Teens in Balance - Tara Cousineau, PhD

Ushering in SMS sweet nothings: A new way to stay connected to your teen

The number of text messages the average teen sends today is staggering. The last statistic I saw was that teen girls send over 3300 text messages a month, an average of more than 100 texts /day. Of course most of this happens at bus stops and after school, between activities, and distills down to messages about homework, rides, and boys. For kids who are “hypertexters” (over 120 messages/day) there is some research correlating the behavior to high risk taking, too... but I’m not convinced.

In fact, I’m trying to figure out my reaction to all the finger action and what seems to be the irresistible urge of the teen girls I know to text each other in the same room or when piled in the same car. Social scientists and journalists lament whether this is the end of authentic interpersonal interactions, the learning of social skills needed to be contributing adults in the world, ethical behavior, and so on. 

But I have to say I have come to see the texting as one way I know my 13-year-old daughter still cares.  If all I get is something like this:

“Can u pick me up@ graces?  <kisses>”

…. I’ll take it. 

I mean, when do you get a real hug or kiss at this stage anyway?

It strikes me that texting serves a new way for teens to hint to their parents they are appreciated, the kind of gesture that will no longer be acknowledged in a sideways hug, high five, or God forbid, a verbal “thanks” or “love ya” face to face.  It’s sort of like when around the age of 8, you can no longer kiss your kid on the forehead before she hops on the bus for her fear of being ruthlessly tagged as being a baby.

So while my not-so-little girl has entered the beginning of what Erik Erikson dubbed the “Identity vs. Role Confusion” - that betwixt and between developmental stage from child to adulthood, it seems that technology may ameliorate the experience of rejection, dismissal and withdrawal. I suppose it can go the other way, too. 

For now texting is like a tether, however flimsy or flighty, of sweet somethings that I can hold on to.

(\ /)
( . .)♥
c(”)(”)

 

Toy Story lives in our hearts for infinity

When my daughter was 3 years old she chose to be Buzz Lightyear for Halloween.  I was a proud mom, indeed. No pink tulle costume for my girl.  Adventure, determination, hero status, and loyal friend. What could be a better role model?

(This year she went as Selena Gomez, so there you go.)

The characters of Toy Story have lived with us for a decade, in film, coloring books, and in toys. It tops our list of all time best animation (especially Toy Story 1) and has tugged at our heartstrings every time we fall upon it.  There was resurgence this past week when digging out the battered DVD cases of 1 & 2 in preparation for the viewing of Toy Story 3, which we decided was to be a family-only event. I saw the outing as a closure of sorts, with my 10 and 12 year olds on the brink of outgrowing this movie category. Yes, those darn animations have filled up my movie going over many years in lieu of indie flicks and foreign films – and now we’re moving on to more mature films like Twilight (well, maybe).

I had been vaguely warned by another mother that the dramatic ending was not expected and to “be prepared.”  What, they all die? I thought.  (I’m not giving away the ending, don’t worry.)  At the theater I sat with my older daughter and my younger one sat behind us in the last row with her Dad.  Highest elevation matters to her and being in the center matters to Dad.

Woody is out to save his best friends, as usual, and goes to great lengths to do so. He combats an evil teddy bear and his baby doll sidekick and the toys suffer though the demonic play by a bunch of toddlers in a preschool.  Yes, what could be worse than being mangled by three year olds during the day and imprisoned by possessed toys at night?  What a nightmare!

The power went off in the theater at one point (resulting in free tickets) and when the sound came back on it was the music track only, no voices.  But wouldn’t you know it, this occurred at the scene where Buzz is on “Spanish mode” and dances a swank Pasadoble with Jesse. It was subtitled so we didn’t miss too much.  A bit of romance in the third installment – how sweet.

Of course, the climax of the film did happen to be one of existential crisis for Woody and his lot – and a moment of utter tenderness when the toys clasp hands as they bravely face their presumed fate.  I sobbed, “Oh my god it’s a holocaust!” My daughter gestured with her face in her hands, then turned to me and laughed at my drama.  The one behind me whispered to her Dad, “This is the part where Mom cries.”

Later, wolfing down burritos, my younger daughter said, “I didn’t like this version. It was so intense.” She offered a better ending in her mind, one that did not include the possibility of familial annihilation. She felt that Andy could have seen his beloved toys wave goodbye to him, some live evidence of their humanity before he went to college.

And why not?

Taking some health cues from Europe: Hikes, bikes and the likes

This past week I attended the annual meeting of the Academy of Eating Disorders, in part to present BodiMojo.com in the technology portion of the conference. I may have been the odd one out talking about health promotion rather than clinical intervention. Yet, the location could not have been better: Salzburg, Austria.  I brought my 12-year-old daughter along on her first trip to Europe.

I asked her several times what she noticed about the people or places we visited. At the stop over in Dublin she noticed that passengers waiting to get on a flight to Eastern Europe “weren’t as fat as Americans.”  It was true.  Of about 100 people waiting to board that flight, maybe three appeared overweight.  I, on the other hand, noticed that the boys sported spiky or cropped hair vs. the floppy mop trend of the Justin Biebers types. From that point on we tried to predict which teens were from the US or not.

She also noticed how neatly dressed the Germans and Austrians are.  No oversized sweatshirts, sports tees, or baseball caps. (You only see baseball caps in the souvenir shops intended for Americans). Her observation was true for the European adults – they were smartly dressed.  The teens looked like most teens, but you did not see girls with belly shirts even on scorching hot days; no pajama pants; no Uggs, either (for some reason we see girls wearing those hot fluffy booties all year long in New England).  We saw lots of tattoos, though.

During a few days in Munich, Germany, we could not get over the number of people on bicycles. Granted it was a Sunday and the apparent first beautiful day of the summer season.  My daughter observed the interesting paradox of an active people, either on bike or on foot, as well as many more people who smoked – a now uncool trend in America thanks to successful legal action against the tobacco companies and tons of health promotion initiatives paid for by tobacco funds over more than a decade.

A friend of ours, working in Germany, told us that her diet is much better now (with the one exception of beer). In her previous environs of corporate New York, she’d have a bag of chips with every sandwich.  No chips here.  Stopping for food was an almost daily errand, with fresh fruit and vegetables available or fresh baked breads – no special trips to a Whole Foods or conveniently calling for take out. One has to think through and plan most meals – but access is fairly easy. And walking goes without saying.

As travelers we found it a challenge, though.  Without a kitchen, we got stuck with eating lots of pizza, würst with pomme frits, or croissants. Hardly a healthy, balanced diet.  Again, we had to remember to grab some fruit at a local corner market on our way to one city or the next, or be fluent enough in German to wind our way to a food store. (I can get by with broken German).

Maybe the most striking observation my tween made, was just – like its citizens – how cultivated and clean the cities and towns were.  Even the farmlands were stunningly picturesque – neat roadways and pastures and well-kept tractors that looked like toys from afar.  How different from the sites we often see, with junk and rusted old equipment lying in fields, or miles of strips malls and convenience stops at so many intersections.  One is never more than a few minutes away from coffee and donuts in the US.

I do think now of how apt is the slogan: “America runs on Dunkin.”

Did you know: Just being an American puts one at risk for obesity? Maybe we should take some cues from our EU friends.

Mother’s Day: Ode to Lipstick

These days I’m on a quest to find my favorite lipstick, Clinique No. 83, Double Truffle.  I fear it has been discontinued after at least 12 years of using it.  I hold out hope that some Clinique counter may still have one or two left.  My daughters have experienced near sideswipes as I dart into various malls during treks to and from soccer’s fields.  “Mom. Jeez. Just find another color!” They have understood my attachment to Double Truffle for a while now.  In fact, I’ve been using it longer than their lifetimes.  I tell them lipstick is the only make up a girl ever really needs, because she can also dab a few fingerprints on her cheeks for blush.  It’s handy that way. Once you find that perfect color that suits all seasons and skin tones – especially in New England – well, it’s compulsive sort of connection.

My relationship to lipstick goes back to age 3. My mother, the Avon Lady, had hundreds of 2-inch samples pressed into a nifty brief case, much like color pencils snap into coloring kits. I’d tag along with her on her house calls, watching women gently draw lines – crimson, cherry, rose – on back heir hands and then appraise at arm’s length the subtleties of tone and sheen in the light of a kitchen window.  My mother, with her authoritarian German accent, would confidently suggest which color suited one’s complexion. “Ya, Marta. Zis is the one for you!’ 

All my baby dolls were smeared with lipstick stains over the years.  My friends and I would sneak samples to our forts and play dress up for hours. And while my mother wouldn’t allow us to wear a smidge of makeup in public until we were 16 (oh, the contradiction of it all!), we were well supplied with plenty of chap stick and flavored lip gloss over the years.

So when the NYT commentary on tweens and the rise in make-up use crossed my radar, I thought, this guy does not understand girls and the art of adornment. It’s genetic, man.

Douglas Quenqua comes to an odd conclusion based on a marketing study. The data revealed that from 2006 to 2008 there was a significant increase of girls, ages 8-12, who used make-up regularly. According to the report, the usage of eyeliner and mascara almost doubled (from roughly 10 to 18%) while lipstick use rose as well (from 10 to 15%). 

Quenqua suggests that the increase in make-up use is akin to the increase of other harmful substances among youth. OMG. Call in the make-up cops. 

I must quote him:  “The choice between prohibition and harm-reduction has long divided parents on prickly issues: forbid alcohol or supervise the inevitable kegger? Preach abstinence or buy condoms? Now, the struggle shows signs of coming to a new front: the cosmetics counter.”  

He also blames the mothers – the ones with the purse strings buying the stash. (But what else is new?) The report from the NPD group also showed that makeup use decreases in older teens and young women.  So how about this as an alternative interpretation:  Tween girls like to experiment with make-up. They may use too much now and then, but it makes them feel grown-up and in control while their bodies are morphing out of their control. Then later, as they understand cultural shifts like the green movement and natural beauty, or come into their own sort of acceptance about their looks and bodies and sense of style, they tend to use less of it. 

Take it from a Recovering Daughter of an Avon Lady. 

Getting to Michelle Obama

I have to say I’m excited about Michelle Obama’s initiatve, Let’s Move! and the new foundation, Partners for a Healthier America.  This is great timing for BodiMojo, the online teen health destination we are building, with help from a Small Business Innovative Research grant from the National Institutes of Health. But here’s the question: if the initiative is truly about developing  “a strong network of members across the business, government, academic, and nonprofit sectors who will commit to accelerating efforts to address childhood obesity,” how does one actually get in front of Michelle or her group???

We’ve got a terrific online program built with the help of teens and being testing by about 250 Massachusetts high schoolers: BodiMojo. We’ve got a story to tell and we need to get the word out as we launch later this spring. I’m writing this on my personal blog so I can be brazen about my calling on friends and colleagues to help me lead the way to be part of this important national initiative. Really, I can’t afford a lobbyist.

So why teens, you ask?  Because they are the toughest and savviest group out there and they get short shrift on obesity prevention in lieu of the “risky” stuff, like sex and drugs.  Most obesity prevention programs target youngsters/tweens and families, but really teens are a key group.  (Brands and marketers know this: capture brand loyalty among teens and you have a customer for life.)

I hear it all time, “Teens don’t care about health!”  I honestly wonder if these people actually talk to teens.  Prevention messages may fall on deaf ears, but ask any teen if they care about their own health, and they’ll say yes. It’s just that they see it as part of who they are, not as some separate silo in their life they have to attend to – which is how grown-ups think (The life checklist: job, car, gym, kids, vacation, bills, etc.). 

Here’s the thing: Teens are making their own decisions and solidifying health habits that will transfer to young adulthood. They want to fit in, personalize their stuff, create an identity, and be part of civic life. They have strong opinions – and for the most part – make pretty wise decisions in spite of brain blips here and there. They care deeply about what they look like and just about all of them have body image concerns. In my estimation, we need to re-position “obesity prevention.” It’s time to brand healthy decision making as part of style – your personal charm. You know… your “mojo.”

So, help me get to Michelle.

Bringing joy into schools?

Last week my hero was a 7-year old boy who raised $240,000 for Haiti by riding his bike around London. 

This week I have a new hero. His name is Steve Gross, founder of Project Joy (see opening video on website). He brings the radical notion of playfulness back into the lives of children, especially children who have been traumatized or live in traumatizing conditions.

A charismatic guy, clearly a motivational speaker whether he’d consider that label or not, he got a room full of teachers, principals, counselors, nurses and psychologists to stand up and play a game – a game that got at least 75% of the audience to get up and dance.

What I loved about his presentation however, was not getting the middle-aged grownups to have a little fun. He was demonstrating the concept of JOY by felt experience – Bringing joy back into teaching, into therapy, into childhood, and into the present moment.

At a presentation at a Harvard Medical School course on School Mental Health, he put on the screen this quote from the American Journal of Preventive Medicine:

“The most threatening health crisis facing children in America is exposure to adverse childhood experiences.”

That’s a wake up call. We worry about acting out behaviors, substance use, precocious sexuality, high school drop out rates, and youth violence. These are the issues that make the headlines in newspapers and the media and are of utmost concern.  What does not catch anyone’s attention is the antidote to these problems in childhood and who is doing this subversive work.  This is the mission of Project Joy:

“Our mission is to ensure that nothing destroys the playfulness of children.  Nothing.”

Mr. Gross defines playfulness as:  “The motivation to freely and joyfully engage with, connect with, and explore the surrounding world.”

And he’s talking from preschool on up… and I’d venture to guess his strategies work with adults, too, after getting this audience to loosen up.  He crafted the game with clear boundaries – you don’t have to play you don’t want to.  Here’s the message:

When children and teens have permission to play… they play!

Simple? Profound?

It’s necessary and it seems like too many professionals and educators have forgotten how to play. You can see it in grown-ups' contrained bodies, facial expressions, and attitudes. In my own child’s middle school, the sixth graders only get recess half the school year – it’s an “elective”. We lament about this modern reality of schools taking out PE and recess time. But play doesn’t just happen on the playground; it is a philosophy, an attitude, a commitment.

How does the Project Joy instill play in school settings?  Through games, choices, empowerment, co-creating rules, employing transitions for children who may be overwhelmed or over stimulated (use of breathing exercise or soft music), and role modeling and engagement by older kids with younger kids. In effect, playfulness can counteract the effects of trauma on the mind and body – it becomes a means for affect regulation, problem solving, and empowerment through connection with others.

Play changes physiology. Play = healing.

Bring it on.

Other Resources:

The ACE Project

Invisible Children – Kids At Risk Action