Author Archives: Jennifer Ziegler

About Jennifer Ziegler

Jennifer is a college graduate who was gainfully employed as the Director of Outreach and Communications for a controversial nonprofit until she threw it all away to be a full-time Mama. She takes parenting seriously, but is not a serious parent, believing instead that consistency and humor go a long way. Naturally, her kids are perfect.

Outlander: Claire heals, hopes to return home

Last week, the Starz adaptation of Outlander made some creative choices that separated it from the books upon which it is based — and I, for one, became concerned. In the series’ third episode, “The Way Out,” additional small changes were evident, but they served as effective tools to help with the transition from the written word to the small screen.

The episode opens with a flashback in which Claire Beauchamp, who has traveled through time to 18th-century Scotland, is back in her own world, bidding farewell to her husband Frank as she embarks on a train to the front lines to serve as a combat nurse in World War II. This scene emphasizes that Claire’s independent nature, illustrated so far during her time in and around the ancient Castle Leoch, is a characteristic of her 20th-century self as well: she is unwilling to play the role of the stereotypical housewife. Frank asks her to reconsider joining the war effort, but Claire insists on being of service. With resignation, Frank laments, “Woe betide the man who stands between you and what you set your mind upon…”

Claire finds herself in her room at Castle Leoch. Mrs. Fitz is fussing over Claire when Claire turns to tell her that she has fallen through time at Craigh na Dun, the circle of stones near Inverness. Mrs. Fitz clearly is afraid when Claire says that she is from the future and that her husband, who everyone thinks is dead, actually hasn’t been born yet. Claire reveals she is from 1945 and has unwittingly found herself in 1743. Claire isn’t sure if she can even go back to her own time. Claire pleads for Mrs. Fitz to help her get back to the stones. Mrs. Fitz slaps her in the face and accuses her of witchcraft. At this point, I am seething, as nothing remotely similar to this scenario takes place in the book.

Seconds later, however, I am relieved to find that this scene was imagined by Claire. As far as this interaction strays from the book, it does serve an important purpose here. The Highland people of the 18th century were (and, to some degree, still are) a superstitious bunch. Their folklore is filled with fairies, spirits, witchcraft, and the constant need to defend oneself against Satan’s ever-present seduction. This background may not be clear to someone not already familiar with Scottish history or anyone who has yet to read the novel. The beliefs of the locals are pivotal to the storyline, and this daydream helps to establish the backdrop for future events.

Mrs. Fitz reveals that The Gathering is coming. The Gathering is an event at which all of the men living on the land of Clan MacKenzie come and swear allegiance to their laird. Claire feels this might be an opportunity to get the Clan’s leader, Colum, to trust her — by “physicking” the ill and earning her freedom. She sets about organizing the medical suite unknowingly left to her by the late Davey Beaton, the castle’s previous healer. Her healing skills are becoming a respected and much-sought asset.

It is revealed to Claire that one of the maids’ sons has died. Claire is told that the child, young Lindsey MacNeill, succumbed the previous night. When Claire inquires as to why she wasn’t called upon, Mrs. Fitz tells her that the boy died of nothing mere mortals could cure. The boy, she says, has died because he visited “The Black Kirk,” the ruins of an old Benedictine monastery. She, as well as everyone else in the area, believes he was taken by evil spirits who dwell in the stony rubble.

Claire, of course, believes none of this but says nothing. She is then called to Colum’s rooms, where he is found having a hilarious conversation with a tailor about the length of his coat. Colum is offended that the tailor is attempting to measure Colum for a frock coat considerably longer than the standard knee-length. The tailor assumed that Colum wanted his deformed legs covered, but clearly Colum does not.

Colum requests from the new healer a massage for his pain, as Beaton used to do. He and Claire get into a conversation about the cause of Lindsey’s death; Claire is vague about her belief that Lindsey was killed by demons. Colum says, “What, you don’t have demons in Oxfordshire, Mistress?” Claire pauses and returns with, “Well, we do … but we call them Scots.” Colum appreciates her humor and invites her as his personal guest to hear a famous Welsh bard, Gwyllyn, perform in The Hall that night.

At The Hall, Claire formally introduces herself to Mrs. Fitz’s granddaughter, Laoghaire MacKenzie. The girl obviously admires Jamie, the young man who saved her from punishment in the previous episode. Laoghaire admits that, while she likes Jamie, he does not return her affection. Claire promises to steer Jamie in her direction. However, her attempt is unsuccessful. Several times, Claire tries to encourage Jamie to attend to Laoghaire, but he is just shy of rude to her in order to converse directly with Claire.

Jamie and Claire discuss the talents of the bard, which are extraordinary. This musician, played by renowned medieval Gaelic singer and poet Gillebride MacMillan, is a marvel. The snippets of his performances alone make Outlander a must-see: the gorgeous vocals, rich in emotion and depth, further complement the already glorious set designs of this series.

Jamie notices that Claire has been imbibing Colum’s Rhenish wine. He asks her to attend to his bandages, although this is just an excuse to escort her safely from The Hall. Sparks fly when Claire and Jamie are alone in her surgery. The chemistry portrayed by the leads is fantastic. This is one thing that makes this adaptation successful. The almost karmic relationship between Jamie and Claire, established from the first book, is a key element in the entire Outlander series.

On a visit to the castle’s herb garden, Claire meets Geillis Duncan, who tells her that Mrs. Fitz’s nephew, Thomas Baxter, is taken with the same illness that killed the boy’s friend Lindsey. Geillis further informs Claire that the local priest, Father Bain, is going to exorcise the boy. Geillis warns Claire to stay away, for fear that she will be associated with evil spirits. Claire goes anyway, much to the consternation of her guard, and encounters the strident, almost psychotic, Catholic priest. He undertakes an exorcism, while Claire, realizing the boy has been poisoned by an unknown source, stands by helplessly.

A parallel storyline emerges here, with Claire recognizing her attraction to Jamie and witnessing Jamie and Laoghaire kissing quite passionately in an alcove. Claire teases Jamie about it at dinner, but one of the men warns Claire that if Colum or Laoghaire’s father hears of it, Jamie could get more than a beating — he could get a wife, “And that’s not the wife he should have …”

A happy turn of events has Claire being escorted to Cranesmuir, a village near the castle, to visit Geillis, the procurator fiscal’s wife. The Clan’s military leader, Dougal, suggests that Claire might stock her medical shelves in preparation for The Gathering. Claire is quite shocked to see that, as attractive and charming as Geillis is, her husband, the Fiscal, is much older, quite unattractive, and in ill health.

When a boy in the town confesses to stealing a loaf of bread, Geillis tells Claire that the boy will lose his hand. Claire is horrified and asks if the sentence is necessary. Her new friend asks probing questions, such as, “Do they not have that in Oxfordshire, then?” However, to appease her friend, Geillis, in a quite bewitching fashion, convinces her husband, whose job it is to settle disputes and determine punishments, to be lenient. The boy gets an hour in the pillory with one ear nailed. Claire again cannot believe that this is considered leniency, and Geillis continues her questions, making Claire worry that Geillis somehow knows that Claire is from a different time.

Claire is able to avoid further explanation when Jamie comes to escort her back to the castle. Before they go, Claire asks if Jamie can do something to help the boy, whose ear has been nailed to the pillory all day. He agrees, and Claire creates a diversion while Jamie pulls the nail, which saves the boy from having to tear himself loose.

Reminded of the plight of the violently ill Thomas Baxter, Claire asks Jamie if he can take her to The Black Kirk. Here, she discovers that a plant that everyone takes for wood garlic is, in fact, a very similar-looking — and deadly poisonous — lily-of-the-valley. This plant is commonly eaten by boys who visit the Kirk as a sign of their bravery. Claire knows the cure and, despite the angry and threatening protestations of Father Bain, gives the boy an anecdote. Soon after, the boy is cured. Instead of being delighted, Father Bain is humiliated and threatens Claire that “God will have the last word. I promise you that.”

The episode ends with another performance by Gwyllyn the Bard. This time, Claire is treated — by Jamie — to a translation of the Welsh lyrics. The song, it turns out, is about a woman who touched a stone at a fairy ring near the celebration of Samhain and was transported to another time. She made a life for herself in that other time, finding friends and lovers. But she longed for her home and the man she had left behind, and at another time near Samhain, she returned to the stone circle, touched the stone, and was transported once again to her own time. This story echoes Claire’s own journey through the stones, which also took place at a stone circle near the time of Samhain. She decides a return to 1945 — and her dear Frank — is possible, and she determines to find a way back.

No gratuitous nudity distracted from the storyline in this episode. While it varied a bit from the novel — for instance, the poisoning of the boys at The Black Kirk didn’t happen in the book — the changes were necessary to translate the plot to screen and to provide a platform for the story’s progression.

Outlander deviates, predictably, to show us skin

Read Curiata.com’s review of the series premiere of Outlander on Starz from last week: Outlander adapts time travel, intrigue to small screen

The second episode of Outlander, the television adaptation of Donna Gabaldon’s book series, aired Saturday on the U.S. premium network Starz. This installment is where conditions in 18th-century Scotland are vividly and accurately detailed. It opens with the arrival of Claire Beauchamp, who has been transported from the mid-20th century, at Castle Leoch. As Claire looks around her, she sees muddy streets, small crofts, animals milling about, people undertaking their primitive avocations in the courtyard, and traditional dress.

Mrs. Fitzgibbons is introduced to us as she bustles from the castle to greet the returning men. This character is cast perfectly. Annette Badland superbly captures Mrs. Fitz’s (as she is known about the castle) iron-fisted ability to manage a castle filled with unruly men, as well as her deep affection for those who are under her care. After her initial surprise of finding a barely-dressed Englishwoman upon her doorstep, Mrs. Fitz envelops Claire under her capable wing.

As Mrs. Fitz undertakes to feed and clothe Claire (“Let’s get you something that’s a bit more … well, more,” she deadpans), Claire resists, saying that the young man she had assisted earlier, Jamie MacTavish, needs tending because of his gunshot wound. Through a short inquiry, Mrs. Fitz learns that Claire is knowledgeable in medicine and knows what to do for an “inflamed wound,” which we would call an infection. Claire’s skill set definitely earns Mrs. Fitz’s respect, as healers and “charmers” are in short supply in a castle containing so many fighting men. Claire, with Jamie in tow, is taken to a room where garlic and witch hazel are provided her to use as a disinfectant. Mrs. Fitz, who also knows her way around an herb garden, brings cherry bark and comfrey to soothe the pain.

For the first time, Claire is alone with Jamie (whom she knows as Mr. MacTavish). As she removes Jamie’s plaid, she sees that his back is covered with scars. He explains that he was flogged by the English, once for escape and once for “obstruction,” which is “whatever the English say it is.” Claire also learns that Captain “Black Jack” Randall, her modern-day husband’s ancestor, is the one responsible for Jamie’s imprisonment and the floggings. Jamie shares stories about the English soldiers’ mistreatment of the Scottish people, describing an incident where Captain Randall presumably sexually assaulted Jamie’s sister, Janet “Jenny” (Laura Donnelly).

It is here that the show comes up short, losing sight of the book that inspired it. In the text, Janet is described as fine-boned and birdlike, which Donnelly capably represents. However, the written Janet is also fierce and defiant, especially toward the English. Unfortunately, none of this is conveyed on screen when Janet is manhandled by Captain Randall. Instead, the viewer is given several minutes of gratuitous nudity that could have been sacrificed for character development elsewhere. A flashback of the scene as it reads in the novel would have been sufficient to convey Randall’s brutality. In the end, Janet is portrayed as passive while the book showcased her strength of character in arguing with Jamie about whether she would or would not go with Randall in order to spare her brother.

Despite these missteps, the scene succeeds in creating a moment between Claire and Jamie. During their relatively intimate exchange, she tending his wounds and he sharing personal stories, Claire begins to think about her husband, Frank. Jamie comforts her as she cries (swoon!), and Claire is aware of an unbidden attraction to this strange man.

Before we know it, Mrs. Fitz is preparing Claire to meet the estate owner “Himself,” Colum Mackenzie (Gary Lewis), Laird of Castle Leoch and brother to Dougal, the battlefield leader whom Claire met earlier. These scenes wonderfully illustrate the standards of appropriate dress in the 18th century versus Claire’s own time in the 1940s. After being relieved of her own clothing (a simple dress and undergarments), Claire is forced into a shift, wool stockings and garters, stays (a corset), panniers, an under petticoat, an over petticoat, a kerchief to cover or enhance the bosom (whichever the case may be), a stomacher, and, finally, a gown.

Claire is escorted to Colum’s office, which features an impressive library and several exotic birds. A letter on the desk is dated “1 November 1743,” so it is now clear to Claire that she has, in fact, passed through time via the standing stone circle in Inverness. When Colum enters the office, Claire is shocked to see that he suffers from a significant deformity of his legs, which makes it difficult for him to walk.

Colum, while polite, prods Claire as to her family origins and how she came to be alone in the Highlands. Claire attempts to answer the questions as her husband Frank, an army spy, instructed her on how to withstand interrogation. (“Keep to the truth as much as possible.”) She requests passage back to Inverness, which Colum promises “with Mr. Petree, Saturday next.” (This plotline is not in the book.)

After her interrogation, Claire goes to a rooftop walkway and observes Dougal playing with a young boy who appears to be his son. This is a gross misunderstanding, as Claire discovers at dinner that night. The boy is not Dougal’s son, but his brother’s. Colum and his wife, Letitia (Aislin McGuckin), as well as the boy himself, are deeply offended by this mistake, and Claire excuses herself from the table, embarrassed. She is unable to make her escape, however, before being liberally plied with wine and further questioned by Colum. It is clear that the consensus in the castle is that Claire is an English spy who poses a threat to them all.

Claire spends much of her free time planning her escape and tending to Jamie’s wounds. Mrs. Fitz gives Claire the job of helping to gather medicinal and edible plants to supplement the castle’s cupboards. While foraging, Claire meets Geillis (pronounced Gay-liss) Duncan. Geillis (played by Lotte Verbeek) herself knows the many uses of herbs and makes it clear that she is very familiar with charms, poisons, and abortifacients. Witchcraft enters the conversation, a label that Geillis barely denies.

The two meet again that night in The Hall, which is a public forum where complaints are brought before Himself, who resolves them. When a young girl is accused by her father of “loose behavior,” Colum approves her punishment of a public lashing. At the last minute, though, young Jamie offers to take the girl’s punishment for her, in the form of being beaten with the fists of a fellow clansman, Angus. This, of course, requires Claire to tend to him once again.

Mrs. Fitz comes to thank Jamie for taking the punishment, and it is revealed that the young girl’s name is Laoghaire (pronounced Leh-heary), and she is Mrs. Fitz’s granddaughter.

Claire announces that she is leaving Leoch and instructs Jamie how to care for his own wounds. As they say their prim good-byes, Laoghaire peeks into the room, clearly wanting to see Jamie. Claire sends him off to her. The next day, as Claire is about to board the carriage that will take her to Inverness, she is summoned by Colum.

Colum shows Claire to the surgery of the Clan’s healers — the last one being Davey Beaton, deceased. He tells her that she will make a fine replacement. She protests and insists that she be allowed to return to Inverness, as promised. The episode ends as Colum tells Claire that she may not leave until he is satisfied that she has revealed her secrets and poses no threat to his Clan.

This second episode shines a light on a central element of the series. It slowly introduces the typical and expected behavior for 18th-century women: docile, obedient, and meek, with no opinions or thoughts of their own. Contrast those qualities with Claire, who is the exact opposite of this standard, drawing much unwanted attention and doing nothing to dispel rumors about her character.

The Outlander television series does well to retain those themes from the books. But the screen adaptation veers more from the books in this episode than it did in the premiere. It remains to be seen how far this deviation will go.

Outlander adapts time travel, intrigue to small screen

After what seems like centuries — but has really only been decades — Diana Gabaldon’s best-selling novel Outlander has finally been adapted for television. Starz will produce a first season of 16 shows, which will cover the entirety of the first book in this now-eight-book series.

Outlander is a time-traveling romance and adventure that throws traditional concepts of a “romance novel” out the window. The first episode, which aired Saturday, introduced viewers to British citizens Claire Beauchamp Randall and her husband Frank, who have just reunited after World War II. Claire had served as a combat nurse and Frank as a spy in the war.

The couple travels to Inverness, Scotland, where they were married seven years before. Frank is researching his family tree and trying to gather information on a specific ancestor, Jonathan “Black Jack” Randall. Claire, bored by hours spent poring over dusty papers, heads to the Scottish countryside to search for medicinal herbs. While searching for a peculiar blue flower, she comes upon a circle of standing stones. She hears a strange sound and approaches the ancient structure to investigate. Reaching out to touch a stone, Claire is knocked unconscious and awakens, confused and disoriented, some time later.

Even though Claire appears to be on the same hill as before, something seems different. She heads down the hill and back to town; however, on the way, she thinks she has stumbled upon the set of an historical drama, as she is in the middle of a firefight between British soldiers and tartan-clad Scotsmen.

Claire runs away and comes to a stream where a soldier is resting. The soldier stands and turns toward her, and Claire believes, for a moment, that she is looking into the face of her own husband, Frank. Frank it is not, and we soon discover that this soldier is none other than “Black Jack” himself, the very ancestor Frank had been researching. As it turns out, “Black Jack” is not the honorable soldier Frank imagined him to be; Jonathan Randall did not get his nickname for nothing, as his character, so unlike Frank’s, is dark and warped.

Claire realizes that she is not on a movie set but cannot believe she has gone back in time. When Randall demands to know who she is, she gives her maiden name, Claire Beauchamp (pronounced “Bee-chem,” in the English fashion). Scantily clad by the standards of the day, unescorted, and alone, Randall presumes Claire is a French spy and a whore. He begins to assault her, both because he wants information and also for his own twisted pleasure.

Just in time, Claire is rescued (albeit roughly) by one of the Scotsmen. The Scotsmen are suspicious of her, as well, and think she could be an English spy. Until their leader discovers her true origin and purpose, though, he will keep her prisoner, although a protected one.

Among the group of Scots, there is a young man with a dislocated shoulder. As such, he cannot manage his horse, and the group must quickly make a getaway. One of the men volunteers to force the lad’s arm back in the socket. Claire, seeing that the wounded man’s arm will be broken, bids them to stop, and she fixes it in short order. This earns her a bit of respect from the group, but does nothing to allay their suspicions.

The group makes their escape with Claire riding with the young man she has just healed. When Claire looks to Inverness, she notices that she doesn’t see any lights. She asks her new companion where Inverness is, and when he tells her she’s looking right at it, she knows she is no longer in the 20^th century.

During their ride, the group approaches an outcropping where Frank told Claire the English of the 18th century would hide in ambush. Claire shares this knowledge with the young man and, sure enough, the British soldiers attack minutes later. The group’s leader, Dougal Mackenzie, demands to know how Claire came by this information and becomes more suspicious about her motives.

Later that night, Claire’s guard falls from his horse, having been injured in the ambush. Claire again comes to the young man’s aid, asking for medical supplies of her time (iodine, merthiolate) and speaking of disinfection and germs. Her references have no meaning to them and the men are further mystified by her crude use of language when she becomes frustrated in her attempts to bandage the wound.

The episode ends with the group’s arrival at Castle Leoch, home to the Clan MacKenzie, and Claire can be sure she is not on a second honeymoon any longer.

So far, the series follows the book relatively closely. There were some editorial embellishments in an attempt, it seems, to make the adaptation a bit more “sexy,” though in my opinion, this is totally unnecessary.

The series is filmed entirely in Scotland, lending the scenery a breath-taking quality. If nothing else, viewers will fall in love with the rugged, albeit wet, landscape.

The producers make use of lighting to draw a distinction between the prosaic, 20th-century life of Claire and Frank as compared to the heart-pounding action of the 18th century. In the more modern-set scenes, the lighting is quite dark. Even those scenes inside houses with electric amenities have a muted, dull feel — think The X-Files. However, the scenes are noticeably brighter when Claire goes back in time. In fact, as soon as Claire awakens after her passage through the stones, the sun is shining. Even the night scenes from the 18th century have a shimmering quality.

The characters are well cast, with Catriona Balfe playing a wonderfully complex version of Claire (though without the voluptuous bosom and amber eyes described in the books). Sam Heughan’s Jamie Fraser, the as-yet-nameless young man who is twice healed by Claire, is swoon-worthy (although I thought he’d be taller!) and conveys Jamie’s strong constitution, quick wit, and sensitive nature with a subtle delivery. Playing both Frank and Jonathan “Black Jack” Randall, Tobias Menzies capably handles Frank’s reserved affection and Black Jack’s barely-concealed villainy.

The second episode of the series airs Saturday at 9 p.m. on Starz. Check back next week for a look at the latest twists and turns from Inverness.

Vacationing with kids: It gets better with age

This Martial Mama and her brood have just returned from a week in the Outer Banks, North Carolina. We and several extended family members (12 adults, seven kids, and one dog, in all) rented a spacious, near-the-beach house. Now, my husband and I have only had kids for just under a decade, so what future parenting trials we may undergo are, as yet, unknown to us. However, after a week with kids and parents in various stages, I have some insights about vacationing with wee ones.

Our kids are 6 and 9 years old. On this vacation, they got themselves dressed and fed themselves — the 9-year-old even got her own breakfast together. They helped pick up messes, generally hung out with us, and then pretty much entertained themselves. The other kids on this trip included my half-brother’s two kids (ages 7 and 8), my half-sister’s 5-month-old twin boys (adorable!), and my cousin’s 15-month-old son.

Going to the beach involved setting up our base camp — a bevy of umbrellas, tents, blankets, coolers, and beach toys — before everyone settled in to enjoy the beach. For my husband and me, this meant playtime in the waves with both kids, then a continuation of ocean time for my husband and son, while our daughter dug a “sand trap” a few feet away and I cracked open a book.

As I was reading and keeping half an eye on our daughter, I became aware of my cousin having to constantly manage her 15-month-old. Obviously, this is totally appropriate and necessary on account of how busy toddlers are and how dangerous a huge, surging sea can be for someone who is approximately 22 inches tall, has no fear, and thinks he can swim.

But, as I was reading my book, my cousin said to her son, “Look at Aunt Jenn.” (Technically, I’m his first cousin once removed, but “aunt” is more practical, given the 30-plus-year age gap). “Just look how relaxed she is. She’s reading a book. I would love to just read a book!”

This made me smile as I looked up and saw her, yet again, making a move to keep her little human tornado safe. Then she said to me, “I know, I know … you’ve earned it!”

I told her that, in fact, this was really the first vacation we’ve taken since having kids that we could sort of relax and enjoy ourselves. And I remembered well when our kids were toddlers, how we were never able to just sit down. I also told her that, naturally, this would be the case for her, too, and she could read a book in just a few years. (And, while I didn’t say it out loud, I have earned it!)

My husband and I have experienced five stages of traveling with kids. The infant stage, in my opinion, is one of the easiest times. Sure, babies wake up more frequently at night and sometimes they cry but they also sleep a lot, stay where you put them, and don’t generally care where they are as long as they are fed, changed, and held. This stage might be a little more challenging for parents who bottle-feed, but nursing moms have it easy in this regard. Plus, if you travel with family or close friends, they won’t be able to keep their hands off of a baby, so you will have some free time between feedings and changings.

The toddler stage, unfortunately for my cousin right now, is probably one of the most challenging times to travel with kids. I am pretty sure toddlers cry more than infants because they are constantly hearing the word “No.” They do care where they are, and they require a lot of gear, which they don’t have to carry, pack, and remember. If you forget a critical item (a lovey, special spoon, music box, etc.), your toddler will remember, and the rest of your trip will be much less enjoyable. And don’t even think about trying to buy a replacement, because your toddler will know. Also, no matter if you are home or away, during the toddler stage, you are a prisoner to the morning and afternoon naps. So, spending a whole day anywhere away from a sleeping space is out of the question.

The preschool stage is fun if you go to a super-kid-friendly place. (But not too much of a kid-friendly place, like anywhere that your preschoolers will have to wait excessively long to enjoy an activity. If they have to wait and watch other kids having fun, you are pretty much guaranteed a meltdown of epic proportions.) At this stage, a morning nap may be a thing of the past, but the afternoon nap is still critical. So, during this phase, plan to get to things early, and plan to leave before nap time. This is usually a stage when you can go out to (an early) dinner pretty much anywhere, excluding very formal or fancy restaurants. My point is, just because you have toddlers, you are not restricted to Friendly’s or McDonald’s for your dining needs.

Traveling with young kids (ages 5 to 7) gets even easier. Even though young kids may have an earlier bedtime, naps are probably totally gone by now. You can go to places you enjoy, as long as you keep extended stops to a minimum (no pondering that blank canvas at the Museum of Modern Art for longer than 15 seconds) and keep your kid(s) engaged. Talk to them about the things they are seeing, and ask them focused questions. For instance, instead of saying, “Isn’t this cool?!” you might try, “What would you paint on this blank canvas?” Young kids aren’t going to have the stamina or the patience that you have for your interests, but they tend to be tolerant. It is wise, during this time, to try and schedule some kid-friendly activities in between your antique hunting and gallery gazing.

My husband and I are now in the full-fledged “Traveling with Kids” stage, which I would categorize as involving children between the ages of 7 and 12-ish. Our son is on the very bottom of this age range (almost 7) and our daughter is nearing age 10. They are joys to travel with. They are extremely tolerant of long car rides. When they are sick of talking to us, they will draw, read a book, watch a movie, or play games on their Kindles. It took us 12 hours to drive home from our vacation this year, and I can tell you that the kids did way better than I did! Traveling, to them, is a grand adventure.

Our kids enjoy museums, tours, and sightseeing a whole lot more than they did a few years ago. They understand things, make connections, and ask questions. Also, they are far more likely to stop and really experience something before feeling the need to run to the next fun thing. There actually were a few times on this trip when we got bored with something before the kids did, and that is definitely a first for us.

I’m not going to lie — it is easier to travel with kids who can pull their own luggage and read to themselves. But traveling with any kid, big or small, while it maybe not as leisurely as it was before kids, can be a really fun experience, too. And it might not be as bad as you think.

Why I hate The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

Reading books has always been one of my favorite pastimes. One of the most positive aspects of my own childhood was having a variety of books at my disposal. Someone, usually my grandmother, would see that I got to the library every two weeks during summer breaks, and I could borrow as many books as I could carry. On my birthday, Easter, and Christmas, I could expect to receive many books as gifts.

Not only did I have access to books, but I also had good reading role models. My grandparents always spend their evenings reading. My grandfather favors nonfiction, especially political analyses and biographies. My grandmother prefers mystery novels.

My dad spent many hours reading to me as a child. I loved how he would change his voice for each character. He has always spent days when it is either too hot or too cold to be outside with a book in his hands. He especially loves Larry McMurtry and historical fiction set in the time of the fur-trading mountain man.

In the summers, I would spend some weekends with my aunt and cousin. My aunt would usually take us to the public pool and, when we were tired of the water, we would rest on her big blanket and listen as she read us The Hobbit.

For myself, I prefer novels and historical fiction, though I do read nonfiction and biographies on topics and people who interest me. Long before I had kids, I knew that I would want to develop in them a love of books and reading. When I was expecting my first child, many books were given to me as gifts. Among them were classics from Beatrix Potter, plus Goodnight Moon, Where the Wild Things Are, whimsical books by Eric Carle and Sandra Boynton, and Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree.

For the beginning part of my first child’s young life, most of our time was spent with short and sweet books made out of fabric or board, which could survive near-constant exposure to baby gums and baby drool. But, after a while, I thought we’d read The Giving Tree. Everyone I knew said they loved it.

So, we began to read. The book starts out well enough. A tree loves a little boy. The little boy loves the tree. He loves her shade and her leaves and her apples. He loves to spend time with her, climb, swing, and play with her. The tree is happy. The boy is happy.

And that’s where the nice story ends and the personality disorders of the two main characters are revealed.

The boy grows up and leaves the tree but returns as a young adult. The tree invites the boy to come and play, but the boy says he wants to have fun and buy things and asks the tree for money. This is red flag number one: selfish freeloader. The tree doesn’t have money, of course, but gives the boy, now a young man, all of her apples to sell. The boy does not even say thank you. So far, the tree seems to be a helpful friend, willing to give the boy the benefit of the doubt that he really isn’t a selfish freeloader. The tree is wrong.

Years go by and the boy comes back to the tree. He is sad. He again refuses the tree’s offer to play and, without so much as a “How do you do?” asks for a house. Red flag number two: narcissism. Narcissism is a personality disorder in which an individual pursues personal gratification without regard for the feelings of others. Some traits of narcissists include (but certainly are not limited to) difficulty maintaining satisfactory relationships and a lack of empathy.

Of course, the tree has no house, but she does have branches, which she gives the boy (who is now a man) in order to build himself a house. He takes the lumber and leaves, again without saying thank you! The tree is happy.

Here’s where I begin to worry about this tree, because I’m pretty sure this tree suffers from codependency. Codependency, as defined by Wikipedia, is “a psychological condition or a relationship in which a person is controlled or manipulated by another who is affected with a pathological condition (typically narcissism or drug addiction); and in broader terms, it refers to the dependence on the needs of, or control of, another. It also often involves placing a lower priority on one’s own needs, while being excessively preoccupied with the needs of others.”

The tree now has no branches, no leaves, and no apples. It’s basically alone and naked in the woods for decades when the boy, who is now a much older man, comes back. I imagine him, during this absence, having been married and divorced a minimum of three times. He probably has foreclosed on at least one house and has developed a gambling problem and an addiction to alcohol and/or street drugs. He also has had difficulty keeping a job and is estranged from all of his kids because he never really cared enough to parent them.

But return to the tree he does, and the tree is ecstatic. Did he come to thank the tree? Did he come to visit, reminisce, or play with the tree? The answer, predictably, is a big, fat NO. Now, this guy whines that he’s too old and too sad and too miserable, and he wants to sail away in a boat. (Probably to escape those persistent debt collectors and the attorneys of his three ex-wives!) The tree offers her entire trunk to this self-centered bastard and is happy about it. If I was unsure whether the tree was codependent before, I’m not anymore. The man is not too old to carry away the rest of this tree, and he presumably makes his boat and sails away. I’ll let you guess whether or not he said thank you.

Finally, when the man is old and very near death, he comes back to the tree. The tree is actually sorry that she has nothing left to offer the man except what little remains of her stump. But he uses the tree one last time as a chair, and the tree is happy.

Really!?!?!

I hate this book because it’s not a story of love and friendship. It’s not even a story about giving, as the title implies. The Giving Tree is actually a really sick tale of a horribly dysfunctional relationship. For kids.

No, thank you. If my kids are going to learn about dysfunctional relationships, it’s going to be the old-fashioned way: by watching inappropriate movies and television shows, and by the example set by their dad and me.

‘Martial Mama’ shares her favorite summer reads

Ahab’s Wife: or, The Star-Gazer by Sena Jeter Naslund

This novel imagines the story of the wife of Captain Ahab (yes, that Captain Ahab). Naslund’s tale weaves literary characters (Ahab and the crew of the Pequod) with actual historical figures (Margaret Fuller and Maria Mitchell, as well as Emerson, Hawthorne, and the Alcotts). The story follows the physical and spiritual journey of Una from her home in backwoods Kentucky to the shores of Nantucket, Massachusetts. Una’s keen mind and reflections on the nature of self, others, the natural world, and beyond make for an inspiring and satisfying read.

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

I love this book so much because a) it is a delightful tale of adventure, b) it shows how even a small and relatively unremarkable hobbit can make a huge difference in the lives of others, c) Middle-earth is a fascinating place, d) Bard and his black arrow are way cool, and e) it brings back fond memories of my aunt reading this to my cousin and me. A fantasy tale with lessons about first impressions, facing one’s fears, loyalty, friendship, tough decisions, and good and bad, The Hobbit is a book that is worth a read and then some.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

In 1959, Evangelical Baptist preacher Nathan Price embarks on a mission from Georgia to the Congo with his family. The story is told from the perspectives of his wife, Orleanna, and his four daughters, Ruth May, Rachel, Leah, and Adah. Combined, their voices weave a tapestry of experiences, sometimes uplifting and sometimes tragic. Kingsolver deftly explores the topics of culture, religion, individuality, family dynamics, and a search for truth and meaning against the backdrop of political unrest in an unfamiliar land.

All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy

I have my friend and fellow Curiata.com contributor John Butz to thank for introducing me to this book and the works of Cormac McCarthy. In general, I read books fast, eager to see how the story unfolds. This is impossible to do with All the Pretty Horses (and McCarthy’s other books as well). Despite McCarthy’s spare use of punctuation (no quotation marks signifying conversations, for example) and long sentences, his skillful use of language makes you want to slow down and savor every beautiful word. The story follows John Grady Cole, a 16-year-old Texas cowboy with a natural affinity for horses, and the loss of everything dear to him (his grandfather, the family ranch, his parents, his love, his horses, the Age of the Cowboy). While this may sound depressing (and don’t get me wrong, it mostly is depressing), there is room for hope here for “the world to come.” Even though McCarthy’s work would never be considered light reading, gems like this make it well worth the time:

The fire had burned to coals and he lay looking up at the stars in their places and the hot belt of matter that ran the chord of the dark vault overhead and he put his hands on the ground at either side of him and pressed them against the earth and in that coldly burning canopy of black he slowly turned dead center to the world, all of it taut and trembling and moving enormous and alive under his hands.

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

In recommending this book, I really am recommending the entire “Outlander” series of which the eighth book, Written In My Own Heart’s Blood, was just released June 10. Since one generally begins a series at the beginning, though, let’s start there. It is hard to categorize this book; it is at once historical fiction, science fiction, mystery, romance, and adventure. Bear with me, because the premise sounds questionable, but the story really is amazing. Claire, a combat nurse, reunites with her soldier-husband, Frank, in Inverness, Scotland, in 1945. One afternoon, while looking for medicinal herbs, Claire comes upon a group of standing stones. She touches one of the ancient boulders and is unwittingly transported back in time to 1743. What follows is an adventure involving a sadistic British officer, a young Scottish warrior, political intrigue, clan warfare, witchcraft, and a woman forced to declare her own loyalties. If you undertake “Outlander,” do me one favor: please, please, please stay with it for the first few chapters. The beginning seems a bit uneventful, but after page 50, the action never stops.

First pet brings joy, lesson: How to bury a salamander

Every Memorial Day weekend, my kids, husband, and I go to my favorite place on Earth: my grandparents’ farm. The property is nearly 300 acres of wooded hills, stone walls, peace, and quiet. The land is gorgeous, of course, but the most charming asset is actually my grandparents and the rest of my dad’s family, who live in relatively close proximity.

Lots of wild animals can be seen at the farm during all seasons, but Memorial Day weekend brings a seeming migration of salamanders. They appear in great numbers in vernal ponds and intermittent streams and under rocks in shaded, muddy areas.

One of my kids’ favorite activities (OK, and mine, too!) is newt-hunting with my dad. The kids love it because they always manage to get me to let them keep one as a pet. My dad loves it because, as a man of action who cannot stand idleness, he needs to “do” something as a way of connecting with my offspring. I love it because we get to hang out with Dad/Grampa and be outside without the kids asking one time to go inside/play on their Kindles/watch TV.

And experiencing the wonder of this little adventure through the kids’ eyes is crazy amazing. They love the hunt. They love to be the first to spot a salamander. They love to pick them up and handle them gently. They love to name them and attribute all sorts of character traits to them. How they can glean emotional clues from a salamanders face, I will never know — but, who am I to argue?

We all share a belief in fairies and things unseen. (Well, we share the desire for them to be real, and we often act like they are.) So as we marvel at the little amphibians, we question who, if anyone, cares for the salamanders. Of what use might they be to the fairy villages we believe are right under our noses if only we had the magic to see them? Do salamanders pull fairy carriages? Dig their gardens? Act as Watch Newts? Nothing keeps kids busier than their imaginations, and I love to see how my kids’ creative minds are put to use.

After returning from the world of fairies, we manage to catch one or five or 17 newts and take them back to the farm in a big Tupperware container filled with grass, moss, and a bit of water. We sit on the porch and study them and see who gets peed on first, because the huge danger of newts is (aside from their mildly toxic skin) the fact that they defecate on you with surprising frequency.

The Memorial Day holiday of 2011 was our first hunt. My daughter was 5 and my son was 2. We found many newts and, after considerable begging, mostly by my dad on behalf of the kids, we took a salamander home as a pet. She (for my daughter decided our newt was a girl and named her “Pudding”) survived the two-hour drive back to our house, and we had to immediately find a pet store to acquire the necessary supplies: small aquarium, food bowl, resin rock, and some kind of fake moss. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized pet stores actually sold “Newt and Salamander Bites” as food; they, in fact, do, and so we bought some of that as well.

In theory, this type of creature is low-maintenance. Salamanders shouldn’t be handled a lot, and they don’t need to go for walks. However, their aquariums need to be kept very clean, and so every three or four days, I’d have to take out all of the contents, wash them in hot water, wipe out the container, and then replace everything. My daughter did “help,” insomuch as a 5-year-old can. But, as parents all know, it’s often just easier to do it yourself.

Things hummed along pretty smoothly over the summer and into the fall. After Halloween, though, Pudding’s skin wasn’t as moist as it had been, and she didn’t move around as much. I thought this was due to the cool temperatures in our house and the fact that Pudding may be going into a dormant winter phase. Again, not being able to extrapolate a newt’s well-being by its facial expression and body language, I was at a loss.

On the morning of November 10, 2011, I came downstairs to feed my daughter and get her ready to catch the bus to school. As usual, I went to Pudding’s container to check on her and drop in a food pellet or two. That morning, it was clear to me Pudding was dead as a doornail.

My dilemma: Do I tell my daughter immediately about this situation, or do I wait and tell her after school? She usually checked on Pudding each morning, and I didn’t want her to see the dead carcass before she had heard the news. But, if she didn’t check on her, she didn’t really need to know right then, and I could delay the emotional response until after the school day was complete. Then again, if she did notice Pudding and I hadn’t told her, she would be devastated that I had tried to hide it from her. It was pretty much a lose-lose situation, so I decided to just get it over with and tell her.

My daughter Addie came downstairs, and I told her as gently as I could that Pudding had died. Tears and sorrow came pouring out of her little body. Her first question, in between sobs, was, “Do you think she had a good death? Did she suffer?” I told her that Pudding had a good life here — probably much longer of a life than she might have had in the woods. I told her that she had taken good care of Pudding and that Pudding surely knew that Addie loved her. I told her that salamanders didn’t live more than a season, and it was just what happens to salamanders in the fall and winter. (This may not be scientifically accurate, but it was a comfort to my little one, so please feel free not to send me links on the longevity of newts.)

I sent an email to Addie’s teacher, alerting her of this sad event, just so she would be prepared. We tried to make it look like Addie had not been weeping before she got on the bus. That day at school, Addie visited the “feelings counselor” and talked to her about Pudding.

When she came home, we placed Pudding’s tissue-wrapped body in a small jewelry box with some newt bites, leaves and sticks, and a pebble on which Addie had drawn a small heart. Addie found a large, smooth rock to use as a grave marker and decorated it. We decided to bury Pudding under the rose bush in our garden. It was still flowering, so Addie picked a bloom and placed it on Pudding’s resting place. Each of us (both kids and I) shared a memory of Pudding.

And that was that.

R.I.P. Pudding
Spring 2011 — 11/10/2011

First-time parents go through 8-stage life cycle

Stage I: Childless Parenting Expert

You don’t have kids of your own, but you are an expert on how other people should raise theirs.

You give advice to your friends on how to get their kids to sleep through the night or cure their colic. You sit in smug judgment of moms whose kids are screaming bloody murder in aisle 6.

You determine with conviction that you will only breast-feed. Or you know that you will exclusively bottle-feed. You will never use television as a babysitter.

You will never co-sleep. Or you will co-sleep until your kids are teenagers, if that’s what they want.

You will spank your kids, dammit, because that’s what our parents did and look how good we turned out! Or, you vow never to spank because that’s what our parents did, and despite it, we turned out OK.

You know whether you will use cloth diapers or Pampers®.

You will get an epidural, because — hell’s bells — why wouldn’t you?!?!

You will deliver naturally and peacefully, in a tub at home, with calming music, a capable doula and/or midwife, and a well-prepared and helpful husband.

Your child will be brilliant, of course, because you will read to her every day and spend hours doing enriching activities.

Your child will be well-mannered, polite, capable, and will never interrupt when adults are talking.

Stage II: Expecting Parent

After you freak out when you see the blue line, you purchase approximately 493 pregnancy, birth, breast-feeding, and child-rearing books — all of which scare the ever-loving hell out of you.

You are terrified that anything you do, or don’t do, will cause a glitch, mutation, or miscarriage.

You refuse any kind of genetic testing and amniocentesis. (Or maybe you don’t.)

You vow not to Google anything.

You Google, anyway.

Your spouse spends hours talking you off the ledge.

You fill your baby registry with items you will never actually use, but you don’t know that yet, because the books you bought said you need at least 12 of these and so you register for and get them.

When you get to the baby section of the store in which you register, you stare at the wall of bottle-feeding, breast-pumping, and nipple care products and weep.

You buy special laundry detergent, hypoallergenic bed sheets, safety equipment for appliances you’ve never even heard of, and clothes made only of organic cotton.

You research diaper services.

You register for childbirth classes at the hospital.

You close your eyes during the forceps, vacuum, and cesarean section of the movie.

You stop Googling.

No, you don’t.

You get so used to being probed, prodded, and assessed, you don’t even mind it when your doctor has three residents also feel how your cervix is starting to efface.

You kind of like it when people fall all over themselves to make you comfortable.

You hate it when people think they can just touch your protruding belly. Yes, it is wonderful; take your stinking paws off of me, you damned, dirty ape!

Oh, wait — did I just say that out loud? It must be all these hormones.

Seriously, though. Don’t. Effing. Touch. Me.

Stage III: Shit’s Gettin’ Real

Your water breaks!

You are in bed watching South Park and, suddenly, a tiny gush and a puddle. You tell your spouse, who immediately starts packing his bag. You say, no, I was just at the doctor today, and it must just be all that gel leaking out. You ask your husband to get you some more pineapple.

He starts yelling at you because you are in labor and must get to the hospital immediately! You get up to pee, tell him you see nothing and are not in pain. He keeps yelling and throwing things that he will never need at the hospital — a can opener, some dryer sheets, a rubber band — into his bag. You keep watching South Park.

Your husband wants to know why aren’t you in the car?!?! You start asking him where in the world is that pineapple?!

You feel another bit of a gush, but you want that pineapple so bad, you ignore it. Finally, you agree to at least call the doctor, and you happily munch pineapple while finishing the South Park episode that you now missed half of.

Twenty-three minutes later, the doctor calls and tells you to go to the hospital. Your husband is smug, but has enough sense not to say I told you so. Fine, you say, but I’m driving.

As you walk into the hospital to check-in, there is no denying that amniotic fluid is actually running down your leg, and you are glad when they make you sit in a wheelchair. You basically “sleep” all night on a hospital bed approximately the size of a park bench, while nurses and doctors — and possibly janitors, for all you know — constantly come and go and peer into your vagina.

The next morning, you don’t even have a cramp, so they put you on a Pitocin® drip, otherwise known by its street name: “torture juice.” Within one hour, you are in severe pain; within five hours, you really do want to kill everyone; within eight hours, you begin puking into a basin while sitting on a birthing ball with your doula holding your hair and rubbing your back.

You look up and say to your husband, “Go get someone now.” He looks relieved to have an excuse to leave the room because he can’t wait to get the hell out of there. Fifty-three hours later (or maybe it’s 32 minutes), the anesthesiologist comes in and actually asks you to stay perfectly still while he injects a three-inch needle directly into your spinal cord. Two minutes later, you relax into a blissful heap, and that’s when you notice all of the blood.

I mean, real blood. Lots and lots of real blood. And it’s yours.

But everyone seems cool about it, so you proceed to the pushing stage, and three hours go by and no kid. The doctor says into your ear that you can go 30 minutes more, but if you can’t get that baby out, they’ll have to do a cesarean.

Oh, my god! you think; you closed your eyes during that part of the movie and look where that got you! How could you have been so stupid?!

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Stage IV: The Delivery

They ask you if you want to watch. You say no.

They don’t even bother asking your husband, because they can tell by the look on his face that he’s already seen more than one human being ever should.

Ba-da-bing, there’s the baby. There might be tears. Everyone’s fine, and you’re off to recovery.

Stage V: Recovery

You are shaking so hard from the aftereffects of the epidural that it’s a few minutes before the nurse lets you hold your own child. Then you look into her perfect little face and can’t believe you ever thought you knew what love was.

Stage VI: Hospital Stay

You try to get comfortable on your hospital-issued park bench. You can’t.

It’s too hot in your room. The IV site on your hand is starting to swell. You are wearing a huge ice pack/diaper thing, and you are lying in a pool of your own blood. There are pressure boots on your legs that inflate and deflate every 15 minutes so you don’t throw an embolism and die.

Someone comes in every 10 minutes to monitor your vitals, check your blood puddle, and ask if you need pain meds. You do.

After a few days, you are sent home with your new little bundle.

Stage VII: Going Home

Wait, what? What did you say? Going home? Alone? No, I know I take the baby, but who will come with me?

No, I don’t mean my husband, I mean someone who knows what’s going on!

This baby is so small!! What if [insert every horrible scenario that can be thought of] happens?!?!

They send you home anyway.

On the ride home, you hover protectively over your offspring while berating every crazy f*@#ing driver on the road. You also tell your husband to quit making the ride so bumpy — this seat belt is killing my incision and, seriously, are you trying to hit every pothole in the road?!

Stage VIII: At Home

Fates be praised, you made it home alive! It certainly wasn’t because of your husband’s “expert” driving.

You hobble up the stairs to your glider rocker (where you will spend most of the next six months) and finally look into the face of your very own child in your very own home.

You begin to sob. This is a stranger! You don’t know this person! How will you know what to do? How will you know what she wants? How will you get to know her — she can’t even talk for god’s sake!

You cry harder. You look at your husband and tell him to call Child Protective Services.

What on earth were you thinking? You can’t possibly do this!

Your baby is staring peacefully at you. She doesn’t seem a bit worried. You stop weeping long enough to gaze into her precious face.

Then, suddenly, the mothers of millennia are behind you. Their wisdom is inside you.

You tell your husband to cancel that call to CPS. You can do this. You can parent this perfect, little stranger.

Or, maybe that’s just me.

Uncommon sense: Teach kids to talk to strangers

As good and responsible parents, we want our kids to avoid “stranger danger.” We spend lots of time telling them to never talk to strangers. We describe who strangers are: they don’t live in our house, we’ve never been to their house, they don’t know your name, and you don’t know their name. We further augment this with the sage advice to find a police officer if they ever need help.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen a cop just about once in never on the few occasions that I needed assistance. (And these were the days way before cell phones!)

You can see the scenario, right? A crowded amusement park in July — parent and child are separated and the kid starts looking for a police officer, who of course cannot be found. In the meantime, someone (a creepy someone) notices that child looking lost and bewildered. The child is now in paralyzed panic mode and begins to cry. In swoops creep-o to “help.” We’ve all seen the news often enough to imagine what happens next.

I am in no way suggesting the world is full of creeps just waiting to nab kids. The world is, in fact, full of well-intentioned adults who would be happy to help your child to safety. But the fact remains that, each year, approximately 58,000 children under the age of 18 are victims of non-family abductions.

So, what is the solution, you ask? The solution is so simple, we can’t believe we hadn’t thought of it earlier: teach your kids to talk to strangers!

Children are very good at identifying safe adults. It is much better for kids to actively identify a safe adult and initiate contact with him or her than to passively wait for an adult to select and approach them. Teaching your kids who is safe and how to approach them are key in keeping kids out of danger.

Start this conversation by asking your kid(s) what they would do if you got separated in a playground or park. My kids said they would yell for me and look for me. I asked if they would leave the park if they didn’t find me; one said no, the other said yes. No is the best answer here, so I told them that staying near the spot where we were separated is the best thing to do, since that’s where I would go first to find them. Then, I said that if I haven’t found you before you start to get really worried, you need to find a safe adult to help you.

Here’s how: A child’s first choice, of course, would be an employee — a park ranger or a vendor, for example. A police officer is an excellent choice, too, but since cops aren’t everywhere, other options are needed. Teach kids to identify these folks when you are out and about. When you’re in a mall, ask your child if he can spot employees and to whom he would go if he needed help. Employers, in general, have some kind of “lost child” policy in place for their employees. And in a place like a mall or an amusement park, they will often summon security to help return lost children to their parents.

If an employee cannot be found, or if you are in an area (like a state park) where there are no identifiable employees, a child’s next best choice is a woman with kids. If there are no women with kids in sight, then third on the list is a woman. If there are no women, then a man with children is a fourth choice. If no men with kids are around, then the child should use all of her instincts to identify a man to help her.

Again, when you are out and about, ask your child to show you who would be a good option to ask for help if he needed it. You will find that kids truly have good instincts if they are encouraged to become aware of them and to trust them.

Seeking help requires a child to know her own name, her parents’ full names, the phone number (cell or home) of her parents, and her home address. For kids who can talk but don’t know or can’t remember some or all of this information, you will need to do a bit more prep work. In this instance, you would want to make sure this information is somewhere on your child and she must be able to produce it to get the help she needs.

You can get a luggage tag with your contact information on it and have your child wear it on a lanyard (like a necklace) under his shirt. Or, you could get a hospital-type wristband or other hard-to-remove tag and attach it to your child or his clothing. He should be taught to produce this when he asks for help, so you can easily be found.

Now that your child can identify a safe stranger, it’s time to teach them what to say. The best thing to say is the most concise thing to say: “My name is ___ and I’m lost. Can you help me?” However, you don’t want the first time your child has to talk to a stranger to be the time when they need help. You want to practice this skill before it is needed. So, at restaurants, have your child order her own food. From time to time, ask your child to get change from an employee, or ask someone what time it is.

Doing so does three things: It helps your child identify safe strangers. It helps your child get comfortable talking to strangers. It empowers your child. And empowered kids are far less likely to ever become victims.

Recommended reading for parents:
Protecting the Gift: Keeping Children and Teenagers Safe (and Parents Sane) by Gavin de Becker

Why teaching kids not to hit is a bad idea

A few months ago, an eighth grade science teacher in my kids’ school district was arrested on child pornography charges. My children, ages 9 and 6, are still in elementary school, but these events required a[nother] discussion with my kids about predators — including how to protect themselves.

For the most part, in our house we have a “don’t hit” rule. However, this rule applies only to people who actually live in our house. The kids don’t hit each other or their dad or me; we don’t hit the kids or each other. My husband and I discipline our kids, for sure, but never by spanking, slapping, or hitting.

Anyone else is fair game.

Before you start freaking out, please know that my kids are good kids. They display excellent behavior at school, and we find them to be generally pleasant, fun, and decent kids. We have not given the kids license to settle every playground disagreement by force. Since my children have emerged from their toddler years (where every kid operates in a feral zone), they have not hit another child outside our home. (They do sometimes still hit each other, but these occasions are quite rare.) But when it comes to bad guys, all options are on the table.

Unfortunately, it is hard to tell the good guys from the bad. The term “guys” here does, in fact, refer to males. While there are female sexual predators, the vast majority are men. And since 90 percent of all child victims know their offender, that offender could be a teacher, coach, neighbor, family friend, or relative. And all of them seem so nice. Terrifying, I know.

I had to tell my kids what the teacher in our district had been accused of. I had to tell them exactly why those actions were wrong. I had to tell them that I hoped none of the man’s students were his victims, but until the investigation is complete, we won’t really know. I had to tell them that even if some of the students had been victims, they may be too ashamed to tell. I had to tell them that it’s never the kid’s fault if something like this happens. Never. I had to tell them that if an adult tells a kid to keep a secret, or threatens them, or threatens a kid’s family or pets, that the first thing that kid should do is to tell a trusted adult (a parent, for example).

I had to tell them that their bodies are theirs and no one — not me or their dad, not a relative, a teacher, club leader, or cafeteria aide, not our neighbors, or any of our friends or the kids’ friends — should ever touch them in any way that feels creepy, strange, uncomfortable, painful, weird, or bad.

This can be a challenging rule in light of overly affectionate great aunts or other distant family members. Nonetheless, don’t make your kids hug or kiss relatives if they don’t want to. This is one of the first things you can do to show a child that their body really is theirs. Forcing a child to hug or kiss anyone when they don’t want to sends a message that their bodies are theirs … unless and until someone else wants to do something to them. This is a terrible message.

Giving kids control over their own bodies can be a challenge for caring and nurturing moms and dads. Parenting instincts notwithstanding, don’t make a kid dress for your comfort. If it is cold outside and you, yourself, feel cold, don’t force your kid to bundle up if he tells you he is fine. Doing so demonstrates that your child can’t even tell if her own body is comfortable. And if the child can’t tell when her body is comfortable, how will she be able to tell when it’s not? So, let your kid make these basic decisions about their own bodies, please.

I had to tell my kids that if anyone ever touches them in an inappropriate way or asks to be touched, they can and should say no — loudly and plainly. They can and should get away and get to a safe adult immediately and tell us as soon as possible. I had to tell them that if saying no doesn’t work, or if they couldn’t get away, they should yell, scream, kick, bite, claw, and hit. I had to tell them that not only could they do it, but that they should do it. No matter with whom or where — even if it’s at school, or in public, or in a friend’s house, or in our own home. And I told them that if this ever happened, whether they said no or not, or whether they caused a scene or not, or tried and failed to get away or not, that it would never, ever be their fault.

I reiterated this message and reassured them that they could tell me if anything like this ever happened to them — that it would be an adult conversation, just like the one we were having right then. I reaffirmed that I will not freak out, and I will always listen to them. I told them that they have my and their dad’s full support in using whatever force they deem necessary to protect themselves. I told them that they will never get in trouble by me or their dad for protecting themselves, no matter what method they choose. I also told them that, if they get in trouble by anyone else for protecting themselves, I would handle it.

The kids asked some questions, which I answered as best as I could. Then I took a deep breath and hoped that they heard at least some of our discussion in their bones. Since then, I have raised the subject again a time or two in a casual, informal way. I will continue to do so in the future.

Parents spend a lot of time telling kids what not to do. But these “nots” have some exceptions. We, as parents, need to make sure that we give voice to those exceptions and tell kids exactly when it is OK to ignore the “nots” — and how to go about it.

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