A letter to their father

Maybe we should see a mediator. I agree that our interactions
are not healthy. It drains me to deal with you over anything... an ill child, a trip
to the doctor, medicine, shoes, activities, vacation, school, events,
holidays, a ride, etc. It is rarely simple.

To stop communication is not an option as long as they visit your
home and you are in their lives with some regularity. Perhaps a
calendar sent at the start of the month, then a weekly checkin with
any changes will help. You must assist with transportation
(50% of the time) when bus is not an option. That is your agreed responsibility.
Thankfully this year they are able to bus to school and many activities.
Stop putting me down every opportunity you get. If it
is over then stop attacking me. I write back to defend myself. You
are always the antagonist, always. I defend myself against your
unending putdowns.

I gave up on any kind of appreciation or acknowlegement years ago, but
I am not immune to your repeated verbal assaults.
Hopefully one day I will be immune. It hurts the children when
you bring them into an attack on my character. All three of
them have had counseling because of the abuse they have witnessed.

May would not have behaved towards me the way she did without a
model. Her behavior the day she went to Juvenille Hall should have been
stopped long before that time. She modeled what she grew up with.
Thank god she went into the juvenille court system. It was a massive turning point for her.
Diego's and Summer's positive changes are no accident, they are a result of counseling and
involvement. You do not participate in the ups and downs of the day to day. You explode and then we have
to cope with the mess you leave. You really have not been engaged with them since they were little. What you have done is destructive, you have repeatedly hurt them, manipulate them by attacking. They feel as if they are a burden to you.
Rather than a joy in your life, they seem to remind you of your pain.

Thankfully they are resilliant and they will survive this and be strong. Children in the world have faced far worse and
come out in one piece.

I do not know what the answer is? But it didn't work when we were
married and it sure isn't working now. I am willing to go forward and
work towards better communication, but stop the attacks.

The Escape of Marvin the Ape on Spring Break

Esther called today. I have been invited to a fancy affair in NYC, I rarely travel w/o one of my kids, but it is a week before their spring break. There is so much to do at home in the NW. But I am so homesick for NY. Jen is working on a film, but has told me I can stay in the apartment, 3000 square feet, the apartment I lived in long ago. I feel guilt, their grandparents do not think I should go, how can I leave the kids. May will be on her spring break, she could stay with them. She has changed, I do not think she would ever have a party again or lie to me again. After all, that was years ago, at the start of high school. It catapulted us into counseling, she had to pay me back for all the damage. What am I saying, of course I can not go. It is irresponsible of me to even think about it. Stay home, there is a lot of work to do.

How different is this generation of teens?

Does every generation complain about the generation after them? How different is this generation from the generations that came before? There is a span of eight years between my youngest and my oldest. Are some of the differences between them experiential? Are they different because the older had less channels of television? because she didn't have 16x9 HD? Are they different because the standards I hold them to are different? What are the standards? What were the standards back then long ago? Where are the sociologists when we need them? Is this generation more violent because of video games? Are they disrespectful? Few people know my vocabulary. Archie and Veronica, Howdy Doody, the Flinstones...black and white and 3 channels. Was there a revolution? When did it occur? How do we raise compassionate, caring non-materialistic children when the media is so pervasive and persuaisive?

Growing Up Online

The future shock explosion of the internet has brought the good the bad and the really ugly into our home, and into the homes of families we know. I feel there is very little knowledgeable support for families coping with these new distractions. This documentary touches the tip of the iceberg, more like a glacier. It has begun a healthy dialog for us. Please make the time to watch this with your children. In addition to the one hour documentary, there are tools, articles and ideas on their website.

FRONTLINE Growing Up Online

teen angst...I hate you mom

Today my daughter thinks she hates me. Without realizing it I betrayed her trust. She told me that a friend was in a fight with her parents. She said she would share the situation with me later in private. I thought her sister might have some insight. I pushed her to share it with her sister. Summer and her sister are very different and over eight years apart. Summer is openly artistic, creative and expressive through her clothing and art. May is outwardly a conformist, she was always slim, preppy and very popular in high school. Summer sees herself more as an outcast, an iconoclast, a rebel. Summer sensitive and cries easily. She did not want to share her friends situation and bad became worse as I began to push.

Memories of European Youth 60 years ago

from the Seattle Times February 27, 2008 by Haley Edward

The dress rehearsal at Roosevelt High School this week was a little surreal.
Kelsey Sanders, 17, stood center stage, playing the lead role of Eva Geiringer, a 15-year-old Jewish prisoner at Auschwitz in 1944. She huddled under a tattered scarf, shivering with imagined cold.

Meanwhile, the real Eva Geiringer, a 79-year-old Holocaust survivor, sat alone eight rows back from the stage, watching as a girl she'd not yet met — a girl who was born almost a half-century after World War II ended — acted out one of the most horrifying moments of her life.

"We could smell the human flesh burning," said Sanders, her young voice echoing into the microphone. "We pretended it was rubbish, but we knew."

The real Eva, who is now Eva Schloss, shifted in her seat, her gold-rimmed glasses glinting in the blue stage lights.

"And Then They Came For Me: Remembering the World of Anne Frank" is an hourlong play that centers on the lives of two Holocaust survivors, Schloss and Ed Silverberg, both of whom were childhood friends of the famous diarist Anne Frank. The play was written in 1995 by James Still, who intersperses the live action on stage with projected video interviews with Schloss and Silverberg.

The play premieres at 7:30 tonight and runs through Saturday. Schloss will make a guest appearance at the end of each show.

"It's hard to watch [the show] sometimes," said Schloss, whose London English is salted with German and Dutch. She flew in from London for the production. "But these young people, in the cast and the audience later, are going to be the decision makers, the leaders, in the future.

"If you can affect one of them — if they can have an idea of what that experience was like — that will maybe stay with them."

Halfway through the dress rehearsal Monday, the six student actors and the student director took a break to meet Schloss backstage.

"It's so intimidating," said Devin Field, 18, a senior playing Schloss' brother, Heinz Geiringer, who died in Auschwitz in 1944. "I mean, how can amateur high-school actors like us do justice to her memory of these people, like her mom and her brother, who meant so much to her?"

Ruben Van Kempen, the director of the theater department at Roosevelt High School who arranged for the school's drama booster club to sponsor Schloss' visit, said he was nervous, too.

"I wondered if she was going to say, 'You're doing this wrong! You don't have that right!' " he said.

During the 15-minute meet-and-greet, Schloss did not critique the production, but instead spoke matter-of-factly about the importance of remembering the Holocaust.

"Humans have the ability to be hardened to things," she said. "But there are some things I never got over. Like the death of my father and especially my brother. ... Remembering their lives in front of thousands and thousands of people is one way they can, as Anne [Frank] writes in her diary, live on after death."

Schloss was a childhood friend of Anne Frank's when both their families lived in Amsterdam. After the war, Schloss' mother married Frank's father, Otto Frank.

Silverberg, the other Holocaust survivor whose story is featured in the play, was Anne Frank's first boyfriend, whom she writes about in the beginning of her diary.

Maddy Robinson, 18, who plays Anne Frank in this production and has read Schloss' first book, "Eva's Story: A Survivor's Tale by the Step-Sister of Anne Frank," said meeting Schloss Monday night was "just incredible." In the past few months, Robinson said, she's researched as much as she could about her life.

"When she finally walked in, I felt like I knew her," Robinson said. "But I know I have so much more to learn from her, too."

Searching for Godmother at Charles De Gaulle

When the call finally came I was frantic with worry. I could hear a terrible cracking in her voice. She sounded so close over the phone, as if she were next door. "Maddy isn't here mom, I waited for one hour in baggage and I did not see her. I waited and waited, I was so scared mom. I want to come home. I feel sick, and I want to catch the next plane home." My heart sank into my stomach, I felt faint. I breathed deeply a few times. I asked if she was at the Air France Counter. "Yes Mom, I am at the Air France counter" "How are they treating you?" I remained calm, and focused on the positive. I knew they would treat a lovely, polite, and frightened 13-year-old well, why wouldn't they? I asked her if I could speak to one of the agents. I tried to think in French. Thank goodness the woman spoke to me in English. "Yes, she will stay here until her godmother arrives. Do you have a phone number" No I did not, Maddy could easily have purchased a European Sim phone and card. I wanted her to buy one. Damn, I should have bought them myself. Alas there was no way to reach her, I just had to wait for her to call me. I reassured Summer. Maddy will be there soon. She called last night, she is stuck in traffic, maybe there was a strike, there are often strikes. Do not worry, I heard myself say. Call me in one hour, I told her regardless of whether she arrives or not. Relax, this will be a story you tell your children later in life. Now you understand the saying "If it doesn't kill you it makes you stronger!" She laughed nervously. I ached inside hung up and ran to the computer to see the next flight to Paris. What if something terrible happened to Maddy. Why would she be late, we discussed it, she knew how important it was to meet her. I was frozen with upset and concern. I watched the clock. About 40 minutes after I got off the phone with Summer it rang again. It was now 3:30am. It was Maddy and she was crying. I have know her for 35 years and I have never seen or heard her cry. It was a mess. She used the alarm in the apartment, not her own clock and she had set it incorrectly. It was dark and she slept through it. She was in the Metro now, inroute to the airport. I was faint with relief. I did not want to make conversation, I told her exactly where summer was and hung up. The minutes seemed like hours and at about 4:15am Summer called again. I told her that I spoke with Maddy and that she would be there in about one hour. I spoke with the same lovely agent I had spoken with earlier. I laughed with Summer, told her some very silly jokes, we hung up and I waited and waited. Around 5:45am the phone rang. Maddy finally found her, she had originally gone to the wrong terminal. Relief, I spoke with Summer, she had been up for hours but was not tired. They were going to take the Metro into the apartment a lovely place in the 6th Arrondismant, near the Luxembourg Gardens. At around 7am, I fell asleep.

Summer in Paris and more...

Hyper aware of flu symptoms, Summer plied herself with liquids, vitamins and natural remedies. She could not sleep the night before, a mixture of excitement and dread. This was her first flight alone. Her brother and sister have flown solo to visit family and friends, but Summer always stuck close to home.

I was able to accompany her to the gate. Her newly acquired tough teen facade melted away. Her godmother would meet her in Paris. We discussed her fears, it made her nervous to run through a negative scenario. "If she's late, I'll go to the Air France counter, explain the situation, and stay there till she arrives, I will call you collect if necessary." I have found (sometimes through dreadful experience)it's healthy for them to run through a series of "what if" the to be unprepared.

This last year she has pulled away, recently making faces when I speak, questioning my judgment, shunning hugs and affection, choosing friends over activities with me or family. I experienced this with her brother and sister, I know it is part of normal teen development. She is "individuating", I see the child in her eclipsed by a new inexperienced, a times, uncomfortable teen. Summer was the openly emotional and sensitive child, I miss her hugs. With this unavoidable, necessary transition I feel sadness and relief.

Her flight was on time at 2pm. We saw a few kids close to her age, traveling with their families. I embarrassed her by introducing ourselves, but when it came time to board the plane she was engaged in discussion and Gameboy with these new friends. She gave me a tight squeeze, bounded down the ramp toward the plane, turning back to wave before she disappeared. I thought about waiting (at the now empty gate) to watch the plane take off. I felt silly and sentimental, overprotective. I bucked up, reminded myself of all the work I had to do and left.

Paris nine hours later, after customs and baggage I could expect a call by 12:30am. I am normally awake late but 12:30 came and went, no call. 1am, no call, I began to worry...

My grandmother said, "If you've got your health you can walk on water."

When May was born at Mt Sinai Hospital in NYC I was 34. In the hospital my friend Lois said; "You will be caring for your older parents when your children are teenagers." The momentary veneer of joy was pricked by the strange sense of a distant future. At the time my mother seemed vibrant and youthful, I couldn't imagine her in need of my help. Nighteen years later, it feels like a moment ago I was changing diapers and picking up toys. I hear Lois' prophetic words clearly, they are stuck in my ears. A healthy woman most of her life, my mother fought cancer six years ago. Modern medicine and chemotherapy may have beat the disease, but I feel they destroyed her health. Since that time she has been in and out of the hospital. My almost 90-year-old stepfather and mother live hundreds of miles from us. In early December her hip broke and she needed surgery to have it replaced. Most of December and part of January I tried to split myself between her hospital in California and my children in Seattle. My mother's inner strength is remarkable. She was able to go home from the rehabilitation hospital in January. In February cold and wet, I exhaled and let myself relax, for a moment. The evening of the 14th my cell phone rang; "Mom, please pick me up I'm really sick." My older daughter had been fighting a respiratory infection for over a week, but now she sounded miserable. Her college is about 75 miles from our home, a mixed blessing. I kissed Diego and Summer goodnight and spent the next 90 minutes driving south. When I arrived at her apartment door she was shivering with a fever of 102. I bundled her in blankets, reclined the car seat and by midnight we were home. The next morning our doctor found her flu had become a mild pneumonia. The next two nights before the fancy expensive antibiotic kicked in, her body wrestled with fever, chills and a heavy chest cough. I was on autopilot, armed with soup, tea, hot water bottles, remedies and medicine. She had not felt this vulnerable since her tonsils came out at age 14. She slept in my bed and was afraid to be alone. By Monday the fever broke and she began to smile. Tuesday morning I drove her back to school. My thoughts then turned to my younger daughter who was about to meet her godmother in Paris. A trip planned for years. She fortified herself with sleep, Zinc, Vitamin C and more. She prayed to the vacation gods that she would be healthy. To be continued...

Valentine's Day

My daughter, Summer and I rushed down to the concert. Summer has seen the movie Juno four times. My daughter became a teenager overnight. Last week it seems she was a child, today she is in a transitional place, full of emotion, joy and excitement, mixed with angst.Kimya Dawson was an hour late, she went to her caucus. When she began the room was hot, stuffy and crowded, but we soon forgot our discomfort. I was 41 when my daughter was born, we are generations apart. Listening, I felt 13 again. Music is truly a lightning rod to the soul. Her lyrics to “Remember that I love you” feel especially poignant today, February 14, 2008.

part of the lyrics to Kimya Dawson's song Remember That I Love You,

loose lips might sink ships but loose gooses take trips
to san francisco, double dutch disco,
tech tv hottie, do it for scotty
do it for the living and do it for the dead
do it for the monsters under your bed
do it for the teenagers and do it for your mom
broken hearts hurt but they make us strong and

we won't stop until somebody calls the cops
and even then we'll start again and just pretend that
nothing ever happened

we're just dancing, we're just hugging,
singing, screaming, kissing, tugging
on the sleeve of how it used to be
how's it gonna be?

i'll drop kick russell stover, move into the starting over house
and know matt rouse and jest are watching me achieve my dreams
and we'll pray, all damn day, every day,
that all this shit our president has got us in will go away
while we strive to figure out a way we can survive
these trying times without losing our minds

so if you wanna burn yourself remember that I LOVE YOU
and if you wanna cut yourself remember that I LOVE YOU
and if you wanna kill yourself remember that I LOVE YOU
call me up before your dead, we can make some plans instead
send me an IM, i'll be your friend

we won't stop until somebody calls the cops
and even then we'll start again and just pretend that
nothing ever happened

we're just dancing, we're just hugging,
singing, screaming, kissing, tugging
on the sleeve of how it used to be

The Democratic Caucus, Kimya Dawson and more

The caucus was chaotic. “If you know your precinct please proceed to the front of the building!” The front of the building was locked behind construction and chain link, madness and mayhem ensue. After a labyrinthine journey I found myself packed and sweating in the Learning Resource Center, AKA the library. Some familiar faces, an ex-coworker from the news biz. Our precinct captain, personally passed his hat for money. “ It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just need substantiation.”

My mind wandered…As a mother I want to trust my children, but there is a part of me that does not trust completely, I also need substantiation. My son is in that fragile in between stage, outwardly defying boundaries, inside begging for them. I do not understand many parents’ of teens. They were doting and attentive when their children were young, then many of them drop off the face of the earth for the teen years.

“Obama supporters over here, Clinton supporters over here” My body moves, but I am thinking about my 15-year-old son.

Just yesterday he and his classmates were screaming their lungs out the Obama rally. Ramped up they went back to class and later out with friends “I’m going to Liza’s house”, my son said, I think I will sleep over. He has known Liza since 3rd grade. The relationship is no longer playmates having play-dates. It feels different now. ”I want to talk with Liza’s mom, and you need to be in by Curfew, 11pm” (I know Liza’s curfew is 10pm). “Mommmmmmmmm, it’s dad’s weekend, not your weekend” Dad rarely checks up on the kids, it’s a problem. “Diego, I don’t stop being a mother when it’s your father’s weekend.” I asked him to call me when he got to Liza’s house. When he called Liza’s mom and dad were not home, I heard kids in the background.

We spoke a few more times, at 10pm her parent’s were not home. Liza’s a nice girl, I like her parent’s, but they’re 15. 15 is a battleground of emotion and hormones. At 10:30 I decided to pick him up. I braced myself for battle, he was resistant at first, but then comes home embarrassed and annoyed. I am relieved. I have parented alone since they were young. When they were younger it was easier. For years I hoped their father would back me up, often not feeling my own strength. Their father was rarelyt supportive when we were together. Now I feel he actively undermines my credibility and authority.

A few weeks earlier teens my son knows congregated at a friends house. Her parents’ were out of town. An acquaintance drank so much alcohol that she collapsed unconscious. I heard this from a parent who worried when she could not reach her son drove by the party. She had been told the party was chaperoned and trusted her son. Had she not come by, this young girl might have died.

What were all these 15 year-olds doing at an un-chaperoned party? Where were their parent’s? This is not an unfamiliar scene; A few years earlier this happened in my own home with my older daughter. I was out of town, she was supposed to be with her father. He let her stay in my house alone, without my knowledge. Not only did one girl end up at the hospital, but I was robbed too. I blame myself for trusting my daughter, I did not see the signs in front of me. It was the beginning of a long, difficult time with her. Substantiation....

Pulled back into the caucus, the money has been counted and it's a good amount. Animated impromptu speeches have begun, democracy in action. My cell phone rings, my younger daughter’s plans have sadly fallen through. She had waited weeks for a free Kimya Dawson is at a local record store. She is weeping at the thought of missing Kimya Dawson sing. My vote has been counted, I leave early. To the concert...

Once in a lifetime

I am cold, shivering, weary and worried.

They are late, 45 minutes late. It’s 10pm.
Where are the other parent's?
Does everyone know something I don't know?
I cannot reach Sally, her son is up on the mountain too.

Last week the mountain snow was penned historic by the media.
What will they call it this week? Mythic?

Into this mythic snow the public schools send
their young for Winter Enrichment.

"Mom, I know the trails like the back of my hand."
"Who knows the back of their hand?"
No one plans to have an accident; there are forces beyond
your control. "I'm smart mom, I know what I am doing"

This is the third week the school has gone up to the mountain.
Diego is an excellent snow boarder.
He teaches at a fine ski school on the weekends.
Each week I ask him to call, let me know he is ok, especially
today with this very unusual weather. Usually I can reach him,
or he calls back, but not today.

In my mind I see him clearly now, caught under a snow drift,
worse an avalanche of snow, struggling for breath.

I leave the car and force myself to go for a quick walk.

Something changed years ago when I first became a mother.
When May, my first daughter was born. I felt a profound shift in
myself and the universe. I stood for a long while at our
apartment window on 86th street in Manhattan.
It looked the same, but I knew inside, it was all different.

The years have gone by quickly and I have experienced
more of life’s ups and downs. Now, I look back now and think
many times I was reckless and foolish.

The summer before last a very athletic man,
a father we knew went for a summer
outing with 3 of his 4 beautiful children.
He selflessly jumped in a river to save a
drowning man and his daughter.
They were pulled into a freakish river vortex that
could not be seen from the calm water above.
Tragically all three of them drowned.
His four beautiful children were on swim team with my three.
He would run the lake every morning during their practice.
He was a tri-athlete,
I am sure he felt he could handle anything, like my son.

Don't think about anything, it is always ok, well usually ok.

Radio on, a distraction, radio blares Talking Heads,

“...and you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?"

It's 1980, I am 27 and back in NYC.

"Letting the days go by, letting the water hold me down”…
"And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!..what have I done?

Bus headlights in the rear mirror, it's 10:30pm
All kinds of vehicles converging, a moment ago there was nothing,
Now it is chaos, I am searching for his light colored coat, where is he?

I wear my worry on my face. Relief, I see him.
I can see he is afraid I will embarrass him.
He remembers, he should have called...
"I'm sorry mom, but you worry too much"

I forget I am upset and a bit hurt, I forgive and do not admonish
or make a consequence for not calling, I am so relieved he is home.