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Cabin Fever

Therapy Tuesdays

Growing up, one of my favorite phrases in the wintertime was uttered by a local morning disc jokey duo. "Bread, milk, and toilet paper" they would say, which was code for the forecast calling for snow.  The joke was that in our local area of Washington, DC, the tiniest snowflake could make some of the nation's most powerful people crumble into grocery store hysteria. It is a given that this town doesn't handle wintry weather well--it's not unusual for school systems to close before a flake hits the ground.

Now as an adult, I can understand why my parents were never as enamored with snow as I was. The typical flow of a weekday or weekend gets completely interrupted, which can make both adults and children feel like they lost their anchor.  Until the snow ends and the digging begins, people are limited to their neighborhoods. Hopefully, kids or friends are nearby and easily accessible. Or there are stores nearby to break up the  monotony.  Kids can congregate, and take to the hills with sleds, build snowmen, throw snowballs, and with all of our technology, get to simply be kids.

    

Family traditions can continue: sitting by the fireplace, reading books, and eating s'mores or other tasty treats.  But this can be taxing on our modern families.  Many times, we forget how to connect with one another when we are face-to-face. We are so used to communicating with computers, text messages, or cell phones, that direct contact can be tricky.  We are used to talking in quick sound-bites. Especially when we are confronted with unplanned together time. Tempers can flare long before the snow melts. Families intuitively know how to push one another's buttons and take these opportunities in their restlessness and boredom to do so. 

These are the times to remember to take a step back. Help your children figure out ideas (before boredom sets in) about things to do. Cook together. Spend time apart.  Try to switch (if possible) between parents (or neighbors) so adults can have breaks. Savor your sleep. It's also always OK to be a parent and give yourself a time out.

I write this post as feet of snow descend upon me and my loved ones...hopefully, I'll remember my own advice!

The White House Message to Small Business

Startup Sunday

Photo © 2010 Katherine Lewis

President Barack Obama last week unveiled a host of initiatives aimed at encouraging job growth in the sector most responsive to economic recovery, small business. In speeches and Congressional testimony about the package, the White House message to small business is loud and clear: lead the way out of recession.

"Over the past 15 years, small businesses have created roughly 65 percent of new jobs in America. These are companies formed around kitchen tables and family meetings; formed when an entrepreneur takes a chance on a dream; formed when a worker decides it's time she became her own boss," Obama said in remarks to Maryland small business owners on Friday. "It's worth remembering every once in a while, a small business becomes a big business, and then changes the world."

The package aims to encourage hiring with a $5,000 tax credit for each new employee, to free up capital through $17.5 billion in additional small business loan guarantees, to increase those loan limits, to let firms refinance their commercial real estate loans under the Small Business Administration and to use funds from the Wall Street bailout so community banks can make more loans to small companies.

If you're a small business owner, what are the biggest problems facing you today? What do you think about the White House message to small business, and what would your response be?

Haiti and Children: Difficult Discussions

Sharing Saturday

Given the nature of loss of a number of my recent postings, I was thinking I would post something lighter this week, maybe about the ridiculous late night television wars.

And then real catastrophe struck, devastating Haiti, necessitating still more conversation about loss. 

In fact, however, even before the earthquake, there was another, smaller loss of note. Miep Gies, the Dutch woman who hid Anne Frank and preserved her diary for the world, died at the age of 100 this week. I learned from her obituary that she and I share a birthday, which was a "click" moment of connection for me that morning.

I, like many of my contemporaries, grew up with Anne Frank imprinted on my heart. I read her diary for the first time when I was about 10 years old, and it made an enormous impression on me.  She was a girl I could relate to, and yet she had undergone horrible atrocities and a tragic death. She made it all accessible by her words – like me, she was a writer. And so Anne became my beacon, allowing me to see how I could make an impact on the world with my words. 

But what made Anne's story so resonant and scary was that it was true. Although I didn’t stay up at night worrying about Nazis taking me away, I did obsess about other atrocities that might reach my world, typical worries of a kid of the 70s and 80s – World War III and nuclear holocaust.

Angry at Tiger Woods? Get Over It.

Family Friday

Facing an uncharacteristic wait at the dentist's office last week, I passed the time with not one, but two People magazines, each devoted to the Tiger Woods kerfuffle.  The minutes flew as the drama unfolded, and I actually found myself annoyed when I was called before completely finishing the sidebar about Tiger's alleged mistresses.

Tiger certainly didn't embezzle anyone's life savings, nor has he murdered anyone.  It's really just another infidelity story, but somehow it has captured international attention.  The shock factor definitely plays a role - after all, while no one was surprised when Charlie Sheen's latest marriage imploded, Tiger always seemed above the fray.  But still, the attention seems disproportionate to the situation.

For me, and for many, People magazine and the like provides escapism, and as medical office managers will tell you, boredom + escapism = fewer patients kvetching about the wait time.  And reading about the travails of the glamorous beats worrying about how much work you're missing.

But there's more to it than escapism, of course.  Common in general (and particularly so in adult children of alcoholics, for some reason), projection is a defense mechanism in which we see and criticize our own faults in other people.  Just like the proverbial pot and kettle, when faced with an unpleasant truth about ourselves, we sometimes accuse others of that very thing.

As you grew up, did you notice that the people most critical of others' weight were typically fairly rotund themselves?  Or that the most jealous boyfriends were actually doing more of the cheating?

Google's Had Enough of China?

Image via Wikipedia

Technology Thursday

First, my heart goes out to the people of Haiti. The devastation (please note: some of the photos here are quite distressing) there is just heart-wrenching. Everything I've heard so far says that the most helpful thing people can do (unless you're a disaster recovery specialist who can help in-country somehow with relief efforts) is to donate cash. Be smart, don't get scammed, but consider even a small donation. After the big tsunami a few years back I began contributing to Oxfam and the Haiti devastation reminded me to double-check that I renewed my contribution for this year. But there are plenty of other legitimate relief agencies who need support, as well. Google's compiled a list of links and the White House is recommending donations to the Red Cross.

* * *

Now, on to our regularly-scheduled Technology Thursday post. Google made some geopolitical news this week when it announced, in a truly fascinating blog post, that it is going to stop censoring its results in China, knowing that may well result in them being forced to remove themselves from the Chinese market entirely.

Out in the Cold: Sexist Advertising and Working Mums

Work Wednesday

I've been tempted by this endless cold spell frosting the entire East Coast to write a post about the frigid working mom. Wait, no! What I mean is the freezing working mom. But a long rant about how it's too cold to get out of bed and get the kids bundled up and propel myself to work in the biting arctic air probably is pointless. And I wouldn't get much sympathy from our readers in colder climes.

But I'm still going to write about what's going on outdoors. Although not here. There. In England. Across the (frozen) pond. 

Last week, a U.K. trade association, the Outdoor Advertising Association, launched an ad campaign designed to promote the effectiveness of billboard advertising. It hired an agency, Beta, to design provocative ads for the sides of buses and city billboards, and a related public discussion website, BritianThinks.com. Their first choice of outdoor ad:

Career Women Make Bad Mothers.

Losing a Mentor: Memories of Deborah Howell

In work and in life, we count ourselves lucky to find mentors to show us the ropes and introduce us to the people we need to know. Deborah Howell was one such mentor for me. Her senseless death this weekend while vacationing in New Zealand was a personal loss for me and colleagues who knew her well.

It's also a tragedy for journalism. Deborah Howell was the one of the first women to run a major daily newspaper, the St. Paul Pioneer Press, and the first female Washington bureau chief, for the Newhouse newspapers. The outpouring of editorials and blog posts this weekend thoroughly cover her contributions to journalism, so I'll just add a few personal reflections.

At Newhouse, Deborah gave me my big break in journalism, the ticket to the big leagues: a job as a national correspondent. I was grateful for the opportunity, but a little scared of her -- anyone working for her knew enough to worry about her quick temper and profane mouth. As aptly captured in a fond remembrance by Andy Alexander, her successor as Washington Post ombudsman: "Some journalists swear like sailors; she swore like the fleet." My new colleagues helpfully informed me of past incidents, such as the ashtray she threw at a reporter's head during a heated debate.

Deborah and I were certainly cut from different cloth. Her sharp elbows and aggressive nature (she considered herself half Texan)  helped her rise through the ranks of a male-dominated profession. As for me -- the daughter of a proper Chinese immigrant and a New England-boarding school-raised WASP -- I can count on one hand the number of profanities I have ever uttered in the newsroom. She came to work late and stayed even later; I arrived as soon as I could drop off my kids at daycare and left promptly at 5 p.m. to make the pickup. (I don't think she knew how often I logged into the computer system -- or interviewed West Coast sources -- after their 8 p.m. bedtime.)

I didn't need to worry. My style may have puzzled her a bit, but I got the job done and that's all she cared about. For me, it was a relief to work for such a decisive editor. In story conferences, she liked or hated an idea instantly. I never saw a favorite story linger for months with a half-hearted maybe from Deborah. Anyone who's worked in a newsroom, so often a stew of rumors and favor currying, can understand what a gift it is to know exactly where you stand with your bureau chief.

It's a sad reality in many professions that the trailblazers may come to resent those who follow in their footsteps. Those women who "have it easy" and take the hard-fought progress for granted. Even worse, those of us who have the temerity to start a family and simultaneously pursue a career in journalism. This was not the case for Deborah. Under her leadership, Newhouse became one of the most diverse Washington newspaper bureaus. While she never had children of her own, she talked about her step-children and their offspring as if they were blood relatives. And when I started having babies and bringing them into the newsroom, she handed them toys off her office shelf or coffee table without a thought. As Ken Doctor wrote, "she had a hard edge and a soft heart."

In fact, I never really saw that hard edge. Maybe it's because when I knew her, in the past decade, she had mellowed. Or maybe because she wasn't as opinionated about business news, so we never had one of those famous clashes over the direction or fate of a story. Or maybe even that my preference for negotiation over argument made it impossible to pick a fight with me. Whatever the reason, I will always be grateful for the chance she gave me to write original, provocative stories on the economy, personal finance and career, rather than chasing the Washington journalism pack. Some of my all-time favorite clips are from those years.

After Newhouse closed its Washington bureau in 2008, casting loose a couple dozen of us, Deborah was one of the first on the phone, drumming up job leads and contacts. When I decided to pursue a freelance writing career, she made two introductions that quickly turned into story assignments.

I always felt protected knowing she was there for advice or networking help. It doesn't seem real that she's gone. My deepest sympathy goes out to her family. I will miss her too.

Find Ten Red Balloons for Uncle Sam

Image via Wikipedia

Technology Thursday

Uncle Sam wants you (and a bunch of your buddies) to find 10 red balloons.

This Saturday!

Seriously.

DARPA is the U.S. Department of Defense's Advanced Research Projects Agency. Perhaps best-known for supporting the development of ARPANet, which led to today's Internet and World Wide Web (a vast oversimplification of the history, but you get the idea), DARPA funds innovative research in a range of areas. This fall, DARPA has issued the DARPA Network Challenge to see just how good this social media stuff really is. (Actually, I don't know for sure what their objective is, but that's almost certainly part of it.) Here's the deal:

To mark the 40th anniversary of the Internet, DARPA has announced the DARPA Network Challenge, a competition that will explore the roles the Internet and social networking play in the timely communication, wide-area team-building, and urgent mobilization required to solve broad-scope, time-critical problems.

The challenge is to be the first to submit the locations of 10 moored, 8-foot, red, weather balloons at 10 fixed locations in the continental United States. The balloons will be in readily accessible locations and visible from nearby roads.

$40,000 will be awarded to the first person to submit the locations (latitude and longitude) of all 10 balloons. Here's the best part:

The End of the World As We Know It

Sharing Saturday

My 14-year old son (last seen in this column as an alien at Halloween) is convinced that the movie "2012" is based on fact. He has been reading various websites that assure him that the Mayans knew what they were talking about, and that the world is truly doomed to end in 2012.

My husband and I have tried to persuade him to understand that this is all truly bunk, that there have been end-of-the-world predictions for centuries, and that while humankind may well be hurling itself towards environmental self-destruction, it is highly unlikely that some Mayan doomsday clock will stop ticking in two years.

Who Has the Energy to Be a Helicopter Parent?

Family Friday

When a court in Italy recently decided a mother and grandfather were criminally liable for abuse in a case of extreme helicopter parenting, I was one of the many people worldwide captivated by the case. Helicopter parenting, also known as overparenting, or, as I like to call it "smotherhood," has hovered on the periphery of both my professional and personal lives for years,

As an early childhood special educator, I've seen many well-intentioned parents hinder their childrens' developmental progress by trying to clear all obstacles--social and educational--out of the way. As a parent, I've seen many successful and capable adults turn their talents to becoming professional parents. I've also watched the children of those same adults struggle to learn problem-solving skills in an environment in which all of their problems are pre-solved.

But it wasn't necessarily all of that that kept me following the details of the case in Italy. No, it was relief that kept me captivated. Because I am not a helicopter parent. Actually, if I were forced to describe my parenting style in terms of transportation, I'm probably more of a life-raft parent--at the ready to jump in and save my children when they get in over their heads.

I'd like to tell you that it's my ideological principles that keep me from indulging in smotherhoood but, while that is where I stand ideologically, the truth is I just don't have the energy to be a helicopter parent. Who among us does?