Social Contagion

Last night Paul and I watched a movie called Adventureland. A period film (the 80’s, which was altogether depressing) about a young man who comes back from college and finds summer work at a low budget amusement park, the film shows a lot of scenes of early 20 somethings drinking, smoking pot and doing nothing.

My husband and I chuckled throughout the movie but in the end, I left feeling like a complete voyeur watching escapades that I not only did not understand but never experienced. I told him I thought the whole lot of them were pretty pathetic and couldn’t understand why anyone would want to piss away their time like that. He grinned and said, “That was my life every weekend for almost 15 years before I met you.” He wasn’t joking and he wasn’t ashamed. Classic Paul.

I told him I would be highly distressed if any of my kids ended up like this, even for a short period of time. He looked at me as if to say, “get ready for disappointment.” I know he’s right.

Last week, The New York Times published an article in the Sunday Times Magazine about the theory of “social contagion”and explained that the company you keep can influence factors from wealth to weight as well as success and happiness. For example, the study posited that a person is 36% more likely to smoke if their friend is smoking. Happiness is said to be more contagious than unhappiness. Being around happy people is said to raise your good cheer by 9%.

In the end, I know that trying to influence the company my kids keep will be as difficult as Glen Beck trying to behave like a rational human being. I can only hope that my kids make good decisions and surround themselves with people that make them healthy and happy, even if a little experimentation is involved.

You Can't Deny the Big Balls

Quick! Name five prime time television shows that you would be comfortable watching with four kids under the age of 10. Now, pretend that Idol season is over, ditto So You Think You Can Dance and Dancing with the Stars. OK, quiz over. I’m guessing your list is as disappointingly short as mine, which is not to say that I advocate watching television every night, but in this economic climate I think it’s plum loco to spend over $75 to take the kids out to the movies.

This summer when I returned from a longer than usual business trip, I watched my four kids pile into bed with their dad to watch ABC’s Wipeout. I was not familiar with show but trusted (probably at my own peril) that my husband had already screened it. As I unpacked I could hear the giggle fits and shouts of “Owww, that’s gotta hurt!” coming from the bedroom. They are now obsessed.

I’ve recently discovered there’s a secret society of Wipeout fanatics all around us. They’re lurking in every corner, old friends, new friends, business acquaintances, co-workers, the postman, my CPA and my gay hairdresser. It seems there is no demographic profile for this show, only the common factor of people enjoying watching other people take huge spills for the chance to win money.

My husband has kidded that he wants to audition for the show. This elicits cheers of, “DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! My daddy is going to win and buy me a pony!” The truth is that my husband cannot spin around three times without hurling so I’m guessing his chances of winning are slim to none. So much for that new pony.

There is no try

We thought we were out of the woods with Natalie’s crying fits. The first day of school went off without a hitch and we thought, wow, if she didn’t cry on the first day, it’s smooth sailing from here on out. That week, a four-day school week mind you, she cried 3 out of the 4 days culminating in a trip to the principal’s office. Oh yes, I’m officially out of my mind.

We have tried it all; one on one time, nurturing, coddling, positive reinforcement (Yay! You only cried two times today at school, not five!), bribery and the number one choice of Catholics, straight up guilt. At one point I was even ready to promise her a horse if she would just stop with the waterworks. I know that she’s just trying to get a little more attention but at what point do you say enough is enough? It happened again today and when I returned home from work defeated, I asked Paul, “What should we do now?” Without skipping a beat, he said, “Easy, I already told her that for every day she cries I’ll cut the head off of one of her stuffed toys.”

Of course he was kidding (at least I hope he is), but I am seriously out of solutions and hanging by a very thin thread. I’ve gotten advice ranging from, “It’s time to whoop that ass,” to “Just take her out for ice cream and make her feel special,” to “It’s time to cancel Christmas!” I’m not looking for an easy answer, we’re willing to be disciplined and consistent, nurturing but firm, and always all about letting her know that we’ll always love her.

As I was putting her to bed, she asked if I was still mad at her. I told her I was really disappointed, not mad. She said, “I’ll try very hard tomorrow not to cry.” I invoked my inner Yoda and said, “Do, or do not. There is no try.” She just rolled her eyes and went to sleep. When I got down to my office, I found a piece of paper on my chair. It was a crayon written apology complete with a line drawing of she and I holding hands. She’s good. It seems the student of guilt has now become the master.

Our Children Were Mortified

It sounded so cool, a concert and dinner without the kids in NYC. Once the tickets were purchased, we knew we would have to make all the necessary arrangements including selling it to the kids. On the morning of the concert, everything was set except for breaking the news to them, which seems to be getting more and more difficult as they get older.

During breakfast, we played a few songs by The Cult and Paul and I demonstrated our “coolness” by banging our heads and jumping around to show them how excited we were to see them in concert. Nothing underlines being uncool more then watching your kids look at you completely mortified. They simply slung their backpacks on their backs and asked if they could eat candy at Nana’s sleep over.

Once we got to Terminal 5, it felt like old times, except that we immediately scanned the room for chairs hoping that we could sit for a portion of the concert (pathetic, I know). The crowd was mostly men, some with beer guts and faded concert t-shirts, mid-forties women with faded blond hair, roots for days and a smattering of young music heads. I even saw a guy with his son, not much older than Maxwell (tacky, and maybe even illegal given that they were serving alcohol).

When Ian Astbury (the lead singer) came out, I didn’t even recognize him. In the late 80’s-early 90’s, Ian had a mane of long, straight black hair down to his butt and seemed tall, sinewy and larger than life. He now had curly hair, a Charles Manson beard and what looked like a beer gut himself. Through more than half the set, he either forgot the words or couldn’t be bothered to sing them. I nearly started crying.

It’s easy to forget the things you used to enjoy before you had kids. I don’t regret my big night out but it certainly made me feel my age, which wasn’t bad but I think I’ll forgo any more 80’s nostalgia for the time being.

Have they lost their minds?

Watching the President address a special joint session of Congress last night on health care I was reminded why so many politicians are loathed by Americans. I have never witnessed a group of more petulant, arrogant, rude and downright unruly people in my life. Grown men scowling, waving papers, shouting “You Lie!” These wingnuts have lost their minds! Has anyone ever seen this level of disrespect in our government? Articulate, draft a counterproposal, argue your points but don’t sit in chamber with your GOP friends and act like complete hooligans. It was like watching one of those English soccer matches gone bad. I am horrified. The GOP has become less than a joke. They now represent a party of legislators that exist only to tear things down and risk the future of this country.

During the primaries, the GOP stirred up a hornet’s nest when they saw that the then candidate for President, Barack Obama wasn’t wearing an American flag pin on his lapel. Given what I witnessed last night, I cannot understand how they could have ever questioned his patriotism.

Rah Rah School!

I woke up in cheerleader mode this morning for my kids first day of school. In my mind, it was my first day of school as well and I had a stomach ache and sleep deprivation to battle in addition to my own guilty feelings for having my kids start at yet another school. On our drive over, my palms were sweaty and I was glad I took a swig of Mylanta before we left the house.

Silence in our mini van comes around only once in a blue moon. If the stars align and they all take a nap on a long car trip, Paul and I will experience a quiet so rare that it makes us uneasy. I could sense that Max and Natalie’s nerves were getting the best of them but couldn’t think of anything that would not solicit any eye roll so I stayed quiet. Paul reminded them it was only a half-day and that he would see them at noon. The tension lifted.

It was a flurry of kids and cameras, backpacks, strollers and lunch boxes when we arrived in front of the school. The parents seemed to outnumber the children and they all knew each other; handshakes, pats on the back, hugs and conversations about yoga classes buzzed in my ears. Our newbie status was confirmed when several teachers walked up to me with that look of pity, you know the one that people give you when one looks like a fish out of water.

As I watched Maxwell march up the steps to his new school, he looked over his shoulder with a half-smile, the one he gives me when he is trying to reassure me, rather than the other way around. He wasn’t in cheerleader mode but he was clearly more ready than I was for the first day of school.

We Could Have Lost Our House

I recently sent a note to the CEO and COO of my employer, thanking them for providing a great health care plan for their employees. It sounds like a total kiss ass thing to do, but I swear it came out of a very pure place. A few months ago, Aidan got walking pneumonia and was so severely dehydrated they admitted him into the hospital and he spent two days on IV.

That wasn’t the first time that Aidan had spent an extended period of time in the hospital. When he was less than a minute old, they rushed him to the neonatal ICU and treated him for wet lungs and what they thought was a heart murmur. Paul and I were scared out of our minds, but also had to take care of his twin sister, Paulina. Eight days later, when Aidan was finally discharged, we had to bring him to a pediatric cardiologist for more tests and more follow-up care. Between my one-month hospitalization for going into preterm labor, the C-Section for the birth of twins, Aidan’s time in the ICU and with specialists, I flinched at the thought of our deductible. Had we not had good health insurance then, we probably would have lost our house.

In a year when health care reform is a bullet or update on every 24-hours news service, not a day passes that I don’t think about what this proposed bill could mean for my children and for my children’s children. Being the daughter of immigrant parents that lived in a country where only the wealthy can afford any type of health care, I have never taken health insurance for granted.

It is truly staggering to think that nearly 50 million Americans do not have health coverage. It takes only one freak accident, one genetic anomaly, one bad cell to turn into the C word for the livelihood of a family to be turned upside down. In the dire moments of a catastrophic prognosis, when all one wants is for those they love to be well, billing can become an even greater nightmare. As Congress returns after their August recess, I can only hope that progress can be made on a sensible health care bill.