As a mom, and a communications professional in the technology space, I’ve heard some pretty scary stories about kids use of social media. Predators lurking on Facebook, bullying happening via Twitter, and even suspicious activity occurring on Minecraft.

As parents, we try to stay on top of what our kids are doing, but the technology seems to be outpacing our ability to monitor. And there seems to be a new breed of apps out there that are wreaking havoc on our children. SnapChat and ask.FM seem to be particularly problematic. Well, at least that was before a friend—someone I have no doubt is an engaged mother—wrote the following words to me:

“I want to share my story to as many moms as possible, so it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

Thinking it was some sort of bullying story gone wrong, I thought I would use her content as an opportunity to continue to raise awareness about new bullying tools and prevention; but I was wrong. This was much worse, and I didn’t even realize after finishing reading her e-mail that tears were streaming down my face. My heart ached for her—but especially her 12-year-old daughter.

You see, we continue as parents to try to give our kids an inch of technology so they can feel accepted and part of their generation. We often complain that we see only the tops of our kids’ heads because their noses are always in their phones, but we don’t take them away or limit their use. We think we have explained the rules, controlled the mechanism, established boundaries, but then a new company comes along with a new “app” that is better, faster, easier in every way, and it probably is. Until it’s used for evil and not its original intent.

And we don’t even know it’s happening.

Enter Kik (and several other messengers that fly under the radar of parental controls because they are apps. And oh yeah, kids can delete the messages so they are no longer on their device although they can remain on the recipients).

Credit: summerskyephotography.

Kik Messenger (launched in late 2010, but gained a lot of popularity in 2012) is an instant messaging app for mobile devices. The app is available on most iOS, Android, and Windows Phones operating systems free of charge. It uses a smartphone’s data plan or WiFi to transmit and receive messages, so kids that have limited texting or no cellular texting at all love it—particularly because we now live in a world where free wifi is everywhere.

But kids really love Kik because it is more than typing messages. They can add videos and pictures to their text. They can also send Kik cards, which let them include YouTube videos, GIFs, or their own drawings in their conversations (these also fly under the radar of most parental controls).

The problem is some kids share their private Kik username on public social networks, or can find other users, usually with “cute” photos as their profiles. Kids post their username on their Twitter, Instagram or Tumblr pages, and once someone knows their username, anyone can send them a message—and sexual predators are using it to contact minors ALL THE TIME.

According to an article from The CyberSafety Lady: “There are no parental controls for this messaging app of course, this app is designed for adults. And the usual parental controls on your child’s device won’t work within the Kik Messenger app. So blocking YouTube for example on your child’s iPod, won’t disable the YouTube app within Kik Messenger. Some parents are sharing messaging apps with their children to supervise their interactions. This can be especially helpful for younger users. Kik Messenger doesn’t enable this ability. The moment you log into the same Kik account on another device previous messages and conversations are deleted from the account. Logging out (resetting) of Kik messenger also deletes all previous conversations and messages, which for many parents makes parent supervision quite unreliable.”

So, if you are like me, this is where you say: “This wouldn’t happen to me. I’d monitor my kids’ devices better. And they understand the dangers of talking to strangers.”

And then I read this from my friend, and I realized that if placed in a situation like this, I’m just not sure my daughters wouldn’t act the same (abridged for privacy and publication):

I picked up my 12-year-old from summer camp one day, and her counselor made a joke about my daughter with her “phone” during a fire drill. Oddly enough, she doesn’t have a phone, but she does have a Galaxy Player. It’s an android device like the phone, just without the phone components. She is strictly forbidden from taking this device to camp, so, I took it from her right then and there as a punishment.

When I got home, I started investigating what was on the device to see what was new and what she was so interested in. She started sobbing dramatically and announced through hysterics, “Mom, please don’t be mad… I got a Kik account.”

Because I try to keep up with the latest in social media for tweens/teens, I was furious with her. I knew that these sorts of apps were bad news. I pulled it up and sure enough she had deleted the conversations as she went so I had no idea what she had been doing on it. I sent her to her room, and started looking at other things on the device to see what else was on it.

I pulled up the photo gallery section of her device, and when I saw the Kik file, my heart just broke into a million pieces. Photos of my daughter in her underwear posed in sexy selfies in front of her mirror. I started sobbing and my knees gave out.

I immediately thought she was sending these photos because she thought all her friends were doing it. But then—amongst the sexy scandalous selfies—were photos of her crying. Like she was trying to send the photos but mis-angled the camera and it showed her face instead. The million pieces of my heart broke into a million more. Something was really wrong.

We called her to the living room and had a very serious discussion with her. She said she downloaded Kik at camp (free wifi) on Thursday. That on Friday she “kik’d” some cute guy (reportedly a teen boy) who posted a photo with the comment, “Kik me.” So, she said she did exactly that. He asked for a simple photo of her, and she complied. Once she gave him a harmless photo, he started demanding more scandalous photos, like the ones in her underwear.

She didn’t know how to make him go away, and he kept telling her he would “upload her picture” and “ruin her life” and her “friends and family would disown her if they found out” if she didn’t comply with his demands. This all happened in two short days of her having a Kik account.

She told us through tears that she had deleted all the conversations that would back up her story, so of course, I had my doubts. We told her if the story was true, we needed to call the sheriff, and she surprisingly agreed.

The officers came to our house and had no idea what Kik was. Initially, they told us because she wasn’t “nude” or in pornographic acts that the photos and such were harmless. We felt they were merely implying that we needed to get a better handle on our kid.

Frustrated, heartbroken, and confused, I downloaded Kik to MY phone and logged into her account. She showed me the name of the person who was blackmailing her, and told me who was who on her list of people she talked to. I just wanted some idea what she was exposed to.

That night, the app buzzed all night long from her “friends” at summer camp, all wondering why she wasn’t replying. Then the next morning, while I was at work, it happened.

Him: “(daughter’s name)”“Answer me”“What are you doing”

Me (as my daughter, trying to talk like she would): “Go away”

Him: “No sorry. You don’t get to tell me that.”

“I will upload this photo.” (One of her in her undergarments.)“You want your friends and family to see these photos?" (then proceeds to post each and every photo she’d sent him)

Me: “Wat do you want?”

Him: “Let me see you. What are you wearing. You can take a photo.”

Me: “wat kind? wat kind of pic do u want?”

Him: “Show me what you are wearing.”

I thought it was now or never, so I went to the Sheriff’s office to show them the exchange.

I replied: “Busy”

Him: “Photos you have to take: (here he goes down a list of 5 photos – ranging from a fully dressed to “fully body naked in front of the mirror.” He also included some inappropriate graphics.) You do all that I want and I won’t ruin your life.”

Him: “Do you understand?”

Me: “U need to wait. can’t now. busy.”

Him: “I give you one week to do all those photos. If not next Wednesday I start to post your photos online. Do you understand?”

All this is happening while I am sitting with a Sheriff’s deputy from the Special Victim’s unit. The officers had a meeting while I waited. They discussed the points of the case, and what was being said in conversation while we were watching it happen.

They decided to pursue the case, because the demands of the five photos took the event from “a family scandal” to an assortment of felonies. The police seized my phone as evidence, then followed me home (without allowing me to call my husband and let him know we were coming), interviewed my daughter, took all the internet devices that accessed Kik and left.

A week went by and we finally heard from the detective. He said pursuing this guy was a long shot. Kik normally doesn’t cooperate with US Law Enforcement (it’s a Canadian-based company), and he also said there are 10 cases just like this on his desk. He would keep the case active though.

Another long week in and the detective contacted us again about using our account for a Sting operation. We immediately agreed, and were anxious to hear what the police would tell us next. About three weeks later, the detective said in a surprise move Kik complied with his U.S. Warrant. They got all the information about the user, and surprisingly, he was a minor himself—a 16-year-old boy in London.

Because he’s a minor, the U.S. won’t prosecute him since the crime committed is no longer a felony when both people involved are minors. It’s more like a speeding ticket.

But you know why this was ALL good news to me? Because this month of hell is finally OVER. I don’t have to drag my daughter to depositions or a trial. We know who he is and know we won’t be seeing him. We have closure and know that it wasn’t a trafficking ring or an adult predator, although it is disturbing that there are young kids out there doing this and they most likely have disturbing futures ahead.

My daughter’s photo is now in the database for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. If the photos are to surface, ever, law enforcement agencies around the globe can use facial recognition software to identify victims of internet exploitation.

I keep telling her camp counselor that I owe her a lunch, for if she had she not joked about her “phone,” I wouldn’t have checked her Galaxy for another week. If she had gotten those messages (the 5 demands, sent 12 hours after we discovered the incident) she likely would have done it out of desperation. She truly felt like she had no options because this guy said so.

I am so thankful that this story had what cannot be described as a happy ending, but at least a safe one. The fact that this young girl was so scared of getting caught that she engaged in even more desperate and unsafe behavior is so troubling, but yet so understanding. Who among us hasn’t tried to avoid getting caught by our parents when we knowingly go against the rules? But have the stakes ever been as high?

I did some research of my own, and found some extremely disturbing trends in the way kids are using this app, as well as a few others, and why Internet predators find these such an easy way to get in touch with potential victims.

It literally scared the crap out of me.

I am still searching for the appropriate way for tweens and teens to use the Internet and engage in social media, but I become increasingly convinced that the development of technology far outpaces the maturity of our children.

I encourage you to share this story with your friends and if appropriate, with your children. I encourage you to have meaningful discussions about Web-based behavior and treat it like drinking and driving: There is no instance about social media where they should be scared to tell you what they have done or contact you to help get them out of trouble. And I encourage you to hug your kids tight tonight.

I know I will.

This post was originally post originally appeared on www.playdatesonfridays.com.

It all began on a mundane weeknight.

She had just played in her first ballgame of the season. Supper was over and she had settled in at the dining room table for a game of chess with her daddy. I was in another room entertaining a puppy and a boy when I heard the drama coming from the other room.

I was used to drama during their chess games.

He's teaching her how to play and she is highly competitive, and those two don't always go well together. She loves the complexity of the game, he loves to see how amazing her mind works.

But the process is not pretty to listen to.

So I tune them out.

But this was different. She was physically hurting and was now asking for an ice pack or medicine. Then I was beckoned to come and see what was wrong. The worry in my husband's tone was enough to draw me away from the puppy and the boy for a bit.

When I walked into the room, my daughter was holding an ice pack up to her chest, just over her heart. My husband thought something was really wrong with her because of how she was carrying on. She can be a bit of a drama queen, but we could both tell she was in pain.

I had a pretty good idea what was going on. I gave her a quick hug and told her that while her brother was getting his bath, she and I would have a chat.

I followed her into her room and glanced around. Her room is a hodgepodge of little girl and young lady. The stacks of chapter books and random pre-teen clothes lie in deep contrast next to the toys and stuffed animals that clutter her space. She is still very much a little girl, but that is all beginning to change.

My daughter has always been off the charts in size. She is a tall girl. She is eight-years-old and is almost as tall as I am. I recently purchased a pair of shoes for her in my size.

Like it or not, my "little girl" isn't very little anymore.

When I found out that I was going to be her mother nearly nine years ago, I began to mentally prepare for the relationship that I wanted to have with my daughter. I knew that I didn't want to be my daughter's "friend."I wanted to be her mother.

I knew that friends would come and go in her life, but I always wanted her to know that her father and I would be there for her. No matter what she did. No matter what she was going through.

I also knew that one day we would end up having "THE TALK" about sex and changes in her body.

But when I walked in to her girly pink room that night, it occurred to me that I didn't want to have a talk with her.

I wanted to have a conversation with her.

A conversation that would hopefully carry us through these next several years of changes and ups and downs.

A conversation that wouldn't end after that night.

That night we talked about growing pains and hit some of the high points of puberty. We giggled and made boob jokes. We put stuffed animals under our shirts and pretended we were bigger than we were.

We were silly.

And her growing pains eased up a bit once she realized what they were.

I want our conversations to be just like that night. Lighthearted. Fun. Easy.

I know that they won't all be that way. I know that there will be tears and frustration as time goes on. I also know that she won't learn everything from me. I'm okay with that, too. I just don't want the wall between us to be so high that she doesn't feel comfortable coming to me when she can.

And I'm really looking forward to getting to know the young woman who is all too quickly emerging from my little girl.

How did the talk with your kids go? Please share your experiences.

Jennifer Collins is a Graceful Mess.
Living a messy life, full of grace.
www.gracefulmess.me
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I hate fighting with my daughter.

I mean, I really, really hate it. Yes, she's a teenager. Yes, I'm a periomenopausal woman. Those two things often collide with the force of a fifty megaton nuclear explosion, but I just can't shrug it off like other moms do.

"Hang in there!" My friends say. "She'll hate you for a few years, but it'll even out.""Teenagers are rough, but you just have to get through it," they remind me. Someday, it'll get better, so bank on that someday and keep your eyes on the prize while you're both shouting the house down at each other.

It's not much comfort.

Yesterday, she woke up on the wrong side of the bitch bed, went down to breakfast, and somebody pissed in her bitch toasties right before she boarded the blazing bitch train to Bitchville.

And yes, I just called my teenage daughter a bitch. (No, I didn't do it to her face.) If the shoe fits... and I assure you, it did.

Her brother and I spent a good part of the day walking on eggshells around her, because neither of us could do anything right, apparently. Finally, I had enough of addressing her bullying and getting nowhere and it all blew up. I told her to go to her room and she she said no, so I told her to get on her bike and go ride around until she could learn to be a human being again. I thought a workout might actually help get out some of the pent-up aggression she'd been throwing at us all day.

Those were ugly words, and they had the desired effect: out the door she went and I stood there in the kitchen feeling sick to my stomach, listening to her brother apologizing over and over because everyone was upset and he just wanted to make it better.

Credit: gordonspictures.

I went into cleaning mode, just to have something to do and needing to work off some steam of my own, so as I swept and scrubbed and wiped down and mopped. I put some music on from a streaming channel I like to listen to, and got busy.

Oh, the conversation I had in my mind and under my breath with my child. Her ears must've been burning clean off her body for all the words I loaded into the air over her. They say no one can push your buttons like family, and this child pushed all my buttons and then exited the elevator car, leaving me to stop on every angry floor. I was fuming. I was upset. I was put-upon and tired and once again reminded that I've got nobody who's got my back in this, and I'm dealing with her and her autistic brother and I badly badly need a break some days. Yesterday was one of them.

And then the song came on.

"I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You" by Savage Garden.

And oh, it took me back. It was my daughter's first birthday. We had a big party planned for the weekend, but her real birthday was just going to be us. After dinner and a few presents, somehow we realized we were short on diapers, so her Daddy grabbed his car keys and headed for the store, leaving the two of us alone.

I put on the radio, hoping it would soothe her a little. For some reason, she cried her head off at 7pm every single night, from birth. It used to last the whole hour, but as she got a little older, it was tapering off. So I found a slow. soothing song on the radio and I danced her around, swaying with her to the music.

I knew I loved you before I met you
I think I dreamed you into life
I knew I loved you before I met you
I have been waiting all my life...

It was perfect. Utterly perfect. I held this amazing little miracle in my arms, the culmination of five years of infertility, surgical procedures, microbiologists, reproductive endocrinologists, petrie dishes, and all of our hopes and dreams. Two failed in vitro attempts, and finally, finally, there she was. And after a year with her, neither one of us could even remember much how it used to be without her. She was everything.

So I stood there in my kitchen, holding a mop instead of my daughter this time, letting the tears flow freely as I remembered what a complete and utter miracle she was, and even if she was a pain in my ass that day, I'd never give her up or trade a moment of her. Never.

Thanks, Universe. I needed that.

She came home an hour later, and changed the music I was streaming without asking me, and when I asked her why, she told me it sucked. And she was kinda right: the songs had degenerated to some sort of horrible pop mix. Instead, she put on a Journey playlist, and we both sang along at the top of our lungs, and we made oven s'mores and the world righted itself again.

Yes, we'll get through this. It'll just hurt sometimes till we do. Welcome to life, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to life.

[Follow Ellie's Divorce Diaries Blog at WomansDay.com or join the fun on Facebook and Twitter]

For as long as I have had children, people have commented about the hormones that were one day going to invade my home. I have always laughed it off, because it seemed so very far off in the distance. And although I listened to other parents talk about how at age nine their daughters started to change—a little bit more attitude, a little bit more tears, a little more moody—I didn’t take it very seriously.

Because like most parents do, I chose denial as my force field, telling myself that my kids were different. I was different. Our journey would be different.

And it has been. For girls, they aren’t very dramatic and though we experienced a few doozy of some tantrums in their younger years, most of the time they are remarkably even-keeled. Just like their mom.

Up until recently. Because over the past few weeks it seems like someone is always on the verge of tears. And by verge I really mean out-and-out uncontrollable sobs.

I don’t think my parenting style has changed much. No one is sick, under too much stress or been faced with a recent tragedy. Yeah, we’re not on too much of a schedule and probably haven’t been sleeping as regularly, but it’s not like we’re staying up late every single night.

Yet there seems to be a heavier tone in the way the girls respond to me—more sass, more exasperation, and a little more defiance. There seems to be a borderline eye roll and some heavy sighs after I ask them to do even the smallest tasks. And there has even been some slight embarrassment when I do my killer running man moves in front of their friends.

But could it be hormones? Could it be puberty? There are no physical signs, so could this really be the big change?

I was not convinced. After a particular trying day today with my sweet girls, I thought I would reflect on what I could do differently for my kids. Maybe it wasn’t all them; maybe I played a part in the tears. So, I wrote down the things that made my normally good-natured girls upset today. They include (but actually aren’t limited to):

+ Helping to learn long division. One of my girls is entering a new math program this year and needs to complete some work before school starts. Today’s lesson was long division, and she wasn’t understanding it based on the computer program. I got as far as: “How many times does three go into 22″ before the water works started. Apparently I didn’t know how to teach it right.

+ Asking to change into a bathing suit that actually fits. Remember when I said that there were no physical signs of puberty yet? Well, that doesn’t mean my size 10 daughter can fit into a size 6 swimsuit. Apparently it was pretty traumatizing to have to walk up the stairs and change.

+ Offering to brush her hair. Yeah, I still haven’t figured out why that one brought on the water works.

+ Encouraging them to watch E.T. Apparently one of my daughters thought my choice of movies was so hurtful that it made her cry, so we watched the Disney channel instead. Again.

+ “Hey, can you guys jump in the shower before dinner?” This actually brought two sets of tears and one full waterworks. I like to think that maybe they were protesting for clean water in some third-world country, but I’m pretty sure they were just mad because they had already taken a shower the night before.

Could hormones really be the cause of so much angst? My twins are approaching double digits in just three short months, and although I don’t see any physical signs, the attitudes are very real. And although she’s just 16 months younger than her sisters, I’m pretty sure my eight-year-old is just coming along for the ride.

This is happening.

Yes, I think we may be approaching Tweendom in our house. And although I’m completely unprepared, I am comforted by the fact that so many brave moms have fought this battle before me and survived. Some even lived to tell about it, passing valuable secrets such as the book above which will help me discuss terms like breast buds and body odor with my three prepubescent lovelies.

I’m still holding out that maybe—just maybe—we’ve been having a few bad days lately and maybe some ice cream and a few snuggles will bring my sweet little girls back. Because if this is the opening number to what the teenage years are going to be like, I told my husband to buckle up, because this is going to be one heck of a ride. And we need a lot more wine.

Game on girlfriends.

Whitney Fleming
www.playdatesonfridays.com

The college experience is a big deal for everyone in the family, it evokes change on every member of a household. The younger sibling who no longer shares the bathroom or has the comfort of knowing her sister is just in the next room at night. he dad who is used to catching the football games with his son. The mom who has devoted every ounce of her being to raising her child and micro-managing outfits, tasks, and chores.

But the overall college experience belongs to the student.

College Move-in day (and college in general) is not about you!

Here are some quick (self-learned) tips to make move-in day a positive experience for your child.

Credit: tulanesally.

Know When to Impart Wisdom

Have that talk with your student before you leave for the dorm. Discussions about safe sex, alcohol, studying, and expectations are not well received in the chaotic move-in time, nor should they be shared in front of the roommate. If you feel the need for one last lecture (and you probably will), keep it simple and state it before move-in day.

That mom: (while unpacking in front of the new roommate) "Get good grades and don't go sleeping around, and if you do, be sure you use condoms..."

Not That Mom:"You're prepared, I'm so excited for you!"

Recognize Where You Are

You might be forking out a lot of money for the 11X16 foot shared space your college student and her roomie are soon to call home, but it’s important to recognize that this is one of the first steps your child will make towards their true independence. It is their home (away from home) now. For years, your position has been the captain, but for this ship, your student needs room to make decisions.

That Mom: Barks orders during unpacking in an attempt to keep things going the way you think they should.

Not That Mom: Offer one small tip and then says, “It’s your space, tell me where you want things and how I can help.” And, “I know we need to put your mattress pad on first so it has time to expand before we put the sheets on it, but this is your space, so you tell me what else you’d like me to do?” Where they keep their underwear and whether they tuck their sheets with hospital corners is now their discretion.

Keep a Hoola-hoop’s distance from the Roommate

Whether the roommate is a life-long friend or a new introduction, your student determines what percentage of the life-story is shared. Make light, friendly conversation.

That Mom: Overshares or asks that the roommate to text/call/email you if she has any questions or concerns.

Not That Mom: Makes light conversation, and shares your phone number stating “for emergencies only.” It might be tempting to use the roommate as a spy or over-share in attempt to help your child make friends, but this isn’t third grade anymore, and your adult child will appreciate you butting out in this area.

Know When to Leave

Remember Kindergarten. How little B cried and cried and wouldn’t let go of your leg, and all of the teachers, the other parents, and the parenting books you rented from the library told you to leave quickly.

It applies here too.

The long, dragged out good-bye isn’t necessary; you’ll see your baby again. And leaving them worrying about how mom is doing back home isn’t going to help them to focus on their new life. It’s also likely to embarrass them. Make it quick.

Select a simple phrase. “We’re only a phone call away,” a quick hug, and then head off. Don’t delay. This is their time to feel out campus and get adjusted before classes begin.

There are stories of moms who spend the first night in the dorm with their child. Do not be that mother.

That Mom: Sticks around at least long enough to tuck her college kid in bed. She wouldn't want to miss this opportunity.

Not That Mom:"You need some time to get acclimated, call me if you need anything."

Take a Glance Back

You’ve spent 18 years getting ready for this moment. The walk back to your car. That’s your Victory Walk. You’ve earned that glance—and a tear or two.

more college move in at onbeingbrandy.com

I've been having a lot of conversations on looks and fashion with my ten-year-old daughter recently. She is not only at the age where she is beginning to notice these kinds of things, but is also standing on the edge of puberty and interest in boys. It is a very tricky time to say the least. So when a friend suggested the blog prompt 10 Things I Know to Be True, I decided to dedicate this post to her.

My girl, I may not know exactly what shoes to wear with that skirt, but I do hope these words ease your transition through adolescence into the beautiful young woman I can already see you becoming.

To My Daughter on Beauty: 10 Things I Know to Be True

Credit: rodric.

1) You are much more beautiful than you know

I hear you and your friends worrying about how you all look. I know even as you do this, that you are following in my footsteps and those of every other female that has ever walked this planet. I know I'm your mother and am therefore biased, but trust me on this. You have no need to worry. You are a beautiful girl who will turn into a beautiful woman. And the same goes for your friends and every other girl on this great planet.

2) An outfit is only as cute as it makes you feel

You love putting together an outfit and always have. It is some expression of your artsy nature. But as you move into your teenage years and begin to worry about what everyone else is wearing, know this. No matter how cute that dress or those boots look, if you do not feel comfortable while wearing them, you might as well go ahead and change outfits. Really, I'd rather be late than have you worry about how your shirt is sliding awkwardly around all day or have aching feet. There are too many important things to think about in life. Wear what makes you feel confident and happy. Period.

3) Dress for yourself and no one else.

It might feel really tempting in future years to wear something you think will impress that cute crush. It's even more tempting to wear something because you think it will make you look better in the eyes of your friends. However, anyone who thinks less of you based on what brand you wear or, God forbid, how sexy you dress is not worth your company. Anyone who truly loves you will value you holding true to your own self expression and values.

4) You are not fat.

Let's just go ahead and get this out of the way. Your body will change and grow and get thick and curvy in places. But you are not fat. You are strong and athletic, so much more so than I was at your age. Treasure those thighs for they enabled you to run faster than your brother and a whole den of cub scouts last year. Love your arms for they move in ways that are giving and kind. And that round face of yours lights up a room when you smile. Your body is a gift. Learn to love it for how it allows you to move through this world, not for how it measures up to some twisted image on a magazine.

5) Skinny does not equal happy.

Speaking of the "f" and "s" words, skinny does not necessarily equal happy. The times in my life when I've been my most thin have also been times when I've been the most unhappy. Being thin does not bring you joy. However, being quite overweight wasn't that much fun either as I often felt sluggish and ill. In the end, the numbers on the scale, high or low, matter much less than how you feel. So let's all shoot for healthy and well-adjusted and call it a day.

6) But happy does equal beautiful.

Really, this is my number one beauty tip. A girl can just roll out of bed complete with flannel PJs and bedhead, but if she is truly happy that joy is going to shine through as beauty. You won't always be happy and that's normal. But when you are, wear your joy like jewels.

7) Sunscreen and water are your friends.

I know I'm talking about looks like they don't matter and that's not exactly true. Most people do want to look their best, and people do get judged based on their image. So be sure and take care of what you have been given. In my humble opinion, sunscreen and water are a girl's two best friends. Sunscreen avoids many a future wrinkle. And good hydration doesn't just makes your kidneys happy. Have you ever seen what lack of water does to a grape? Yeah, no one wants to look like a raisin. Drink your water, my dear, and your skin will thank you.

8) A good night's sleep does a world of good

While we are talking about taking care of yourself, don't forget to get enough sleep. The times when I've felt the worst about how I look are the mornings when the bags under my eyes needed their own carrying case. Conversely the mornings when I looked in the mirror and liked what I've seen were days when I had slept so long and hard that my face showed it. Your body really does thank you for taking care of it, and getting enough rest is one of the biggest ways this is true.

9) It does matter what you eat, but not for the reasons you might think.

You've watched me change my eating habits and heard me tell you you're "healthy" more times than either of us can count. I hope that eventually I'll teach you to care about what you put in your body. Not because what you consume will either make you fat or skinny, but because what you put in your body will either make you healthy or ill. Your body needs nourished. If you feed it plenty of fruits and veggies and back off the junk, it will show. Not only in the size your figure but the glow of your skin and bounce in your step. And eating well will just make you plain feel better, which as I've already mentioned is half of what being beautiful is about.

10) If you think you are beautiful, the rest of the world will likely agree with you.

In the end, a lot of it comes down to this. If you are happy with who you are and carry yourself with joy and confidence, you will radiate beauty. I know it's easy to feel worried and insecure about your looks. But try to dig down deep and remember that you are loved and cherished for the wonderful, unique person you are. A girl lovely not only because of her gorgeous hair and smile, but because of her kindness and easy laugh. Like I said before, you have nothing to worry about. You are and will be a beautiful girl. But what matters most is that you believe it too.

Dena posts weekly on finding balance and grace in life at denadouglashobbs.com.
Centering Down

It happens often. When I'm out with my daughter, someone invariably exclaims, “Well, aren't you just the spitting image of your mother?” Outwardly, my daughter smiles. To the stranger, she seems thrilled to be given the comparison. To this mother's eye, I notice a faint twitch beginning to form behind her grin. Or maybe it’s just a bit of nausea coming on. Either way, she's clearly not pleased.

Personally, I think it’s meant as a compliment. I don't have a third eye in the middle of my forehead. I have yet to grow moles with long black hairs curling from them. I have managed to maintain a slim physique, and have few noticeable wrinkles. So why is the comparison so fraught with angst?

Credit: irelynkiss.

To hear Mabel tell it, it means that the stranger is saying that she herself looks old, like a 47-year-old woman old. As if they think that her youthful 15-year-old face looks just like my aging, sagging one. I think she's missing the point, of course. Our features resemble one another at quick glance; the untrained eye sees the same shape face and same full lips. Upon further inspection, one might notice that I don't have a multitude of freckles dotting the bridge of my nose and cheeks and our eye shape is nothing alike. And though we both have dark hair, hers falls in beautiful waves down her back and mine can barely hold a curl. And the list goes on.

Perhaps my daughter is just frightened of not being her own self, or more accurately, of being just like me both in outward appearance and in personality. No teenage girl wants to be just like her mother in any way, shape or form. In fact, they do whatever is necessary to distance themselves from any possibility of comparison. So when the woman behind the counter at Lululemon, a woman who doesn't know us at all (but should because we frequent that store more than I’d like to admit) innocently remarks that “you look just like your mother,” she has committed a sin of epic proportions: Thou Shalt Not Compare A Teenage Girl to Her Mother. Thou could lose thy sale if thou wasn't selling merchandise that teenager covets. Oops, Thou Shalt Not Covet. The sins are just piling up.

I guess when you are 15-years-old and your sense of self is so in flux and so dependent on what others think of you, it stands to reason that you want to be like the girl in your Chemistry class and not the girl who is your mother. You want to believe that you will always be fun and carefree. You’ll always be the girl who flips her hair to and fro and takes pictures of herself at every waking moment. You’ll never be serious and demanding and worry about silly things like college tuition and a clean house. Turn your head away from that woman so you can’t possibly become her.

Until the day that you are her and you realize that it's not such a bad thing after all. You hear her words come out of your mouth and you see her hands in your own hands and it's all good. You no longer flinch when someone says, “you two could pass for twins.” It’s ironic really—in order to become a whole and unique woman, you first have to accept the part of you that is just like your mother. Because, child, you can run and run but you can't hide from your genes or your upbringing.

So, my dear Mabel, I will stick by you through the eye-rolling and sarcasm. I'll be here for you even when you do your best to avoid me. I love you, and I can’t wait to see the woman you will become once you embrace the girl that you are.

My family is drowning. Specifically, my kids. I would like to save them, but I fear I am just making the situation worse. Anyway, they haven’t asked for my help but instead continue to want more.

“Mom, can you buy more vitaminwater? I like the peach and berry flavors.”

“Mom, we need some bottled water.”

“Mom, please pick up a case of Mendota.”

Although the coordinates indicate that we live in the Midwest, my kids are so parched that I can’t believe it’s not the desert. How else do I explain their constant need for liquids? It’s either due to climate change or their slow evolution to one day becoming camels. That’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why my kids need so many bottled beverages: Their bodies are in preparation to hold large amounts of liquid for long stretches of time.

Young Woman Looking in the Refrigerator photo via Shutterstock.

I don’t remember needing that much liquid when I was a teenager. We drank water from the tap—gasp!—and Kool-Aid by the buckets. My friend’s family always had Tang on hand, so I thought she was super cool. There was a phase I went through when Diet Rite became my drink of choice, but only because I forced myself to like it. And only if I had gum to pop in my mouth when I was done; I remember the saccharine left a horrible aftertaste. Diet Rite and then Tab and then I was lapping up Big Gulps by the gallons. Mayor Bloomberg could have sent me to jail for my soda pop consumption. But still, when you opened our fridge at home, you found milk and orange juice. That’s it.

Things have definitely changed. A quick peek inside the refrigerator in our garage could have you running for the bathroom. Seeing all that liquid in one place can set the bladder in motion. Bottled water, both small and large because, of course, a good mother stocks varying sizes. Flavored waters, both still and sparkling—even flavors that the kids don’t like. You need a flow chart to keep track of all the possible flavors and varieties. (Staring at the selection at the store, I cease noticing labels and just see a sea of rainbow hues.)

Not to be outdone, the soda pop takes up a fair amount of refrigerator space too: A&W Root Beer, Diet Pepsi, and Coke, even though Mabel gave up soda about two years ago. I call those The Flash Mob Drinks: an emergency stash in case a party suddenly erupts at our house. But of course, Jimbo doesn't like any of those options so he has an entire shelf of different varieties of canned tea.

Lost in the mess are cartons of skim milk, 2% milk, buttermilk, and lactose-free milk. Listen carefully and you might hear a “moo.” There are a few forgotten cans of pineapple juice and a few bottles of beer. If I want to store a platter of food or use the space for anything other than liquid beverages, I’m in trouble.

What really irks me—more than their constant need for refreshment, more than the times I've nearly thrown my back out unloading that stuff from Costco—is how many of the bottles are wasted. I find them opened, partially consumed, sitting all over the house. Perhaps installing a vending machine would solve the problem. A system of pay up or be parched. Or—worse yet—drink the filtered water that is readily available from the fridge’s water and ice dispenser.

My kids had a late start the other day. On the way to school, Mabel asked if we could make a Starbucks run; she really wanted an iced peach green tea. A quick detour and she walked into school, cup in hand, a smile on her face. It may have been the outline of her backpack, but as she walked away, I swore I saw a hump beginning to form on her back.

My ten-year-old started complaining about her knee about a month ago. Sometimes it was fine, and sometimes she dragged her leg around like it was someone else's, calling it her "bum knee" and ready to swap stories in gold course pro shops. I wrote it off to drama, because: tween.

I didn't actually take it seriously until she told me there was a lump there that hurt when she pushed on it. In typical fashion, she chose a moment while we were eating at a Steak & Shake to inform me she had developed a new growth. I pushed on the lump, and it was hard like a rock, not soft like a muscle knot. I told myself firmly, "IT'S NOT A TUMOR" and drove her to urgent care, anyway.

Amazingly, there were no other patients at urgent care at 7 pm on a week night. As I filled out the paperwork (reason for visit: parental paranoid delusions or possible leg tumor), my girl sprawled on the chairs acting decidedly not like someone who was about diagnosed with childhood sarcoma. I continued to run through nightmare scenarios of leg amputation, anyway, because that is how my brain works.

You know how doctors will push on things and mutter to themselves? That happened for a few minutes while my heart rate tripled at each grunt. Finally, the doctor looked up. "I think she's got an Osgood . We'll take an X-ray just to make sure."

I tripped after them to the X-ray room. What the hell is an Osgood? They let me stand behind the wall and watch the X-rays come up on the machine while the technician did the muttering, thing, too, clicking and measuring and enlarging. At first I saw what was surely the tumor, but that turned out my daughter's kneecap. Finally the doctor came back into the room with a smile on her face.

"Yup, it's an Osgood. It'll go away on its own. Here's a note if she needs it for school. Just give her ibuprofen and have her rest if it hurts."

Are you also wondering what the hell an "Osgood" is? I will tell you. A) It is not childhood cancer. B) Osgood-Schlatter Disease is a fancy growing pain that happens when differences in size and strength between the muscle groups place unusual stress on the growth plate at the top of the shin bone. The hard-as-a-rock thing we were feeling was actually her shin bone, I think.

Here is a picture of someone else's Osgood:

Have you ever heard of such a thing? Do your kids (or did you) get growing pains?

Rita Arens is the author of the young adult novel The Obvious Game& the deputy editor of BlogHer.com. Find more at www.ritaarens.com.

A few weeks ago, on our last summer afternoon, my girls and I escaped the heat by heading to our local movie theater. As we stood waiting in line at the snack counter, my soon-to-be freshman took hold of her younger sister’s wheelchair, took the movie tickets from my hand, and called over her shoulder, “I got Zoe, Mom, we’ll go grab our seats.”

Zoe smiled and waved while I stood stunned, watching my oldest daughter making her way to the theater, pushing Zoe, weaving through the crowds with confidence. Once she reached our theater, I could imagine her carefully helping Zoe out of her wheelchair and into her seat. I knew Zoe felt thrilled, and I was too. This was my girl, doing what she should do: Growing up and letting me know that she is ready for more.

We spent a lot of time together, sharing this summer of anticipation that would be forever marked by her transition into high school. These are just some of the things she taught me.

1. "I want you to expect more from me, and then remind me I can do it." High school teachers already know this truth, and that is why they come on so strong the first week of school. So parents, be ready. Do our teens get overwhelmed? Sure, especially when everything is new and expectations are higher. Our teens are ready for more, but that doesn't mean they possess the confidence to match. Create opportunities to build confidence, pointing out small successes whenever possible.

2. "I need to stay socially connected, so don't take my phone away." Teens experience a huge social shift as they start high school. Some friendships fade with the transition to a new school, and new classes and clubs that can leave teens feeling vulnerable and disconnected until they settle in. In our home, we place our iPhones on the kitchen charger at bedtime, and the rest of the time we all try to follow basic phone use etiquette. It's tempting to take the phone away as a form of discipline, but that’s how she connects to her peers, and teens have a strong need for connection.

3. "There are big things happening in the world, and I still need to talk about them." Most teens today get their news, both current events and pop culture, through the digital stream of Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr. We still watch the news together and share a daily paper, but most breaking news my daughter sees first online and sometimes when she's alone. It's important to discuss the big topics—especially the biggest, most violent, sensitive, and provocative issues in person to make sure teens have a true sense of understanding and that you have addressed any concerns that may be troubling to them. ( Think ISIS, Ferguson, Ebola and yes, even 50 Shades of Grey.)

4. "I still want to hang out with my family sometimes, even if I don't act like it." Just because your teen looks so comfy just hanging out in her room, doesn't mean she wants to be alone. In fact, it gets lonely. Our family time isn't always about going out to dinner or shopping. We do a lot of kitchen table game time, movie time at home, or we hang out together in the pool. Once you get past the initial resistance, laughter and good family fun will follow. Eventually, the resistance falls away.

5. "Your hugs, your touch can still make me feel better." Let's face it: Life is busy. Sometimes family schedules can conflict and so much communication today takes place via technology. Our teens are walking around in these adult bodies, and sometimes we forget that they are still forging their way, trying to figure out how to de-stress and carry on conversations IRL. Teens are often touch deprived. When was the last time you hugged your teen, snuggled for just a moment together on the couch, or even held hands? Begin slowly. Reintroducing affection to your daily routine it is one of the fastest way to reduce stress and boost both physical and emotional health.

It is late when I enter my daughter's room after bedtime. I sit, listening to her talk about her day. Eventually I lay my head onto her extra pillow. It is hesitation I hear at first, and then her voice grows stronger and then smoother. High school is hard, but she is finding her way.

Her hand reaches for mine, and our fingers find their familiar places as they wrap around each other. We lay connected as her breathing slows.

I close my own eyes, remembering my once-little girl, with her copper color curls that would fly as she ran. The way she hid behind my legs, on the school sidewalk at the start of kindergarten.

We do all we can to prepare our kids for adulthood, pushing them out into the world when really we want to pull them back in for just a little longer. We prepare them to go out on their own, hoping still they will keep us close.

Her fingers are still tightly wound around mine, so I don't move. I know that years from now, she will be gone, finding her way in the world with her confidence in full bloom. It will be this moment I will miss—the simple joy of being the lucky one—to hold her hand late into the dark of night.

It's September. The flip flops have been unceremoniously discarded in the corner, the bathing suits and beach towels safely stowed until next year, and the air is crackling with the excitement of this new school year. For us, it’s been extra special, as the kids are in their first year of public school after being cyber schooled for the last five years.

Being the new kid isn't the easiest. I get it. Thankfully, we timed our move during the transitional time between elementary and middle school for one of them, and middle school and high school for the other. While they may not know anyone, at least they’re swimming in a sea of other kids who may not really know anyone either. The youngest is in third grade this year, still young enough that soon the other kids won't ever remember him being “the new kid.” They seem to all be settling in, learning their routines and meeting new friends. It's been a positive experience.

I, on the other hand, am struggling just a little.

It's hard to send your kids off to school after having them under a protective wing for so long—except, that's not the part I’m having a hard time with.

It's the moms.

Yep, the moms.

I'm quirky. I'm loud. I make jokes that people might not always get. In short, I'm socially awkward.

Credit: leehaywood.

I have a really hard time just walking up to a group of parents and introducing myself. It's not that I'm snobby or uninterested in making friends with the other parents; often times I have zero idea what to contribute to a conversation. Do you want to discuss last nights episode of Doctor Who? I'm totally your girl. Complain about General Mills taking over our beloved organic brand Annie’s? Let’s kvetch! But if you’re going to talk about sports or reality television, I will be completely lost. So, it's easier to not engage. It doesn't mean I don't care; it means I'm terrified of looking like a totally socially inept loser.

We so often tell our children that they should be kind and inclusive to others, sometimes it's easy to forget that we should do the same thing.

Take pity on me (and others), mamas. When you see a new parent at the bus stop who looks like a deer in the headlights, use the conversational equivalent of Switzerland as a topic: their kids. Every mom wants to talk about their kids. Talk to them about events at school, so that they can ask questions on how things work. Clue them in that NOBODY likes to buy lunch on pasta day because the sauce tastes like dirty dishwater. Just include them. Our kids aren't the only ones trying to fit in.

(As seen at http://www.onepunkymama.com/new-mom-school/)

For our family, the daily schedule looks a tad different this new school year.

A couple of years ago, we decided to homeschool our youngest daughter. Last year, we kept both girls at home. Sending them back into the public school system was not a decision we made lightly.

As a former teacher, I have been known to be on edge about our kids getting the education I believe they need. Now, however, my stress level is way down in regards to the hours our daughters are spending under the academic guidance of others.

Two years as a homeschooling parent changed my educational outlook. I’m pretty confident my kids will succeed scholastically for the following reasons:

1. Success isn't about grades or standardized tests.

My eldest is a model student in the public school system. Tell her a fact and she'll memorize it until the test is finished. She doesn't speak out of turn and she acts like a young adult. My youngest, on the other hand, will question concepts, may look like she's paying attention when actually her brain is focused on literature during a math lesson, or become frustrated when she's not done with a science experiment at class end.

Of the two, which do you think gets better grades on tests?
Of the two, which do you think actually retains the information she's learned?

This year, if one comes home with a report card full of As, I will be proud. If one comes home with a report card full of “incompletes” and lower grades yet can share with me the information taught, I will also be proud. The state can try to standardize learning all they want, but no piece of paper will tell me how smart my daughters are.

2. Education doesn't only happen in the classroom.

We made the choice to homeschool after a trip to Washington, D.C. Back in Portland, Annika's 5th grade classmates studied our country's political system. As her class read about the government, we visited the White House, the Capitol building, and Mount Vernon. Edd and I observed as Annika gobbled every morsel of history trivia fed to her. This girl retained way more experiencing life than she did sitting behind a desk.

Pulling kids out of public school for an extended period of time is a hassle, but with all due respect to my daughters' educators, I will never hesitate to allow a school absence when a different learning opportunity is available.

3. If the kids don’t feel well, they will stay home.

This should be common sense, right? Not for me. Our conversations in the past:

Mom, I don’t feel good.

Get up and eat. You'll feel better.

I still don’t feel good.

You're just tired. Go to school. If you’re still sick, go to the nurse.

*Barf*

Okay. You can stay home. But if you think you’re done throwing up, you could probably still make it...

I don’t know why I've always been so adamant the girls attend school when they clearly don’t feel well. It's not fair to them or the students around them if they are truly sick.

Homeschooling has given me a different attitude regarding the whole “not feeling good” vibe. If they miss a day or two due to illness, I can relax knowing they won't fail. They will catch up and I'm here to help.

4. The girls are independent.

You'd think hanging around me for most off the day would cause the girls to shy away from others. Nope! In the week Emma's been in school, she's already researched clubs on her own and emailed a teacher to ask for a different seating assignment. Annika's teacher let me know she is fearless in class participation and sharing her work.

Who are these girls and what have they done with my daughters?

I;m not exactly sure how to pinpoint the reason for their über-confidence. When they were home, they were a part of choosing the curriculum. When I gave them assignments and a due date, they paced themselves in order to complete expectations. I remained pretty hands-off unless they asked for help.

Whatever the reason, in a day when some parents are taking all decision making skills away from their children, I'm happy to let mine take care of themselves for a bit. It leaves more time for me to watch soap operas and eat bonbons.

5. No matter what happens, our girls will be okay.

Nothing at the schools Emma and Annika attend will harm them academically. We live in a suburban environment, surrounded by like-minded parents anxious for our individual offspring to succeed in life. Parent volunteer opportunities have wait-lists. Parties are planned for holidays. If our kids struggle, we get them tutors. PE only two days a week? No problem. They are in extra-curricular sports after school.

Three and a half miles down the road, another elementary school qualifies with a Title 1 rating. A few middle class neighborhoods feed into these grades, but so do low-income apartments and homeless shelters. My friends who teach at the Title 1 don’t have parent volunteer waiting lists. They are lucky if they can get helping adults in during the school day at all. Guess where I will spend my volunteer hours this year?

Regardless of what happens at their public schools, our girls have two parents who will do everything we can to make sure they grow into capable, confident young adults.

My job now is to support the girls, support their teachers, and not worry about what happens between the hours of 8:00 am-3:00 pm. And if things don't work out, I know there is always classroom space at our dining room table.

Parenting is all about preparation. As long as you realize you'll never be fully prepared.

When kids are younger, preparation means making sure you can survive a two-hour trip out of your house. For me, that consisted of 14 diapers, seven bags of goldfish, three extra outfits, every first aid component ever made, toys, books, mats, drink boxes, and a protein bar. My family could survive days on a desert island if needed.

Now I'm spending my time preparing myself for questions. Questions that can feel uncomfortable. Questions that are important and will shape my daughters' lives. Questions I often don't have the answers to.

It's not shocking to know that most tweens and teens report that they feel they cannot talk to their parents because they either won’t listen, they over-react, or the universal “they just don't understand what it's like to be me!”

Talking to your daughter about what I call the “shudder” issues (these are topics that when I think about them, they make me shudder) is something I think most of us dread. It's one thing to talk about sex with our girlfriends over a glass of wine, but it's a whole other issue when you're trying to decide how to tackle it with your baby girl.

There is a time when all us need to have “the talk” with our daughters. The best advice I've received is don't do it in one fell swoop: Spread it out over time so you encourage ongoing communication. But what about other questions? Questions that relate to body image or friendships or self-confidence. Questions that come out of no where when you're least expecting them. Questions that can break a young girl's spirit if handled inappropriately.

And unfortunately, these questions can come up at any age. This just isn't for the tweens and older set.

Credit: amfetamyne.

Here are five questions every mom of daughters should prepare to answer. I don't have all the answers, and I think it depends on your own life choices on how you would want to respond, but be prepared.

Why do you wear make up? I work really hard to try to promote a good body image for my daughters, but I totally flubbed this simple question. What I wanted to say was: “Mommy needs to cover up all the wrinkles and dark circles so I don't scare people.” But instead, I fumbled through talking about covering up a few blemishes and making my eyes look bigger. What I wish I would have said: “I use make up to enhance the features I already love and it gives me an opportunity to express myself sometimes, but I'm way more concerned if people like me for who I am on the inside.” Yes, if I ever have another daughter—which would have to be by immaculate conception—that is what I would say.

Am I fat? Ugh. According to a study announced in February of this year from the National Institute on Media and the Family, about 40 percent of girls ages nine and ten have tried to lose weight. Four out of every ten girls. That feels messed up. Yes, the media is largely to blame; but as mothers, we have to do a better job of setting the tone (I've talked about this in the past in Do I Ever Say Anything Positive About My Body?)

Even though you may want to dismiss her concerns, don't end the conversation by just saying no or of course not. I'm not normally a fan of answering a question by asking another question, but in this instance it's good to get to the root of the issue. You may want to ask your daughter if she feels fat or if there is a reason she is asking. It's then important to focus on healthy eating and exercise, but don't focus on losing weight. “Maybe we can start walking after dinner and you can start helping me grocery shop. I know I feel my best after I exercise and I’d love to spend more time with you.” We need to stress that women are much more than their physical appearance, our health is more than just our weight, and our character is more important than the size of our skinny jeans.

Does this look good on me? This is a tough one. I think we need to honor the girl code with our daughters when it comes to not letting them go out of the house with something that makes them look awful, but sometimes it is just a matter of taste. Take a barometer reading of your daughter’s attitude with what she has on: Does she seem happy and confident or fidgety and unsure? Make sure your response isn't critical of her body type (i.e., you don't have the body to wear crop tops), and instead make a few suggestions on what may better flatter her assets.

Why doesn’t anyone like me/why don't I fit in? Many parents often brush off comments where kids sound like their world is falling apart, but two researchers at UCLA discovered that social rejection actually registers as bodily injury or pain in the brain. It is important to determine if your daughter is just having a bad day (and may cause her to act a little dramatic) or if something else is going on. You may want to talk to her teachers or other parents you trust. Try to find out why she feels that way and make suggestions on how she can improve her friendships, but most importantly don't write it off. There could be an underlying issue you may need to address. And remember, kids of any age do not realize that there is a life beyond their school years.

Can I wear that/Can I have that/Can I do that? Girls often like to push the boundaries a little earlier than their male counterparts. But seriously. Just say no if you do not think it is appropriate. Sometimes as parents we fear our kids will be left behind if they do not have something or do something all the other kids are; the truth is when just one parent is brave enough to say no, the others often follow. Be brave.

This post originally appeared at www.playdatesonfridays.com. Connect with Whitney on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/playdatesonfridays or on twitter @playdatesfriday.

I’m a scrooge when it comes to a lot of things: Valentine’s Day, Halloween, basically any event Hallmark tells me I need to be celebrating.

I am not fun. It’s true. Ask anyone.

I’m also a scrooge when it comes to anything “over the top.” Like when simple affairs are all of a sudden turned into major functions costing lots of money.

You know. Like a high school Homecoming Dance.

Photo: Alex Eremeyeff

Back in my day (*said like a grumpy old man), the Homecoming Dance was a fun little gathering of students the night after a football game. A time when a guy you had a crush on for years finally asked you to dance, and you were so excited you could hardly stand it, and then later find out he only danced with you because your friend told him to ask you.

But I digress.
Where was I?
Oh, yes.

I really became a Homecoming Dance scrooge when I was in youth ministry. One October, I planned a 9th grade retreat the same weekend as the Homecoming dance of one of the many high schools in our area. Apparently, this was cause for huge concern by parents. Mind you, these were freshmen. And it was Homecoming—not prom or a wedding for goodness sake. A simple dance! Boy, was I wrong. Something had changed in the 10 years since I graduated.

Now, 28 years have passed since the last time I danced at Homecoming. Let me tell you, things have gotten even more out of hand.

I first became aware of the hype when the girls and I visited our good friends this summer. Emma and her grade school BFF poured over websites looking for the perfect Homecoming dress. They created Pinterest boards with footwear wishes and hairstyle ideas.

But school hasn't even started, I chided, how do you even know you’re going?

Oh, we're going, they responded. Followed by questions including, but not limited to:
What's my budget?
How long does it have to be?
Can I have strapless?
How about one shoulder covered?

My own child: a Homecoming traitor.

Less than one month after her high school career started, Emma would attend her first dance. And it had to be Homecoming.

I checked out my daughter's Instagram account. Online friends snapped selfies as guys approached with “Homecoming proposals.” No lie. It's not enough to get asked to the dance anymore. Now requests come complete with flowers, signs, and stuffed animals.

What is a kind, politically correct way of saying, “Shoot me now?”

You can imagine my confusion when Emma told me she didn't want to be asked to the dance, she just wanted to go with friends. Specifically, her theater friends.

A significant amount of teens in the drama company which my girls belong attend the same high school. Once the kids talked about going together, we parents stepped in to make sure the event would remain low cost, casual, and something I’m not good at: fun.

Dare I say, we succeeded.

Fifteen youth came to our house Saturday evening for a baked potato bar dinner. One of the dads, a photographer, captured moments of the evening. One mom played hair stylist, and parents transported kids to the school dance. After the event ended, the kids walked back to another family's house for a dessert and movie after party. (Only, because they are theater kids, they ended up singing around a piano. Because that's what they do.)

You know what? The kids had fun. The parents had fun. And I will admit, I had fun.

The Dudes

The Ladies

I guess our teens' events are what we all make of them, huh? If we accept they will be high pressure, that wish may be fulfilled. But if enough of us surround our kids with the reality of what is really important, like being together and supporting one another, they might be strong enough not to buy into the hype of more, more more.

A mom can hope, right?

Do you ever feel guilt and regret for something that you've said to your child? The words that just came out of your mouth sounded as if they were from an alien being (and even more awful, perhaps like some of the things your own mother once said to you, and you vowed you would never say), and there is no way you would speak like that to your best friend! Immediately you regret what you said. It's no surprise that your child is now arguing with you. Both of you have just fallen into one of the parenting manholes: It is deep and dark and unless you have your parenting skills toolkit to hand, you are both stuck!

Don't feel bad. We all make mistakes with the things we say.

Faber and Mazlish, authors of How to Talk So Teens Will Listen and Listen So Teens Will Talk, tell a story of a girl in her late teens who had borrowed the family car. The father always insisted that she return the car with the gas tank full. He was also a real stickler for punctuality, so the girl faced a problem when she had to get home for a family event and found herself short of time. Should she fill up and risk being late, or arrive on time, with a not-full gas tank? In the end, she gambled, and filled the tank and still managed to make it home on time. She was so relieved that she raced in and said, “Dad, I’m home on time AND I've filled the car with petrol!” She was met with, “Did you put oil in it as well?”

We parents get into the habit of noticing what's wrong with our children's behavior, and we often don't notice what they're doing right. It can feel very hard for kids to win parental approval. And sometimes they stop trying.

So what are the things we say that don't show respect and don't motivate our children?

“Hurry up Tom, you are so SLOW. If it was up to you we would never get to school on time”

“I am so DISAPPOINTED in you. You should have known better than that!”

“You're so LAZY! I am sure you will ace those exams if you sit around on your backside all day gaming!”

The language we use with our kids is crucial to developing a good sense of self-worth, but in the moment when our buttons get pressed, we utter statements that, if said by a friend, would cause us to re-think our friendship!

Credit: apdk.

Things you'll regret saying to your children:

1. Labeling. It is so easy to start labeling children with LAZY, SILLY, NAUGHTY, SELFISH. The more we label our children, the more they believe what we are saying and take it on as part of their identity. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. That is why ideas such as "the naughty step" can be positively damaging to our children (check our blog on how the naughty step can damage your child.)

2. “I'm so disappointed in you!” This is a killer statement. It's not always obvious, but our children really crave our approval and this phrase lets them know really clearly that they don't have it. The connotations underlying this are "what a failure you are."

3. “I'm proud of you.” I know, you'e wondering what’s wrong with this statement. It's definitely not the worst thing you could say to a child. We've all said this when our child returns from nursery or school clutching a medal or certificate; we are genuinely thrilled for their success. However it is vital we encourage our kids to value themselves, not depend on OUR evaluation of them. Encourage them to assess their achievements, saying:

“What did you do today that you were proud of?” or,
“You should free proud of yourself for doing that.”

4. "IF": When trying to get kids to do something we often say “if you tidy up your toys, you can watch TV.” "If" implies it is optional. Replace "If" with "when" and you get a completely different response. "When" implies trust that they are going to tidy up, and when this is done, they will have earned their screen time.

5. "BUT": When you put "but" in a sentence, it negates what has preceded it, and your child only hears the "but" and the negative coming after it.

“Looks as if you have made an effort to tidy the toy room Laura, BUT you have put the Lego bricks in the wrong place again.”

Instead you can say: “Hey Laura, good on you for tidying up the playroom all by yourself! Do you remember the new place we have for the Lego bricks that keeps them safe and away from the baby?”

6. "YOU'RE SO CLEVER": Studies have shown that the "clever boy" kind of praise is actually damaging to kids. Children praised for intelligence perform less well on tasks than children who receive praise for effort and attitude.

Words are powerful and shape experience.

What we are trying to do as parents is use our words to encourage good behaviors and to build up a strong sense of self-worth. If we get it wrong, we can apologize. “I'm so sorry I yelled at you and called you stupid. You’re not stupid. I felt frustrated and worried that we would be late.” “This morning when we were rushing to leave the house I didn't tell you how much I appreciate you helping your sister get ready. She loves it when you brush her hair.”

Be honest. We've all done and said things we later regret. What's your worst outburst? In our practice, they’re known as LPMs (low parenting moments), and it’s quite cathartic sharing them.

Happy parenting!

Imagine the Air Jordan logo. Now imagine it rotated 90 degrees to the right. That was me standing in front of the blackberry bush, except I wasn't doing anything with a basketball. I was reaching to pick berries from a cluster on an out-of-the-way branch, bracing myself against the barbs that threatened to disrupt my most precarious balance, lest I drop the container of already-picked berries that I held in my other outstretched hand. The sweet smell of the leaves and grasses and marshy foliage reminded me of picking blackberries during my childhood.

None of my boys wanted to go blackberry picking with me because “no offense, mom, but it's kind of a girl thing.” So after I dropped my younger two off at camp, I hit the berry patch. I was alone with my thoughts. I'd left my phone in the car, so I wasn't distracted by any of the beeping, jingling, or pinging notifications that represented my personal sliver of the 15 petabytes of new information created daily, worldwide, according to the presentation I'd just watched.

I remembered the first time I picked blackberries. We had moved from Rhode Island to a new house in Massachusetts during the middle of my 7^th grade year. At first, I hated everything about moving and the new house, but when summer came and the blackberry bush blossomed, my appreciation for the new house budded. My love for baking originated with learning to make blackberry pie, from scratch, all by myself (much to my mother’s chagrin, since it was something she'd hoped to pass on to me). I'd said “No thanks,” and cracked open The Joy of Cooking, which since that time has been my kitchen bible.

Without my phone, things were a lot quieter. I could mostly enjoy those moments in time, without my attention being divided by exponential numbers of noisy bits and bytes. I tried not to worry about what anyone would think if I didn't answer them right away. The sun shone down on me and the sweet berries that I popped in my mouth almost as often as I dropped them in my container.

Credit: gogri.

Savor every moment, I thought, as I enjoyed another blackberry. This was something people had told me about parenting. “It goes by so fast,” meaning childhood. And I suppose it does. My oldest was at overnight camp for a week. It wasn't the first time he'd been away from home for that long, but it was the first time he took off with his friends and didn't look back.

I wondered how my own mom felt when I spent the entire summer after 8^th grade in Maine with a friend on her grandmother’s rural 500 acre property—and I do mean rural. The closest post office was in the next town, six miles away; we had no electricity or running water; I don't even remember if they had a landline phone. Back then I don't think there was such a thing as an answering machine, never mind the idea of carrying a phone around in your pocket 24/7.

I thought about how fleeting my boys' childhoods are. My middle son just became a teenager. My baby is halfway to 18. Had I been “savoring” enough?

Pffft, I thought as I put a whole handful of blackberries into my mouth. You can’t savor everything. I certainly didn't appreciate watching countless episodes of Bob the Builder; I did not cherish cutting up kid food served on plastic plates, and then eating the leftovers; and I certainly did not relish changing diapers for nearly a decade. When my kids were younger, there were times that I counted down the hours—then minutes—to bedtime.

The buzzing insect circling my head reminded me that there are a lot of unsavory things about blackberry picking, too, such as thorns, spiders, bees, and mosquitoes (and according to all the friends I'd invited to come with me but had declined: poison ivy, ticks, and bears, however I have yet to encounter any of those). You just have to accept the fact that sometimes you're going to encounter berries that have bird poop, little white webs, or bug nibbles on them—and be sure to avoid the ones on the low branches because that’s where dogs pee. But overall, berry picking is an awesome thing.

I was more wistful than insulted that my son “disappeared” at camp, because I know that is how it should be. I'm now at the stage where I'm counting down the minutes until I can go pick my older two up at the movies or a party. They are forging their own paths, like I did with the pie recipe I chose. It wasn't until years later that we discovered why my crust was the new family favorite—I had picked a completely different recipe than my mom used.

I shoved aside thoughts about my looming meetings and to-dos and the fact that I was completely out of reach. The ongoing digital distraction of TMI these days can feel extremely unsavory. The season is so short and the blackberries wouldn't be here for very long. I quit picking when I figured I'd collected just enough blackberries to make a pie. I remembered when I was a kid anticipating the finished pie coming out of the oven, and how hard it was to wait for it to cool before it was cut. And then all too quickly, it would be nothing but a memory.

My oldest started high school this fall, and then it won't be long before I watch him drive off for the first time in the family car, counting down the minutes until he's home safe.

I emerged from the berry patch mostly unscathed (except for a few bug bites and scratches), which is how I hope to emerge from child-rearing (except for a few gray hairs and worry lines).

Caroline B. Poser <><
Mom to three teen and tween boys, Caroline Poser is a technology marketing professional who moonlights as an author and columnist. http://www.CarolinePoser.com.

Step 1: Take a deep breath. OMG, right? Big news. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe you suspected this was coming. But you should still breathe anyway because you need do that to keep being alive. So this step applies no matter what. Get some oxygen into you.

Credit: purplesherbet.

Step 2: Tell your child you love them. That might seem obvious to you, but they just told you something really big and they're probably pretty worried about what's going on in your head right now. Even if you think you're the coolest, hippest, hipster-hat-wearing, beatnik glasses-sporting, ukulele playing, social network-roaming parent out there—so of course you're supportive and how could they think otherwise? —you're still one of the most important people in the world to them, and they need to hear "I love you" right now.

Step 3: Behave like you love them. Seriously. Loving them means being supportive. It does not mean trying to fix them, lecture them, use religion to shame or dismiss them, worry aloud about what everyone else will think, hurt them, kick them out of the house, or disown them completely. That's not what you do when you love someone. Don't do it. You'll spend a lifetime regretting it.

Step 4: Believe them. After my child came out, I spent a couple of weeks asking her if she was "sure." Because, like, I wanted to make sure that she was sure, and that I wasn't reframing my idea of her only so she could tell me she was mistaken at a later date. I think that was understandable in some respects; I was after all, trying to wrap my head around something I didn't understand. But it was also really hard on her because she felt I wasn't listening. This might be brand new to you, but your child has been feeling this way for a long time. And yes, gender and sexuality can be pretty fluid for some of us, and how we feel one day may not be how we feel the next. But if your child was sure enough to tell you, they're pretty sure about how they're feeling. So honor them where they're at today. Right now. If things change later, you can both deal with it later. (But there's a pretty good chance things aren't going to change. Just a heads up.)

Step 5: Educate yourself. Even if you think you know everything, you don't. There is some great lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) literature out there. Read reputable books and websites. Join a local support group. Talk to people in the LGBT community who can offer you some perspective. My child is trans and I have no idea what that feels like. I never will. So I appreciate any time I get to chat with a trans person about their experiences. The more I know, the better I can help.

Step 6: Love your child. Did I mention that one already? Well, too bad. This is important and deserves another mention. Lead with love and everything else will fall into place. I held on to that belief over the first few precarious weeks and it saved me from eating too many stress cookies. Okay, I'm lying about that. I ate way too many stress cookies. But I definitely hyperventilated a lot less while I was trying to figure everything out. I knew if I loved her and showed her I love her, we would sort the rest out. So far, so good.

Step 7: Recognize that your child is the expert on your child. The only one who knows what's going on inside your kid is your kid. How they see themselves and who they're attracted to is all inside their brain. You're the grownup, so you probably know more about preparing a budget or driving a car, but you don't know more about your child's sexual orientation or gender identity than they do. In our case, my child's job is transitioning from male to female. My job is facilitating that transition and going to bat for her when I need to. I follow her lead. Period.

Step 8: Stop caring what everyone else thinks. This one is harder for some of us (and by "some of us" I mean me, the people-pleasing junkie). This isn't about what anyone else thinks. The opinions of family, friends, colleagues and neighbors need to take a backseat when you have a LGBT child. Not everyone is going to understand and not everybody has to. We had a pretty positive experience after our child came out, but we still lost some people. It hurt at first, but the folks we've met since are far kinder and more open-minded than their predecessors. And isn't that the type of person we want in our lives anyway? We upgraded, that's all. Newer friend model. More bells and whistles. Now comes with side airbags and empathy.

Step 9: Every now and then, make sure to look back and see how far you've both come. Maybe you've made some mistakes along the way, but look at where things are now. Your child is likely the bravest person you know for being true to themselves in a world that tries its best to force us to be like everyone else. And you? Well, you've grown too. In fact, you're one of the strongest people you know—even if you don't always see it. You've held someone's hand through a proverbial hurricane and never let go. That takes an incredible amount of resilience. You rock.

Step 10: Use what you know to help others. Right now, there is a child getting ready to tell their parents something big. And right after that happens, there are going to be some loved ones who will be as scared and lost as you once felt. That's where you get to come in. Now that you've weathered the initial storm, maybe you can share some perspective—and an umbrella. And if they're not ready to support their child? At least they know where to find you. If one of your child's LGBT friends doesn't have good support at home, offer your home to hang out in as a safe space; a judgment-free, LGBT-friendly spot for kids to just be themselves. We have a sticker on our door that indicates our home is safe. And I have one on my car. Oh, and I have a button on my jacket. I'm pretty much a walking safe space, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Step 11: Did I mention love your child? It's not easy when someone doesn't fit neatly inside the typical boxes society has laid out for us. Some days will be harder than others, even weeks, months, or years later. But if our kids know they always have a soft place to fall, it can make all the difference in the world. Unconditional love is the biggest gift we can give them. And what they will teach us in return is priceless. Our children are incredible when we let them shine.

So let them shine.

Amanda Jette Knox
mavenmayhem@gmail.com
TheMavenOfMayhem.com

Credit: niicksie2008.

To the girl who will one day date my son: You are interested in someone very precious to me. My world turned right side up the day he came into my life and has never been the same since. When I look at him, all I see is a flashback reel full of baby rolls, big hugs, sweet smiles, and superheroes. Although I want nothing but happiness for him, I know he will need to make mistakes in order to grow and learn. Still... it would crush me to see him intentionally hurt or used.

I know that you were also someone's precious baby at one time. There is very likely someone out there right now who is losing sleep while you're out on a date with my son. You are someone's little girl, someone who carefully decorated your hair with bows and looked at you in complete awe while they rocked you to sleep. I know your value. I know that you more than likely have a very kind heart, and that it probably skips a beat when my son looks at you.

I don't care about your past, your skin color, or your economic level. I remember the humiliating pain and embarrassment of someone's mother not thinking I was good enough for her son. It's taken me many years to believe with complete certainty that she caused her son to miss out on a great girl. (Lucky for me, of course, because I went on to meet my husband and we made the cutest babies ever; I'm sure you agree.) I was always good enough. But her callous judgment and subsequent behavior toward me lead me to question myself for years. Made me doubt my worth and crushed my confidence in who I was.

"Mean girls" aren't only in junior high. Women of any age have ways of making other women feel horrible about themselves. But I'm not going to do that to you. I have enough faith in the example I set for my son and enough respect for him and his choices to know that if he thinks you're special enough to bring home to meet his family, you must be one heck of a girl.

And if you turn out to be a heartbreak, he will at least walk away wiser than he was before. Either way, I will pass on the kind words that my mother-in-law always said to me: My home is your home, and you're always welcome here.

You thought you had a lot of lessons to teach your toddler? Well, I hate to break it to you, but potty training and spoon feeding are only messy in the literal terms when it comes to the lessons you will have to teach your teens and tweens. Most of our kids' friends are pretty smart and self-sufficient, but every now and then we'll talk about something and they have no idea how they would solve the issue.

There are a lot of lessons our kids need to know, but these are five that are off the top of my head.

You're not always going to like everyone. And everyone is not going to like you. Better get used to it and figure out how you are going to work your way through it. I've seen too many parents move their kids out of classes because they didn't “like” the teacher—before they even gave them a chance. While it's harder in school to ignore and move away from people you're forced to be with, it's a good lesson of life to figure out how to tolerate someone long enough to get through a project.

How to read a recipe. Your kids are going to need to know how to cook one day, so this is a really important skill to have. We love to cook, and our girls enjoy working on fun things in the kitchen with us. Sometimes, now that they're older, we ask and rely on them to help get things ready for dinner during the work week. While I still have to remind them to “read ALL the directions before you start,” for the most part they've got a good handle on how to do it. One of them can even make a mean red velvet cake!

Righty Tighty, Lefty Loosey. No joke. I did not learn this until I was around 25 years old. Can you imagine going through your entire life not knowing how the hell to get a cap or a hose on or off on the first try? My life changed completely when my Dad finally taught me this lesson.

How to do laundry. My friend Arminda tells a funny but true story that when she was growing up in her big family of seven, as soon as you were tall enough to reach the washing machine, you were old enough to do laundry. While I didn't quite start mine that young, with a family of five, I promise you they do their own. Don't have anything clean to wear? Oh well, guess you should have done your laundry.

How to be a bargain shopper. I don’t care if you have a crap-ton of money, you can always find ways to save. I work hard for my money, and I try to hold on to it as long as possible. There are some things that I don't chimp on, but it's rare that I don't comparison shop before most purchases. I've been taking my girls shopping with me for so long, and they've learned that if they want something out of the ordinary (Lunchables, for instance), they don't even bring it to my attention if it's not on sale. They’re also becoming pretty darn good at shopping for their clothes at places like Plato’s Closet and other consignment shops. They've discovered that they like getting three times the amount of stuff for the same amount of money.

Catch this post and other posts at Four Hens and a Rooster!

Kristen Daukas
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"Mom, there's been a shooting at MP. Someone is dead and we don't know who the shooter is."

I was just leaving my Zumba class Friday morning when my son called me with those words. MP is Marysville-Pilchuck, one of two high schools in our town of 60,000 people. My son attends Marysville-Getchell (MG), but I could hear the terror in his voice.

No one knew what to do—MG wasn't in lock down, and the teachers were instructing students to go home if they were able. I told my son to grab as many kids as he could and head to our house, half a mile from the school. I remember hanging up the phone and thinking, "No, no, no, not again, not here." When I got home minutes later, ten kids sat huddled around the television, checking their phones for updates from friends at MP. As they looked at me, I could see the fear and trauma on their faces.

It was heartbreaking.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. About three hours after the shooting, a friend arrived who had been in lock down at MP. He told us about his experience—being told to get down on the floor, away from the windows, and staying there for two hours. No one could use their phone. When the police finally got to his classroom, they searched the room and each kid was patted down before being escorted out in a single file line to a waiting bus. Only then did they find out what had happened.

By Friday afternoon, we had pieces of the terrible news. The shooter, a student at the school, was dead. So was a young girl, someone my son knew. Four other students were in the hospital with critical injuries. Today, one of those girls was taken off life support and passed away.

© Karen Ducey/ZUMA Wire

Our small town is reeling. I cannot begin to fathom what the parents of the victims or the shooter are going through. My heart is broken into a million pieces for them and their pain. I cannot wrap my head around what the kids of this community are going through. My son spent time with different groups of friends all weekend long. They came and went, but there were always at least two of them together; they need each other to lean on. Only they understand what the other is going through, and none of them wants to be alone.

As for me and my husband, I feel like we're struggling with our greatest parenting challenge so far. It's such a difficult situation, and there's no script to follow. Dealing with the fear we feel as parents, but not communicating that to our son. All I want to do is sit on the couch and hold him close.

What happened in my town has become too common. I was so naive to hear the stories of far off acts of violence and think it could never happen here. But it did, and it is shocking. I floundered all weekend, trying to be strong for my son, and then crying my eyes out when he left the house. I know it's okay to feel sad and angry and helpless. It's the fear I'm having a hard time with. I noticed this morning that my left fist was clenched so hard I left fingernail marks on my hand.

I felt scared to send my son to school today. He is a class leader, it's the right place for him to be, and he needed to go. I'm so proud of him for being brave. But all I can picture is the young man at MP, well liked by his peers, standing up during lunch, and shooting those around him. I don't feel brave at all.

The "what if's" and the "what can we do's" and the "how did this happen" are conversations for another day. All I know is that children shouldn't be afraid to go to school—and parents shouldn't be afraid to send them there. For the people in our community who lived through this terrible day, that will never be a reality again.