What scary movies teach you

My boys have been bugging me for the past year to rent scary movies... like "The Ring" or "The Grudge" and I've been very adamant about not giving in to them. First and foremost, most of the big horror flicks are way too frightening and inappropriate. And second, I'm the world's biggest chicken when it comes to scary stuff, especially if they have creepy little kids in them.

Now that Sam is 11, I thought we'd try out a few mild scary movies to test the waters. Over the past month or so, we've watched "Ghost Rider", "The Others", "Alien", "Poltergeist" and "The Sixth Sense". Only the last two have done any serious freaking out on the boys. They asked me if I'd go into the light after them (absolutely) and why don't people turn on the lights when they go into an empty room (that's just what people in scary movies do).

Because I'm always looking for an opportunity to educate my children, with each movie we established a list of rules for not letting the monsters/ghosts/aliens get you. And they are:

1) NEVER, EVER MAKE A DEAL WITH SATAN. He is one bad dude and you should avoid him at all costs. Nothing is ever worth giving up your soul.

2)NEVER, EVER SEPARATE FROM THE GROUP… OR GO BACK FOR THE CAT. Safety in numbers and you can always get another pet. When they get older I'll add the teen slasher corollary... never sneak off to have sex with a skank because those are the kids the serial killer goes after. It's always the nice, non-skanky girls who live.

3) IF A VOICE IN THE HOUSE TELLS YOU TO GET OUT, GET OUT! I paused "Poltergeist" after Carol Ann got sucked into the TV and told the kids, "If that ever happens to one of you, the rest of us are packing up and leaving. You don't argue with evil spirits. And besides, you should have listened when I told you to stop sitting so close to the TV!"

4) IF ADULTS (ESPECIALLY DEAD ONES) SHOW AN UNHEALTHY INTEREST TOWARD YOU, RUN AWAY (BUT NOT TOWARD THE LIGHT) Live adults who pay an inordinate amount of attention to you may be pedophiles. Run, run, run!

5) IF YOU SEE DEAD PEOPLE, TELL YOUR MOTHER IMMEDIATELY Again, she may abandon you like she would if you were stuck in the TV. But then again, she would probably get you some help and medication.

Pro-weed Pro-tests

http://www.newsday.com/news/printedition/nation/ny-uskell116031442feb11,0,1961589.story

When I read this story about the legions of marijuana activists who were protesting Kellogg's release of Michael Phelps after the infamous bong photo, I laughed out loud. Stoners protesting by boycotting munchies. What kind of reefer madness is this? Aren't all tokers completely unmotivated and constantly hungry?

Once I stopped chuckling, I read the rest of the article and don't ever tell my kids I said this, but the stoners had a relevant point. Kellogg's hired Phelps despite a DUI conviction. Sure, it happened four years before he signed, and he did his community service to get it expunged from his record (big deal... you can type in "Phelps DUI" on Google and get the scoop), but it is the principle of the thing. The only thing smoking a little weed kills, are brain cells. Driving drunk kills people. If they were willing to take the "he's young and made a mistake" approach to the DUI, then they should be as gracious about the pot.

As a parent, the bong photo and the Kellogg's renunciation of Phelps creates an excellent teaching moment. If you break the law and disrespect your body with drugs, you will lose more than a few brain cells. There are consequences. Unfortunately, they have had to learn this lesson over and over again with the athletes they admire. A year and a half ago, my younger son threw away his Michael Vick jersey when he learned of his conviction for dogfighting.

We were sitting in the car, waiting for the bus when my boys first heard the story and they were visibly disgusted with Phelps, whom they had greatly admired before, during and after the Olympics. I commend Kellogg's for removing Phelps from the cereal boxes that sit in front of kids, every morning on kitchen tables across America. But maybe Kellogg's should have put more thought into making the offer to Phelps in the first place, based on his past behavior. Because if Tony the Tiger shouldn't toke, he shouldn't be driving while tipsy either.

Eight is enough and enough is enough.

I don't care if she's not married. I don't care if she's living with her parents. I do care that she's carelessly bringing children into this world; children whom she is putting at risk, merely by the way she conceived them. And what I'm really surprised about is that nobody seems to care that she is probably mentally ill.

My birth mother was a paranoid schizophrenic and she continued to have children after she was told it was no longer safe mentally or physically. When my youngest sister was 6 weeks old, she had a major breakdown and we never lived with her as a family, on a full-time basis, again. There are stories of women who kill or abuse their children, but keep having them compulsively. In 1983, Diane Downs tried to kill her three children because they were interfering with her love life, and yet was pregnant at the time of her trial. Because she loved children so much? No, because having children somehow made her the center of the universe. My personal theory is that these woman crave unconditional love and keep having babies to satisfy this craving, which it never does.

Instead of giving her all of this media face-time, she should be getting some one-on-one time with a psychaitrist. Those babies are going to face enough obstacles in their lifetime. Their mother shouldn't be one of them.

The Other Shoe

My shoes seem to have developed an annoying habit. No matter which pair of shoes I'm looking for, one shoe is always missing. Granted, I'm not very meticulous about putting my shoes back where I originally found them, but I also am not like my children who progressively undress room from room until there is a trail of clothing from the front to the back of the house. And once I noticed this irritating phenomenon, I began putting my shoes in my bedroom closet, by the front door or under the mudroom bench. And every time I came back to them, one shoe had skedaddled. Perhaps if I lived in a house with other females, I could blame them for stealing my shoes one at a time. But I'm surrounded by boys. So, like the Grinch, I puzzed and I puzzed until my puzzler was sore. And then it hit me.

The absence of my footwear was an analogy about my life. All of my life, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop and destroy any happiness or good fortune I might be enjoying. When I was doing well in school, waiting for the flip-flop of failure would keep me from working harder to move to the top of the class. When I was doing well financially, the pump of poverty kept me from doing something worthwhile with my extra cash, like travelling or investing. When I was in a relationship that made me happy, the boot of breaking-up held me back from giving all of myself, especially the soft marshmellowy middle, to someone else. And when it came to the writing career I so desperately wanted, the mule of mediocrity never let me devote the time and resolve necessary to pursue my dream.

Don't get me wrong. That other shoe has fallen a quite few times and really kicked me in the ass every now and then. But I think it's time to stop being afraid of the other shoe and focus on what I needed it for in the first place. To go somehere. To accomplish something. To be with the people I care about. So from now on, instead of roaming through the house, cursing that damn shoe, I'll just go back the closet and find another pair.