Maybe I'm a paranoid mom, but I consider any adult male whom I've just met, who spends more than 10 minutes chatting with my young daughter, to be a pedophile.

End of story.

If I'm wrong, so be it. But if I'm right, I've helped prevent something horrible from happening.

This weekend we were at a cute waterfront Inn in Jensen Beach, and a friendly guy was hovering a little too closely to my daughter in the swimming pool. It was 9 a.m. or so, and he was already drinking a beer. At that hour, I don't even think the idea of "it's 5 o'clock somewhere'' applies.

My sister called my daughter back to the room and reminded her not to be alone with strangers.

"Dan is not a stranger!'' was her response.

After that I mentally branded Dan as a pervert, and kept her away from him. Is this fair? Maybe not. Some men like little kids, right?

My sister has a neighbor who is an older gentleman, and he's shown a lot of interest in her young son. He recently offered to babysit. I told her the guy is a pedophile. Obviously!

How do you know who is safe and who's not? For starters, in your own neighborhood you can check regularly for registered sex offenders. Click here to do so now. You can also sign up there to get an e-mail alert if a registered offender moves into your neighborhood.

I might note that there are two in my neighborhood, and another 80 in Broward County who are listed as "absconded'' or not yet registered. With photographs.

This list I found offers Eleven Ways to Spot a Pedophile. It has some interesting insights on it, such as noting that something might be amiss if an adult man decorates his home with cartoon characters.

The writer ends by saying, "Don’t look for proof that your instincts are right or wrong. Trust them. They are always right."

Read the jump page for a proposed children's book text one reader sent me, on this issue.

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Until earlier this year, dinner time at our house was a free-for-all.

The rarity of our all sitting down to eat together was evident in that it even had a name: "family dinner.''

But how hard is it to start a new habit, and to have your kids thinking for the rest of their lives that we ALWAYS sat down at 7 p.m. to eat?

Pretty easy, actually. Lily is only 7. Do you think she's going to remember eating Hot Pockets in front of the television in the back bedroom? Of course not! Not if I can help it!

Creed is 14. I have four more years to create a lasting memory he can miss when he's eating Ramen noodles in the dorm. I want him to tell people about the meals his mom used to cook, and there can be no name brands (like Totino's Frozen Pizza Bites) mentioned in this discussion.

So about a month ago, I started a family dinner routine. Every night, we eat together. I am still amazed at how quickly the kids adapted to it, and how easily it became the norm.

They say you can start any habit with just a few repetitions.

It's like re-writing your family history. You take a look at what you don't like in your family schedule and operations, and you do something about it.

A lot of research has established that human memory is malleable. So if you don't like the memories you're creating for your kids, change them.

It's as simple as that.

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I found the Generation Gap on Sunday. It was right there on my cell phone bill, on the "data'' page. That's where it logs all the text messages sent from the cell phones in our family.

So far in a little less than a month's time, our three-phone family has sent or received 2,979 text messages. About 100 a day.

Of those, my husband is responsible for eight of them. I can lay claim to 322. And Creed, the 9th grader, has his name on 2,649 of them!

I grew up in the 70s and 80s. My kids are growing up in the 00s. (How do you even say that?)

Their mode of communication is what I'd call "conversation heart-speak.'' Remember those? Those chalky candies were so tiny, they could only fit partial sentences like "2 Sweet 2B 4Gotten'' on them. And that wasn't considered "sexting.''

I have never considered limiting my son's text messaging. I don't know any parent who does. I accept it as a way for teens to communicate, even if it's inferior to actually speaking to people.

I'm taking advantage of it, to keep track of my teen. You can be sure that some of the hundreds of texts he received were from Mom.

I think public opinion is still forming on whether texting is good or bad for teens. Some say excessive texting is linked with anxiety and sleeplessness and immaturity. But isn't being a teen linked to those things?

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Now that my kids are 14 and 7, I got the Phillips head screwdriver out on Sunday and removed the child-proof latches from the bathroom cabinets.

Freedom!

But now apparently I need to apply some kind of latch to the vodka, maybe to prescription meds in the house, and quite possibly to any cigars my husband might have lying around. Why? Because as I said at the beginning, I have a 14 year old.

A few weekends ago, I was in bed reading a book (John Steinbeck's The Red Pony, about an innocent young boy and his beloved horse), when I heard an ambulance, and sirens. Sounded like they were heading our way.

They were.

A group of young teens, my son included, were at a friend's house a block down the road, and her mom wasn't home. Some of them guzzled the vodka. One of the teens passed out, several vomited. A neighbor checked on them, found the grisly scene, and called 911. The sober kids, my son among them, were told that one of their friends "might not make it.'' Three of them were taken by ambulance to the hospital.

Did they learn a lesson? I hope they did. And so did we, the parents.

A lot of the important work raising kids is done by the time your child is 14. You've built the foundation, and when your kid's a teen-ager, you find out how sturdy it is.

Is there anything you can really do to stop a teen from drinking?

Will a child-proof latch work?

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Don't automatically dismiss your child's jitters about returning to school, one child psychologist warns. They might actually be suffering from bonafide anxiety.

Wendy K. Silverman, a psychologist at Florida International University’s Child Anxiety and Phobia Program (CAPP), says parents might just dismiss child anxiety and that it could mushroom into depression, severe behavioral problems and even substance abuse later in life.

And really, would you want that pinned on you? I wouldn't!

Silverman and colleague William Kurtines are in the midst of a $3.3 million study funded by the National Institute of Mental Health to develop state-of-the-art techniques to diagnose and treat children with anxiety.

(If you think your kid has had anxiety for at least six months, call the Child Anxiety and Phobia Program at 305-348-1937.)

Click on the jump for Silverman's tips for getting children ready for the school year:

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Creed's first day of high school is Monday.

A big deal, to me. I was waiting for a letter from the principal welcoming me as a parent, embracing me as we work together to help my son succeed, holding my hand as we step across this threshold together, nervous yet eager.

It came in the mail Saturday, from the principal of South Plantation High School, where Creed will begin his journey to adulthoood.

"I would like to set the record straight and ease any anxiety you may have,'' it said. Yes, Mr. Principal. Tell me more!

I read on: "As you may or may not know, our school grade is a 'D.''

Oh. No, I didn't know that. Thought it was higher. Um, keep going?

"How did we become a D?'' The letter went on to explain that the lowest quartile of students didn't make enough progress in reading and writing, and that instead of going up a percent, they went down. "That's it,'' the principal wrote, like we should be comforted by the reduction in progress. Well, Creed's not in the lowest quartile, but I am quite sure the parents of struggling students would not get a warm feeling from this letter. And neither did I. I was crestfallen, actually.

I wasn't fixated on the school's grade, until I got his letter. I've always been a supporter of public schools, and I continue to be. But this is disturbing. I have friends sending kids to St. Thomas or American Heritage or even Pine Crest. Am I accepting mediocrity by allowing him to enter a school whose grade would draw a severe grounding if it showed up on his report card?

Maybe I can send a letter to colleges when he's applying, saying, "I want to soothe your anxiety that my son's grade point average is a D. You see he just didn't do well enough in school.''

Click here to see his welcome letter.

And click here to see the grades of all Broward County high schools. There are very few A-rated high schools in Broward County's public system.

Click here to read our schools blog, about changes in the way high schools are "graded.''

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I ran across some realistic and possibly unorthodox advice for kids who are mistreated by other kids.

You know what I'm talking about: BULLYING. There's a national obsession with it. Just like suddenly everyone started bringing their own grocery bags to Publix, they also are all obsessed with the bratty behavior of children, and are trying to stop it.

Broward County schools definitely is on board with it. They have my 7-year-old talking about this person or that person as "my bully.''

I'm all for coming down hard on the kids who do this. (Although I wonder, would I be the same person if I hadn't been called a "shrimp'' and teased with the name "Walnut'' when I was growing up?)

I'm posting more info about Broward County schools' anti-bullying policy on the jump page, but I want to share this interesting advice from Costco's shopping magazine. Izzy Kalman takes a psychological warfare approach, in his "tips for kids who are bullied.'' Just as he suggests in the above video, he favors a "so what?'' approach, where you don't let the bullies know they bothered you.

Finally!

Up until now, 100 percent of the advice I've seen from adults to students is totally ridiculous. They want you to say things a child would never say, like "Your behavior is making me uncomfortable.'' That's only going to lead to more bullying.

Here's Kalman's advice:

*Be nice to kids when they are mean to you, and before long they will stop being mean.

* Don't tell on kids who upset you. They will hate you and want to beat you up. Talk to them directly and they will respect you much more. Tell an adult only if there is an emergency situation, or becuase you want the adult to teach you how to handle the problem.

* Don't get angry when kids insult you. They love to see you getting angry.

* If kids bring you nasty rumors, don't defend yourself. Just ask the kids, 'Do you believe it?'' If they say they do, answer "You can believe it if you want.' You come out being the winner, and they will leave you alone. And if they say they don't believe it, you also win!

* If kids hit you and you're not hurt, act like nothing happened. This way you look tough and cool because you don't get upset over nonsense.

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Sometimes on weekends I get desperate for things to do with Lily, that don't require me leaving my chair, or my house. We run around like crazy a lot, and sometimes, I just want to stay home to wash clothes, cook, and pretend I'm one of those wives and moms I saw on TV when I was Lily's age.

So I subscribed to a magazine called Family Fun. It has some easy crafts and projects you can do with your kid. This one I really, really liked. In order to rise to the top of my Really Liked It list, it has to be both easy and something I have all the supplies on hand for. If it's something that would make a cool kid gift, it gets bonus points. It needs to make me feel like Martha Stewart, but require only the skills and effort of maybe The Cable Guy.

This one was all of that. Check it out in the picture. It looks even cooler if you have three different colored sponges. I had two yellow and one green.

Here's how you make it:

Cut each sponge into five long pieces. Put them back "together'' as sponges but with the colors all mixed up. Stack them on top of each other. Then take a piece of yard and just tie across the middle. NOTE: You have to get the sponges a tad wet, for this to work.

Voila. A really sudsy, fun bath sponge.

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It might not jump out at you at first as a kiddie attraction. But kids love trains, and we have one running through South Florida every day, all the time. It's called Tri-Rail.

My nephew Logan Smeltzer was here visiting me this weekend. He lives in a small town in Oklahoma, and he loved the idea of taking the train to Miami.

To get to Miami from Fort Lauderdale we took Tri-Rail, then Metrorail, then Metromover.
All for $5 each, roundtrip.

When we got to downtown Miami, we ate lunch and looked at all the big sculptures of public art, peeked in the library and snapped photos here and there.

We had an awesome time. Like so much in life, it's not about what you do when you reach your destination. It's about the journey.

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While everyone else was reminiscing about parachute pants and psycho-analyzing the late Michael Jackson, my kids latched onto a different story they heard on TV: The president smokes.

"Creed!,'' I heard Lily yell from another room. "Obama smokes!''

"He's the president!'' she said later, reporting this disturbing news to her grandmother. I guess she missed this news story when it came up before his election. But President Obama was re-interviewed on the subject, and admitted he still slips up and smokes now and then. He called himself 95 percent cured.

"He might die!'' was the conclusion that Lily lept to. A conclusion which is true, of course. He certainly will die, eventually.

One of the president's comments was this: “I don't do it in front of my kids,” he said. “I don't do it in front of my family.''

Well he might as welll have just smoked in front of every child in America. I didn't bother with the explanation about the president not being perfect. He is supposed to be a role model, a mere mortal or not.

On another note, I met a guy at the gas station Monday morning who had just run out of gas. It was raining (of course), and he was putting gas into a tiny gas container. I asked if he needed a ride to his car, and he said, "Oh, no, no, no. That's my son over there.'' Then he said he planned to use the drive to his gas-less car to give his son a talking to, because he'd gotten no Father's Day card from him this year.

"I don't care how poor you are,'' the guy said to me. "You can get your dad a Father's Day card.''

Amen to that. (And click here to be reminded about the day that in our household can now be known as I-Didn't-Get-A-Mother's-Day-Card Day.)

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I'm not one of those moms who jumps into every spontaneous scene with a camera, and makes people line up and smile. I think it's much more fun, and less annoying, to capture what my kids are saying.

Someone bought me two blank, hard cover books. The covers are canvas, for a kid to draw on. I marked one for Creed, and one for Lily. And I've been writing their hilarious and ridiculous questions and comments in them for years.

When and if I ever deem them old enough and responsible enough to appreciate these keepsakes and not to lose them in a stack of school yearbooks, I will give them these treasures.

Lily gave me three more questions last week to add to her book:

"Why do we have to wear underwear, anyway? What does it do?''

"Has a dog ever peed on you?''

"Can a person be born with pierced ears?''

Hand me the pen!

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I've learned a lot about frugality from my mother-in-law. She's the best kind of economizer: She's got a generous heart, but a frugal lifestyle.

Stale cereal can be yummy.

She and my late father-in-law gave my kids their first savings bonds and $100 bills. But she also uses empty cereal bags to store leftover foods.

So I'm dedicating this recession busting idea to her, even though it's so sugary, she probably wouldn't approve of my feeding it to the kids.

It's my way of using all food, and letting none go to waste. (Just like restaurants take their wilting vegetables and make vegetable soup.)

The principle is that of Rice Krispie Treats. Just sub out whichever cereal is getting stale. I keep a bag of marshmallows on hand for this very purpose. Melt the marshmallows, add a tad of butter to the mix, pour on the cereal and refrigerate.

No matter what kind of cereal it is, believe me when I say, it will be delicious when covered with melted marshmallows.

Yum!

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As I've said before, I love rope jumpers. If it were an Olympic sport I'd be one of those crazy parents and Lily would be training on the rope every day.

Tuesday, some of Fort Lauderdale's finest little rope jumpers, the Warfield Park Double Dutch team members, visited City Hall to lead the Pledge of Allegiance and show some of their stuff.

Check it out!

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It's almost like having another baby, making that decision to bring a dog into the family. But if you have a kid, it's almost inevitable that they'll ask for one. Then you'll see that saying no is not an option. Everyone's parents gets them a dog. Thus if you want to maintain custody of your child, you also have to get a dog.

I heard someone tell a guy this weekend that having a child is the best and the worst thing that will ever happen to you. Your child will bring you your highest highs, and quite possibly your lowest lows. A dog can also have this effect, especially one that poops on the floor.

But is there any other single decision (and sacrifice) you can make that will change your kid's life more?

Previous generations of families had more stay-at-home moms and more kids, so adding a dog or two was less of an ordeal, I think. Now, it's seen as a burden. If you work, you not only have to find a doggie daycare, you have to find one with a good curriculum.

My son begged for a dog for years. We told him he couldn't have a dog until he was 10. Then when he turned 10, we said, "No, not when you turn 10. You're really still just 9 plus 365 days. You have to wait until you've actually been 10 awhile!'' He cried. That probably wasn't a very happy birthday, come to think of it.

Anyway, that fall we finally brought home Allie from the Humane Society. She had some kind of hurricane refugee mystery surrounding her, as they claimed she was sent here from Alabama after Hurricane Katrina. But they also told us her name was Mary, and that's obviously a made-up name that no one would give a dog, so I'm not sure we can trust the hurricane story, either.

Creed wouldn't be the same kid without Allie. He just wouldn't. Allie is always by his side, and if he's not home, she drags a pair of his stinky shorts by her side. She doesn't even want me approaching him when he's sleeping, in case this might be the time I come in to his bedroom to kill him in his sleep.

He's not an unpopular or emotionally stunted kid. He's pretty normal. But Allie's brought so much to his life, it's hard to imagine the alternate reality where we said no.

For parents of troubled kids, a dog can work miracles. Sometimes it's that furry mutt that draws the kid out and helps them be who they're meant to be.

Read this story by Ginny Blansford in Newsweek for a great example. This little girl who was adopted after her first adoptive mom died finally wailed about her life circumstances when her beloved dog went missing. If you don't tear up reading this, then you are emotionally stunted and need a pet.

Here's an excerpt:

Liana came back into the house, sat on her new dog's bed and cried. In her four years with us, she had hardly ever cried. And she had hardly ever mentioned her adoptive mother, my best friend. I almost resented that she seemed to have moved past grief without a second thought. But now she sobbed. She howled. Her thick black hair stuck to her cheeks, wet with tears. She wrapped her arms around herself, then around me, squeezing hard. She cried for three hours—until well after John returned. "She's gone," Liana moaned. "My dog is gone. My mother is dead. I loved my dog. Why did my mother die?"

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I am on the run today so I'll have to wait till later to tell you the latest about my Mom Strike at home. And no, I still haven't gotten the Mother's Day gift that I so richly deserve.

But I do want to post a news story in here that is sure to spark debate. A dad in Plantation is pressing charges against his 12-year-old for driving off in his car for the second time.

My 13-year-old has started showing a fascination with the car, and has asked if he can drive it around the block.

(NO!)

But one mission I feel I'm given as a parent is to get him to the age of 18 with a clean record.

What do you think of this?

Girl, 12, takes dad's car on joy ride in Plantation
Father presses grand theft auto charges
By Sallie James
South Florida Sun Sentinel

May 19, 2009 PLANTATION A 12-year-old girl who took her dad's car on a joy ride and initially refused to stop for police has been charged with grand theft auto at her father's request, police said today.

Police quickly spotted the youth Monday because she forgot a basic tenet of night driving: headlights.

The child disappeared with the yellow Nissan about 10:30 p.m. while her father was visiting her ailing 19-month-old sibling at Plantation General Hospital, said police Detective Robert Rettig. The ordeal started and ended in the hospital parking lot at 401 NW 42 Ave., Rettig said.

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Here are four words that have really ticked me off this week: "Happy Belated Mother's Day.'' Or, as it was put to me the day after my gift-less Mother's Day: "Happy Mother's Day Week,'' the implication being that sometime in the span of seven days, I might get the token of appreciation I deserve.

Flowers and a messy table cancel each other out,
don't you think?

Yes, that's right. Even though Mother's Day is printed on all calendars in America, and advertisers have sent a lot of ideas in the mail that my husband could have caught onto, I was snubbed.

Only Lily, my 7-year-old, remembered Momma. She brought home three Mom's Day presents she had made at school. (That included a poem with these lines "my love for you is as humongous as a tiger's roar, and as everlasting as the deep, blue ocean's floor.'' Nice!)

The two males in the house acted like any other day. I had to pout for 24 hours to get belated Mother's Day flowers, set on a table Monday night in a horrendously messy kitchen. I looked at them and went to bed. It was only 8:30 p.m. I never got up. I was on strike.

Creed, who is 13, is way past the age when he might write me a poem. But couldn't he have cleaned the kitchen? A friend of mine was treated to a rose petal bath by her teen-age son. That hurts!

Creed was asking me for something Monday morning and I told him, "Tell whoever you gave a Mother's Day card to. Maybe she'll listen.''

I don't think I'm overreacting. A Mom Strike feels just right.

There is no such thing as a belated Mother's Day gift. If you missed the opportunity to honor a mother on the day that is designated as such, then it's a Mother's Day apology.

Help me feel sorrier for myself -- tell me what wonderful gifts your family heaped upon you. Anyone?

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I sucked my thumb until I was 11, probably because my mom was like you folks who don't believe in pacifiers. Well, I do. And I bought them for both of my kids. Hence, they don't have callouses on their thumbs like I did.

For those of us who provided our kids with a piece of plastic to suck on, taking it away for good can be tough. And I'm not talking about the tantrums your toddler throws when forced to live without. I'm talking about the MILESTONE this is. In other words, it's Baby No More.

I met a Fort Lauderdale mom the other day who has a very amusing parenting blog. She's going through this my-pacifier-sucking-baby-is-not-a-baby-anymore issue right now.

Read her post about it by clicking here on her blog, The McMommy Chronicles.

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I'm feeling a little slow on the take as a mom for not nominating my daughter for Mensa membership. She's a genius, of course. Duh.

Check it out. This girl is only 2!

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The city of Fort Lauderdale is holding an open house at the beach aquatic complex, also known as the International Swimming Hall of Fame complex, for city residents.

Address: 501 Seabreeze Blvd.

Date: Saturday, May 2.

They're suggesting you bring a swimsuit. You can sign up for junior lifeguard training, swim or dive team, or just swim laps.

Here's a link for more info.

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In case you missed this story in today's Sun Sentinel, check this out.

It's a story about a teenager who ran away from Boca Raton and ended up in California.

I like how the dad's reaction was to be impressed that his kid actually drove the car to the airport.

I mean, he was upset, also. But as the mom of a 13-year-old, I have to agree. My first reaction might be pride that he was able to drive to the airport and get on a plane by himself.

The story's on the jump page.

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Let's be practical today. Wouldn't life be simpler if for some reason, in the same way China allows families only one child, America decided each family had to get by on just one box of 64 crayons?

I've thought of giving them away. But there they lay, scattered in shoe boxes and cute plastic buckets. Lined up in that car compartment where you didn't realize they would melt into one mega-crayon. Under beds, and under foot, broken.

I recently found the best idea yet for how to take care of the scores of needy crayons in your house. The solution involves brightly colored duct tape (did you know this product exists? It does!), some zip-lock baggies, and a three-ring binder.

The picture is self-explanatory, I think. The duct tape (aqua, in this photo) reinforces the plastic baggy so it doesn't rip. I've made a bunch of these, filling the baggies with crayons and the pockets with paper.

If you lay awake at night thinking, "why do I have all of these crayons?'' you owe it to yourself to try this out.

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I've told you that our 13-year-old gets around the county on the bus.

My colleague Scott Wyman writes that the county is considering putting cameras on the buses. Click here to read about it.

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About a year ago, my husband and I made one of the best parenting decisions of our lives. In response to one of our son's many, many requests for a ride somewhere, we finally said, "Take the bus.''

I think requiring your young teen to use public transit, such as it is in Broward County, is the most useful parenting advice I have to offer, along with "always keep a blank sheet of white posterboard on hand.''

How many times have we run into those scheduling impossibilities, and then suddenly a stinky exhaust pipe went off in our minds and we realized: Phew! He can take the bus!

I was nervous at first. Some of you probably would be, too. I tried out the bus, taking it on the occasional weekday to work downtown. Because as parents, we know we should never ask our children to do something that we personally wouldn't do, if we're going to be writing about it and exposing that hypocrisy.

I felt satisfied that riding the buses around here is safe, even if it's not a very efficient way to get around.

Creed was only 12 when we forced him to join the car-less and the people who've lost driving privileges. But he was ready for this new mobility.

Now he rides the bus quite a bit, of his own volition. He rides with a friend or two, and with cell phones. These suburban boys are learning to get around their part of the county, to malls and movie theaters.

When I tell other parents, they often react with an, "Oh!''

Like, "oh yeah, we do have buses around here, don't we?'' mixed in with, "oh my gosh! Dear Lord!''

I think if the masses of youth in Broward grew up familiar and comfortable with our bus system, we'd have a better Broward for their adult years. There might be fewer cars on the road, and better transit options instead. Dontcha think?

Here's the county transit website. You can buy a student bus pass for your kid's next birthday, for $26. That'll buy them a month's worth of rides, and buy you a month's worth of freedom from giving rides.
.

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I know I'm not the only somewhat normal person who enjoyed the new Hannah Montana movie. Am I?!

Here's a link my colleague found where you can legally, and without cost, listen to the soundtrack of the movie. The songs are great.

Of course, my favorite show ever was the live performance of Barbie Fairytopia at the Broward Center for the Performing Arts. So that's where I'm coming from.

Click here to listen.

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I put it off as long as I could. My 7-year-old started talking about the Hannah Montana movie long ago. She knew the date it would open in theaters (April 10), and she begged me to take her. It seemed unavoidable so I said yes and started dreading it.

The big day came, and we had other plans. Couldn't take her. She cried. Next day, same story. We don't practice "consensual parenting'' in our house, by the way. So what we say goes, and Lily doesn't control the schedule. Life is full of disappointments, and now she has a fresh example of that.

Anyway, last night I finally took her to the movie. I know the reviews are mixed, but I tend to agree with this one I saw on the Rotten Tomatoes website: "I'm almost embarrassed at how entertained I was.''

Now, I do admit I like cheesy music, like Abba and John Denver. So I really liked that this movie has a lot of music in it. Believe me, I've seen many an episode of her TV show. The movie was definitely better, and worth the money.

Oh, and Lily liked it, too.

My only beef with the movie was that the person Lily identified as "the bad guy'' was a reporter. Sigh.

Click here for movie times.

p.s. If you search online for "Hannah Montana coloring pages'' you can print out some pretty cool looking stuff for your kid to get creative with.

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One factor it pays to remember when planning that fabulous one-on-one day with your child where you're going to spend all day bonding, just the two of you: Children are crazy. .

Really. If I took an adult friend to Miami Seaquarium, paid for an annual pass, bought her a slushy and practically knocked people over to get her second row seats to the killer whale show, and then she got splashed by the whale in the first 15 seconds of the show, and burst into tears and said she wanted to go home, we would all conclude that my friend was nuts.

But this is what happened last week when I took my daughter there to celebrate her 7th birthday. And this kind of behavior is just normal for a little girl turning 7. You just can't plan for it. If you don't believe me, go to Disney World and look at all the crying kids, and their parents, who spent $700 for that experience.

Anyway, at the Seaquarium, as we wiped salt water out of our eyes (Thanks, Lolita the killer whale!), no one even noticed that one of us was sobbing. I got out a packet of Yogos and handed them to her one by one. I recognized the outburst as a cry of hunger. And the day was all uphill from there.

I'd been warned by friends that I might not be impressed by the Seaquarium. But it was a great afternoon, except those few crazy minutes at the whale show. Click here for the Miami Seaquarium website.

My son would say that anyone who keeps a giant sea-being captive is a "monster.'' But the exhibits and shows promote appreciation for nature, and for sea life. If a few sea creatures spend their days bonding with fun humans, for this purpose, that is OK by me.

It takes about four hours to see all the shows and have a good time.

And a bonus at Miami Seaquarium: They still have those machines that make a wax model of a dolphin or a shark, for only $2.

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I just heard on the radio this morning about something called consensual parenting. It's also referred to by some as consensual living.

The idea is that your child gets to help make the decisions, is taken seriously and treated as an equal in the household.

No thanks.

That's probably all you need to know to figure out what a bad idea this is, and to look into the future and see the spoiled brat never-grew-up adults they will become.

Here's a link to more information about this abdication of parenting.

An excerpt: "If we take the right to self-determination away from any individual, we are changing the course of their life, and may never come to know the person they were meant to become."

Right, why should you as parents get in the way of your children's fate, however horrible it may be? Go ahead, just hand them the joy stick to control their own lives, and see what happens.

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I can see from a search of cyberspace that we're not the only ones who've paid a lot of money for a Webkinz animal and then had trouble getting into Webkinz World online.

That's pretty annoying, considering that if you just wanted a stuffed animal, they come a lot cheaper if they're not carrying a secret Webkinz code.

We bought Lily three new Webkinz pets for her 7th birthday, but getting logged in was a nightmare.

I sent an email to Ganz customer service, but got no response. That's after I searched all over their website looking for an explanation to the problems.

However I did find information about this on a site called Webkinzinsider.com. And 187 people commented about it, and their frustrations with the website.

Good to know.

Click here and here for my previous posts about Webkinz.com.

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My kids aren't old and mean enough yet to hurl the I hate you!s around. But I know it's coming.

When your kids are young, it's tempting to start dreaming about the future, and the house you'll

Lily pouting.

But these are the thoughts you have when your kids are young, and still nice to you. We mustn't forget that it's probably not going to last. And if you try to remain friends with your child through their teen years, you'll probably do some really terrible parenting.

My 6-year-old daughter Lily gave me a good dose of this reality a couple weeks ago. Lily is a real Momma's Girl. She writes me letters, she makes me homemade books that are stapled together. She draws pictures of us together, with lots of hearts. She's a love bug.

So she gave me one of her love notes. It said "You are the best mommy in the world. I love you.'' The word "love'' was in a heart with two birds, and she signed it. She also stuck a "sealed with a kiss'' sticker on it.

I put her to bed, and was rearranging some of her toys when I found a slip of paper that had fallen behind her toy shelf.

Here's what it said: "My heart is broken because of a big fat meany.'' It had some pen swirls, and said "ugly.''

I read it out loud, and she knew she was busted. I asked her who she was calling a "big, fat meany'' and she said, "uhh, my invisible friend.'' Great answer, but an obvious big, fat lie. So she admitted she'd written it when I had yelled at her for something.

Mentally, I extrapolated this to 10 years from now, or 15, or 20. We're going to have actual fights, I realized. Am I ready for this?

The best way to approach it, I think, is to simply remember: Act like a parent, not a friend.

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What a tragedy for the children whose teacher died yesterday on Interstate 95, and for the woman's family and friends. Sharon Braun, a fourth grade teacher at Stephen Foster Elementary, died in a horrible crash that also critically injured a P.E. teacher at that school, Gail Carter.

Braun's students had to take the FCAT today, anyway.

An elementary school teacher makes a big imprint on a child. And if I were one of the parents of the kids she taught, I'd be trying to decide: Should I take my child to the funeral, or not?

It's going to be traumatic, but might it be therapeutic?

Some experts say if a child is old enough to go to church, he or she is old enough to attend a funeral. Some say a child needs to face the reality of death. Still others say that a child forced to go, or forced to stay away from a funeral, will suffer the most. They're saying the most important thing is that your child makes the choice themselves.

Personally, I think I would take my child. It's a good time to talk about life, and what it all means.

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Maybe this would be true even if Barack Obama hadn't won the presidency, but I've been really surprised how much my daughter knows about him, and about Michelle Obama and the girls. And this is my first grader we're talking about.

She picked this stuff up at school. She comes home with pictures of President Obama to color.

Well, today is election day again. This time, the elections are small, in various cities in Broward County. My city, Plantation, has an election. But I want to raise a voter. So I'm talking to the kids about the races.

If you want ideas on teaching your kids the A, B, Cs of good citizenship, check out Kids Voting USA.

And by the way, the Kids Voting election results also went Obama's way. But I found it interesting that 494 kids voted Socialist.

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Broward County schools are trying to get parents more involved in their kids' academics.

They've launched this website, which is pretty cool. Among the material on there is a flow chart on how to deal with what you think is unfair treatment of your child by their teacher. There's also advice about how to deal with a child who hates school and thinks it's stupid. (Besides saying, 'Congratulations, you're human!'')

The district also has parent involvement meetings. Here's the schedule. The next one is March 23. Download file

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Some of you believe that until a teen-ager is 18, the parent is in charge. Well you're wrong. Florida schools allow kids to make one of the most important decisions in life -- the decision to be a high school dropout -- at age 16.

And apparently Broward's dropout rate is not necessarily something to brag about when you're trying to sell your house to someone from outside the area. The rate of graduations is 69.7 percent, compared to the state's 75.4 percent.

Here's the latest dropout data, including school by school dropout rates. Download file

The school board did what school boards do when faced with something this terrible: They convened a task force. Someone from that task force spoke at last month's Broward County's High School Council. According to the draft minutes:

The risk factors or predictors of dropping out are well known and include being over-age, behavior problems, poor attendance, low performance on standardized tests and grade retention. Minority groups are overrepresented in the dropout statistics.

The Council is talking about dropouts again this month. Their meeting topic is "Entering High School & Exiting With a Diploma.'' That's depressing. I have much higher hopes for my own son, who enters high school this fall. Exiting with a diploma I assumed was a no-brainer. Guess I was wrong.

If your kid is in middle school, you're welcome to attend the Council's meeting. It's on Thursday, March 5, from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. at Plantation High School, 6901 NE 16th St. (graduation rate 71.4 percent).

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Parents of gifted kids: If you want to join the email chain of the Broward County gifted advisory council, send a blank email to BrowardCountyGifted-subscribe@yahoogroups.com.

You'll find out things like this: On April 18, students can attend a review session for the AP exams (Advanced Placement) that are given in May.

The school district's review session will be led by AP teachers and will help kids with "critical test taking tips and practice questions'' designed for the AP test.

It's free, and takes place on April 18th from 8:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. at Western High School in Davie.

Seating is limited. To register or find out more, visit this website: http://www.broward.k12.fl.us/advancedacademics/

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Every once in a while, technology/programming/computer gurus come up with something that a teen-ager would not find cool. It's about time that happened, after we were subjected to XBox 360.

That new thing is here, I think. It's called Google Latitude.

You enable it on a cell phone and it tells you where the cell phone user is, via Google Maps. It's advertised as a way to track your friends' movements.

Um, yeah. I certainly do consider my 13-year-old son to be my "friend,'' and yes, thank you, I'd LOVE to track his movements!

To me it sounds like a higher-tech version of the good old house-arrest ankle bracelet. If your kid walks out the door, you can find out. Like a good ankle bracelet should, this one would tell you the coordinates of your child's location, so you can apprehend him or her immediately.

I went to the website, and had it send a text message to my son's phone. You have to have permission from your child to set their phone up as a homing signal. But really, folks, is "permission'' really necessary from someone who relies on you for nourishment?

I don't spy on Creed. But I like to know where my friends are, especially, say, two hours after I drop one of them off in western suburbia at some kind of "church festival.''

Is that way too 2009 of me?

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The movie is Coraline, which seems to be a horror movie that we're supposed to take little Johnny to because the murderer in the film is animated instead of real.

The animation is beautiful, really, and the movie got great reviews.

It was rated PG, for Parental Guidance. I figured that was OK to take my almost-7-year-old to. No?

Here are some snippets of Lily's review: "Why did you take me to this movie?'' "Cover my eyes!'' "Can I sleep in your room tonight?''

Meanwhile my son was across town watching the latest Friday the 13th movie, which he was also too young to see. Is he going to butcher me in my sleep now?

One cool thing about Coraline is it's the first time I've seen animated characters ignoring their kids by typing on their laptop computers. Poor Coraline is drawn into the world of the "other'' parents by her boredom with her own life and her own parents. They just sit there typing on their computers when she's trying to talk to them. Can you imagine?

The moral of the story, though, is good: No matter how much your own parents suck, it's better than being murdered.

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Just a few years ago, I vividly recall seeing the hordes of teen-agers loafing around at Sawgrass Mill's Oasis area, and declaring, "I would never let my teen just go hang out at a mall.''

I felt the same way about the teens loafing at Riverfront complex in Fort Lauderdale. "Who drops their kid off with no money and nothing to do but bother people?'' I would say.

Life has a way of providing answers. Now my son is 13, and it's all become crystal clear to me.

On weekend nights, all the brats of Broward County congregate in public places like movie theaters and malls. Parents drop them off, or the kids ride county buses to get around. Or they walk or ride bikes.

I grew up in rural Iowa, and then rural Oklahoma. So I don't have experience with teenagers in urban settings.

What should their curfew be? Creed is only 13, but when I made him come home at 11:30 p.m. from some kind of carnival that was going on out west, it seemed he was leaving the entire teen population of Broward behind.

What kind of county is this, where kids stay out till midnight or later doing nothing?

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At some point, your child's inability to ride a bike becomes a reflection not of his or her state of physical ability, but on your parenting.

So I've been thinking, Lily can't ride a bike yet. What is wrong with me? (See my previous post, topic Lily can't swim yet.)

She's actually very physically able. She just got selected for the "All Star'' soccer team. And she's a great rope jumper, as I've shown you before.

But when you mix in her fears, you start to realize why she is headed toward age 7 and is still scared to ride a bike EVEN WITH TRAINING WHEELS.

OK, add in a bad experience (a previous effort ended up with her splayed on the rocky landscape feature of my next door neighbor.)

But every time I see a young Olympic contender, I know how much the parents had to do with that. Because in the end, it's the parent's choice to push a child to learn some difficult physical task, like exceling in gymnastics, becoming a superstar tennis player, or just riding a bike.

I work. I don't have every afternoon to select what I want to play with my kids.

On the weekends, in our little bit of spare time, I can either take Lily to the library, which I did this weekend and she loved, or take her to the pond to feed stale bread to the ducks, which I also did this weekend and she loved. Or I can spend a bunch of time trying to make her learn something physical that's hard, like riding a bike.

And you start to wonder: Does everyone in the world really have to know how to ride a bike? Can't she ride one of those giant tricycles?

What finally pushed me over the edge was a little kid, maybe 3 at the most, whom I saw riding his bike without training wheels at Plantation's Central Park this weekend. I was shamed by a toddler!

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Two teens are here at the Sun Sentinel today, shadowing me in my job as a reporter. I asked them to give parents advice on dealing with teen-agers.

High schoolers Famishia Williams and Kelsey Dean

KELSEY DEAN, 17, WESTERN HIGH SCHOOL in Davie

"As far as advice for parents of other teens, give us space, but not too much. We're still learning. We will make mistakes.
Don't brush us off as children, but don't assume we know what we're doing all of the time.
Overprotection and underprotection can cause rebellion. And even if you're doing everything right, we'll criticize you anyway. It's how we get our point across.
Also, don't undermine a teenager's problem; it might seem irrelevant to you, but to us, it probably means the world, at least for the time being.''

FAMISHIA WILLIAMS, 17, NORTHEAST HIGH SCHOOL in Fort Lauderdale:

"Communication is key. When dealing with teen-agers, especially girls, it's important not to simply assume that you know exactly how they feel and what's going on with them because you've "been there before.''
It's important to do more listening than talking because honestly, we want nothing more than to express the way we feel and tell parents everything that's going on in our lives without being judged.
Most parents feel uncomfortable with talking to their teens about certain subjects such as sex, love, drugs and other things that are important to us. Parents have to sometimes cross that line dividing parenting and befriending. Parents have to come out of this dictative mindset and talk to teens. That 'my house, my rules' cliche is becoming a bit overrated.
Children are tired of being silenced. It's time to listen.''

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We pulled into Jonathan Dickinson State Park, watching water spouts form in the black cloud above us. Could the park be cursed, or is it only when I want to go camping there?

Last time I'd taken kids camping at that state park, which is about an hour-plus north of here, a
controlled burn raged out of control in the fast winds, and the park was severely damaged.

I had my Cub Scout den there, and it's a campout none of them will forget. They couldn't breathe; the smoke was thick. Fire was licking the sky, and firemen (and, maybe, firewomen), were shouting for everyone to get out, quickly. We threw all of our stuff in the car, amidst chaos and screaming, and coughing and choking, and we left. Many, many other people must have lost their campers, tents and gears, because the fire lept across the lake to our campsite.

For some of them, it was the last campout they've had. Not that they died in the fire. They just couldn't shake the traumatic way that campout ended, when they were only 9 and 10 years old.

But the park itself is quite nice. So I took my two kids there last weekend. We did a one-night camping trip. And it was wonderful.

Mind you, as during any campout, I had moments where I wondered: Why in the world would I do this to myself? The wind started to pick up, and the sky looked ominous. People were videotaping the water spouts -- mini-tornadoes -- forming in the clouds. And it was one of the coldest nights of the year.

It was so difficult putting the tent up in the wind that I became a spectacle for other campers.

But that's one of the reasons we camp, instead of going to a hotel. You "build'' your little house for the night, and you have a sense of accomplishment. There's no TV. You have to resort to good, old-fashioned fun, like kickball, hiking, building fires, and maybe cards.

It's great for city kids like ours growing up in Broward County. You'd think they'd never seen a cactus the way they enjoyed finding them on hikes.

I started looking for another place to camp, to show my kids all the faces of Florida. This site, Reserve America, allows you to reserve campsites and pay for them online. That's how I reserved the campout last weekend. But it doesn't have all the campsites in Florida on it. So this is another good resource: The Official 2008 Florida Camping Directory.

Enjoy!

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I've barely given thought to summer camps yet, except to set up deductions from my paycheck so that I can get out of paying taxes on my summer camp expenses. (If you didn't know that childcare was tax deductible, now you do.)

But the Broward Center for the Performing Arts announced it's starting early registration for a theater camp this summer.

Last summer, we did a Fort Lauderdale Museum of Art camp that probably qualifies as Lily's Best Life Experience to Date.

So I might consider this one, too. The youngest age is 7. Lily said she's got "stage fright,'' so I'd have to really push her into it.

The trick is to mish-mash a bunch of good, short camps together into a good summer curriculum for your child. That's much better than sticking them in one, generic camp all summer. It's also more expensive, and you can end up with overlapping camps, otherwise known as wasted money.

But that's why it's important to use pretax dollars for camp, or deduct them when you file your taxes. Please, don't take my word for it; ask a licensed accountant.

Here's the camp info from the Broward Center for the Performing Arts, which has a camp in Miramar and a camp at the downtown Fort Lauderdale center. Looks like the camp ends at 4 p.m. For working parents, that's tough but it's good to ask if the camp offers after-care. I found that many of them offer it for an extra fee:

Secure a spot for your child at Summer Theater Camp!
This year, Summer Theater Camp has...
2 Sessions • 2 Age Groups • 2 Locations
Monday to Friday • 9am–4pm

Register by Feb. 1, 2009 – and SAVE $50

Our unique Summer Camp program sparks interest in the theater arts, sharpens performance skills and develops self-confidence in the campers. Each 4-week session exposes campers to all facets of the performing arts, and studies culminate with a show performance in a professional setting.

Young Camper Shows (Ages 7-13):
Session 1: Fiddler on the Roof
Miramar Cultural Center/ArtsPark • June 8–July 3
Broward Center • June 15 –July 10
Session 2: The Wiz
Miramar Cultural Center/ArtsPark • July 6–July 31
Broward Center • July 13–Aug 7

Young Professionals Program (Ages 14-18)
Session 1: Seussical The Musical
Miramar Cultural Center/ArtsPark - June 8–July 4
Broward Center • June 15–July 11
Session 2: Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
Miramar Cultural Center/ArtsPark • July 6–Aug 1
Broward Center • July 13–Aug 8

CLICK HEREOr call today! 954.462.0222

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Dear Santa Claus,

Why haven't you written my 6-year-old back like you promised?

Still waiting.

Brittany, mother of Lily Norman

p.s. First the Tooth Fairy forgets to leave money, and now this. What's the deal?

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One thing I hadn't prepared myself for as a parent was having an in-house critic analyzing everything about me.

I open my mouth occasionally while chewing, I don't keep the living room clean enough, I have bad hair days, I've been known to drink out of the orange juice container, and sometimes I eat with my fingers instead of using a fork.

All of that has gone happily unnoticed for years in our household. By now, my spouse has learned to look past my flaws because he knows I will never admit them. Thus, there's no point bringing them up.

And then Creed turned 13. Suddenly I have another set of eyes on me. It's like being on reality TV, where every mistake I make is fodder for discussion.

If my husband and I argue, I no longer walk away feeling victorious. Now I have to hear, "Why did you say that to Dad?''

I'm still trying to get used to this new arrangement. Kids walk around oblivious to the world for so many years, and anything that does snag their attention can easily be smoothed over with a parent's white lie. ("Of course that's not beer in my cup! They don't allow beer inside movie theaters. It's Sprite.'')

Right about this age, you're finally seeing the results of your consistency in the first dozen years.

If you didn't consistently impose homework requirements and academic standards, you'll be lost at this point. If you were off-and-on about your child keeping his room clean and his bed made, don't try now. If you didn't consistently show through your own behavior the kind of character you want your kid to have, you can't really start in the teen years.

So in some ways, the incubation is over, and the hardest work is done.

But in another respect, after a dozen years of correcting your child's behavior and pointing out their mistakes so they can reach their full potential, the tables get turned on you. Better hope you have nothing to hide.

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I found a way to help my middle-schooler son get homework done. It was a lot more expensive than a tutor. But it's a one-time expense. It's called a table.

Adults have grown used to working in cramped, uncomfortable quarters. They have learned to adapt to a cubicle habitat.

But kids have a long way to go before they learn to love office furniture. At this point they're not even getting paid to do the work, so something about the experience needs to be pleasant.

A comfortable, roomy place to spread out the work. A place with relative silence. An official "assigned seat'' and maybe even an assigned time.

If you research the best studying methods, experts and non-experts alike seem to agree that one important factor in getting homework done is to find the right place to do it.

It's obvious that doing homework in front of a television set is a bad idea. Yet I've allowed my son to do it; I measured the results. If he was getting his work done there, I reasoned that maybe it was just they way he functioned best.

Yeah, right. I've come to realize what a bad idea that was. But you have to offer a good alternative.

I bought my son a desk; he doesn't sit there. I led him to a seat at the dinner table, he didn't take to that well, either. No spot seemed conducive to getting science fair projects done, algebra, sociology, Spanish.

Over the holidays, we bought a large, square table for the kitchen. In moments, it became clear that I'd just accidentally purchased the Great Homework Solution. Everyone immediately gravitated to this large table to work.

As I write this now, we're all three sitting at this table working. No one is allowed to speak (within reason; I'm not Mommy Dearest).

In here, the only distraction is the refrigerator.

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According to our story today by Robert Nolin, the local postal employees will make sure your
child gets a note back from Santa if your letter to him has a return address.

Read the story here.

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Now that we're duping our second child into believing in imaginary characters, we're kind of losing our excitement about it.

For instance I don't think we'll take Lily to sit on any Santa's lap this year. A letter will do.

And this morning I heard those dreaded, dreaded words: "Mom, the Tooth Fairy's not real. She didn't leave me any money!''

Ooops!

You know your priorities went askew when you stay up till midnight sending emails, but forget to put a couple dollars under your child's pillow when a front tooth falls out.

Gulp. My mind raced through various options of "recovery'' from this mortifying oversight. Should I take the pink tooth bag into another room and declare that I found money in it that she had missed? Should I stick money under another pillow when she leaves the room and tell her she didn't look in the right place? Should I make up something on the spot about the Tooth Fairy not visiting little girls who don't clean their room?

"Well,'' I said, "we'll just have to try again tonight.''

"She must have looked under the wrong pillow,'' Lily decided, because she was sleeping in the wrong direction and had her feet on the tooth pillow.

Thank goodness kids always give the Tooth Fairy the benefit of the doubt.

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On the radio this morning I heard an advertisement for a service that helps you keep your child safe from molesters. They said you could order a report that would include information about potential sexual offenders in your midst.

Fortunately that information is public record, and available for free to all of us in Florida.

I look up my neighborhood once in a while on the state's sexual offender and sexual predator database, to see which neighbors of mine to look out for.

Here's the link to the Broward Sheriff's Office's map. When you place your cursor over a dot, you get multiple photos of the offenders.

It's appalling how many there are.

You can even sign up to get an email if a sex offender moves in or out of your community. And on the state's searchable database, here, you can look up email addressess and Instant message names to see if they're registered to offenders.

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Used to be that when my daughter came home from school with a cute drawing or some kind of construction paper and glue creation, I'd get all excited and proud, and I'd think, "Now this I have to keep.''

Now I assess it quickly, and if it's not brilliant, I think, "which trash can should I throw this in that Lily won't see I threw it away and start crying.''

Because if you save kid art long enough, you have to invest in some of those giant plastic tubs with lids, and then after another year or two, you get a citation from code enforcement for "improper outdoor storage.''

I do want to keep some of these hints into her little mind, though.

(I'm a big advocate of promoting a child's artistic side. Click here to read my earlier post about art supplies and displaying your kid's art in the home.) (And click here to find out about the Fort Lauderdale Museum of Art's summer camps, which are awesome. Click here to find out about their Saturday morning art classes for kids.)

So there's definitely need for a "system'' in the house when it comes to the kid-art. Keep, or toss?

I've heard some good advice on this. One is to toss any art that was done from a pattern, like one of those cute Thanksgiving construction paper turkeys, for example. Toss anything that involved coloring in an existing drawing, like from a coloring book, no matter how great it looks.

Keep only original works, in other words.

You'll still end up with too much. But I have ideas on what to do with some of it.

Holiday art you can keep in your box of decorations for that holiday. Take it out and display it at the right time.

The rest? I keep a stack of Lily's cutest drawings, including some of her homework that has her drawings and her attempts at writing. And every time I have to write someone a letter, be they friend or family, I grab one of Lily's drawings and throw it in there. I reason that I enjoy when friends put the latest school photo in the envelope, and I'd enjoy seeing kid artwork as well.

In my Christmas cards this year, for example, I'm including a copy of a recent Lily poem.

My husband thinks that's going overboard. But I figure, why not?

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It costs nothing to tell your child that he or she is an artist. And you're not lying. Anyone can take the label of artist, and mean it. Isn't the quality of art in the eye of the beholder?

So my top pick this year for birthday presents, Christmas presents, or for whatever holiday you celebrate and have need to buy a kid a gift, is art supplies.

The exercise is pointless unless you take the art that your child slaps on these blank canvases, and display it proudly in your home.

If you always wanted to have original art on your walls, then this is a win-win situation!

I think it makes a child feel good to see that you're so proud of their work that you hang it on the wall. (These photos are Lily's work, displayed right outside her bedroom, in our hallway.)

Big Lots! has very cheap blank canvases, a few dollars, less than $10 for even the largest canvas. They also have the table top easels and paint.

I know someone who takes a look at "real'' art, picks out something that looks beautiful, and then makes a family project out of painting it on a blank canvas.

I have another friend who made a gigantic canvas and had her daughter paint a simple but very cool design on it, and it's the expensive looking centerpiece of the living room.

I think that's a great way to show appreciation for art, and to develop your child's creativity.

And that's helpful no matter what vocation your child chooses.

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Students at Broward County schools sent holiday cards to U.S. troops in Afghanistan this week, with the help of U.S. Rep. Ron Klein, D-Boca Raton.

Klein got kids from these schools in Broward to create cards and write notes to the military personnel: Norcrest Elementary School, Winston Park Elementary School, Park Springs Elementary School, Eagle Ridge Elementary, McNab Elementary, Country Hills Elementary School, Coral Springs Elementary School, Harbordale Elementary School, Coral Springs Middle School, Bayview Elementary School, Park Trails Elementary School.

And kids at these schools in Palm Beach County: Palm Beach County: Conniston Community Middle School, Palmetto Elementary, Palm Springs Middle School, N. Palm Beach Country Elementary, S. Olive Elementary, Howell L. Watkins Middle School, Palm Springs Elementary School, Lake Worth Middle School, Jupiter Elementary School, Royal Palm Beach High School, Boca Verde, Orchard View Elementary School, Boca Raton Middle School.

“This program helps the next generation of Americans understand the importance of military service and support for our veterans,” Klein said in a news release. “I am so proud of the thousands of students who took the time to make cards, write notes and share their personal thanks with the military men and women serving in Afghanistan this holiday season.”

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Navigating your high school students' academic path to college can be daunting.

Nova High School is offering a "parent university'' where you can find out about high school graduation requirements, choosing a college wisely, financial aid and scholarship opportunities, SAT and ACT information and expectations of AP and Honors.

It's open to parents in the Broward County public school system, on Dec. 13, which is a Saturday, from 8:45 a.m. to 12:45 p.m. at Nova High School, 3600 College Ave. in Davie.

For more information call 754 323-1650.

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When I was a teen-ager, one couple in town would throw big beer keg parties at their house. They had two sons. I think they reasoned that they knew their sons were going to be drinking alcohol, and this way they at least knew their kids were safe at home and under their
supervision.

Cheers!

Parenting is hard; sometimes you think you have a novel approach to parenting that is quite genius. And later you look back on it and realize what a dope you were.

I don't know if they regret their irresponsible approach to underage drinking. Turns out they no longer have either son, because one died of leukemia when we were young, and the other is in prison on a life sentence for murdering his wife. So who am I to second guess the way they spent their limited quality time with their sons?

But it's always at the back of a parent's mind, wondering how friendly we should be with our kids. It's easier to be your kid's friend than their parent, that's for sure. And we want our kids to like us, don't we?

I was on MySpace the other day wondering if I should try to get my son's friends to add me to their friend lists. I wanted to be able to read their pages, and that content was only available to those they've agreed are their friends.

Then I read this story in our paper saying that my idea was terrible.

It's not the same as offering beer to my son's friends, but I had to reluctantly agree that it would be creepy for someone's mom to try to "friend'' them online. Ew.

There's something desperate about a parent stooping down to the social level of teens. But you sure would find out a lot.

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I know I'm not alone when I say that working moms are some of the hardest workers in this country. And yet we're not lauded for all that work. We're not like firemen whose alternate label is "American Hero.'' Instead, there's some kind of unspoken distaste out there, still, for those of us who aren't at home cutting the crust off of our kids' peanut butter and homemade jam sandwiches.

A couple of working moms in Boca Raton set up a website for us. Ironically, it will require your time and effort to look at it. As if you have any left!

That's why it's taken me a couple of months to actually pull it up and share it with you. Sorry about that. I had lots of laundry to do, had to pick my son up from football, my daughter's school needed a speaker for Career Day, I had to work late on a story, my husband was hungry for lasagna, I was bidding on some Christmas presents online, my friend said I was neglecting her, we lost the 'Strawberry Shortcake' DVD we rented from the library so I had to ransack the house to find it, the political blog at work was desperately in need of another post, I had to help our new TV partners on a story, and I decided to take up jogging.

Here's the website: www.workingmomlifeline.com.

It's a fun website, with some tips on saving time, some advice, and some stuff designed to make you laugh. I got a chuckle out of the mom who was a pothead, whose daughter walked in on her cloud of cannibas. That probably wasn't one of the items on this website designed to draw a chuckle. Oh well.

This "worst slogan translation,'' however was designed to be funny:

The Dairy Association's huge success with the campaign "Got Milk?" prompted them to expand advertising to Mexico. It was soon brought to their attention the Spanish translation read "Are You Lactating?"

Good stuff. Check it out.

> Please comment

Some cultures convey adulthood on a boy when he turns 13. My son's 13 now. Looks like my job is done.

You're 13! Here's
your new car!

You know, that's the age of the Bar Mitzvah. (We're not Jewish, but still!) And according to the great Internet, it's the age in some other countries when a boy is considered a man.

The Internet also tells me that 13 marks the age when a boy can mount an adult size Hippity Hop Ball and have a lot of fun.

And that's exactly what I'm torn with here. Is a 13-year-old a baby, or a little adult who should start making his own decisions in life?

I feel like I've already raised up my child in the way he should go. I've instilled all the character traits and values that will fit.

At this point, I think, I'm pouring into a vessel that is not only full, it is vomiting out everything I attempt to put in.

Should a teen be able to handle their own school responsibilities without a backpack-ransacking parent by now? Should a teen be allowed to skip church sometimes? What about sports and extra-curricular? Let the teen decide?

I'm thinking yes, within reason. If a 13-year-old doesn't have a good parenting foundation by now, it's really probably too late.

> Please comment

I was mildly disturbed to find that 268 people viewed my home video on YouTube of Lily jumping rope, if you can call it that. She was 5 years old in the video, and just learning. Meanwhile I was just learning how to upload a video to YouTube.

This week I put up a new one, because she performed this rope-jumping "talent'' in our church talent show Sunday.

That's when I noticed that strangers are watching my baby jump rope. You're saying to yourself right now, 'What did you expect? You put videos of your child on YouTube!''

Yeah, I know. But as videos go, it's LAME!

I really don't care that much if strangers watch her jumping rope. It's just kind of weird. Five websites linked her video (phew! they were rope jumping websites!) and three marked it as a "favorite.''

I don't know if there's parent etiquette for posting our kids' videos. She's way below the age to consent.

It seems pretty cool to me; friends, family and whoever else can watch. And I don't think this will keep her from getting a job 20 years from now, when she graduates with her PhD.

Check it out.

> Please comment

You know FCAT training has your child brainwashed when she starts insulting people in well-organized essays.

I'm going to change the name of the insulted, to protect her from knowing. But here's what my six-year-old first-grader said yesterday in the car. She was talking out loud, but to herself I suppose.

"I hate Shanna. She's a horrible person. First, she has the worst cafeteria manners. Next, she's the meanest person in the world. And last, she's a bad person. In conclusion, I hate Shanna.''

I wasn't sure whether to be impressed, or horrified.

I've told her it's not right to "hate'' anyone. But I do want her to pass the FCAT!

> Please comment

I'm just back from a trip to Disney World's Magic Kingdom.

Someone please remind me why it's worth $150 for a parent and child to ride four or five rides
and spend the rest of the time fighting over what souvenirs to purchase.

One of my sisters spent a fortune flying here from Oklahoma to take her three-year-old to Disney World. But he didn't feel well and screamed his head off most of the time. He even threw himself on the ground and kicked his legs while flailing his arms. That's something I thought was made up by TV actors.

He wanted to buy a plastic sword, and then he wanted to buy a gun instead. And then it was something else. He wanted to be carried, he didn't want his cousins to share the stroller with him. Etcetera etcetera.

He's really cute, so I found the whole thing amusing. But I felt sorry for my sis who spent all that money.

You can't really count on kids to actually enjoy the place. That's the problem.

> Please comment

This election season I've had some good discussions with my kids about how elections work, and the importance of voting.

I've let the kids stay up late to watch debates and speeches. I've turned on the TV to play elections news in the background of whatever my kids are doing.

Take a look at voter turnout in most elections and you'll see how important it is to raise the next generation to appreciate the right to vote enough to actually use it.

With Lily, who is 6, the questions are basic.

Last night she wanted to know if girls are "allowed'' to run for president, and how much does it cost? I guess that means she might not "get married and do nothing'' as she suggested about two weeks ago, and instead will run for president of the USA.

"If there was a president girl, then there could be a girl on one of the dollars,'' she observed.

Yes, wouldn't that be cool.

> Please comment

If you bamboozle an elderly person, you get arrested. If you fool a little kid, well that's just funny.

I guess that's what one of the helpers at Lily's school after care was thinking when he tricked her about what his name is.

"Goodbye, Anonymous!'' Lily shouted to him as we left the school.

"What? Lily, his name is not Anonymous,'' I instructed her outside.

"Yes it is, Mom. He told me that before. He would never lie to a first-grader!'' she replied.

I told her that didn't sound like a name. She told me some people have different names.

For example, she pointed out accurately, she has a classmate named Precious.

True. But when we got home, I relayed the story, including identifying the teacher whose helper/son is named "Anonymous.''

"Oh,'' Creed immediately replied, "Kendall?''

Mystery solved.

> Please comment

"George Bush was the last president,'' Lily told me one day recently on the way to school.

I was impressed.

"George Lincoln is dead.''

Not impressed. I corrected her.

"Just let me say it the way I want,'' she insisted. "I'm not that smart.''

The same day, she asked me all of the following: "Can we go to Disney world?" "What does someday mean?" "Can we get a puppy?" "Why do farts smell so bad?''

I also had to explain the difference between a diary and diarrhea. I'm not kidding.

Saturday she advised me during a discussion about college that "I don't want a job. I want to get married and do nothing.''

I told her Sunday that, "we're going to get you the best doll house for Christmas.''

"You know what,'' she answered. "Tell Santa. I don't want you to have to spend your money.''

Last night she said I was distracting her from her Webkinz activities.

"I can't focustrate!'' she said.

This is what parenting is all about. Answering weird questions like "do ponies lay eggs.''

It's a lot more fun than answering the questions she'll probably ask when she's a teen, like, "Are you sure this dent wasn't in your car before I drove it?''' or "Who washed my cell phone?''

> Please comment

I'm not sure I want to start reading books about horrible teen-agers just yet. My son is a fresh teen-ager, turned 13 this summer. But he's still a good kid.

For those of you already trying to decide what size cage to purchase for your teen, you might want to read a Weston mom's account of how she handled her daughter.

Sue Scheff turned her ordeal into a book called "Wit's End: Advice and Resources for Saving Your Out-of-Control Teen." She also does parent consulting now, I guess you could say. In other words, she turned her trials as a parent into a career.

I sure hope my trials as a parent do not provide me such a rich experience that I will spend the rest of my life telling other parents how awful it was.

Apparently this Weston lady was a single mom in the 90s when her daughter "embraced disturbing friends, beliefs and behaviors.'' Ultimately, she sent her to a residential treatment facility, which made things worse, Scheff says.

Beyond writing a book about it, Scheff also founded Parents' Universal Resource Experts (P.U.R.E.), to help families who have at-risk kids. She's been on national TV news shows and in newspapers and on talk radio. She has a website here.

Like I said, I haven't read the book and am not sure I want to jinx myself by doing so. But if you're already suffering, it's another source of info.

> Please comment

Today I got a call from the Ganz folks up in Canada who make Webkinz stuffed animals and their accompanying virtual world website.

They were feeling sorry for Lily because she was the victim of a home invasion robbery in Webkinz world. See my post on that by clicking here. They wanted to know if there was something they could do to help.

Awww, isn't that nice?

To bring you up to date, I very stupidly published Lily's logon and password on this blog, (see the post here) and joked about someone stealing the "furniture'' in her bunny's bedroom.

Surprise, surprise! Someone did just that. Yes, it's true, one of you readers is THAT MEAN!

The cyber burglar also cleaned out Lily's Webkinz virtual bank account. Lily was devastated.

But I told the Webkinz spokeswoman that Lily is already rebuilding from this life tragedy. She got a new job, has a fresh infusion of cash to pay her veterinary bills, and has almost gotten over the mental anguish she suffered.

Susan McVeigh, a spokeswoman for the company, advised me that many a child has had the "learning experience'' Lily had.

"We say never share your password. Never,'' she said.

Kids can learn "safe Internet practices'' at a young age on Webkinz.com, she noted. And many a child has given out a password to a friend who is no longer a friend, or to a sibling, and been victimized like Lily was.

However, not many kids are victimized by their own parent publishing the password on the Internet, McVeigh noted. Not very smart.

"Send me the link when you do one with your bank account logon and password,'' McVeigh said and laughed.

Touche!

> Please comment

Lily is only 6, and already she's been the victim of a major crime. A burglar broke into her home, stole all her furniture and all her money. And, inexplicably, left four new chairs in her bedroom.

All of this occurred in cyberspace, in Lily's beloved Webkinz world.

She came to me crying hysterically, and told me of the invasion. Real tears were streaming down her cheeks. She'd earned $24 doing Webkinz "jobs,'' and it was gone.

"I went to get my pet some medicine,'' she told me, "and $1 came up. And then, sadness,'' she told me.

She wept openly as she told me that making this tragedy even worse was the fact that "my bunny is so SICK!'' And she had no money to take him to the vet.

In Webkinz world, which I told you about in a previous post, you earn "money'' working "jobs,'' and then you can "buy'' special beds and nightstands and such and furnish your pet's room. Lily had carefully done so. I specifically remember a cute little pink love seat. And a pink bed. A pink phone.

All of it, now gone.

"And they left four chairs in my room. Why would I need that many chairs?!'' she cried.

I tell you all of this to warn of the danger of sharing your logon and password with any friends or cousins. Or newspaper readers.

I shouldn't have published Lily's logon information, huh?

Did one of you make Lily cry?

> Please comment

I got a little bit of helpful advice from my son's middle school principal. I had just shelled out $35 or $40 for a new backpack. And she suggested I buy one or two more.

Great idea!

The principal advised in a letter to parents that our kids could really have their crap together if they color coordinated their backpacks to the classes of the day. And I quote:

"Parents have found it helpful to have two or even three different colored backpacks to maintain organization at home, especially in th emornings when everyone is in a hurry to get out of the house.''

Hmmm, I thought. Did principal Kris Black read this in a Martha Stewart magazine?

The school, Seminole Middle in Plantation, is on block scheduling, so on Tuesdays and Thursdays they have four 85-minute classes, and on Wednesdays and Fridays they have four different classes, and on Mondays they have a short version of all eight classes.

I asked Creed what he thought of the idea.

"Creed, do you want me to buy you different colored backpacks for your odd and even days?''

"No,'' he said indignantly.

"Why not?' I asked.

"I'm not organized!,'' he said, as if the word "organized'' was a disease.

"Yes," I said, picturing his messy closets, "I know.''

> Please comment

Sometimes kids ask questions you can't answer, or you don't want to.

I got this question from my six year old, Lily, this week:

"Mommy, how do you stick a knife in a bad guy?''

I just didn't know where to start, to respond to that.

"Do you just stick and stick and stick until it goes in?'' she asked. "Because knives aren't that sharp.''

Ahh, now we're getting somewhere. Our knives in the kitchen are so dull, they probably would not be effective against a bad guy. I agree.

"It's not nice to kill someone who isn't a bad guy,'' she added.

Not nice. So true.

Sometimes you're just not in the mood to give a Big Speech. Ya know?

> Please comment

There's something enduring about hand clapping games.

My 6-year-old daughter Lily makes me play them all the time. Just like I did when I was six.

You know what I'm talking about, where you clap hands with each other while singing the lyrics of a silly song?

Here's the one Lily was chanting the other day:

Mr. Mailman do your duty

Here comes a lady with a big, fat booty

She can do the pom pom

And she can do the twist

But most of all she can kiss kiss kiss

K-i s- s

What does that spell?

Kiss!

> Please comment

I was pretty dismayed when I read my letter from Seminole Middle School Principal Kris Black. It welcomed parents to an exciting school year, and listed "upcoming important dates.''

And once again, the at-home moms are favored above all. The school is holding its parent
meeting for its DECAL program (Division of Enhanced Communication and Law for advanced and gifted students) during work hours on Wednesday. It's at 3 p.m.

I called the school to ask why they're holding it during the day and to register my discontent. They always hold it during the day, I was told. "Unfortunately, the teachers aren't here in the evenings,'' I was told.

So once a year they can't accommodate the parents by holding the meeting at 5:30 p.m.?

Or do they not want the parents to be able to come?

I might be able to get off work for two to three hours in order to drive out there, attend the meeting, try to address my son's schedule (he said they put him in Sign Language II instead of Spanish II) and return to work downtown. But how many other working parents will be able to? What if they work in Miami or Palm Beach County?

Black tells us in her letter that research shows that "when the home and the school work closely together'' children benefit.

I agree. But I've noticed over the years that the schools cater to the parents (usually moms) who don't work.

Moms who work have it tough. We labor all day, and then we go home and have to take care of housework, homework and everything else, crammed into the few hours until bedtime. It takes a lot of effort to be an involved parent in your child's school if you work full-time. I'll bet the kids of working parents are the ones most at-risk of failing in school. These are the kids and parents the schools should be trying harder to reach.

It sure would be nice if principals like Black faced reality and tried to make it a little easier for the working parents to be involved.

> Please comment

It is with heavy heart that I report, two months after everyone else reported it, that PBS is drastically cutting its offerings of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.''

Goodbye, King Friday. Henrietta Pussycat, we sure did love you. Queen Sara, we admired your community involvement.

Here's what the Associated Press reported in June:

"PBS says it will no longer offer episodes of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" to its member stations each weekday, but will instead send stations just one episode per week to air starting in the fall. PBS says it is making the decision because the show is no longer in production, and because its menu of other programming continues to expand.''

That means a station would have to pre-record all the episodes of the show over the summer if they wanted to try showing the tennis-shoe tossing Mr. Rogers every day.

Somehow I missed this news and only heard it on the radio this week, in August.

It's one of those things you feel you have to talk through, so I told a cashier yesterday and she was pretty broken up, also.

One guy is so upset about losing the "special nurturing voice'' of Mr. Rogers that he created this website, SaveMisterRogers.com.

As we try to absorb this devastating news, let's pay tribute to the late Mr. Rogers (he died in 2003 of stomach cancer) by reading the lyrics of one of his special songs. It's good to know that Mr. Rogers even loved our internal organs:

I think you're a special person And I like your ins and outsides. Everybody's fancy. Everybody's fine. Your body's fancy and so is mine.

Goodbye, neighbor.

> Please comment

I feel that I should retaliate against my cousin for buying Lily a Webkinz bunny.

He asked me if she had one, and informed me that his kids love their Webkinz so much they
are on the computer every single day.

Even though he's one of my favorite cousins, I should have burned the bunny right then and there.

It's cute and all. But Webkinz is one of those stuffed animals that comes with a secret code. And it turns out the bunny can be tossed in the fire. Because as long as your child gets that secret code, he or she has access to a special website where a cyberversion of the bunny "lives.'' And apparently it's so much fun even for a six-year-old, that they will want to hog your computer every extra minute.

I thought we had all decided that people who live cyberlives online, who have "jobs'' and "earn money'' and "purchase things'' all in quote marks, online, are socially deficient and pretty weird. No?

Yet almost every day, I have to hear Lily ask, "Mommy, can I get on w-w-w-dot?'' And I let her.

On the company's website, they answer such questions as: "Are the wishing well and the Wheel of Wow gambling?'' And "Can Webkinz pets die?''

I'll leave you hanging on the answers.

The game is educational I suppose. But so is going to the library and checking out five books.

Should I be writing in her babybook that her first logon name was "crystal5pink'' and her first password "babydolly5''?

And now that you all know her secrets, will she get on the website to find that someone has broken into her bunny's "apartment" and stolen the "pink couch" out of his "bedroom"? Will you get her bunny fired from his "job" "painting fences"?

Please, parents, help me find that perfect Christmas gift for my cousin this year.

> Please comment

At first I wasn't sure if arming my teen-ager would be a good idea. I pictured him sawing off the end of his new BB-gun rifle and shoving the weapon into his shorts, jumping on his bicycle and
riding towards some kind of stand-off with Plantation police.

But putting trust in teens, scary as it might feel, can actually build a sense of responsibility in them. I think kids rise to expectations. And you have to set them very high.

So, yes, we bought Creed a BB-gun for his 13th birthday. We also bought him a few pistol-style air guns that shoot plastic BBs and are less powerful than the rifle, in case you "accidentally'' shot someone with it.

I think most boys had a BB gun at some point in their youth, and I wasn't going to deprive him. Even I spent quite a bit of time as a teen shooting BB guns. I was on a BB-gun shooting team with other kids whose parents worked at Oklahoma State Penitentiary. We were taught to shoot by convicts, so I guess you could say we were trained by experts.

But there was a kid among us, Jimmy Cook, with a glass eye -- the result of a ricocheted BB. Creed has heard about him 1,000 times. So Creed wears his gun goggles.

So far, no one has been seriously injured.

I told Creed he could shoot lizards. He was horrified. That's when the teen came out:

"Mom, I don't shoot lizards! I'm not a monster like you!''

OK. Guess I'll have to dust off my trigger finger and take care of those lizards myself.

> Please comment

Any parent who's had a boy in tackle football knows what I'm talking about when I say that it's the next best thing to disciplinary boot camp.

They might not paddle in the schools anymore, but thank goodness football hasn't wimped out.

Kids who are treated like babies into adulthood will always be babies. I'm sure you work with some.

Not in football. In football, it's, 'No excuses, just do it.''

Creed's coaches are fond of telling his team that football is about "controlled violence,'' and "controlled aggression.''

Strength of body, and mind.

When a kid got yelled at for not paying attention and then glared at the coach, he was outta there. You will not disrespect a coach, he was told. Take your stuff and leave.

They teach physical toughness, too. When a kid was sitting on the field the other night after a tough two hour practice in the blazing sun, he was asked: Are you passing out? No, he wasn't.

OK, came the coach's response. Then get up on one knee! We don't sit down on the field!

One coach told my son's team that they're there to learn about life: That life is tough, you have to work really hard, and sometimes someone's going to put a foot up your rear. And you just have to learn to deal with it.

Touchdown!

> Please comment

We've probably all had the experience of our young ones making some kind of rude observation that is best kept to oneself. (Such as when Lily looked at a woman in the Publix checkout next to me, and asked, "Mommy, is that a man?''')

Adults who don't have a self-censor have no friends. But we have to expect this kind of embarrassment from kids.

This weekend we went to visit the grandparents. They're in their 70s.

Lily and I and her grandmother were sitting at the kitchen table.

"Are you going to live in this house forever?'' Lily inquired.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe,'' her grandmother replied.

Lily paused for a great while.

And then she said, so innocently:

"How do you spell die?''

Great question, Lily. And why do you ask?

> Please comment

I've checked out a couple of the county's water parks in recent weeks, and I was impressed with one of them.

If your child is in daycare they've probably already been there, to T.Y. Park in Hollywood. That's TopeeKeegee Yugnee Park, off Sheridan Street. It's a lot of fun, and reasonably priced.

On the other hand, the new regional park in Lauderhill, the Central Broward Regional Park, was a maddening experience for me and the other parents. That park is off U.S. 441 and Sunrise Boulevard.

Apparently the county has two other water playgrounds. One is at C.B. Smith Park, the other at Quiet Waters Park. I haven't been to those yet.

T.Y. Park's Castaway Island is $6.50 for entry. They allow you to bring in food and drinks from outside, so you can really keep the cost down. Only when they're packed do they charge you by the session, one hour and 50 minutes, and make you pay $4.50 for an additional session. When I went there a couple weeks ago, we paid one fee and stayed as long as we wanted.

You also pay $1.50 per person to get into the park gate itself, on weekends. We went on a day off from school, so it was free to get into the park.

At the Lauderhill park, which is new, the entry fee to the water playground is lower, just $4.50. But it only allows you in
for one session of an hour and 50 minutes. There's no provision for a person who arrives in mid-session.

Let's say you arrive at 12:40 p.m., like I and another parent did. The session was set to end at 1:20 p.m. We either had to wait 40 minutes for the next session to begin, or throw out $4.50 per person for only 40 minutes of fun. Both of us had a few kids with us, and we felt ripped off. I had hoped to make a day of it. I asked what would happen if there were only 20 minutes left when a person arrived, and they said they would still charge full price. That stinks.

The other guy started yelling about how his tax dollars were being used for this new park, and he was highly upset he had to stand around 40 minutes to get his money's worth.

I didn't have the patience to stand in the blazing sun that long, so I paid and got the shortened experience. This waterpark also bans coolers and food from outside vendors, so we had to eat our Subway sandwiches in the parking lot. Not cool.

By the way you also have to pay $1.50 a person to get into this park on weekends. No wonder no one goes there, as we wrote about recently.

If you're going to check out this water park, I recommend calling to find out what time the sessions start, so you don't feel ripped off like I did.

Central Broward Regional Park
3700 N.W. 11th Place
Lauderhill, FL 33311
Phone: 954-321-1170
Fax: 954-321-1110
E-mail: CBRP@broward.org

> Please comment

Attention, students.

This is not
a good outfit
for the prom.

I know you thought it would be a good idea, but please do NOT WEAR PAJAMAS to the FORMAL DANCE!!!

Apparently there is enough real danger of eighth-graders doing just that, yes, wearing their p.j.s to the high school f-o-r-m-a-l, that Seminole Middle School felt the need to send an alert in the school newsletter.

And it says, after noting a formal dress code, that "the following is NOT ALLOWED!'': Jeans, sneakers, slippers, PJs, underwear that's showing, low necklines, bare midriffs, strapless dresses.

Am I the only one surprised by this? Don't 13- and 14-year-olds know that an evening gown is not the same as a night gown? Don't they know that Cinderella's "slippers'' were made of glass, not fuzz?

I know fashions do change over time, but come on!

> Please comment

No sooner had we paid off one kids' pre-paid college tuition plan, and gotten within a few months of paying off the other, when the two announced their career ambitions: trash man and
drive-through restaurant cashier.

Creed, who is 12, launched the conversation with his comments about how much fun it would be to work on the trash truck. It was the day after bulk trash pickup.

"I'll come visit you in your cardboard box,'' I said.

I don't know how to write the sound that he makes when he thinks what I'm saying is wrong. It's what I call the Exaggerated Gasp, and it is akin to an asthma attack wheeze into a microphone.

"Garbage men make a lot of money!'' he said. "They make more than teachers.''

I suspect he picked up that fact from one of his teachers, probably someone up high in the union.

"Teachers get the summer off,'' I countered, "but while they're on the beach, you would still be sifting through people's castoff garbage.''

Lily piped in. "I'm going to be a register.''

"What is a register?'' I asked, picturing an accounting ledger, and Lily sitting over it with a sharp pencil and designer eyeglasses. I was starting to feel better.

"You know those people you give money to with the register? They get paid!'' she said.

"You mean like a McDonald's drive-through lady who works on the cash register?''

"Yes!''

I had a flashback to a running discussion I had with Creed when he was about 5. The theme was "Is BLANK a good job?'' And he had asked me after we went through a toll booth on the Turnpike, "Is that a good job?''

I'm not criticizing all the good people who hold these jobs. But we've spent a fortune on college tuitions for these two, already. And if you don't use these pre-paid plans, you don't even earn interest on all the money you shelled out!

Plus, as parents aren't we supposed to push our kids to get as educated as they can? Because I want to live in a nice assisted living facility when I get old. A place with a nice hot tub.

"Lily, you are going to be a doctor who delivers babies,'' I said. "And Creed, you're going to be a veterinarian.''

End of story. Unless, of course, Creed's high school graduation coincides with bulk trash day, and he succumbs to the dream.

> Please comment

Our 7th-grader has never used profanity in front of us, nor have we ever overheard him cursing with his friends. He has three favorite exclamations these days. One is, "Wow,'' which I wrote
about previously. It's his way of expressing just how amazed he is at how dumb his parents are.

Another new favorite is simply what I would call the Exaggerated Gasp. I hope he never uses this rapid (and very loud) inhalation when small parts or flying insects are near his mouth, because he might end up choking on something.

The third is, "What the heck?!'' He says this all the time. I don't mind it at all. How sweet, I thought.

Until this weekend. Creed has a tendency to talk in his sleep, and occasionally to sleepwalk. I read a story this weekend about someone being cleared of a crime he committed while supposedly sleepwalking. I guess that's what inspires this blog post.

In the middle of the night, Creed shouted at the top of his lungs, "What the HELL????!!!!!!!!''

The first thing I thought as I was startled from sleep was, "He cursed. So that means all this time when he substituted the word 'heck,' it was only for the benefit of his parents. Sigh.' "
The second thing I thought was, "Oh my gosh, is Creed alright?!''

I went in his room and he was sitting up in bed, apparently recovering from a nightmare.

The next day he had no recollection. He sure did think it was funny, though. I think he laughed for 10 minutes straight when Bob told him what he had screamed.

If I were really an insane and unfair parent -- and some of us were raised by such people -- I would use this as a confession from his subconscious. And punish him accordingly. I told him I was considering it -- I was joking but wanted to broach the issue -- and he said that "Hell'' is not a curse word. He claims he has used this word in the classroom when necessary.

True a preacher can say it without raising eyebrows. But not a 12-year-old who is not giving a sermon.

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The Contra-Costa Times wrote about the new reality TV show that features students at Cypress Bay High School in Weston.

Here's a sample of what they wrote: " God bless Amanda Lorber, a senior at Cypress Bay High School in Weston, Fla., who says "Journalists are the most important part of the world."

It doesn't stay all rosey, though. The writer eventually comes to this conclusion: "Just one problem: "The Paper," while certainly worthwhile, has yet to live up to my lofty hopes. For one thing, Amanda's a bit of a dork — a power-hungry, show-tunes-loving Pollyanna who fails to see that she doesn't have the respect of her staff. Seizing upon this dynamic, the producers seem obsessed with turning her into one of those caricaturized love-to-hate-her females that TV thrives upon.''

Read the full story here.

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When you were in school, if you launched a mouthful of profanity in one of your classes, and your teacher overheard, could you have just paid the teacher 25 cents and been done with it?

If you said, "no, I would have received a painful paddling with a piece of wood'' then you are not a recent student at Cypress Bay High School in Weston.

Two of the teachers there apparently have "curse cans,'' where quarters are collected from students who use profanity in class.

I am judging a high school journalism contest and that's how I found out about this. Student journalist Emily Miller wrote about it for that school's newspaper, The Circuit.

One student was quoted saying "I have probably paid over $15.''

!!!!

That's 90 curse words that flew out of her mouth!

By the way, this is the same school and paper that are the subject of their very own MTV reality show.

This swear jar seems unfair. Why should rich kids be able to curse more than poor kids?

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I got a thick envelope in the mail from the Broward County School Board.

Must be important, I thought.

Inside was a packet of advertisements. The Miami Herald, Huntington Learning Center, Wyndham Vacation Resorts, Vonage phone service, Dish Network, Proactiv, ADT Home Security systems, Payless Shoes, Sears, and oh, a newsletter from the school board.

They might as well not bother throwing the flimsy newsletter in there. Most people probably don't get to it before they toss the packet in the trash.

I sure hope they're making lots of money selling out the parents to a bunch of advertisers.

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Apparently a large percentage of kids get picked on at school.

Lily, my 6 year old, regularly complains of being bullied, usually at the hands of a boy who likes her. At Spring Break camp, a 5-year-old boy actually used the "F'' word in telling her "F--- you.'' I was quite surprised to hear this come out of her mouth. This same lad also told her that her mother (that's me) is ugly. I found that much more offensive than the first thing he said.

I find it really telling that boys start in kindergarten driving the females they love insane, as a way of showing love. Hmmm.

Anyway, our sister paper in Orlando, the Orlando Sentinel, has an interesting post about bullying on their parenting blog. Check it out by clicking here.

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I found a way to get more for your tax dollars: Instead of carting your kid all over town, tell your kid to ride the county bus!

I'm not sure why it took me so long to figure this out, since a county bus comes belching by a block from my house every few minutes, seems like.

But I turned to public transportation after Creed, my 12 year old, told me something that scared the crap out of me. He and his friends were riding their bikes all the way out west -- trying to get to Sawgrass Mills! That means riding through intersections like Broward Boulevard and University. Not safe.

I suggested they take the bus. And now I'm offering to buy him a bus pass. I mean, the kids can explore the county on the bus. They carry cell phones, so it's not dangerous, certainly compared to riding a bike. They've ridden it a couple times now to Sawgrass Mills, to see a movie.

He's learning the layout of this area, learning a little bit of responsibility, and gaining independence. And he'll grow up appreciating the possibilities of mass transit.

A few days after we allowed Creed to take the bus for the first time, I asked Bob how Creed's dentist appointment went.

"I don't know,'' he said. "I had to drop him off and told him to take the bus home.''

Yes, this idea is catching on nicely.

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My 6-year-old daughter is extremely jealous of anyone else I show affection to, outside the family.

She quizzes me relentlessly about how much I love the person -- often a friend of hers I gave a hug to, or was nice to. So I told her that "God says we should love everyone.''
Her response was, "Well, I don't.''

Ever since then she is constantly checking the level of mommy's Love for Complete Strangers. It's a concept she cannot accept.

I took her to T.Y. Park in Hollywood Saturday for her birthday. She wanted to know if I loved everyone there at the park that day, and if so, how much, compared to my love for her.

I've tried to explain the concept of loving people as friends, but she doesn't understand it. Ditto for the idea that people are capable of infinite amounts of love, and giving my love to someone else does not require subtracting any from her.

Still, my rule of thumb is if your child is seeking affirmation of your love, you give it, even if it's wrapped in an annoying interrogation where you are the Betrayer for calling another child "Sweetie.''

I'm beginning to conclude, though, that some people are born with insecurities and they're not all the product of experience, as I had once thought.

Yesterday she even found herself struggling over the idea that before she was born, I did not love her! This is an idea she came up with, of course.

And she was talking it out with me, trying to come to grips with a world in which her older brother, Creed, was the sole object of momma's affection.

"But you didn't even exist, Lily!'' I told her in my own defense.

She frowned and I could see her trying to accept this explanation. She's probably still mulling it over.

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Now that my 12-year-old son has started acting like a teenager, I will have lots more to blog about. That's the only upside.

The first sign that our son had evolved into That Which We've Dreaded for 12-and-a-Half-Years was his misappropriation of the word "wow.''.

He uses it as a term of derision, as in "Wow. You are REALLLLLLLLLLY stupid.''

You can't imagine how annoying the word "wow'' can be.

Let me give you some examples so you can try.

I say, "A $250 bike is way too expensive for a kid your age.'' He says, "Wow.''

I say, "I can't believe one of your friends already is allowed to have a pierced ear.'' He says, "Wow.''

I say, "I'm surprised your friend's parents would take you to see the Bodies exhibit without making sure you were allowed.'' He says, "Wow.''

I say, "You're not allowed to stay out till midnight. You're only 12.'' He says, "Wow.''

You get the idea? Annoying.

An efficient use of the English language. But annoying.

Really annoying. Wow.

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If you have a brother or sister then you know how important it is to give a better cut-down than you receive.

My kids are 12 and 5. Recently I found out about a couple of doozies.

Lily came home this week telling us that her friend made her "pinky promise' not to tell anyone a big secret. The secret was that "Mrs. Hazell (at school) used to be named Mrs. Hazellbutt.''

Thus Creed told her she believes everything; she's gullible.

"I don't believe everything,'' she told me on our way to school. "I don't believe what Creed tells me, like when he says, "Mom doesn't love you. She wants you to run away to another family and live there.' "

Ahhh, those fun sibling fights. I grew up as one of four girls, so I know all about this subject.

She also asked me last week, "Mommy, am I normal?'' Yes, I told her. "Oh,'' she responded, " 'cuz Creed said I"m not.''

Lily is a very sensitive person, and doesn't go on the attack much. Plus she's only in kindergarten. So I was pretty impressed when I heard what she came up with in a recent squabble while Creed was babysitting her.

"God hates you!'' she screamed at Creed. Creed was appalled, and told me about it later.

She had a basis for this -- she said he was being mean to her, and that God "hates' mean people. Well her theology might be a little askew but I had to give her points for the large scope and depth of this cut-down.

I'm not inclined to stomp on their freedom of expression, as long as it doesn't include profanity or any slandering of their mother. People need to be able to defend themselves in this world, and don't you think that sibling rivalries are fertile training ground?

I don't allow physical abuse. But I think being verbally pummelled by a brother or sister, and learning how to shrug that off, can only prepare you for life in America.

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Yesterday, Lily and I did two laps around the block. She was roller skating. I was carrying my dinner plate. (Don't let this get posted on our diet blog. It's not a recommended form of
exercise.)

She was talking away. She asked if we could do another lap. "Then we could keep talking,'' she said.

"OK,'' was my answer, even though my plate was empty by then.

She didn't waste a second with what was burning on her mind: "Do ponies lay eggs?''

I laughed out loud and told her no. She was kind of embarrassed and said, "I knew they didn't. Well, I really thought they did.'' This is a 5-year-old. They're not good at covering up for embarrassing lapses of knowledge.

I told her ponies don't come out in eggs but they do come out covered in a mucous-like slime, which the mommy horse proceeds to lick off. Yum, yum. Time for dessert.

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Lily lost her first tooth this week. She's 5.

I don't have much time so I'm going to tell you the contents of her letter to the Tooth Fairy, complete with her spelling errors:

"I love to go to the store because I can run in the store it is fun it is loveubl And it is cool and it is. 1. Storey.''

"I love to play cech becase it is fun I like to play cech it is fun. 2. Storey''

"I lost a tooth I wut sum mune frum the tooth fairy I lost 2 teth I wut sum muny.''

Lily believes in the Tooth Fairy. And that is because we told her there is a cute little Tooth Fairy flying around out there.

But she also asked us yesterday: "Are leprechauns real?''

OF COURSE NOT!!!! we answered. I mean, how absurd.

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There comes a time in parenting when you realize that when you go somewhere on a trip, it's not all about you, it's about the kids, and that if they have a good time, the trip is a success.

But I haven't reached that point yet, so I'm still hacked about my camping trip this weekend.

One of my colleagues, Ralph De La Cruz, wrote today about how hard it was to find a camping spot this weekend. But apparently he did not check out Peanut Island in Palm Beach County.
Or maybe he went on Saturday, the more popular day.

We went camping Sunday. After our recent campout in the middle of Florida at the awesome Kissimmee Prairie Preserve State Park, I was so revved up about camping I bought a new tent. I searched the calendar and promised myself that every three-day weekend, when the kids are out of school for whatever reason, we would go camping.

But now I know that not every campout is a soul-enriching experience. Why did I think that going to a beach packed with other South Floridians and surrounded by civilization on all sides would feel like a get-away?

Still, I have to recommend this place. Lots of people go there just for the day, to picnic. You take a water taxi over there from the Riviera Beach Marina. For camping, you can book it a few months ahead of time. The campsites are soft sand, with picnic tables, and grills. The bathrooms have hot water and showers.

Any time you can yank your kids away from the TV, it's good.

But I had a few setbacks that kind of fouled the mood. Never pack a bottle of whiskey in a bag of your youngest child's clothing, for one thing.

And if you take the family dog along, and the family dog is stronger than your youngest child, do not give the dog's leash to the youngest child to hold.

Also, it rained.

Apparently if you want to know if it's going to rain in a particular area on a particular day, just find out, "Is Brittany going camping there?''

I just have to keep telling myself that the kids had fun, and that's the important thing.

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My 12-year-old son Creed is well aware he has no civil rights as long as he's a minor in our home. So he doesn't complain that I rifle through his backpack on a regular basis.

I started this early in his 7th grade year. Countless times over the years I've found out too late
about this or that, and I realized how important it is to stay on top of what's going on. If I skip a few days, I regret it. For instance, last Tuesday Creed made a 7 p.m. request for poster board for a project that was due in the morning and no doubt was assigned a month prior.

Suffice to say, ransacking the backpack is a valuable parenting tool, and so is keeping extra poster board on hand.

Sometimes he makes a comment, like "so I have no privacy?'' and I usually issue my standard line, "Creed, I own you.''

Last night's jackpot was a notice of after-school suspension (what is the acronym for this?) from his math teacher. The crime: "Chewing.''

(Not to be confused with last week's transgression: "Humming.'')

Creed explained he was chewing gum.

I also found that he got a zero on a homework assignment. Over the weekend, I found his report card in there.

When teachers call to complain about something, I tell them "put a note in there any time you have a problem. I go through Creed's backpack every day.'' I can just feel the elation on the other end of the line. Teachers love this. That probably means they're fed up with parents who don't pay attention until it's too late.

It's easier to start now, when it's not going to be interpreted by your kid as an accusation, or a sign of distrust. It's just the routine.

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It sure must be strange trying to figure out how the world works, when you're only 5.

The other day Lily was throwing her boy Baby Alive doll in the air, while jumping on the trampoline.

"If I throw him way up into the sky,'' she worried, "will I get him back?''

This week she was baffled about old age. Maybe her concerns come from the fact that her grandfather's been in the hospital. First she asked me, "can someone be 400 years old?''

"No.'' That was an easy one!

Then she posed this inquiry: "What will we look like when we're 80?''

I said, "I don't know, hon.''

And she said: "You will look very disgusting.''

Thanks a lot

I didn't respond to that so she elaborated.

"The skin on your face will get all smooshed,'' she said.

I was too tired to give a life lesson about beauty being on the inside. I hadn't even had my coffee yet.

"Yeah,'' I said, "I know.''

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Prepare to be impressed by the lengths one parent went to to make a scrapbook for his daughter.

If you want to steal this idea, time your next pregnancy to the next presidential election.

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Our kids are growing up in the innards of a giant street grid. So I think it's our duty as parents to get our kids the heck out of Broward County and into a tent somewhere.

I was raised in Iowa, with cornfields and soybeans as far as you could see. (Unless you were looking towards the women's reformatory we lived next door to.) My husband was raised in Kentucky. No Broward Boulevard of speeding traffic a block from the house.

I feel sorry for kids growing up in Broward County. They don't get to spend the day skipping
rocks in the creek. They go bike riding, and their destination is a shopping mall or Subway shop. My son and his buddy think going to Publix for a half hour is a lot of fun, even if they don't have any money. That's sad.

Yeah, we're surrounded by parks in Plantation. But those fenced tidbits of nature on the roadside are no substitute for the real outdoors.

And you can find it in a few hours' drive. We did, recently. The place is called Kissimmee Prairie Preserve State Park. I found it because it was the only campsite I could find with a spot open on Martin Luther King Jr. weekend, when the kids at Broward schools had five days off, including the weekend. It's in Okeechobee, but well north of the lake, in the middle of nowhere. We passed lots of road kill, and a cabbage farm, on the way out there.

My husband of course was suspect when he learned this place had a lot of campsites open. It must be a horrible place, he said. It's called a "prairie,'' he said. That means no trees, no shade, and nothing to do.

But that wasn't the case, at all. This place was great. And it was cheap; $12 a campsite, and you could bring your pet and up to eight people.

There were horses, and trails through the woods. We were able to fly a kite high into the sky, without scraping up against that Goodyear blimp, or a power line. When you're camping, all food that you are able to warm up tastes delicious.

It rained. And it was the coldest night of the year, I think. And our sleeping bags were wet. We were miserable, but it was a good kind of miserable, the kind you can enjoy because you know that within 24 hours you will be lying in your cozy bed at home.

Camping is a big hassle, with all the stuff you have to pack, and then unpack. But it's really worth it.

I've gone back and forth on it. Sometimes I feel like an idiot packing up blankets and tents and food and stuff so that I can go sleep uncomfortably like a homeless person when I could be in the luxury of my home. How silly.

But you do this for your soul, for your children's souls.

You have to get out there, miles from any TV, video game system, and away from all the things your kids would rather be doing than hanging out with their parents.

The state parks system has a toll-free number you can call to find a park with an opening, and to book it. It's Reserve America, at 1-800-326-3521. You can also book a site online.

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I love the Broward County program to get kids interested in voting. But something tells me that Tuesday's referendum on
property taxes just might have the opposite effect on our youth.

When a colleague came in with a copy of the ballot the schoolkids were given, we eagerly grabbed for the summary on the tax issue. We thought maybe the amendment had been boiled down in an interesting way for the students. And if so, maybe we could borrow from that creativity, as we try to dumb down the issue -- I mean, "explain it'' -- to our readers.

No such luck. Here is what our children had to weigh in on:

PROPERTY TAX AMENDMENT TO THE FLORIDA CONSTITUTION—SUMMARY Increases homestead exemption from current $25,000 by exempting assessed value between $50,000 and $75,000. Does not apply to school taxes. Allows homesteaded property owners to transfer up to $500,000 of their Save Our Homes benefits to next homestead purchased within 2 years. Limits assessment increases for all non-homesteaded property to 10 % per year, until 1/1/2019, unless renewed. Does not apply to school taxes. Exempts $25,000 of assessed value of tangible personal property from all taxes. If passed by 60% of those voting, takes effect 1/1/2008.

Seriously, the amendment was hard for most adults to figure out. I think Kids Voting Broward, Inc., was brave to put this one to the test in the schools. (Results still not in. Stay tuned.)

Maybe I'm underestimating the students.

Kids, if you figured out what this Amendment means, please, by all means, tell your parents!

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Here I was, thinking that just because I can hear that high-pitched sound that supposedly only young people can hear, that I was pretty hip.

But I've just encountered a trend among schoolkids that I had never heard of in my life. This
phenomenon where a parent incredulously quizzes his or her child about what "kids these days are doing" was a common occurrence in my home growing up.

And until now I thought I must really be keeping a finger on the pulse of the kids in the schoolyard. (Just writing that sentence probably gets me on that list of folks who are legally required to stay at least 6 miles away from all schoolyards. Please note it's only a figure of speech!)

But have you ever heard of "Emos'' and do you know what they're all about?