Teenage Wasteland

Over a decade ago it was the Columbine shooting in the USA.  Timothy McVeigh.  Angry young men murdering innocent people.

Now its young Muslim men.  Arid Uka.  Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab.  Angry young men murdering innocent people.  (Or trying to.)

Can we blame radicalized Islam for the former any more than we could blame popularized violence on TV for the latter?

I don't know.  But words hurt.  Sarah Palin telling her followers it was time to reload.  And one of them doing just that and shooting a congressional representative.

These are kids.  They are confused young men.  Man, I was angry all the time as a teenager.  Remember the Pet Shop Boys? "Everything I Do, It's a Sin" was like my own personal logo.  The Who.  AC/DC.  Heavy Metal.  Mosh Pits.  We are angry young people, bursting with hormones.  And who did we blame?  Our parents.  The status quo.  And we were going to take our anger, channel it, and do exactly the opposite.

I think this is called healthy adolescence.

What is not healthy is when adults infiltrate the adolescent psyche and manipulate it for their own purposes.  Man, for a religion that reveres the past, radical Muslims certainly have embraced the internet.  How easy for a lonely, shy, confused young man to become part of a group.  How easy to find purpose. 

Arid Uka grew up in Germany.  And while I do have my issues with that country, it is not a bad place to live.  He got to go to school.  His family had a home and work and food.  They are allowed to practice their religion.  And they aren't in danger of being slaughtered.  Life is NOT easy, but it really could have been a lot worse too.

As for the Americans, they stepped in and saved Kosavan ass when noone else in Europe really wanted to.

Dare I say that this isn't at all about religion, or nationality or race?  It's about angry CHILDREN being manipulated for an evil purpose.  How easy to pull the trigger and yell 'Allahu Akbar.'  I'm guessing his girlfriend dumped him.

So what can we do?  How can we keep these young men from destroying themselves - and others with them. 

Does it really get back to mom and dad keeping on eye on what their kids are reading and watching on the internet? 

Or can we get an international campaign mounted - Muslim and non-Muslim alike - telling these children that they are being used?  Telling them WE care.  Telling them there are other options.

I know.  Let's get everyone listening to The Who again.   Because, after all, the lyrics go like this:

I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven

Teenage Wasteland.  If only it were as simple as running over a few mailboxes, like they did in my day.

A Bad Morning (German Bureaucracy Leads to Australian Beer)

October snowfall in Bayern.  Smiling because its our last one!

This morning sucked.

For those who want to read it, I've got reams of moaning about German stupidity.  (After looking at my photos of Dresden, I've decided I really do LOVE Germany.  I love it so much it DRIVES ME NUTS!)  For those who would rather LAUGH about it, click on over to Liz's blog.  She's got a way better sense of humor than I do.  For those who really don't want to hear it anymore - YOU MOVED CHRISTINE, GET OVER IT! - skip down to the end (after the third photo, Ayers Rock in Dresden) and read about my time with the kids.  That was what this blog was supposed to be about, after all, wasn't it?  


Once I have to get involved with the remaining bureaucratic crap from Germany, the day just naturally deteriorates. The kids and I are working on using appropriate language (mostly me and mostly on NOT using INAPPROPRIATE language) but crap really does fit in this case.

Germans like to be known for their efficiency. But I honestly never saw a heck of a lot getting done while I was there and they are certainly wasting a lot of time with us now. Unfortunately MY time as well as theirs. It’s methodical, it’s bureaucratic, but it is no longer efficient if nothing gets done and IF IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE. (Except for the Altdorf Rathaus; they have always been a liferaft of tranquility and helpfulness in an otherwise turbulent – and senseless – ocean of bureaucratic stupidity.)

When we spent WEEKS getting the runaround when we first moved to Stuttgart 7 years ago I thought it might be an anti-immigration thing. People will not answer your questions – no matter how simple - if you are not in the proper office for asking that question. And no, they will not tell you which office can answer your question or how to get there either. They treat you as if you are an ignorant loser unworthy of their attention. And make you feel that way until you get home and realize that these are the people who are supposed to be helping you so that you don’t remain ignorant!

We’ve had this in TOURIST INFORMATION areas too, most recently at the Ludwigsburg castle. When I asked about the children’s museum they told me I should have come yesterday. But I’m here today with four children. Well, the museum was only open yesterday. As if I should have known that. Do you have any other suggestions for the children? The children’s museum. But you should have been here yesterday. No kidding. And this was at the INFORMATION DESK. We ended up walking around the courtyard of the castle that we’d never seen before (we usually do the garden, which is what we were doing YESTERDAY, when we apparently should have been at the children’s museum!) IT WAS BEAUTIFUL! Why not show some enthusiasm and tell us how beautiful the courtyard is?!

Now I understand why the supposedly simple things took Damon hours and months to work out.

You can only cancel the TV Skye service at one year intervals. So we cancelled our contract, due to renew the end of August, in June. When mid-September hit and we were still receiving channels we called again.

You can only cancel once a year, they told us. We cancelled in June, we responded. No you didn’t. Yes we did. No you didn’t. Yes we did. No you didn’t. Yes we did. So much for the customer is always right. In Germany, the customer is always the idiot. Damon finally told them we just weren’t paying/ But you have to pay for September, they said, because you’ve been getting it for two weeks.

NOW they are STILL harassing us, because, as they inform us, you can only cancel once a year and since we didn’t pay September we have to pay the full year.

You'd think a civilization that built - and rebuilt - the Frauenkirche in Dresden would be able to disconnect cable TV service with a little more class!

Thank goodness we are in Australia.

I sent a snotty email to my old fitness company too, the central offices who insist that the written notice I gave them three months before leaving is insufficient. It should have been six months unless we move somewhere that doesn’t have an associated fitness club. The manager at my local club laughed and told me they do that to everyone, just trying to get more money.

Our school did this too – accusing Ryan of destroying a book – and demanding 30 Euros. I ignored that letter…..also having been told it was just a way the school uses to get a little extra cash. And after hearing from Ryan that she had been reprimanded in front of the entire class for it. Rudely. And, having seen the book, also disagreeing that was destroyed. If you have a problem with my child, do NOT speak to her IN FRONT OF THE CLASS and then send me a letter for money. Without consulting me. They sent me THREE written reminders – all just as rude as the first – but never had the guts to address me to my face. You want to hear inappropriate language, read my thoughts on THAT one!

And now the fitness company.

HELLO! WE ARE IN AUSTRALIA! I wrote. What shall I send, PICTURES! (What they want is an Abmeldung. You are required to register your whereabouts when you live in Germany – frightening I know.) What they want is an official piece of paper. What we have is electronic. What they really want is 90 Euros.

Honestly, stop quibbling over the small stuff and start learning to serve customers. You’d waste less time, make people happy and, in the final result, earn MORE from satisfied customers. But sorry, that is CAPITALISM!

That self-vaunted German efficiency is taking a real beating here in Australia, the laid back folks who supposedly take nothing seriously.

Uh yeah? Just because they’re smiling doesn’t mean they’re not getting the job done. Health care? Check. Come back every 3 months til my permanent VISA comes in? Oh – don’t be silly. You’ve registered the kids in school, gotten a license, an apartment and a bank account. Why waste time reapplying every 3 months? Come back in a year.

Damon still can’t believe the phone and internet and electronics service people who help him find the most cost-efficient solution for his personal needs.

Ah yeah. CUSTOMER SERVICE! Keeping people happy – even the little people – so that they come back and buy more later. Instead of gauging them for every little bit so you can take all you can while they are there. Really, in Germany the BANKS insist on all 10 years of interest on a home mortgage, even if you sell the home and pay off the mortgage before then. You see, they don’t want to lose their money on that interest. Instead of taking care of their customers, meeting their need and thereby creating a loyal customer. Honestly, I never bought into all this while I was in the USA!


Ularu - still called Ayers Rock - in Dresden.  German schnitzel and Australian beer.


So yeah. That was not good morning.

After that, the two items we did not buy for the kids in their school packs, two pencil sharpeners and two rulers, had either disappeared or been broken beyond repair over the summer break.

Prompting me to yell and scream and tell the kids that they would have to use their Christmas money to buy them.

The coloured pencils I had bought for Aidan and Matthew kept breaking in the one Sesame Street pencil sharpener we COULD find.

Aidan then reminded me that the words I was using were not words of love. To which I responded that I was tired of being told what to say by a four year old and that if he wanted to swear then by all means he should go ahead and do it. This frightened him so much that he DID swear. And throw pencils.

Andrew then came out of his bedroom with a fistful of small change and offered to buy school supplies with his savings.

At which point I felt small enough and mean enough to crawl under a rock.

Which is when I decided 12:40 was NOT too early for a beer.

Beer at lunch.  In the Czech Republic, technically speaking...

Peace, Love and Behavioral Modification

Ice skating has also inspired our new behavioral modification plan.  Andrew has been able to chart his progress on the ice by counting how many times he falls down per round (and let me tell you, it's an impressive number!  Also impressive to see.  Will have to post on youtube someday.  Probably when he leads the Australian ice hockey team to victory over the Canadians in the Olympics.  If Australia has a ice hockey team in the Olympics, that is.  And the Canadians come down with typhoid).

Since Andrew is charting improvement by trying to reduce his spills on the ice per round, I decided to try to reduce our whining, crying, yelling, screaming and tearing eachothers' eyes out in the same way.  My screaming.  Everyone elses' whining.  Ryan's pestering.  And yes, they DO try to tear eachother's eyes out.  Casualties from my time spent on the computer yesterday include one bloody nose (Aidan), a damaged toenail (Andrew) and severe gashes to the nose and cheek (again Aidan).  Andrew is starting to lose the advantage of age since the twins seem to fight together.  When they aren't beating the crap out of eachother.  And Matthew obviously needs to work on his temper.  Aidan and Andrew aren't fighters by nature, but Matthew is scary.  As evidenced by the nosebleed, torn toenail and gashes to the head and neck.  All obtained in the two hours I was ignoring the noise around me and telling them to work it out themselves.  Kinda like they do in the German school system.  Works well.   If you want to breed fear into the peace-loving and create a bully. 

Which we don't.  Hence the chart.

It is working well so far today.  I am being fairly lenient, giving out warnings before I strike a point and counting a lengthy bout of whining and fighting as only one point total. 
Results today at 3PM are as follows:
1. Matthew  - 4 points - all for whining
2. Aidan - 3 points - for crying.  All accumulated right around lunchtime
3. Mommy - 1 yell.  Early on in the morning before she caught herself.
Ryan and Andrew have had some yellow cards, warnings, but no points yet. 

The major success of the program seems to be my decreased yelling.  Go figure.  The chart makes me assess the situation, decide what is going on and then react to it rationally instead of just flying into a rage.   I actually gave myself two little gold stars for NOT reacting with screaming when the situation actually could have warranted it.  Turns out stern reminders work as well as threats and swears. Who would have thought it?  Once again it is Mommy receiving the lesson in behavioral modification while trying to teach the kids.  Ain't homeschooling a bitch?!

Our efforts of the last month was truly rewarded around lunchtime today, when Aidan was having a meltdown and Matthew was well on his way to provoking it further.  Just as I was about to separate the two of them myself Aidan turned to Matthew, looked him deep in the eyes and said

"Matthew, Matthew, remember.  We only think and speak words of love."

It's an affirmation from Louise Hay, designed to decrease anger.

It's a confirmation that, charts or not, my basic message is getting past the blood and bruises after all.

The Pants Of Shame

Matthew came home from kindergarten on Tuesday with FOUR pairs of wet clothes in the "bag of shame."

This is a term freely stolen from my friend Holly, whose daughter came out of our kindergarten one day two years ago wearing this horrible, 1970s, very German, pair of rainbow colored striped jeans, a pair that Ryan and Andrew had worn home often enough in their potty training days. She laughingly called them the "pants of shame" because it was just so obvious that whoever came out wearing them had NOT made it through the morning dry.

I have since discovered - mostly through Matthew - that there are a variety of pants of shame - and that they come with socks, T-shirts - and even pink flowered girls underwear if you wet yourself often enough to start deleting the stock. You should have seen the look on Damon's face when he saw Matthew in pink underwear.

Funny thing is, shame only works if you let it. (For the record, Holly's term is a joke, and the kindergarten isn't intentionally shaming the kids either. They just have a rather horrid selection of second-hand clothes.)

Matthew certainly doesn't care about the pink underwear. And now that I've decided to give up things like guilt (I swear, I shook it off in yoga class the other day!), and anger and shame - well, the clothes my kids come home in don't bother me either. Honestly, if I am going to let a pair of soiled pants ruin my day, I might as well give up now.

I'm learning that it's not about being perfect, it's about dealing with it as it comes.

Other signs that I am learning not to care about what other people think:

1. I let the kids go home from the pool with wet hair (within reason; in the winter we use the hairdryers a bit and then make sure everyone is wearing a hat or hood - or in some cases, a towel over her head - on the icy way to the car.) They also run around in wet bathing suits - a big German no-no. No signs of the bladder infections or kidney disease this is supposed to cause and they have fewer colds than most kids I know whose mother's dry their hair. I suspect a strengthened immune system. See #4 below!

2. My kids are the ones running around without jackets on when everyone else's are wrapped up in hat, scarf and mittens. Or wearing mittens in April.

3. I'll wip out a bag of cookies at the playground when everyone else is feeding their children peppers and cucumbers.

4. Damon and I used the "5 second" rule in Legoland the other day when Matthew spilled the 3 Euro bag of lego-shaped french fries on the ground while in line for the train ride. I briefly thought of the dirt, and of what the others in line would say, and then I thought of the 3 Euros for 15 fries - and we scooped them right up and handed them back to Matthew. Gross. I wasn't going to eat them, but....noone in line said a word, whether out of shock, understanding or because they attributed it to the fact that we were American.

HAVE YOU NO SHAME? No, I'm glad to say I gave it up this summer.

What I'm Giving Up For Lent

This idea first came to me over twelve years ago, while riding in the back of a Haitian taxi - the flatbed of an old pickup truck - with forty or so other people plus a few goats, chickens and sacks of yams. I was thinking of the reaction of my fellow Peace Corps volunteer, Sarah, when I had told her that I was going to give something up for Lent. "Good God, Christine," she'd replied, "You are NOT going to give up chocolate or alcohol or do something equally stupid." She knew me well, and she knew that we all needed our little rituals, our relief, escape from the stresses of life as a Peace Corps volunteer in rural Haiti.

As I thought it over, it became clear that the best things to give up, the ones we SHOULD give up anyway, are the things that are the worst for us. Not just at Lent. Not chocolate. Not even alcohol, or cigarettes, or other substances that aren't good for us physically.

At the time, for me, it was anger. I found this really profound at the time. I would give up my anger, at the apparent apathy of the Haitian people, at the apparent indifference of the governments - ours and theirs, at the inability to really get anything done, the inability to help the way I really wanted to.

In retrospect, anger at the fact that things weren't going my way. But that's ANOTHER essay.

Lately, I've stopped judging others. When I heard about the fifteen year old girl in England who had had a baby - with three thirteen to fifteen year old boys claiming paternity - my first thought STARTED to be, where the hell were the parents? But it stopped halfway out. My God, in six years MY daughter will be fifteen. I can't even get her to do her MATH homework right now. You think she's going to listen to me about condoms? Let alone abstinence.

And there's another essay writing itself.