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Eyes Wide Open

condom_wedding_gown“Teenage pregnancy is 100 percent preventable,” claims the public service announcement from one of the stars of “The Secret Life of the American Teenager.”

I have watched the show with my children. We’re hooked, and even though I now think it is more like a teenage soap opera, I continue to watch it with my children. It is just one more way that I try to discuss sex openly with my children.

I have never shied away from telling my children the truth about sex. If they hear about something, I answer, and I answer completely even if it is my 10-year-old son asking what “friends with benefits” means (thanks to Sheldon in Big Bang Theory).

And I am the parent of teenagers, and I know sometime in the near future, my kids will become sexually active. It isn’t something I want, but it is a fact that I must deal with. According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, “the percentage of high school students who have had sexual intercourse increases by grade. In 2003, 62 percent of 12th graders had had sexual intercourse, compared with 33 percent of 9th graders.”

I have two high school students, and those statistics are scary. I want my children to be the exception. I want my children to be in the 38 percent of 12th graders who haven’t had sexual intercourse, but I know the reality. I wasn’t a virgin when I graduated from high school although my best friend was a virgin. But even if my children are a virgin when they graduate, the amount of time until they do decide to be sexually active is dwindling.

As a mom, I want to know what I can do and should do to help my children. Ideally, I want my children to abstain. But I know what it is like to be a teen girl. I know how convincing teen boys can be, and I know that it is hard to say no because it isn’t just the teenage boy that wants to have sex.

And so as a mom, I am left waiting. I hope my children say no, and I hope if my children decide not to say no that they turn to me for advice and help.

I try to figure out what role, if any, birth control pills should play in this stage of my children’s life. I don’t want my children to have to deal with pregnancy when they are teens. But is getting birth control a preventive method or parental permission? I don’t want it to be permission, but could it mistakenly be interpreted that way?

And every day, I hear stories of other kids. A girl that used to come over to our house for sleepovers is now pregnant. She is 15, due in March, and engaged to the baby’s father, another 15 year old. The pair are excited about the wedding and the nuptuals, and I can’t figure out what the parents failed to do that allowed this to happen. And I think about the marriage that will happen, and I wonder what will happen when playing house becomes reality. Yesterday, I wondered about the legalities of a 15-year-old signing papers for their own child. Can they?

And yesterday, I sat down next to my child. She was on the computer and having an instant messaging conversation with another girl that I have known since she was in kindergarten. The girl’s 15, and her older sister is a teenage mom. The conversation started with the girl telling my daughter, “I’m horrible.”

My daughter asked why, the girl said she’d been bad, and my daughter asked what she did. The girl responded with the comment that she had given her boyfriend an “hj,” and he had wandering fingers as well. (That is as polite a way as I can put what she typed to my daughter.)

My daughter had no idea this was about to come across her computer screen, and the girl didn’t know I was reading the IM conversation. And I had to ask what an “hj” was, and both of my oldest children knew the answer.

The girl was told that I saw what she wrote. She was a bit mortified. I was worried. I passed on a few comments, nuggests of wisdom. She said she would talk to her mom. She also said she would “be smart,” and after a bit, she said she didn’t plan to have sex with a guy until she was with him for a while and she would use a condom. She said all the right things, and I couldn’t wonder why what she did with her boyfriend didn’t fall into the “having sex” definition. When does it quit being “fooling around” or “making out” and cross that threshold into “having sex.” And I think that is part of the problem. Teens don’t realize that what happened in that moment really is “having sex.” And how quickly that foreplay stuff becomes more than they ever planned.

And even though I am trying to do this parenting thing with my eyes wide open, I am worried and scared.

Image credit: The dress in the photo above is made from 12,500 condoms and the story about it can be found here: http://gizmodo.com/219001/wedding-gown-made-of-12500-condoms

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About Linda

Writer, speaker, journalist, photographer, teacher, weight-loss surgery patient and mother of four are just a few of the many words you can use to define Linda Sherwood.

Linda is currently at work writing a nonfiction memoir, Fat Man’s Daughter, which focuses on the impact weight can have on parenting and perceptions. For most of her life, Linda’s dad weighed more than 400 pounds, but despite his morbidly obese status, Linda thought of him only as Dad until he died in November 2003, and she was left to deal with her anger caused by her acceptance and his actions that allowed the limits weight placed on his life.

In August 2011, Linda decided to take charge of her own battle with weight and had vertical sleeve gastrectomy. You can read a brief summary of Linda’s struggles and check out the photos that shows Linda at various weights.

She lives in northern Michigan with her husband, Steve, and their four children, Autumn, Amanda, Maxine, and Justin, and an assortment of animals. You can get a glimpse of some of the pivotal players in Linda’s life by checking out these photos.

The Teacher
Linda teaches college-level English in both face-to-face and online classes. Before she began teaching, Linda was a journalist. She has written thousands of articles that have appeared in print and online in more than three countries.

The Daughter
She is the youngest of five children. She is younger than her siblings by 11, 13, 14 and 15 years. This is primarily due to her father being in the Air Force. He was in Thailand for a year. Linda was born 9 months after his return to the US. As a child, Linda had a penchant for tattling on her older siblings.

As a child, Linda moved quite a bit. By the time Linda was 8, she had lived in 7 or 8 different places (Little Rock, Arkansas; Hanover-Horton, Mich.; Brooklyn, Mich., Onsted, Michigan; New Symrna Beach, Fla.; Mesa, Arizona; and Grayling, Michigan to name a few). As an adult, she has lived in one place for more than 16 years. This is primarily because she married a man that has only lived in one county his entire life (although he was in the military for a while).

The Wife and Mother
Linda met her husband Steve when she was still in high school although he was a Bobcat, and she was a Viking. They started dating after Steve called Linda’s best friend and asked the best friend out. The best friend turned him down and gave him Linda’s number. Linda and Steve have been together for over 20 years and have four beautiful (but mouthy) children.

The Curriculum Vitae
If you’d like, you can check out Linda’s work and education history presented in a formal Curriculum Vitae.

About The Photos

All photos used on this site were taken by Linda Sherwood (unless otherwise stated) and are copyrighted. The photos may not be used without the expressed written permission of Linda Sherwood.

About This Site Design

Linda modified a WordPress template from Templatelite.

Linda learned HTML by taking the free course from Marcopia, Writing HTML. She highly recommends it!

Linda uses Adobe Photoshop to edit and alter images for this web site. She loves her Photoshop!

You can find Linda on Diigo, Twitter, LinkedIn, YouTube, and Facebook (to name a few):

Linda Denton Sherwood’s Profile
Linda Denton Sherwood's Facebook Profile
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I’m the Mommy

mommyWhen my kids were little, I wrote a humor parenting column called, “I’m the Mommy.”

Today, I uncovered many of those old columns, and I made them available on my web site.

If you are one of my children, you probably aren’t thrilled to learn that your friends can now read about when you wore diapers and danced naked.

Regardless, you can find many of the columns compiled  here.

These columns have previously appeared in print, primarily in newspapers located in Northern Michigan.

Enjoy!

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An Unexpected Visitor

Barely awake and without the aid of coffee, I trudge through my living room on my way to the kitchen. I barely noticed my three oldest children were all huddled together in a single chair. The girls, ages 5, 4, and 2, were being unusually quiet and Maxine, the two-year-old, wasn’t demanding breakfast. I should have known something was wrong.

I had just woken up, however, and not functioning completely. As I began to prepare breakfast in the kitchen, this conversation floated to me from the living room.

“We can get down now.”

“No, don’t go! It’ll get you.”

“Mom will save us.”

That did it. I’m awake now and no coffee was necessary. Just what am I supposed to be saving them from? I had the answer in seconds as the three girls leaped from the chair and made a mad dash to me in the kitchen where they promptly climbed up on chairs.

“There was a snake in the house Mom! A real big one and it was right in the middle of the living room! Spike chased it down the hall!”

A snake? In my house? Surely they were joking. Overactive imaginations at work here. Spike, a beagle, was sleeping on the couch. He didn’t look like he’d been snake hunting this morning. Besides the barking and screaming would have woken me.

My children, however, insist there is a snake in the house. My first reaction was to leave the house. All of us in our pajamas, but Justin was still sleeping in his room, which was down the hall where the snake was last seen.

I called my husband, Steve, hoping he’d be willing to come home from work and find the snake. While I’m on the phone, the two youngest girls grab hands and head for the hallway in search of the snake. Well, so much for Steve protecting us. He got a good laugh out of my phone call, but had no inclination to come home and save us. Next call, the neighbor boys, but they weren’t home.

In the meantime, Amanda, my four-year-old has become brave. This is the same girl that hides behind my legs in public or at parties. The only one of my kids I would describe as shy has suddenly decided to be our hero.

She boldly strides over to her toy container and picks out a plastic blue frying pan. She raises it high in the air and starts to cautiously walk down the hall. I burst out laughing and ask what she thinks she is doing. I should have quit laughing long enough to grab the camera, but I didn’t.

“I’m going to find the snake and kill it Mom,” she answers matter of factly. And she finds two more toy kitchen items to arm her sisters. I am biting my lips to keep from laughing at them.

OK, if she can do it, I can do it. The snake was described as big and long. Yuck. I hate snakes. Absolutely hate them. I avoid them at all costs, but now I had to search for it. I’m the mommy.

I put on my coat and mittens and go off in search of the snake. I find it quickly. It’s in my bedroom on top of a dresser. I admit it, I jumped when I saw it and left my room shutting the door behind me. A quick peak out my windows showed that my neighbors still weren’t home. It’s up to me. I’m the mommy.

Back in my room, my mittens are on, and the sliding door is wide open so I can throw the snake out. Where’d it go? Oh, there it is. Still on top of the dresser, but as I approach, it slithers off the dresser onto my night stand. The night stand next to my bed. It doesn’t stop and it slithers off the night stand onto my bed.

It starts to crawl under my covers (Steve’s side thankfully) and I grab its tail. I pull it from the bed and hold it way out from me as I move to the door and fling it outside into the snow. The girls are screaming and jumping, as they watch (from a long ways away) me carry the snake to the door. Whew. Mom’s a hero.

I know, I know…never grab a snake by its tail because it can come back and bite you. Thanks for the tip. I hope I never have to use it. Where were you when I needed you? I’m still getting the creepy crawlies, and my husband is still laughing at me, but the snake was vanquished and all possible entries have been filled. I hope.

Copyright © 1999 Linda Sherwood

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Who is the True Survivor?

Sixteen castaways strategizing their way to a million dollar payday is must-see television at my house every week.

But before my husband and I can watch the popular television program where 16 people claw and fight their way to a million dollars, we had to survive bedtime.

My oldest daughter is just now starting to understand the concept of time with mixed results. My other three children think only two times are important — morning time and eating time. Appointments, deadlines and bedtimes are beyond their comprehension. So much so that any urgency on my part seems to make my children move even slower.

At no time is this more poignant than at bedtime, which begins with the announcement, “Time for bed.”

Convincing children it’s bedtime despite the daylight pouring in their windows isn’t an easy task. The 3-year-old believes any light in the sky means it is “morning time.” The darkest shades and curtains do little to diminish the tempting summer sun from sneaking into their bedrooms.

To help prove it’s bedtime, my husband and I showed them the clock. The two oldest could recognize the number eight without a problem. Who knew we were just creating a new problem? Just days later at 7:57 p.m., I announced bedtime. Immediately arguments broke out. We have to wait until exactly 8:00 p.m. on the clock before my children will move a single muscle towards the bathroom and ultimately the bedroom.

Well that tactic didn’t work, but what if I get them into their pajamas earlier? I quickly formed an unbreakable alliance with my spouse and we were ready for the next night’s bedtime challenge. At 7:30 p.m., I announced it was time to get pajamas on. Protests rose immediately.

“We don’t want to go to bed,” moaned one. “It’s not our bedtime yet,” whined another. I was armed. I handed two pairs of pajamas to my spouse as we pushed aside the protests. “We didn’t say anything about going to bed,” I pointed out. “We just said it was time to get pajamas on.”

I sounded suspiciously like Richard Hatch from the original Survivor show when he was asked about the alliances being formed at tribal council. “Alliance? What alliance?”

As the clock ticked closer to 8 p.m., I encouraged each of the children to go to the bathroom. When the clock hit 8 p.m. I was ready. I raced to put all four children in their respective beds. I kissed lips and tucked covers. I had done it! They were all in bed and on their way to sleep land.

As I sat down on the couch next to my husband with a tired plop, I heard it — the unmistakable sound of a door opening. Two kids quickly made their appearance in the living room with requests for drinks, additional bathroom trips, discussions of upcoming birthdays and present suggestions. The nearest birthday was six months away.

Once more I put the children to bed as they whisper promises about falling to sleep immediately into my ear. The minute my back is turned, they start plotting my demise. How can they get around Mommy to convince Daddy that it really isn’t bedtime? Can they break the alliance?

Dad may be the weak link, but he won’t let them stay up either. Of course, they would have had a stronger case if they wouldn’t talk so much when the show is on. It gets hard to hear the whispered plotting on the TV when two children are dancing and singing.

The alliance remains, at least until the next tribal council.
Copyright © 2000 Linda Sherwood

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