Parenting Isn't For Sissies

Revisiting Black Friday Memories

Jennifer DuBose — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 15:56:00 GMT

I can’t believe I did it. I swore I’d never succumb to the insane shopping frenzy that commences before dawn the day after Thanksgiving. I’d been a snob, thinking myself too evolved to fall victim to the materialism that plagues us. Not buying that? Okay, so the truth is that even the lure of deep discounts couldn’t stir my type B self from my slumber that early.

But then I had children, and one of them wanted a Jeep Power Wheels 4 x 4 for Christmas. And it went on sale during the wee hours of 'Black Friday' morning.

That was seven years ago, and the experience left me so dazed and crazed that I swore I’d never do it again. Sure thing.

I’ll never forget my first time. Instead of going back to bed after nursing Baby Holly at 4 a.m., I stumbled out the door, pausing only to brush my teeth.

I was psyched. I figured that in 20 minutes I’d have secured my son’s happiness Christmas morning and that in 30 I’d be back under the covers where I belonged. My cozy visions and confidence evaporated when I got to Wal-Mart and discovered that the parking lot was jam-packed.

Snagging one of the last spots, I joined the other early-birds (mostly women) in a line that stretched from the store’s entrance clear to the back of the lot. Clutching circulars and shopping lists, veteran shoppers huddled in the chilly air and plotted their strategies with their fellow bargain-hunters. I became nervous when the couple in front of me recalled a catfight over Barbie’s they witnessed the previous year.

Would kiddie-Jeeps engender the same fighting spirit?

Regretting that I'd left my breakfast power-muffins in the car (I’m not much of a shopper to begin with – I’ll take all the help I can get), I considered the wisdom of escaping unscathed and with my dignity intact. But then the line of shoppers began to surge forward toward the opening doors. The crowd began to hum, and I actually found myself getting excited, almost giddy with anticipation. I started to giggle and said a quiet “Ladies, start your engines!” when I heard the odd drone of dozens of shopping carts making their way across the cold pavement.

What possessed so many to shop for deals at such an obscene hour?

In my case it was my love for little Mr. Noah, and his longing for The Jeep.

For several months he’d been obsessed with getting it. His hands had to be peeled from the steering wheel the first time he rode one. A few weeks later, he spotted the Jeep in a catalogue.

“I need it NOW!” I NEED it! I NEEEEEED it!” he implored, his little three-year-old arms outstretched. You get the idea. It wasn’t pretty. During this episode a UPS truck happened to pull up in front of our house.

“It’s here! My truck is here!” Noah exclaimed, a pure example of the power of magical thinking. He nearly knocked the UPS driver off his feet.

After sending a baffled UPS guy on his merry way, I suggested to Noah that he talk to Santa about the Jeep – but warned him that it might not fit in his sleigh. Noah has never been one to be deterred, though, even at three.

“I’m going to Santa Land now, Mommy. Would you get some shoes on?” He pleaded, retrieving my shoes from my bedroom. “Would you do it?” He continued, causing me to laugh so hard I cried.

Aside from fretting about the cost of the Jeep, I wondered: would indulging my son in an over-the-top gift cause him to miss the point that Christmas is the Spirit of loving and giving in our hearts, as my Mom always says?

A few days later I mentioned to Noah that his white stuffed kitten, which he affectionately dubbed his ‘little girl,’ resembled the one I’d had when I was little, that I’d been devastated to lose.

“You can have mine, Mommy, for the cat you lost when you were a little girl,” he offered. Ah, but he had the Spirit, alright.

So was I tough enough to get the job done that cold, sleepless morn? There was no way a few Barbie-wielding women were gonna get in my way. Let’s just say I also had to wrestle the girls for a helmet …

–Jennifer DuBose, M.S., C.A.S., LMFT is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with a private practice in Batavia, and reports that she skipped the shopping frenzy this year. She has been a Clinical Member of the American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy (AAMFT) since 1995 and can be reached at (630)454-4047 or jenniferdubose@msn.com.

Witnessing History

Jennifer DuBose — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 17:00:00 GMT

Last week I got a call from Jami Kunzer, reporter and Mom-blogger for the Northwest Herald and Kane County Chronicle. She'd read my last post about my trip to Grant park with Noah on election night and wanted to hear more. Her newspaper column featuring our adventure on election night was published November 9th and her blog post appeared the next day. Find this installment of her blog, "Everymom," at http://nwherald.com/blogs/everymom/blog.php?id=4523. Peruse the rest of her site while you're there. This Mom of five little girls tells it like it is. Enjoy!

We Were There: Election Night in Chicago's Grant Park

Jennifer DuBose — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 17:34:00 GMT

Oh, what a night, and Noah and I were there! Along with an estimated quarter-million other Obama fans who squeezed into Grant Park last night, we heard Obama make his victory speech in person. I still can’t believe he won, let alone that we were there to see it happen – to feel it happen, alongside so many.

I’m still not sure how we got so lucky. Millions wanted those free tickets to Hutchinson Field in Grant Park, and I’d been put on the notorious waiting list. But Monday evening my ticket arrived in my in-box, valid (and non-transferrable) for me plus one guest. I had to print it – twice – before believing it was real.

My hubby Todd needed to be on his game to teach all day and evening today so Noah jumped at the chance to go with me. Todd wasn’t thrilled at that prospect, but appreciated the historical significance and gave his blessing. My Mom worried too, like a good Mom should, and called as we headed out to alert us to the news that S.W.A.T. teams were reportedly at the ready in five U.S. cities, Chicago their most pressing concern. I myself called the windy city police and Obama’s campaign three times each to make sure no threats had been received and that security would be stellar.

But who knew for sure?

What if someone got stupid and targeted the crowd? What kind of mother tempts fate? As every mother of a ten-year-old boy knows, getting him to hold your hand in public is near-impossible. Would he give me any guff this time? Safety aside I also wondered: what if they can’t call this election tonight? What if this thing drags out for a week? What if Noah gets too worn-out to enjoy himself? He never did, though. The crowd's chanting for Obama was infectious, the night was balmy, and we scored the best seats in the house.

“It was awesome,” Noah volunteered this morning, oddly buoyant after a mere four hours of sleep. “I knew Obama would be President, but it was awesome to be there.”

And it was. The train was filled with people obviously heading for the Obama rally, and their energy was electric. We arrived in town after four p.m., when hordes of working people rushed out of the city early, but plenty more streamed in. Michigan Avenue had a festive atmosphere, and Obama t-shirts and buttons were hawked on every street corner. Afraid to pause too long for a sustaining meal, we grabbed a turkey sandwich on our sprint from the Ogilvie train station to Grant Park.

We arrived early enough (after being scanned by metal detectors – I even got the ‘wand’ scan) to stand near enough to the podium to have positively I.D.'d Obama when he spoke. But I knew that Noah would never see over the crowd, let alone last another five, six or who-knew-how-many hours on his feet. Noah suggested we head for the grassy knoll we passed on our way in. Brilliant move, as we were able to sit – sit! – the whole night (until Obama spoke, of course), very close to the potties and to the exit, which appealed to this Mom on oh-so-many levels.

We’d brought along paperbacks and a book of word-searches, opting to leave Noah’s heavy history book – his homework – at home (it seemed a fair trade given the in-vivo history lesson he was to receive instead), but people-watching and simply soaking- it- all- in proved irresistible. He did play a few games on my cell phone – which I had no idea was even possible, and programmed my phone book – but he also got a fabulous lesson on the workings of the electoral college and the relevance of the popular vote. From time to time folks in the remarkably amiable crowd shouted out news-outlets’ projections gleaned from their BlackBerrys and iPhones, and we cheered right along with them. At Hutchinson Field we got to keep up with CNN on the jumbo screens and all around us conversations sprang up about the import of various swing-states’ votes. Pennsylvania then Ohio went Obama's way, but I kept telling Noah we just had to wait for Virginia. I explained that for me Virginia’s decision would be the most telling vote of all. Not just because of its number of electoral votes, but because of its history of slavery. It just seemed necessary that our first black President should win-over historically ‘red’ Virginia, and win it he did, earning for him the electoral votes he needed to clinch the election. Immediately CNN flashed the news of Obama's decisive victory and the crowd erupted, startling me out of my struggle to make my camera perform. I've never experienced anything like that before. It was absolutely breathtaking. Noah enjoyed some friendly high-fives from teary strangers and chanted right along with the massive crowd. A priceless moment, for this Mom.

This morning I spoke to my brother, Patrick Boyle, who is a resident of Liberty County, Georgia (reportedly named so in deference to the fact that the county was eventually settled in large part by freed slaves each endowed with ’40 acres and a mule’ following the Civil War, as per General Sherman. After Lincoln’s assassination President Johnson revoked Sherman’s orders, returning the land to its former white owners.). Patrick says he was impressed by the quiet joy he witnessed in the demeanor of the older black men and women who voted alongside him at his polling place. They gave quiet little cheers as they cast their ballots for their black candidate, in apparent disbelief that they even could. This morning, NPR-Chicago featured an interview with an elderly black woman – 106 or 109 years of age – I cannot recall – whose own father was a slave. Her father. That’s just one generation before hers. What must this vote mean to her? I can only imagine. She must be pinching herself silly that her father’s daughter lived to see the day that anything is possible for a person of color. I don't think she's alone in her jubilation. Call me crazy, but I swear that last night I saw a whole lotta black folks walk taller on their way outta Grant Park than they did walkin’ in.

Perhaps it’s just the poet in my heart, but I know what I saw.

(For the record, Noah did hold my hand, and even got his homework done before pedaling off to school this morning ...)

–Jennifer DuBose, M.S., C.A.S., LMFT is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with a private practice in Batavia. She has been a Clinical Member of the American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy (AAMFT) since 1995. She can be reached at (630)454-4047 or jenniferdubose@msn.com.

Make the Most of Parent-Teacher Conferences

Jennifer DuBose — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 07:33:00 GMT

Hold onto your hats, folks, it’s parent – teacher conference time again! Parent-teacher conferences can be daunting, especially for the uninitiated. You glow with pride one moment, and then find yourself sweating about ‘areas needing improvement’ the next, all while perched on an itty-bitty chair that makes your knees lock up and your butt ache. What’s worse, teachers must cover a lot of ground during this sprint through little Billy’s last ten weeks of school, often while their next customers lurk in the hall right outside the door. These encounters sometimes feel more like a gallop to the finish line than a meeting of the minds. I recall one conference in particular where I thought “Whoa, slow down lady, I think I had a question three paragraphs ago …”

Remember the theme song to the Lone Ranger (the finale of Rossini’s William Tell Overture), wherein the trumpets herald a dizzying charge to an invisible finish line a mile away? Put simply, parent - teacher conferences can leave us all breathless – teachers, too. I imagine they all arrive at their homes after a tedious day of conferences and collapse fully-clothed across their beds, their jaws slack and eyeballs rolled back into their heads...

Before you book that long weekend at the waterpark thinking you’ll just play hooky and skip the whole dang ordeal, consider this: whether you’re already anticipating your next one or just gearing up for your first, conferences can be fabulous opportunities to help your children ‘make the grade’ and enjoy their school experience – especially if you prepare.

For starters, talk to your kid. What’s school like for him? What’s working and what doesn’t? Brainstorm and prioritize a list of questions and concerns and write them down. While it’s not always comfortable to do so, plan to mention any changes in your family situation that may impact your child’s performance. If you or your child has special needs, don’t hesitate to engender the support of an advocate. This can be a counselor, clergyperson or friend whom you believe will help you to articulate your child’s and your concerns. Don’t be bashful about asking for a translator to be present if you are not fluent in English.

Once you’re at the conference, have your list, paper and pen handy. You’ll want to take notes as the details can get buried in a deluge of information. Don’t be afraid to pause and ask for clarification if you need it, and remember to take a deep breath and be patient with reports of problem behaviors or poor performance. Resist the temptation to personalize this feedback as comments about you or reflections on your parenting.

When the opportunity for questions arises, I always ask my kids’ teachers what they like best about them. My son’s astute second-grade teacher once commented that Noah “loves a challenge.” She really ‘got’ him, and that has been a helpful observation upon which we often reflect. When I asked my daughter’s last teacher what occurred to her when she thought of Holly, I got such a surprising response that my eyes filled up with tears (partly out of guilt: she mentioned a tender poem that my daughter had written about hearts that I could not recall – but feigned familiarity with – and promptly turned the house upside-down to rescue). Sometimes we forget that while they’re churning out lesson plans and homework assignments to keep pace with stiff curriculum requirements our children’s teachers are also developing relationships with them. They have a unique perspective on our children’s development and can be valuable resources to us as partners in their progress.

After you leave your conference, compare notes with your partner or advocate. Decide how to respond to conference details and how you’ll discuss them with your child. He’ll be on pins and needles! Remember to lead with positive comments and sandwich any constructive criticisms with affirmations. If questions remain or concerns persist request another meeting, and involve other school personnel whenever warranted. Letting issues fester unresolved can set your child up for a difficult year.

So give those parent-teacher conferences a chance, folks. After I got over my anxiety about my first one, when I needlessly worried that I’d be told that my son was caught swearing in Kindergarten, I realized they’re not so bad.

Except for the chairs.

Tips for Parents:

Talk to your child, and prepare a list of questions and concerns.
Plan to volunteer news about any changes in your family’s situation. Good or bad, their impact on your child can show up in his school performance.
Request that an interpreter be present if you are not fluent in English.
Arrive on time, even a few minutes early. Don’t forget your list!
Bring a support person to help you advocate for your child (but leave other children at home).
Bring a notebook and pen and take notes.
Stop and ask for clarification if something isn’t clear.
Ask for and schedule a second conference if time is insufficient to address your concerns.
Let your child know how it went; he’ll be eager to hear!
Follow up with the teacher in an e-mail or a note, addressing an area of particular concern or requesting an update.

Bullying, Part 2: Cyberbullying 101

Jennifer DuBose — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 02:07:00 GMT

My kids think I’m a ninny. If you ask Noah and Holly, I’ve missed the boat and the last big wave, and definitely am not as cool as so-and-so’s Mom. After all, she lets her children have internet access in their bedrooms and I don’t. Well, phooey, I’ll just have to deal with being un-cool. I may be not be as tech-savvy as some parents, but one thing I do know for sure is that bad things can happen to good kids – even on-line.

Things used to be simpler. It used to be that wiping away the tears when something went bump in the night, or even intervening when a playground bully needed a talkin’ to about covered it. These days, though, not only do we have to keep internet pedophiles at bay, for Pete’s sake, but we must warn our kids about those faceless bullies that many kids encounter on-line or via text-messages: cyberbullies.

It’s enough to make this Mom just wanna pull up the covers and pull the plug on all of this ‘progress.’

My own kids haven’t experienced cyberbullying yet, but if statistics bear out it’s only a matter of time before they do. Did you know that 42% of kids in grades 4-8 report being bullied on-line and 58% never tell (source: I-Safe.org)? October marks the second anniversary of thirteen-year-old Megan Meier’s tragic suicide following a period of cyberbullying, perpetrated by an adult who posed as a teenaged boy on-line. As in Meier’s case, cyberbullies usually know their targets, but because they can hide behind anonymous cyber-ID’s on-line (which creates a sense of the “faceless bully”), their bullying behavior can be experienced as harsher than a playground taunt. Because there is greater ‘distance’ between these bullies and their targets their inhibitions are diminished. Cyberbullying can also be more damaging because it can be so far-reaching: rumors and personal information can quickly be broadcast to many others with one swift click.

Another feature of this type of harassment is that the victim’s home feels less like a safe haven. Cyberbullies can reach their targets there, and virtually anywhere, with text-messages to cell phones.

Is your child already the target of a cyberbully? Loss of appetite, difficulty sleeping, school avoidance or declining grades, diminished interest in friends or activities, or a dramatic increase or decrease in time spent on-line or in cell phone bills are all potential warning signs, which can also be signs of depression, a potential side-effect of bullying. Counseling should be sought if these symptoms persist. Tragedies like Meier’s can be averted.

So what’s a parent to do?

If you do nothing else, by golly, at least keep internet access in a public place (never in your child’s bedroom) and supervise internet use. WiFi wireless cards for laptops can make this a challenge, so bear this in mind when considering them. Discuss internet safety with your kids. Expect a lot of eye-rolling and sarcastic comments. “You’re a worrywart, Mom,” and “You think I’m an idiot, Dad. Thanks a lot,” are two of Noah’s standbys. Teach children that internet use is a privilege, and remember: you’re not likely to hand over the keys to the car without a few driving lessons, and the same is true for cruising the internet. There are lots of beautiful and exciting destinations on-line, but it’s easy to get lost and hazards are just one click away. Teach your children to never reveal passwords or identifying information (teach them what identifying information is) and tell them to not share personal information or to write anything in e-mails or text messages they wouldn’t want their whole class to read. Teach them that their messages can be edited and forwarded to others, and that their passwords can be used to send nasty or otherwise unflattering e-mails from their accounts. Kids often don’t tell anyone about cyberbullying because they fear their parents will revoke their internet privileges, so make sure your children understand that bullying of any kind isn’t their fault.

Don’t forget to share information and tips with other parents, especially those in whose homes your kids spend time. Encourage your children to develop positive friendships and to befriend kids who are bullied, as bullies tend not to pick on kids with strong social supports. My favorite advice? Ramp up the rapport with your kids. Express curiosity about their interests and make one-on-one time a priority if it’s now freakishly rare. Then, they’ll be more likely to wave the white flag when they hit speed bumps along the information superhighway.

Tips for Parents:

1) Tell kids to save and print evidence of cyberbullying, and to

2) tell you or another responsible adult.

3) Block cyberbullies’ messages and e-mails.

4) Report cyberbullying to your internet service provider.

5) Alert the police about any threats of harm.

For more about bullying in general read my 9/1/08 post, "Bullying, Part 1"

Revisiting 9/11, Seven Years Later

Jennifer DuBose — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 02:12:00 GMT

This morning I turned on the television before I even got out of bed and propped myself up on my squishy pillow, ready for my Waltons fix with the kids before school. Before they ran in to snuggle with me under the covers I channel-surfed to make sure the sky wasn’t planning to fall, like I always do. (‘Cause if it’s gonna fall, see, I figure we’ll just hunker-down under my old quilts for two back-to-back episodes of The Waltons followed by two more of Little House on the Prairie…)

Today, though, on Today, I got to relive the morning of 9/11 all over again. I’d all but forgotten that today was the anniversary, and sat transfixed once again by the annual re-run of the very same newscast I watched in horror seven years ago this morning. Holly was an infant and Noah was just three, and back then our family rented a tiny little ranch in a rural southern town where everyone knew our names. Concerns I’d never before considered pierced my “all-is-right-with-the-world” Mommy bubble. I wrote the following column a couple of weeks later, following the first Anthrax scare:

No longer can I fool around with the expression “germ warfare.” Until recently, I used it to refer to that icky thing that happens when little kids with green boogers deliberately spit into my tea. Instead, no longer innocent in my whimsical use of the vernacular, I hear myself saying new things that before “That Day” (9/11) I wouldn’t have said – Like today, when Noah decided to pitch a fit because I wouldn’t let him drink directly out of the quart-sized milk bottle like Daddy sometimes does. How did I respond? I told him that if he was going to have a temper-tantrum he would have to get out of my “airspace.”

I think too about my rather carefree way of being in the world and wonder if I should make some changes. Should I lock my doors? Should I handle my mail with gloves and a facemask? Should I even bother to open the mailbox anymore? Like other parents, I consider the scary possibilities of war and wonder, for what should we prepare? Should I keep a few essentials and changes of my family’s clothing in the car in case we need to evacuate? Do I need to have my little ones fitted for facemasks to protect them from the evils of bioterrorism? It quickly occurs to me that those masks are probably useless against invisible attacks, lest we wear them ‘round the clock, so I decide instead to strive for a healthy balance between prudence and frivolity. On that note I think I'll store a few extra boxes of Holly’s favorite cereal, rice and bananas, just in case they’re needed – but perhaps I’ll start feeding it to her from those china teacups I’ve been saving for special occasions.

We’re learning that no time is more special than the present.

It seems I’m not alone in my efforts to make sense of recent events. I’ve watched as my little boy works it out in his own mind, too. In spite of my intentions to limit Noah’s television viewing the day of the terrorist attacks, my own need to stay informed and be a voyeur to the destruction won out. I know, I should know better. I hate to admit that he saw the planes crash into the World Trade Center towers more than a few times, resulting in his concern that his stuffed animals might not survive a similar attack on our home (translation: “Would I?”).

I have also been awed by Noah’s natural impulse to help. The day after the attacks, Noah asked if “Bob the Builder,” a character from one of his favorite television shows, might be of assistance now.

“Can Bob the Builder help build it again?” he inquired. “I can use my screwdriver in my toolbox to screw it in and hold it up,” he said, after watching the towers fall down on television. “I can help with Daddy’s tools. I’ll have to ask Daddy if I can hold his drill,” he considered, melting my heart. This little boy with a big heart who still remembers the rules, surprised me with his healthy, productive responses, while I sat immobile on the couch, stunned by the enormous losses he is thankfully too young to understand.

Later that day one of the networks aired a short documentary featuring some of the tragic images from New York City, filmed in black and white by two Columbia University film students. Set to a classic, melancholy melody, it was a very moving piece. Apparently, even Noah was touched, but in that innocent way of one still too young to fully comprehend its grave meaning. As the mournful music played on, accompanied by scenes of smoky gray pain and sorrow, my tiny son took my hands in his and asked, “Dance with me, Mommy?” Mindful of the fact that so many mommies and daddies who lost their lives just the day before would never again know the joy of dancing with their own children, I gratefully and tearfully accepted his invitation.

“Yes, baby, let’s dance.”

(Originally published in our then-hometown newspaper, The Franklin Press (Franklin, North Carolina).

My Worst Nightmare: My Son Was Hit By a Car

Jennifer DuBose — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 14:56:00 GMT

My son was hit by a car as he ran into the street after a tennis ball.

My worst nightmare.

The car, driven by a 91-year-old neighbor, hit his left side. I’d been standing 30 feet away with the cable guy staring up at a phone wire on one side of our new house, and my husband was nearby vacuuming out the car near where Holly played. She saw the whole thing. I must have heard the impact because I whipped my head around just in time to see my firstborn fly over the hood of our neighbor’s Buick. Noah landed several feet away on his back, then hit his head and immediately began screaming.

Oddly, he was still wearing his bicycle helmet, though he’d been off his bike for a few minutes already. He never leaves his helmet on.

I rushed to his side and yelled for the cable guy to call 911. Noah wanted to get up but I insisted he lay flat, just in case he had any spinal cord or internal injuries. A rush of adrenaline can mask them at first. The Batavia EMS folks were fabulous, and even quickly started an IV that never caused a bruise.

When the ER doctor asked if Noah had become airborne during the accident, I said yes.

“Cool,” Noah grinned, otherwise immobile from the neck brace and backboard to which he was still restrained.

Several X-rays and exams later it turns out he’s just fine, though a little banged up. Each day he noticed another twinge of pain somewhere. His neck, his knee. He’ll be sore for a while.

But it could have been worse. Much worse. I still have a hard time thinking about it, three weeks later.

When I asked if he’d looked for cars before running after the ball, Noah sheepishly admitted he hadn’t. Sure, that’d been my mantra since we moved in two months earlier, but some lessons are hard to come by.

As for the driver’s hand in this near-tragedy? Quite possibly she was slow to react, and I’ll follow up to make sure all’s well there, but I think she and Noah share equally in the responsibility. I think we all learned a few lessons that day.

Two days after Noah sailed over the hood of that car he flipped again – this time, off the diving platform at the quarry beach, the sun shining brightly above him.

My lucky, lucky boy.

–Jennifer DuBose, M.S., C.A.S. is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with a private practice in Batavia and has been a Clinical Member of The American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy(AAMFT) since 1995. Got a question or concern you’d like her to address? Nothing is off limits. If you’re a parent and it’s on your mind, chances are you’re not alone. Don’t suffer the wonders. Send your questions to parentingisntforsissies@hotmail.com. Your name and other identifying information will be kept strictly confidential.

Bullying, Part I: There's More to a Bully Than Meets the Eye

Jennifer DuBose — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 10:09:00 GMT

Noah’s first encounter with a bully happened while he was still in diapers, when another two-year-old shoved him off his sunny perch atop a little-tykes picnic table. A stunned Noah retaliated with a toothy bite to the other boy’s leg and a stunned me fretted that my son was being bullied by a baby-thug – and becoming one himself.

No one likes a bully. But you know what? Chances are pretty good that the bully knows this, and feels the same. Serves him right, you say? If all you’re concerned about is keeping your children away from ‘the big, bad bully,’ I have news for you: you’re part of the problem, not the solution.

There’s more to a bully than meets the eye. I really bristle at the word “bully” as I try to imagine his story. Sometimes kids bully because they have a deep need for belonging but lack the social skills to successfully cultivate friendships. They aren’t born to bully, but develop that tough exterior in response to and in defense against how they are treated. If you’re the parent of a bully’s target, however, it makes sense that appreciating this would be difficult. But consider that there might be a world of pain behind those fists and that name-calling. You know the one about the guy who comes home from a day of working for a tyrant and kicks the dog? The same thing applies here. When a person feels a lack of control in one area of his life he sometimes compensates by over-controlling in other areas. It’s actually an interesting survival mechanism, an unconscious way of creating balance. Think of bullying behavior as a symptom or flag, an unconscious S.O.S. for help.

We typically think of bullies as thugs who intimidate little kids ‘til they surrender their lunch money or trip them up as they walk home from school, but the thugs aren’t always boys – or even children. We’ve all seen shocking videos of high school girls literally attacking other girls. And who can forget the tragic case of thirteen-year-old Megan Meier who committed suicide after a period of cyber-bullying perpetrated by an adult who posed as a teenaged boy on-line? Being the target of chronic bullying can lead to depression, anxiety, school avoidance, declining grades and to other devastating conclusions, according to campus shooters who, in suicide notes, point to bullying as a factor in their undoing. Such was the case of Cho Seung Hui, who perpetrated the Virginia Tech massacre that left 33 dead.

Did you know that roughly 25% of American school children report being bullied and that 20% acknowledge doing the bullying (source: U.S. Dept. of Health and Human Services)? Bullying is a serious public health issue. As parents we can help to stem the bullying tide. Understand that extremely permissive parenting can allow bullying tendencies to flower, and recognize that the opposite extreme is of equal concern: stop being a bully yourself. When you’re rude to a waiter or gossip about a neighbor, creating an environment where she is excluded, do you think your kids don’t notice? Bullying often starts at home. If children grow up in hostile family environments, where they see a power imbalance exploited to intimidate or harm another, they can learn to become victims or perpetrators of hostility themselves. If this sounds like your family, consider this: do you really want your daughter to grow up believing that it’s ever okay for her to be treated with hostility or to demean another person?

A few years after the baby-bully incident, Noah came face to face with the real deal. Two weeks into Kindergarten he encountered a much larger Kindergartener on the school bus who was a year older than he and who gave him an overzealous noogie and then repeatedly slammed his head into the seat in front of him. This, according to a Mom riding the bus who’d seen the incident unfold. She said she was too shocked to intervene, was unwilling to report the incident because of her friendship with his parents, and only mentioned it to me out of concern for why Noah didn’t stand up for himself.

That he never even told me blew me away. Not a peep. I cried buckets.

Sometimes kids don’t tell for fear of retaliation from the bully, or fear that they will be perceived as cry-babies. I spoke up, however, and expressed that while I expected consequences for the boy, it mattered as much that someone figure out why it happened to begin with.

Once a bullying crisis passes, be careful not to foreclose on the possibility that your child and the bully might become friendly, if not friends. As for Noah and his baby-bully, they developed into preschool pals. The kid from the bus actually came over to apologize, and he and Noah ended up playing in the backyard while his Mom and I chatted nearby.

Teach your kids strategies for dealing with bullies (see tips below), but be part of the solution and model for them the most important things of all: respect for others and compassion for those who bully. It’s okay to teach forgiveness and grace while you set limits and protect your kids.

Tips for Parents

Insist that your school creates and follows through on their bullying and harassment policies, and suggest that supervision be beefed up in known bullying ‘hotspots’ like lunchrooms, bathrooms and school busses.

Remind children that stopping to stare when they see bullying in progress just adds fuel to the fire. Without an audience of bystanders many bully-dramas fizzle out. Teach children to report bullying behavior, and make sure they know the difference between telling and tattling.

If your child is bullied, coach him to walk away from a bully’s taunts. Though it may seem unrealistic, role-play how your child might respond. Teach him to firmly say “Please stop, you’re hurting me / my feelings.” Sometimes this stops a bully in his tracks.

Kids are less vulnerable to bullying if they develop friendships and use the buddy system. Encourage them to befriend kids who get picked on, too.

Most important, make sure children understand that bullying isn’t their fault.

*Look for my second installment in this series on bullying next month, when I address “Cyberbullying.”

–Jennifer DuBose, M.S., C.A.S. has been a Clinical Member of The American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy(AAMFT) since 1995. Got a question or concern you’d like her to address? Nothing is off limits. If you’re a parent and it’s on your mind, chances are you’re not alone. Don’t suffer the wonders. Send your questions to parentingisntforsissies@hotmail.com. Your name and other identifying information will be kept strictly confidential.

Dodging Storms With Kids

Jennifer DuBose — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 22:28:00 GMT

Wild night last night, huh? As for my clan, we hunkered down in our new home’s cobwebby old basement with a game of Boggle, our kitty, a cell phone, flashlight, crank-powered emergency radio and a thermos of water. Oh, and some M&M’s.

Best not forget the instant joy whilst dodging tornadoes and lightening bolts.

We made a fast-grab for these items before we headed downstairs to hang with the spiders. I’m not sure what worried seven-year-old Holly more: the spiders or the wacky weather, but I made a mental note to vacuum the cobwebs – and to ‘get with it’ and prepare for the next time we’re told by weather forecasters to take cover.

Even though we were unsure just how serious the storm would become, we’re still relatively new to the Midwest and have never before heard such stern, adamant weather warnings from local forecasters before.

So down we went. But not before grabbing the M&M’s.

And besides, it’s good to model emergency procedures for kids. School-aged kids are already familiar with these routines, as they periodically practice them at school, but for the younger set, an emergency sprint to the basement can be frightening. Not exciting, as I dared suggest to Holly, who set me straight as she huddled against me on my lap:

“This isn’t exciting, Mommy, it’s a storm.” Yes. This is true. Though I actually love watching a storm from a cozy window seat, I can appreciate that others may not share in my enthusiasm. That said I’ve never suffered any storm damage, emotional or otherwise. If I had, I might feel differently.

Don’t pretend you’re not scared, if you are. Running for cover is scary (even if it’s also a little bit exciting and feels a tad like an adventure), and denying that it is just confuses kids and teaches them to deny feelings. If they express fear or shed some tears, let them know that it makes sense that they’d find this all a bit overwhelming. You might even regale them with tales of times you and your folks had to take cover when you were a child, especially if you have a funny anecdote to relate. Like the time your great-Uncle Jack passed gas while you all crowded into the basement utility room, making everybody gag and laugh until they cried and cousin Joey threw-up. Make something up if you have to. Necessity is the mother of invention.

So we passed the hour playing boggle (Holly's been pining for a "family fun night" for a while now, but I doubt this is what she had in mind) while I perched on a child’s antique wooden folding chair decidedly too small for my backside. The moment it began tingling with that unmistakable pins-and-needles sensation I seriously considered the wisdom of preparing for such occasions. For starters, I would need a comfier chair. I held my tongue for fear of raising the kids’ anxiety, but I decided that we would need to prepare an emergency kit should we need to make another mad-dash to the basement. We’ll let the kids contribute to a brainstorming session on the subject of emergency preparedness (but not during a scary storm). Having some control over some aspect of the experience can help kids to feel less anxious.

If, like me, you lack a finished basement outfitted with a bathroom, fully stocked kitchen and tricked-out media room, create an emergency kit filled with essentials and non-perishables that you can stow in the basement just in case. Or, if you live in a condo or high-rise where you lack basement storage, create a portable kit that can be grabbed as you sprint to your building’s basement or emergency shelter. In this case, you might also want to pick up a couple of those light-weight fold-up tri-pod stools and maybe a blanket or two. (If you have pets, don’t forget to provide for them. Unless you have a portable litter box, however, skip the food and water, unless you anticipate being sheltered for more than a couple of hours.) Flashlights, cellphones, fresh batteries and a crank-radio are must-haves, and consider a camping potty (with TP!), prescription medications and diapering supplies.

Bottled water, granola bars, dried fruit and nuts are good choices for your kit (don’t forget to periodically rotate-out and replace expired items – even bottled water), and don’t forget each family member’s favorite snack. Oh, and don’t forget to tuck in a couple of simple games. Remember, you’ll be somewhat jazzed-up, so unless you have nerves of steel, skip new activities with complicated rules that your little ones (and you) may not be able to grasp under the circumstances. Stick with old familiar standbys. Familiarity is reassuring during times of crisis. Boggle, hangman, and a deck of cards would work just fine for my gang (Have I ever mentioned that my Psychologist-hubby taught our ten-year-old son how to play Poker? That’s another blog post …). Sneak in a few novelties from the dollar-store, too. You may only need to pass an hour or two in the basement, but being well-prepared will help your family to more comfortably pass the time.