Thoughts for your 13-year-old self

I'm a little late to join the party but the message merits repeating.

The squeaky clean people behind the Dove Self-Esteem Movement are calling on all women to help encourage girls to value themselves and behave more confidently.

At least in North America, girls kick so much butt academically that schools are getting creative to help boys close the gap. But bigger picture, says Dove, "70 per cent of girls globally don't participate in daily activities such as sharing an opinion in class or going to a social event because they feel badly about their appearance."

To spark a discussion about positive messages for girls, Dove is asking us to share with others the advice we'd have for our 13-year-old selves, if it were possible to travel back in time and impart some wisdom.

What would I say to that skinny girl just starting a new school at the beginning of Grade 8, having moved from Alberta to B.C.?

Setting aside the stuff about "dreaming big" and "being anything you want to be" and just focusing on the appearance factor for today, I guess I'd say something like, "You'll grow into yourself. Don't worry."

I'd want that girl to know she'd feel more lovely in her 30s than she did at 13 (as absolutely ancient as that would have sounded at the time). That each year after that awkward onset of puberty, she'd get a little more comfortable in her own skin. That the spunk with which she wore desert boots and mismatched slouchy socks in Grade 8 would serve her well in life. That eventually she'd grow some breasts and come to think of her scrawny legs as a pretty good feature.

But more important than any part of her physical body, I'd let her know that she'd just become more herself and easier in the world each day. I'd encourage that girl to laugh loudly and without embarrassment. I'd remind her not to listen if the class clown tried to make it seem as though being smart was some kind of liability. I'd tell her not to turn the volume down on herself.

How about you? What would you say to your 13-year-old self?

Wordless Wednesday: Cottage edition

Sex Ed: What the kids have to say

There was a heated debate earlier this year on Premier Dalton McGuinty's proposed updates to the sex-education curriculum.

Changes were delayed when the right-wing mobilized, knocking on every backwater doorstep to allege that the school system would now be offering how-to sex instruction and promoting homosexuality starting in Grade 3. I wrote my rebuttal to this nonsense here.

In May, a study conducted by the Sex Education and Information Council of Canada showed that teen pregnancy had plummeted in Canada, attributing the change to better access to birth control and sex education.

But none of us had really talked to the teens themselves until Toronto Life's The Informer prepared "Teenage Sex and the City."

One of the quotes spoke quite loudly to me in favour of an early start with sex education:

 

"Sex education classes were fun, especially the movies, but I lost my virginity in Grade 7, before teachers started preparing us for the real deal." - Jessica 15, lost it at 12

No one thinks their child is going to have sex before they've even completed puberty. But some do. And even though it's not popular with all voters, the right thing to do is make sure kids are informed sooner rather than later about preventing STIs and unwanted pregnancy.

Cute kid quote of the week

Alister, 3, the potty trainee, made up this song last night:

"Mommy and Daddy are so proud,

cause I go pee pee on the toi.....let.

And I am an underpantsy guy!"

Wordless Wednesday: Brothers

Sadness in aisle three

We hear a lot of sad stories in the news business. Much of the time it's too big and tragic to fully comprehend. If I don't have to, sometimes I don't read beyond the headlines, because, well, a toddler drowning in a pool hits far too close to home.

But last week I heard something sad on my trip to Shoppers Drug Mart, and I haven't managed to forget it. Nor would I really want to.

I was at the pharmacy in the middle of a Thursday in search of drugs for a neck I'd injured somewhere between Repetitive Strain Street and Do-It-Yourself Avenue. (Full disclosure: I may have also purchased waterproof mascara. Hey, eventually I'll be recovered enough to attend pool parties.)

An elderly lady approached an apathetic, overly eyeliner-ed young lady and said she couldn't find glycerin soap. The sales clerk said all the soaps were in aisle three and didn't budge from her position restocking the makeup.

Later I spotted both the package of glycerin soaps at the very bottom-right of the display and the elderly woman checking out with just a newspaper. I stopped her before she left and said something like, "Excuse me, Madame. Were you able to find the soap? Because I think this might be it."

She took the package of three translucent soaps, opened the box carefully and said that these were, in fact, what she was looking for. She asked me if they had any single boxes. I looked again, and then confirmed that they did not.

The woman thanked me and gave me the box to put back on the shelf.

"Aren't you going to take it?" I asked.

"I don't know if I will live that long," she replied. "They forget about people like me."

"Oh sure, you will!" I said in a lame effort to make light of her predicted time left on this earth.

She shook her head. She didn't buy the soaps. I didn't think quickly enough to buy the $9 box, concocting a story about how it happens I use the very same kind, allowing me to give her one without injuring her pride.

After the woman left, I went looking for the rude clerk, but she must have been on a break or something. I shared the story with the young pharmacist assistant who helped me with the muscle relaxants. She seemed as saddened as I was, but given that she's just on an internship for a few more weeks, I'm not entirely confident that management at the Bloor West Village Shoppers will have heard the tale of the lady and the glycerin soap, although I wish they'd consider ordering it in singles.

What does this have to do with parenting? Not much, I suppose. But as I walked home I thought about how I'll teach my own children to respect the elderly, particularly since they have no living great-grandparents and little exposure otherwise.

I didn't come up with much more than a resolve to talk to my boys, when the time is right, about walking old ladies across the street (naturally), and about how being old and doddering doesn't make someone boring and unimportant.

Wordless Wednesday: The Splash Pad

Carter Newman, 5, cools off at Mississauga's Lake Acquitaine Park. (JIM WILKES/TORONTO STAR)

Why a little mess is a good thing

Parenthood is a nightmare for the recovering decor-porn addict.

Maybe you've got garishly-coloured toys cluttering your once-gleaming hardwood. Or the counter where you used to place a glass bowl of lemons is now awash in permission slips and Playmobil.

Dirty socks on the back of the piano. That's the one that gets me. I'm unreasonable that way, I guess.

Try as we might to be zen about the detritus of family life, it's hard not to have Container-Store visions dancing through your head when the piles start to get high and demoralizing. Besides, Pottery Barn Catalogue says you should have a wall-mounted system for stuff like this! Du-uh!

Inspired by my colleague Jennifer Wilson-Speedy's feature on yourhome.ca, I've just started reading Life's Too Short To  Fold  Fitted Sheets: Your Ultimate Guide to Domestic Liberation.

Dedicated "to all the unbalanced mothers," the book is about letting go of perfection and running your house in a manageable way.

This part spoke to me:

    "As a Mom, also think about what you're modeling for your children when you're a perfectionist:

    * You have to blow people away when they come to visit so they will like you.

    * Perfectly folded T-shirts and clean faces equal the perfect family.

    * You have to kill yourself to prove to others that you've made it.

    * A spotless house is more important than fun.

    * Work is more important than family."

These are good words to have in mind when you're faced with your choice between a basket of clothes that needs to be put away, and a kick-ass water-gun battle with your kids.

Read Lisa's Top 10 things to clean if company is coming in 30 minutes.