Ludwig, My Secret Bully, Just Kidding, and Sorry are all beautifully illustrated books that deal with the difficult topics of peer pressure and fitting in.

While these are picture books, my mother-in-law has had great success in using them in children as old as middle school age.  I think they would be much better suited for children in intermediate school, grades 2-6 or so.

Each book traces the story of a child who is having problems dealing with their friends and/or peers.  In My Secret Bully, Ludwig turns the “Mean Girls” plot into an easily relatable story about a young girl’s decision to end a toxic friendship.  Sorry teaches children the necessity of truly authentic apologies, and Just Kidding helps children deal with the peer pressure of trying to fit in.

Told from the child’s point-of-view, these books succeed in being touching without being touchy.  The message in each is clear enough for a younger child to grasp, but isn’t so overtly obvious that an older child would be immediately turned off by it.

Each book comes with end-matter that provides parents with ideas for discussing the books with their children and lists of additional resources for parents, including recommended reading and information about other places to go for help.

Although my own child is a bit young still to worry about peer pressure and bullying, these books would be a great resource for parents with school-aged children who are looking for a way to address these topics before an incident happens to their own child.

by Lisa D.

Photo graciously provided by the Fair Use doctrine, some rights reserved

As a child, I would ask my Dad what words meant, and he would always say, “Look it up in the dictionary.” “Just tell me!” I would wail, because I knew he could tell me the definition off the top of his head. After all, he had gone to college, to law school, and then to seminary. Reading was his hobby. His vocabulary was (and is) massive. But he would never tell me; he always made me look it up.

Of course, as I got older I realized that my dad wasn’t being mean, he was trying to teach me an important skill. I was thrilled recently to demonstrate that skill to my own children. I was reading an article in The Economist magazine about the war between Russia and Georgia, when I encountered a word that I was sure I had never seen before: irredentist.

Hey, an opportunity to be one of those good parents, the kind who find “teachable moments.” Rather than Google it (Lord knows my kids have already seen me Google a million different things) I pulled out the American Heritage Dictionary. I brought it to the breakfast table, and narrated my activity to my children.

“Look, kids! I read a word in this magazine that I don’t know. So now I’m looking it up in the dictionary. I, ir, irr, irredentist. Here it is! ‘One who advocates the recovery of lands of which his nation has been deprived of or of territory culturally or historically related to his nation but now subject to a foreign government.’ Wow. Who knew there was a word that meant that? I guess the phrase ‘irredentist Russia’ is kind of redundant, huh? Ha, ha!”

At this point I look up from the dictionary and realize that my kids are not watching me, listening to me, or learning important life skills. Instead, they are arguing about the placement of the cereal box so they can both look at it. There is a long discussion about distance and angle. They are not learning about dictionary skills, but they are learning the subtle arts of compromise, bribery, and emotional manipulation.

Oh, well. I’ll keep renewing that Economist subscription. I’m sure there will be more words that I don’t know, and more teachable moments.

by STL Mom

Photo graciously provided by *RICCIO “il colore del ricordo inganna”, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

Last week I mentioned how often I get bored with food. It’s bugged me all week, quite frankly. I don’t like sounding so ungrateful. There are people right in my area who struggle to put food on the table each day, and here I am complaining about variety. With colder weather coming on and heating bills on the rise I know that it gets even tougher.

With that in mind, I’d like to use this week’s post to list some resources for finding charities that focus on helping people with food needs.

One site that looked particularly helpful is Charity Navigator, a site that evaluates American charities. They have detailed reports on hundreds of charities complete with financial information; you can see where the money is spent. The Human Services section has six categories. I was interested in the Food Bank section and was pleased to find 142 food banks listed. It’s easy to sort by state to find a local mission.

For our international readers, Food Charity.org lists large programs that can be found both in the US and worldwide.

Can’t find anything local listed? Try calling a church or human services agency. They’ll certainly be able to point you in the right direction.

Are you an American Express cardholder? Their Members’ Project is currently ongoing. They’ve narrowed the selection down to 5 charities; while each is guaranteed to win at least $100,000, the competition awards the charity with the most votes $1.5 million. One of the organizations in the running is the International Medical Corps. The IMC is on-site in 25 countries, working to end starvation and poverty. They respond to crisis situations as well as run long-term projects. A non-political and non-sectarian organization, they focus only on the goal of saving lives and relieving suffering.  I was very impressed to learn that the IMC has a 4 Star rating from Charity Navigator, and has had it for some time.

I became aware of the IMC when they e-mailed me for help in winning votes in the Members’ Project. If you are a cardholder, you can vote for the IMC on the Members’ Project site. People who do not have American Express cards cannot vote (that would be me) but can pass along information about the contest.  Details are on the Members’ Project homepage.

If you’re able to help end hunger, whether it’s a neighbor close by or someone on the other side of the planet, thanks. Every little bit counts.

by AmyL

Photo graciously provided by *Brunna Peretti*, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

One of the parents who writes for GNMP posted a a thought-provoking essay on fairness and how his efforts will effect his children on the long-term. I urge you to read it if you haven’t, as fairness is a pretty common concern for parents and children alike.

After I read it, I thought about one of the comments on this essay, the reader saying that, for her family, “fair” was like other four-letter words, verboten in her house. In our house, we do things differently. Not to say better, just different. And the difference is this: For the most part, we let the kids use the terms that best fit their emotions, especially when it’s important to them. So if they stop in the kitchen and see an empty jug of chocolate milk in the recyclables, we think it’s ok for them to say, “Hey, there was chocolate milk in the house and I didn’t get to have any! No fair!!”

While I might not care if I miss out on chocolate milk, if I were 7 or 10 or 12, it might seem like a huge bummer. And so if they cry “unfair,” I would use their word respectfully, saying “Yeah, I hear ya. You missed out on chocolate milk. That seems unfair to you, I get it. But let me give you my opinion: It would be unfair if I hid it from you, or if we waited for you to go to bed and then drank all of it in a debauched frenzy of chocolate milk bingeing. But really, it was there in plain sight for the past two days. You had plenty of opportunities to see it. And, it’s not like they’ve made chocolate milk illegal. I’ll pick some up again real soon.”

If my kid hasn’t fallen asleep by the time I’ve finished that speech, at least they’ll be pretty sedated. So they’ll be mellow enough to hear and comprehend my respect and to give the cry of “unfair” some real thought.

And sometimes it isn’t chocolate milk, and sometimes I’m not being fair. Sometimes I’m wrong and the claim of “unfair” is upheld. When that happens, I apologize gracefully and hope to all that is holy that they learn from the experience and become a little more mellow.

by Stu Mark

My husband and I have been married for 7 years.  We dated for three years before we got married.  We each owned one stationary bike that we brought with us when we got married causing various people to wonder if we race each other on our stationary bikes in the basement.

My husband loved his stationary bike.  Before having kids (isn’t that always the key phrase?), he used it all the time.  Mine was used as a drying rack for my shirts that couldn’t go in the dryer. After, we had kids my husband’s bike joined mine by taking a part-time position as a drying rack.

We have two different viewpoints on exercising.  My husband doesn’t like going to the gym because he feels it’s a waste of money; he wouldn’t go.  Mainly he feels uncomfortable exercising in front or other people.  I can understand that.  Particularly when I first started going to the gym, I felt uncomfortable with it as well.  I would be trying to figure out how to program a machine, not be able to figure it out, and then either loud beeping would occur and/or I would have to get a staff member to help me.  Plus I had this sense of not being a real gym goer and thus feeling like everyone knew that I was just a poser.  However, my husband is somewhat committed to using the bike: more than he would be to gym membership anway.

I have the other point of view that if I’m paying all this money for my gym membership, I’m going to make it work.  That fact alone can get me to the gym some days.  It’s been working well for me for about 3 years now.  Which leads to today when I once again posted a notice  that I’m selling my stationary bike.  Hopefully this time it will sell.  Mainly I just want to get it out of my basement, but a little money for it would be nice too.  As much fun as it may sound to some to race on stationary bikes in the basement, I’d rather use the money to do something.  Plus, we have never actually had such a race.

by Alex Elliot

Photo graciously provided by dead_squid, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

How are bullies created? Are parent’s teaching their kids to be bullies? Do they even know their kids bully other children? These are questions that have been occupying my mind recently when I drop my twins at daycare/preschool.

Pack Rat and Copy Cat have never truly been all that found of daycare. Because they were premature we waited until they were two years old before starting daycare (the reason is that the lungs of a preemie don’t fully mature until 2 yrs of age). They had two years at home with mom in the comfort of their own home. Then we thrust them into part-time daycare and they hated it! They cried everyday for at least three months-no joke. Then the cries became less frequent. However, the “I don’t want to go to school,” along with the clinging has continued to be an almost daily reminder of how I am torturing my kids by attempting to socialize them.

About one year ago there was a girl in their classroom that was mean to them. They would talk about how they didn’t like “Sally” and her name became synonymous with the bad guy when they played. Sally is a little bit older than them so thankfully she was moved up into the next age-level room. Recently my girls move into that classroom too.

The first month in the new classroom Pack Rat and Copy Cat would run to the door and barely say goodbye to me. They loved their new teacher, the kids, what they were learning, and the classroom gerbil. I was in heaven. It was the first time in 20 months that I didn’t feel like I was abandoning my kids. I forgot about Sally, but since her name never came up I figured everything must be going okay. The other day they even said that they liked Sally. I think that Sally was bored in the young-kids room and found her place in the bigger kid room. But, now, instead of Sally being the mean kid, “Seth” has taken her place.

Two weeks ago Pack Rat started to whine about going to school. I was so disappointed because things were going so well - finally! She would cry and cling to me like she did when she first started going to daycare. I thought she was just being a drama queen, which she can be very good at, but there was more to it than that. Come to find out Seth is mean to her. He has bitten her and pushed her around. Of which I was never notified of - I’ll save that for anther post.

Now, I’m not saying that my kids are perfect, because they are not. However, I have seen how they act around other kids and they are very, very shy. They have been known to bite, hit and push each other (they are sisters after all), but rarely are they close enough to another kid to bite, hit or push — although I’m sure it’s possible. Seth appears to be the “big” kid in the class as he is taller than the others. Do kids recognize they are bigger and start to pull power trips over the other kids? Is this a natural human instinct? Or is this taught or learned at home? I’m wondering if Seth has an older brother and feels the need to be the bully to those smaller than him because that is how he is treated.

Anyway, I know that kids are brutally honest and can treat each other poorly. I’m sure they learn some of those skills from us. Try as I may, I know that I will not be able to protect my daughters from bullies. I know too that someday they might be the bully. Most of all it makes me sad that this all starts at such a young age.

by Kelly Damron

Today we replenished our dwindling stock of rubber balls and as I always do, I inscribed each one using a permanent marker with the name of our 2 1/2-year old daughter, Fern. As I carefully printed block letters on a miniature football, it struck me that I was being completely unfair to Fern’s sister to be, expected in November and known for now by the nom de foetus “Blueberry.”

After all, soon our younger daughter will play with every one of these toys that I’ve labeled only with our first born’s name. I could revert to using our last name, I suppose, but that still means that at no time will Blueberry have had her name written alone on a basketball. Perhaps more importantly, ol’ Blue will only rarely have a day alone with her parents, she’ll be eternally in hand-me-down clothes and probably never get a treat that’s not also offered to Fern. She’ll never even be allowed to crawl without a massive 3-year old trying to pick her up.

I’m surprised that such petty disparities bother me. When I was teaching, I immunized myself to cries of “unfair” by asserting to my classes ahead of time that yes, I was completely unfair. That there were times that hard work would go unrewarded and misdeeds unpunished — that’s just the way life is.

I used to take care of three girls with an age span of about six years. I might send the 15-year old off at the mall with twenty dollars to spend on her own while her 9-year old sister and I would shop — together — for something smaller. I suppose that was unfair, but at the same time, the 9-year old got her turn coining me into cash and adventures years later.

The fairness urge can verge on pathological. My grandparents were very generous with my brother and cousins and me, but when they gave large gifts they would prorate them by how old we were, down to the day. I’m sure if I’d been paying closer attention I would have found this fairness itself to be unfair.

So my inclination is to ignore all the normal rules of fairness: the girls are different, after all, and will be brought up differently, whether I strive for equanimity or not. I will love them both and be done with it.

Still, I’ve heard stories of siblings who believe that one or the other of them was treated better by their parents, who were probably well-intentioned just like me. The prospect of really messing up their sisterhood-to-be is, I’ll admit, more than a little frightening.

Therefore — what? I have no conclusions, except my old parenting standby: I’ll continue to do what seems right at the time and constantly monitor how the girls are reacting. If need be, all my fine words about never falling for the “that’s so unfair” game — well, they’re just words and can be discarded at will. I can always go get another set of soccer balls and write “Blueberry” all over them.

by Doodaddy

Photo graciously provided by mag3737, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

A recent article in Time Magazine reported that there’s been some backlash from smokers to the all-out ban of smoking anywhere within anywhere within Pennsylvania’s State System of Higher Education (PASSHE).  The article states:

One of the most far-reaching prohibitions in the country forbids smoking both inside and outside campus buildings, in all resident halls, parking lots and even on university-owned sidewalks. “It’s one thing to stop smoking indoors, but who are they to control what happens outside?” says Steve Dugan, a 20-year-old freshman at Clarion University. “To do so is an infringement on our fundamental right to personal choice.”

I think this brings up an important distinction we all need to consider, and make sure our kids understand this from an early age: Your Choices Can Affect Other People.

One of the toughest things to teach children is responsibility.  It means taking ownership not only of your “stuff”, but also keeping an eye out for the other guy as well.  For example, being responsible around the house may mean cleaning up your toys and taking care of your belongings, but it also means having consideration for others, keeping the group areas of the house in reasonable condition, etc.  The responsibility extends beyond yourself, but to others in your environment as well.

We teach kids about “rights” early on as well.  Rights are what you “should” be entitled to- a Free and Appropriate Public Education is a right.  The ability to register to vote and exercise that vote on election day is a Right for people over 18 years of age.  Rights and privileges are very close cousins.

Taking this back to the smoking debate on college campuses, you might have the ability and desire to smoke, but this is not a guaranteed right or privilege.  The exercising of this desire has been shown to harm others.  The State has issued a rule that regulates your wish/desire within its boundaries, that are owned collectively by the citizens of this State.

“The Fundamental Right of Personal Choice” , if you wish to go look at the First Amendment of the Constitution, and the jurisprudence interpreting that amendment, is allowed to be restricted by time, place and manner when reasonable.  When we look on whether this smoking ban on PA College campuses is reasonable, you have to balance the rights of individuals.   If we substituted “smoking marijuana or shooting heroin” for cigarettes, no one would have much of a complaint that this rule was reasonable.  If we substituted “eating cookies” for cigarettes in the rule, people would see that as being a pretty ridiculous  rule.  But where is that line?

Smoking does affect other people, in a way “eating cookies” does not.  “Outside” isn’t always good enough, because smokers gather at the entrance of buildings, making a haze of smoke and  cigarette butts on the pavement that non-smokers have to negotiate to enter the building.  Second-hand smoke is dangerous, so the harm you may be doing by opting to smoke does not stop with yourself, but extends to others in your environment.  Eating cookies, on the other hand, damages only your health and not necessarily those of innocent bystanders.

Stu Mark wrote earlier this week about Accountability versus Abandonment.  Similarly, with rights and responsibilities, we have to be able to parse the difference for our kids, and let them know they might have rights, but they need to exercise them responsibly.  If exercising the right imposes a burden on others, then maybe our “right” or “choice” should be exercised within our own boundaries, and our own homes, not necessarily in every public space.

I obviously do not see smoking in public as a right equal to that of other rights, such as peaceful protest of grievances against the Government, but maybe I’m wrong.  What do you think?

by Whitney Hoffman

Photo graciously provided by eelend, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

Rob and I were friends for a year before we started dating. Good friends. Best friends, even. Last weekend we celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary and at dinner we resurrected a game that we began when our friendship began. Over the years it’s reared it’s head time and again. It pops up for a spell and then sleeps deeply for awhile.

We adopted it 16 years ago (gulp), because we discovered that eventually even 21 year olds run low on topics of conversation during hour 3 of the nightly phone calls. So, we started asking questions. Any questions. No passing, no refusing to answer, any topic was fair game. The topics ranged from intimate to outrageous and were only occasionally mundane.

If I’m being honest the game caused some strife. We were only friends. We were each romantically involved with people who were decidedly not each other. And we talked. About everything. All of those questions you shouldn’t ask a new love were spewed across the phone lines of friendship without any thought of censorship. When the game changed, all of that information was still out there. It was a little messy.

Fast-forward a decade and a half to Saturday night and the aforementioned anniversary celebration. One of us had just finished a long week of solo parenting while the other had just finished a long week of business travel and (cough, room service). We stared at each other across a small marble-topped table. I’m sure we had a lot to say to each other, and we could have filled the evening retelling stories of what the week dished to us. But instead, we played the question game.

We spent the night answering questions about goals and successes and plans for the near and distant future. And about whether we’d prefer to eat spiders or worms. It was nice. Rejuvenating. Refreshing. Releasing. Re-connecting.

I’m just kidding about the spiders.

by Megin Hatch

Photo graciously provided by Oberazzi, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved.

Jack Jack has been wearing “big boy” underwear for almost nine months.

Jack Jack has been sleeping in a “big boy” bed since his third birthday, this past June.

We have been encouraging Jack Jack to take care of his toileting needs independently for the last two months.

I went back to work in August after having the summer off with Jack Jack and the rest of the family.

Jack Jack started going to preschool two afternoons a week, about a month ago.

We have been having Jack Jack dress himself for the last month.

Jack Jack starting attending a Sunday School class at our church just a few short weeks ago.

Whew!  Is it any wonder, with all the changes going on, that Jack Jack is also giving us a hard time about things that used to be easy?  When I think about all of the transitions Jack Jack has gone through in the last year, and all of the new tasks he is responsible for, and the new separations he has taken on, it seems obvious to me that there might be times that he might put up a fuss or two.

Our mornings went from calm to chaos to calm again.  In return for the return of peaceful morning routines, we seemed to have shifted to over-tired, screaming, scratching, bath hating evening routines.  Jack Jack learned how to antagonize his nine-year-old brother and do it well.  The house is rarely ever peaceful anymore.  Jack Jack ended the summer refusing his once loved sandals, only allowing crocs to grace his feet, and never with socks.  He only will wear his favorite “soft blue shorts with the sign on them” or in a pinch his “soft brown shorts.”  He hates pants, especially jeans, but only wants to wear long jammies, not short jammies, no matter how hot it is outside or inside his bedroom.  He will not eat real food.  He only wants chocolate milk and cookies.  He does not want to sit at the dinner table and can make the whole neighborhood aware of this fact.  He is, in as few words as possible, the perfect three year old.

As befitting his role as the perfect three year old, he is also loving.  He hugs so tight that you don’t ever want to let go.  He loves to be read to.  He loves to paint and draw and color and create.  He is doing well at school, even if he still won’t admit it is fun.  He can almost navigate the entire Nick Jr. website independently.  He loves to golf.  He loves to be outside, chasing bugs, climbing, riding, running.  And sometimes, after all that running and creating and transitioning, he still falls asleep on his mommy’s lap, arms wrapped tight around his precious blankies.  And as I watch him sleep I realize that transitions are hard, for all of us.  But, they are especially tiring for those who are still small and have little say in the matter. My transition is to regain my patience and my perspective and to remember that he is three and sometimes three is not easy, but at the same time, three is wonderful.

by In The Fast Lane

Photo graciously provided by Marko_K, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved