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The Rockwood Files: Instagram versus the Awkward Phase

August 13, 2015 By: admin

rockwood files colorBy Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3

Like many kids, I went through an “awkward stage.” A long one. Some days, I’m not even sure it has ended yet.

It was particularly bad in the fifth and sixth grades, when I decided a colored piece of yarn tied in a loopy bow might make for a good headband. It didn’t. Beyond that, I wore purplish blue glasses on a pale, freckly face. And I was skinny to the point of being gangly.

When I was old enough to start wearing makeup, it was the mid-eighties and we all thought blue eye shadow was a gift from the cosmetic gods. So I layered on tons of it until it looked like I had a blue shimmery dolphin arcing over each eye. Neon socks were “in” and self-tanning products had just hit the market and were turning me and the other pale girls an unfortunate shade of dark orange. Let’s just say the modeling scouts for Seventeen magazine were not knocking down my door.

But that was okay because I wasn’t the first, the last or the only kid to endure an awkward phase. Things got better after a period of trial and error.

What I’m realizing now is that I was one of the lucky ones because I got to struggle through my awkward phase in relative anonymity. Other than a few school pictures and birthday snapshots, the awkward phase went mostly undocumented.

But today’s kids don’t have the luxury of flying under the radar until they start to feel more comfortable in their own skin. And I wonder if, now that we live in a time when everyday moments get captured, uploaded and shared in an endless stream of photos, is there any room left for an awkward phase?

I can’t imagine how tough it must be to get through that self-conscious time of life when you’re surrounded by a sea of unforgiving camera phones. A not-so-flattering photo can be snapped and shared in a matter of minutes. And the person who shares it can post an unkind caption that easily eviscerates an already fragile self-image.

instagram logoWhile teenagers have become masters at adding filters to photos, they’re not always so good at filtering the comments they post about their peers, and some of it is downright cruel.

Sometimes girls, in particular, feel like their worth can be measured by the number of positive reactions they get on Instagram. Their self-esteem lives and dies by the “like.”

I recently read an article written by psychologist Dr. Jill Weber for the Huffington Post that talked about the impact social media often has on girls. This line, which points out just how easy it is to play the comparison game, jumped out at me as not only true but scary: “Negatively comparing herself to others on social media sites increases a girl or woman’s sense that she will never be good enough in her real life.”

Yikes.

I’m no psychologist but I am a woman who survived her own awkward stage and has lived long enough to know this one thing for sure: Growing up is hard enough without living your life under a social media microscope.

So far, my own kids have only begun to dip a toe into the social media waters. But I know that in the coming years, they might dive headlong into it, and we, like so many parents, will have to figure out how much is too much. We’ll have to figure out how to let them enjoy the good things about our hyper-connected world without letting them drown in a sea of social media commentary.

gwen-headshot-2014Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, wife to one cool guy, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of nwaMotherlode.com. To read previously published installments of The Rockwood Files, click here. To check out Gwen’s book, “Reporting Live from the Laundry Pile: The Rockwood Files Collection,” click HERE.

The Rockwood Files: Are we exasperating our kids?

July 9, 2015 By: admin

rockwood files colorBy Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3

Whether you’re religious or not, most parents can agree on the absolute truth and wisdom of the verse in the Bible that says, “Honor your father and mother.” It’s such an important verse that it lands smack dab in the middle of the Ten Commandments, right above “Thou shalt not murder.” We parents are big fans of this particular rule.

Any time this verse get read aloud in church, every parent in the room cuts his or her eyes over toward their kids with a satisfied look that says, “See there? God said so.”

exasperate graphicBut lately I’ve also been thinking about another line from the Bible – one that kids are often thrilled to hear – which says this: “Fathers, do not exasperate your children, so that they will not lose heart.” (I’m pretty sure the “do not exasperate” line applies equally to mothers.)

I’m no parenting expert but I’m beginning to think that the essence of parenting lies in that magical middle ground between those two verses. How do you raise a kid to honor his father and mother without sometimes exasperating him?

With one kid firmly entrenched in the teenage years and another well on the way, I’ve noticed that a kid’s “exasperation threshold” drops considerably as he hits the middle school years. The other day I called one of the kid’s names and heard an audible groan come from the other room – the kind of groan that translates into something like this: “Oh no, not again. What does she want this time?”

That’s when it hit me. Sometimes all it takes to go from a state of peace to the land of exasperation is the mere sound of my voice.

It feels like this shift happened overnight. One minute, you’ve got this sweet baby in your arms who coos and grins when he hears your voice. The next minute? He’s wishing you’d shut up already so he could get back to a far more interesting app on his smartphone. Any mom who has experienced this drastic drop in the level of maternal adoration knows it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

But I get it. I really do. I know how irritating I must be for them at times. Of course they don’t want to be reminded about homework. Or chores. Or piano practice. And they definitely don’t want to hear that tired old speech about how the toilet should be flushed every single time.

I distinctly remember when I was a teenager burdened with a mother who’d suddenly become supremely annoying. I wondered what had happened to her and was convinced it had nothing to do with me and the endless waves of moody hormones I was surfing. I look back on those days and feel sorry for my mom because I know now what she knew then: Trying not to exasperate a teenager can be, well, downright exasperating.

But if my mission as a parent is to raise kind, respectful, toilet-flushing citizens, there are bound to be times when those goals are at odds with what the kids would rather do. So they’ll get annoyed and they’ll mess up, just like most of us did at that age.

Tom and I are beginning to make peace with the knowledge that there’ll be times in the next few years when the kids won’t find us cool or funny or maybe even likeable. And that’s okay, as long as they treat us honorably even on those days we’re annoying.

And I hope that, even when Tom and I are supremely annoyed by the kids’ annoyance, we’ll find a way to correct and guide them without ever making them “lose heart.” More than anything, I pray that they’ll never doubt just how much we love their hearts.

gwen-headshot-2014Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, wife to one cool guy, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of nwaMotherlode.com. To read previously published installments of The Rockwood Files, click here. To check out Gwen’s book, “Reporting Live from the Laundry Pile: The Rockwood Files Collection,” click HERE.

The Rockwood Files: Do you like your name?

June 11, 2015 By: admin

rockwood files colorBy Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3

In Dale Carnegie’s famous book, “How to Win Friends and Influence People,” he wrote that you should use a person’s name when you’re talking to them because “…a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.”

I’m not here to argue with Dale Carnegie because five million books sold can’t be wrong. But I do wonder if the sound of your own name is always as appealing as he says it is.

The other day I sat across from a woman at the orthodontist’s office who was running my credit card so I could pay for our son’s braces. She glanced at the name on my card and said, “Oh, that’s a nice name. I really like it. It’s not a name you hear very often.”

I thanked her for the compliment. But what she doesn’t know is that a name like Gwen rhymes with way too many common words used in normal conversations – words like “when” and “then” and “in” and “pen” and the list goes on. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve spun around to answer someone who wasn’t even talking to me and just happened to be within earshot. For example:

Stranger 1: “Hey, did I tell you I’m going to Hawaii?”

Stranger 2: “Oh my gosh! WHEN?”

Me (turning around to face them): “Yes?”

Strangers 1 and 2 (who are confused and assume I must be a weirdo): “What?”

Me: “Oh, I thought you said my name.”

Stranger 2: “Um, no.”

So I say “Oh, sorry” and then I act like I’m in a big hurry to get somewhere important, which is true because I’m in a huge hurry to be anywhere but there, dealing with my mistaken name shame. This has happened more times than I care to admit.

So my new policy is to ignore it when I think I hear my name because there’s a good chance I’m wrong. And if the person really is calling my name, he or she will probably repeat it a few times or just give up and send me a text, which is the more practical way to go anyway.

My mother once told me that she had planned to name me “Gwendolyn Jane,” but my father didn’t like it and made fun of it so often while she was pregnant that she shortened it to “Gwen Ann.” My maiden name, Rule, was also very short so the whole thing together was three stupid syllables. Drove me nuts.

jennifer keychainI wanted a sophisticated, multi-syllable name like Elizabeth, Jennifer, Kimberly or Christina – the kinds of names you could always find on key chains at the Six Flags gift shop. (I never once found a key chain with the name Gwen on it, but my best friend Jennifer had key chains out the wazoo. Not that I’m bitter.)

Names are also great tools for teasing attacks on the elementary school playground. One day in second grade, this jerky little boy came up to me and called out “Gwen, Gwen, the big fat hen!” which was ironic because I was the kind of kid who was so awkwardly skinny that you could count my ribs anytime I inhaled deeply. And even though it’s ancient history, I can still sometimes hear that sing-song chant in my head. (Do you think people named Jessica or Jonathan ever have these issues? I wonder.)

But the good news is that the years have taught me to appreciate my short, not-too-common but rhymes-with-everything name. It’s simple and unassuming, and so am I. And as fate would have it, I married a man with a two-syllable last name which made me feel downright fancy.

Who needs your lousy personalized key chain? My last name has not three, not four, but eight whole letters and rhymes with almost nothing! Life is good.

gwen headshot 2014Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, wife to one cool guy, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of nwaMotherlode.com. To check out Gwen’s book, “Reporting Live from the Laundry Pile: The Rockwood Files Collection,” click HERE.

The Rockwood Files: Dear Greg

May 14, 2015 By: admin

rockwood files colorBy Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3

Dear Greg,

April sucks. It really does. Each year as the calendar creeps closer to April 20th, the knot in my throat gets a little bigger each day until I’m nearly choking on the reality that I’ve missed you for another whole year.

It’s been 14 years now since I got that phone call that changed everything for me and for Mom and Dad. If I let myself, I can almost replay the conversation line by line. I can hear exactly how the police officer sounded when he told me you’d died.

“That can’t be right,” I said. “Are you sure? Are you sure?”

“We’re sure, ma’am. I’m sorry, but we’re sure.”

The days and months after that phone call are still a grey blur in my memory. When you’re 28 years old, you’re not supposed to write your brother’s obituary, so you try to block out as much of the shock and pain as your mind will allow.

The only things I remember clearly are a handful of moments that felt like some kind of text message straight from Heaven – a little sign here and there that made me feel like maybe you were still around, even though I couldn’t see you.

People who haven’t experienced a major loss might think those “signs” are just wishful thinking, and there’d be no point in trying to convince them otherwise. You believe it when it happens to you and not a moment sooner.

gregpic3Losing you has taught me so much about life and loss and grief and joy. I’ve learned that “getting through” a loss is the thing we have to hope for because the loss doesn’t really have a finish line, which makes “getting over” it impossible. When my kids do something funny that reminds me of us when we were growing up, I want to tell you about it so badly.

I want to sit around the table again with you and Mom and Dad and watch you eat more lasagna than any human should ever consume at one sitting and be partly grossed out and partly impressed at the same time. I want to hear the jokes you’d make about all the crazy things that have happened in the world since you left it. Nobody made me laugh the way you did.

Every time something happy or sad or funny or unbelievable happens and you’re not around, I feel the loss again – like a thousand little cuts that pierce deep enough to remind me about the grief that lives just under the surface.

But here’s the thing that makes it better. Now and then when I see something ridiculous on the news, the joke you probably would have made pops right into my head. So I just say it for you and take the credit. And my oldest son – the one who just turned 13 – he rolls his eyes almost exactly the way you did. Our middle kid, Jack, has hair that looks like yours did, and his little sister, Kate, hums while we’re in the car and it annoys her brothers the same way it annoyed you when I used to do it.

Gosh, I wish you were here to see it. But I also have a deep sense that you’re not really missing a thing – that you have a ringside seat to everything that happens and that you nudge a guardian angel in our direction any time we need it. Thanks for that. You always were a protective big brother. I’m lucky that way.

Love,

Gwen

gwen headshot 2014Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, wife to one cool guy, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of nwaMotherlode.com.  To check out Gwen’s book, “Reporting Live from the Laundry Pile: The Rockwood Files Collection,” click HERE.

Rockwood Files: Letter to my future daughters-in-law and son-in-law

April 9, 2015 By: admin

rockwood files colorBy Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3

Dear Future Daughters-in-law and Son-in-law,

Even though right now you’re just kids and we haven’t even met, I think about you. Sometimes it happens when I notice how tall one of my sons has grown. Sometimes it happens when my daughter says something that makes her sound less like the 8-year-old that she is and more like a young lady. During those moments, I realize that – long before I’m ready – my babies will grow up, move out and start looking for you.

I wonder sometimes how you’ll find each other. Will you bump into each other in a college classroom? Will you meet in the company break room of the first real job after college graduation? Will it be a blind date, the way Tom and I met more than 16 years ago?

I’m looking forward to hearing those how-we-met stories. I worry sometimes about how many disappointments and broken hearts might happen before the timing is right for you and one of my kids to meet. Even though I know those heartaches are sometimes necessary to help us grow up and get smarter, it’s never easy for a mom to watch her kid get hurt – especially when there’s not much we can do about it.

What I can do is pray that you’re becoming the kind of person who is capable of deep love and loyalty. I pray you’re being raised by parents who can show you what real love looks like in the midst of real life – not the fake stuff you see in movies. I pray that, more than anything, you have a kind heart.

letter heartBecause one day you will have the hearts of the three people who claimed mine the moment that each of them was born. You’ll either make them happy or make them miserable. And since a mother’s happiness is inextricably intertwined with that of her children, you’re an awfully big deal to me, too. I hope I’ll love you and trust you to take care of these people who mean so much to me.

One day when they start dating, I’ll tell the kids just how important it is to choose wisely. I’ll try to convince them that deciding who to spend your life with is a much bigger decision than where to go to college. Bigger than what they’ll choose to study. Bigger than a career choice or where to live or what hobbies to pursue.

I hope they’ll believe me, but I can’t blame them if they don’t. Because when I was in my early 20s, I definitely didn’t grasp how huge this choice would be. I nearly messed it up a million different ways. I shudder to think what might have happened if I had kept on stubbornly ignoring that still, small voice we hear when we’re with someone who’s not good for us – that insistent, nagging feeling that something just isn’t right.

Now that I’m 16 years and three kids down the road from my own decision, I can appreciate how that blind date and the relationship that followed has had a bigger impact on my happiness than anything else.

So, listen. You don’t have to pretend to like my dismal cooking when you come for visits. And you don’t have to raise your kids the same way we raised ours. But I ask you from the bottom of my heart to do these two things: Love God and love my kid – as deeply and honestly as possible. And until we meet, I’ll be doing my best to raise the kind of person who can do those same things for you.

Love,

Your Future Mother-in-Law

gwen headshot 2014Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, wife to one cool guy, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of nwaMotherlode.com. To read previously published installments of The Rockwood Files, click here. To check out Gwen’s book, “Reporting Live from the Laundry Pile: The Rockwood Files Collection,” click HERE.

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