Category Archives: South Coasting

Relationship Research

Posted on by
Reply
Photo by stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

I’ve tried to get my husband into therapy for years – and failed miserably. Why is it that those who are most in need of psychological help are the least able to see it?

Anyway, when I saw an advertisement asking for married couples to participate in a UCSB study on close relationships, I jumped at the chance to get my husband on the couch, even if it was only under the guidance of some 19-year-old psychology students. Not only would Zak finally have the opportunity for some long overdue self-reflection (contemplating one’s navel doesn’t count), but also there was 60 bucks in it for us if we attended two sessions.

Talk about a win-win. They even promised us free parking and snacks.

It was surprisingly easy to talk Zak into going. He was actually excited. On our drive out to UCSB he said, “When they ask about our occupations, do we fight crime or do crime?”

“Honey, I think you should just tell the truth and get as much out of the session as you can,” I said.

“Right. We fight crime,” he said.

Yeah, sure. Whatever gets you onto that couch, dear.

After a brief introduction by a spectacled graduate student in a white lab coat who was, I swear, no more than 14 years old, Zak and I were put into two separate rooms to do some tests.

The first exercise was a series of questions about our relationships. We had to weigh our answers on a scale of one (where you strongly disagreed with the statement) to seven (where you strongly agreed with the statement) or a scale of one (I’m not at all like my mother, how dare you) to nine (I’m exactly like my mother, so deal with it) and so on.

I immediately became utterly and thoroughly confused.

I contemplated using my cell phone to call Zak in the room next door to help me with the test. Would wanting to work together show that we had a healthy relationship or that I was being a complete neurotic idiot? I reminded myself that there couldn’t possibly be any “wrong” answers, and tried to answer the questions the way a healthy person would, giving myself props for refraining from calling Zak as I opened my veins and sweated out answers.

A sample question: “How much time do you spend thinking about your relationship with your spouse?” Does wishing he looked like Brad Pitt count?

Or how about this one, “In my conversations with others, I don’t like to talk about things that don’t interest me.” Who likes to talk about things that don’t interest them? I find boredom extremely exciting, but only if I get to use the time to fantasize about Brad Pitt.

So far this study wasn’t really doing much to bring me closer to my husband, although we did go out to lunch with our stipend.

For our final session, they flipped a coin to decide which spouse would do which activity. Zak got to do a puzzle (something that’s incredibly fun and easy for him) while I had to give a speech (something that’s exceptionally painful and stressful for me).

Hmmm … I wondered just how random that little coin toss was as I contemplated my speech instructions, to fill five minutes, as though I were on an interview for my ideal job. While I can fill thousands of column inches writing about myself, actually talking about myself for five minutes felt like an eternity. Luckily Zak stepped in with some questions, coaxing me into describing how working no more than 25 hours a week would benefit my future employer (I’d be in such a good mood if I could sleep in till 9 every morning!) and why the loan of a company car (preferably a convertible) would help reduce my stress and therefore enhance my creativity.

The researchers found our silly banter to be symptomatic of a healthy relationship. Who knew? We later found out that we had been observed by the psych team the whole time. Thank goodness we didn’t turn the waiting room into a “What’s the craziest place you’ve ever made whoopee?” response, as my husband had suggested earlier.

They explained that the study was designed to help understand how spouses help each other cope with stressful life events and how that relates to marital satisfaction.

I didn’t have the heart to tell our grad student (who actually was 24, even if she looked 12) that the tests weren’t really that stressful, especially when she seemed so pleased with our performance. When Zak and I reviewed our answers we found that despite our contention that his father and my mother would make a terrible couple, we were actually more alike that we thought.

If he’s more like me than I thought, maybe he doesn’t really need therapy after all.

I told Zak, column comedy opportunity aside, participating in the study actually left me feeling pretty good about our relationship.

“That’s good,” he said, “because it really took very little work on my part.”

And that just might be the real secret to a healthy close relationship. That and fighting crime together.

Share your relationship secrets with Leslie @LeslieDinaberg.com. For most columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on February 5, 2010.

Musing on Money and Marriage

Posted on by
Reply
Photo: stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo: stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

“That’s it?” I want to crumple up my 1099 forms in disgust every January when I see, glaring at me in black and white, how little I get paid for pouring my heart and soul onto the page (and increasingly the computer screen) as a freelance writer.

“This year it’s actually good that you didn’t make much money,” says my husband, Zak, looking at me over a half-full bottle of beer. “In fact, go back to last year and make even less, and then make a whole lot more this year.” This is his version of financial planning. Apparently we neglected to make estimated tax payments, so the less money I make the less we’ll have to pay up in April.

Oh the unexpected joys of being underemployed.

It wasn’t always like this.

When we first started dating, Zak was the underemployed one. While I was bringing in the relatively big-ish bucks as a marketing executive, he was a struggling screenwriter. He always made enough to pay his own way, but barely. If we wanted to go out to a restaurant with real silverware and cloth napkins, it was definitely on me.

This went on for years-six to be exact, but who’s counting? I wasn’t making that much money but compared to him I was rolling in it, and if there were any luxuries I wanted (like Charmin toilet paper and something besides Top Ramen for dinner) we both understood that I would have to foot the bill.

Then, in a flash of Hollywood’s magic wand, Zak’s income gained an extra digit. My left hand gained a great big diamond and we started planning a ridiculously expensive wedding, which I decided to devote the next several months of my life to planning. Who needs a day job when your husband-to-be makes enough to make your paycheck look like a pittance?

And so it went for a few years. Sure, I did some writing, but mostly I enjoyed myself. It’s amazing all of the fun things you can find to fill your days when you don’t have that pesky burden of the nine to five lifestyle.

For better or for worse, it didn’t last.

Zak’s Hollywood trajectory plummeted almost as suddenly as it rose, and before I knew it I was back working fulltime as the main breadwinner, and Zak was the one who was underemployed and mostly stayed home with our son. For the last ten years we’ve flip-flopped, both taking turns with making the primary income and being the on-call parent.

I knew this was unusual, but didn’t quite realize how un-mainstream it was until the Pew Center came out with a study recently, that found wives were the dominant income-provider in one of five marriages, and more notably, that this was big news. The New York Times ran five freaking stories about this trend.

A trend which is, frankly, no big surprise: Men are still the major contributors of household income — with 78 percent making at least as much or more than their wives — but the percentage of women whose income has outpaced their husband’s has jumped from just 4 percent in 1970 to 22 percent now.

That’s what they call coming a long way, baby?

I asked my friends to see if many of them made more money than their husbands do. The vast majority said something to the effect of, “No, but I’d sure love to-and believe me he’d be thrilled about it.”

No kidding.

Among those who did make more money than their husbands, it seemed to be something they took in stride. For the most part, their respective career paths and earning potential were predictable at the time they got married. Although my friend Inez said she was surprised-and angry-to find out she made less than her husband when they got married, as she was better educated and clearly had a job with more responsibility.

“Honestly, it fired me up to ask for-and eventually receive-a long overdue promotion. My husband was cheering me on the entire time.”

As Allie said, “Having a good salary was one of my main goals coming out of college. I was never counting on marrying someone rich. I wasn’t really counting on getting married in the first place.”

“It has definitely been something we have had to work on together and it has often been with resentment and bad feelings,” said Carla. “If you had asked me about making more money five, ten or 15 years ago, my responses would have been different. It’s something we continue to work at and even change roles sometimes. It’s all good and part of the process. Money is hard, but not what drives the love, and certainly not the marriage.”

I’ll be thinking of that while I travel back to last year in order to work less. And while I’m there, maybe I’ll pick up some shares of Apple. Now that’s sound financial planning.

Share your musings on money and marriage with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 29, 2010.

Dear Scumbag

Posted on by
Reply

Dear-Old-Love-cover-artThe limitless wisdom of the broken heart can only be surpassed by its vindictiveness.

Andy Selsberg captures both aspects of love gone bad in his new book, “Dear Old Love: Anonymous Notes to Former Crushes, Sweethearts, Husbands, Wives and Ones That Got Away,” which caught my eye at Chaucer’s this week.

For those of us who have wasted months, and possibly years, of their lives crafting the perfect zinger we woulda shoulda coulda come up with decades ago, this book is a revenge fantasy come true.

It’s also pretty funny.

Selsberg, curator of a website aptly titled www.dearoldlove.com, has been collecting short missives to ex-loved ones (or at least ex-liked-a-lot ones) and put them together in a collection that made me laugh out loud, with just a bit of bitterness for good measure.

Think about it. What would you say to an ex if he-or she-didn’t know it was you?

Ranging from bitter to flirtatious and sometimes downright disturbing, these confessional tidbits – “Your underwear is the only thing I remember from eighth-grade Spanish” and “I may have exaggerated my devotion to sports to win you, but my love of sitting, eating and watching things was genuine” – provide even more proof than the ongoing sales of Celine Dion records that “Breaking up is Hard to Do” and “There Must be 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.”

People rarely move on completely when it comes to matters of the heart, and this book, which the publisher calls a “toxic fusion of bittersweet memories, unforgettable heartache, and saccharine nostalgia that have plagued all of us at some point in our lives,” is a great way to laugh the melancholy away.

Some of my favorites had to do with family: “I didn’t want to have children with you, because I saw how you micromanaged your cat.”

“I really did want to be a grandparent with you. It’s just that getting to that point would have been an interminable slog.”

“Love’s not a competition, but I’m winning. Your mom took my side, your best friend talks to me more than he does you, and your brothers still support me. But I still want you back.”

Fame: “I’ll be waiting for you after your mild fame evaporates.”

And grammar: “I knew we wouldn’t last because you used the wrong version of ‘you’re’ in almost every one of your emails.”

Grooming was also an issue for many, with contributions like, “I’m consoled by the fact that the two of you will have very hairy children,” “I guess I have a thing for Jewfros now,” and “Even though the last time we saw each other you were in handcuffs and shackles, it was the fact that your hair looked terrible that made me laugh,” making me laugh out loud.

“I don’t care that we broke up, I only want you to still want me” was a common, bittersweet theme, in entries like, “When I ran into you at the coffee shop, your hair looked more gray. I like to believe that means you can’t live without me,” and, “I’m fine without you. I just can’t stand the idea that you can get along without me”-both sentiments that I can relate to.

But my favorite entry of all was more bitter than sweet: “Every day, I check the paper for your obituary.”

Talk about getting the last word. All in all it’s a satisfying journey to see disgruntled lovers have their final say-even if it’s only strangers who are actually listening.

In case you need help crafting your submission to www.dearoldlove.com check out www.dearjohn.com and don’t forget to share your letter with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 22, 2010.

Fly on the Wall

Posted on by
Reply
Photo: Jeroen van Oostrom, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo: Jeroen van Oostrom, freedigitalphotos.net

If eavesdropping were an Olympic sport, I would have a gold medal and a sponsorship deal with Verizon. Can you hear me now? I sure hope so! From the time I was very young I’ve been ridiculously fascinated by other people’s conversations.

One of my earliest memories is sitting in the hallway (after being sent to bed) and snooping on the adult conversation at my parent’s dinner parties. I didn’t understand half of what they were talking about-Harvey Wallbangers, Mia Farrow, Dick and Liz-but that didn’t stop me from wanting to listen.

When I read the Harriet the Spy and Nancy Drew books I started keeping an eavesdropping notebook, dotting my i’s with little hearts and writing down interesting snippets of conversation I overheard. Despite my lack of skill in martial arts and Mandarin, I think I would have been a great CIA Agent. Going on stakeouts, drinking stale coffee, cracking wise with colleagues and writing things down sounds like great fun to me. I absolutely love to observe and report.

I was once sure I had uncovered a huge murder-suicide-extortion plot at the Good Earth Restaurant, where I overheard a couple of guys in an adjacent booth talking about babes, blood and bribes-until I saw the movie on Lifetime Television. So much for my spy skills; that’s probably why I became a journalist.

I always ask people what they would want to do if they could be invisible. It floors me when people say they’ve never thought about this. Seriously? Never. I think about invisibility several times a day. It’s always been my preferred superpower and I often imagine how much fun it would be to be a fly on the wall in other people’s lives. An invisible fly with big ears.

I just like to listen to other people. Their voices, their slang, what they say and what they don’t say but so clearly communicate with their body language. I can’t get enough of it. At heart I’m a peeper, a lurker, a voyeur.

Reuters writer Christinne Muschi complains about “the social media arms race,” and bemoans that “Somehow, somewhere, we all want to know, minute by minute, what each other is doing … Do we? I can understand some of the occasional useful aspects of networking and canvassing large amounts of people instantly, but to me most twittering is voyeurism cloaked as social networking, navel gazing re-cast as information gathering.”

Where’s the downside? I find much of it fascinating.

It’s not always the content of the communication that interesting to me-I can only handle so many stories about pets and mean bosses, and most Reality TV talk bores me to tears-sometimes it’s the context. Like when members of Congress were tweeting during the middle of the President’s last State of the Union address-apparently they need to have that movie theater reminder posted: “Please refrain from the use of cell phones during the following presidential presentation.”

The new-ish phenomenon of paying for tweeting puts this kind of communication in another light entirely. The Daily Beast reported that Kim Kardashian (who is famous for being uh, famous I guess) commands $10,000 per post on Twitter. At 71 bucks a character I would think she’d be able to come up with something more interesting than, “Have u guys ever tried Popchips? They are kind of amazing!” and “Look who joined me for my Carls Jr Facebook lunch!!!”

That’s almost enough to make me swear off Twitter the same way I did live television, since now I can time shift via DVR and skip through commercials with my TV remote.

I guess I’m saying they need to invent a social media where people don’t know that they’re posting bits of their lives. And I’m exempt from participating, but still get to watch and listen. And I’m an invisible fly who dots her i’s with hearts. And there’s a gold medal for me. That’s all I’m saying.

Do you think Twitter’s only for twits? Share your thoughts with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 15, 2010.

Playing to Win

Posted on by
Reply
© Amysuem | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

© Amysuem | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

When did playing to win become politically incorrect? While there are certainly buckets full of residual benefits from playing sports, THE OBJECT OF THE GAME IS TO WIN.

Look it up if you don’t believe me.

The object of basketball is to score the most baskets. The object of football is to score the most touchdowns. The object of baseball is to bring the most batters in. THE OBJECT OF THE GAME IS TO WIN.

Which is precisely why the steam bursting out of my ears is enough to propel my entire body through a series of hoops every time I hear a phrase like “the score is fun to fun.”

The game should be fun, but the score is supposed to be a number! And part of learning to play a game, possibly the most important part for many kids, is learning to lose-which is something you can’t do when “the score is fun to fun.”

I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to go to a scorekeeper’s clinic for my son’s basketball league this week. It wasn’t that the three-point play of tapping my foot, doing the homework handoff and my buzzer-beater run out of the house the instant my husband got home from work was particularly elegant. Nor was the explanation of when to hit the buzzer, and why fouls require a slash and free throws a circle all that scintillating. I was just happy to see that in basketball you keep score and the results are right up there on the light board for all to see.

Believe me, I’m not advocating bad sportsmanship, but I think they’re missing an important point when the youth basketball league sends out a beginning of season letter to parents saying we should redefine the word “winner.”

Merriam-Webster defines a winner as “one that wins; one that is successful especially through praiseworthy ability and hard work; a victor especially in games and sports.”

There is nothing wrong with that definition, but the league insists-with the best of intentions I am sure-on redefining the word “winner.”

“To help our children get the most out of competitive sports, we need to redefine what it means to be a ‘winner,'” the letter states. “Winners are people who make maximum effort, continue to learn and improve, refuse to let mistakes (or fear of making mistakes) stop them.”

These are all certainly worthy goals to teach our children, and definitely a good reminder to the coaches. But losing graciously is also an important part of life that I fear may get lost on the playing field when winners are defined as people who try hard, persist in their efforts and ultimately improve.

I’m a huge fan of good sportsmanship (which is what our league is really defining), fair play, improvement, effort, and learning – but none of those things have anything to do with winning and losing. I’d be the first to tell you that I’ve had plenty of “moral victories” against bad sports, but that’s not always what the win/loss column looks like.

In our house (and not coincidentally the houses that both my husband and I grew up in) the rule is that sometimes you win, sometimes you lose-it’s all part of playing the game-and if you can’t be a considerate winner or a gracious loser then you don’t get to play at all.

When our son was very young it wasn’t unusual for a game to be called on account of tears or tantrums, but he learned quickly that if you can’t behave like a good sport then you don’t get to play at all. It seems to me that rather than redefining winning, this is a much better lesson for youth sports to be teaching our kids.

What’s so bad about playing to win? Share your thoughts with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 8, 2010.

The Next Generation of Dolls

Posted on by
Reply
The Gwen Thompson American Girl Doll

The Gwen Thompson American Girl Doll

Shopping for little girls is one of my favorite things about the holidays. Not that balls, books and board games aren’t exciting to shop for, but for a boy-mom like myself, there’s something magical about wandering through the pink-drenched aisles of the girls’ section of a toy store. I’ve heard animated birds chirp and seen fluffy cotton candy clouds burst into a storm of glitter when I shop in the girls’ aisle.

The Barbies are familiar—especially the Barbie Twilight Edward doll, who was on every magazine cover in the universe last month—but the Bratz, Earth Friends, Global Green Pals and Sushiami dolls are glamorous, exotic, foreign creatures. I can’t wait to inspect each and every one.

The Poupettes are pretty cute, and Moxie Girlz Sophia’s tutu is darling, but there’s a different name on my nieces’ list this year—Gwen Thompson. She’s one of the newest characters in the American Girl Doll collection and when I asked to take a look at her, the saleswoman said she’s only available through the American Girl Company.

Uh oh. I was afraid of that. I’ve only ventured into American Girl Place once, but it still scares me.

Actually it’s not just the store that scares me-although one step into this alternate universe where girls and their dolls dress alike, have their “Do’s” done at the Doll Hair Salon and their “Don’ts” repaired at the Doll Hospital is enough to drive a sane adult insane, and make the “It’s A Small World” ride at Disneyland seem downright subtle-the doll scares me too.

Gwen-who costs $95 and that doesn’t include a winter coat-is a homeless American Girl Doll.

Not homeless as in “hasn’t been sold yet and is still living on the shelves of American Girl Place waiting to come home with an eager little girl,” but homeless as in “she doesn’t have a place to live.” I’m guessing she doesn’t see the irony of arriving in a cardboard box.

Conceived as a friend character to Chrissa, the “2009 Girl of the Year” who has her own movie coming out in January, Gwen’s story is told in her history book (which is included in the $95 price). There you learn that her father lost his job and walked out on the family, then her mother lost her job and Gwen and her mom spent several months sleeping in the family car before they got a new place to stay through Sunrise House, a homeless shelter for women and children.

Wow. Now I’m waiting for the doll inspired by Amy Winehouse.

That’s a lot of baggage to lay on a doll. It might even more stressful than Barbie’s WNBA Player, Astronaut, Veterinarian, and Supermodel career path. When Gwen first hit the shelves earlier this year it’s no surprise that she was controversial.

About.com women’s issues writer Linda Lowen wondered, “How does a toy manufacturer reconcile the excesses of privilege with the unmet basic needs caused by deprivation? By creating a character who faces these challenges and by manufacturing a doll in her likeness, is Mattel opening up an important dialogue or slapping a Barbie Band Aid on a social issue that’s been prettified and commodified?”

New York Post columnist Andrea Peyser went so far as to call out the doll as inappropriate “political indoctrination” intended to encourage children to sympathize with the homeless. “It seems obscene that a company that prides itself on teaching impressionable children about history and-you can have your doll’s hair done for $20! -should engage in political preaching,” she wrote, setting off a firestorm of criticism of the company, the most valid of which I thought was that the proceeds from sales should go toward helping actual homeless children. (By giving them food, clothing and shelter, in addition to cartloads of overpriced dolls.)

Said an American Girl Company spokesperson: “The doll is meant to teach tolerance and is part of an outreach program teaching young girls how to spot bullying and stand up and speak out against it.” They have also stated that the dolls “offer valuable lessons about life,” and are “disheartened that there has been any confusion over our fictional characters.”

The company also pointed out that it has given almost $500,000 to HomeAid, a national nonprofit group that helps the homeless find housing.

A $500,000 donation to help the homeless does make this a little more palatable, but I don’t think that the homeless doll will be finding its way into my nieces’ homes anytime soon. On my budget, I’d probably end up like Gwen.

When Leslie’s not playing in the toy aisles, she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 11, 2009.

Boys Will be Boys

Posted on by
Reply

Ed Hardy Tee ShirtI learned a new word recently: “Dad-olescence,” described by Daily Beast writer Sean Macaulay as the modern, midlife crisis-aged male’s tendency to “act like a sullen teenager … a low-grade regressive style of acting-out that’s now so widespread among midlife males it deserves its own label.”

Unlike the stereotypical midlife crises our parents’ generation had-using the fruits of their success to buy boy toys such as sports cars and hot, young girlfriends-Macaulay says that the double-whammy of delayed parenting and the economic crisis have created an epidemic of Dad-olescents grappling with their own mortality at the same time the credit crunch “nixes any chance of the classic ego-boosting spending spree” and their post-feminist upbringings and subsequent “guilt airbags” keep them faithful to their wives.

No wonder some of these guys are feeling down in the dumps. Party games like “dueling ailments” and “pin the hair on the bald guy” don’t exactly help to lift their 40-something spirits, as evidenced by some of the soirees I’ve attended recently. And piercing your ears and wearing Ed Hardy tee shirts is a lot less fun than driving with the top down on your Porsche.

Yet my husband remains suspiciously chipper, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a Porsche or a hottie. He might be able to keep a Porsche hidden from me, but who has the time or money for a girlfriend? No, I credit this to the fact that he’s so in touch with his inner child. While few women will admit their age, I have found that even fewer men act theirs. I often feel like I have two boys living with me: a ten-year-old and a 12-year-old-in-a-44-year-old-body-who-thinks-he-has-a-34-year-old-body.

For the most part, my two boys play really well together. They both love science fiction/fantasy stories, computer games, Doritos, pretending not to hear what I’m saying, jumping on the furniture and fart jokes. The younger one also likes Pokemon (again!) and watches a lot of sports on TV. But the older one can drive-and buy beer-which is very convenient for me.

The ten-year-old is in that preadolescent, unpredictable tween stage; still young enough to sit on my lap one moment and then greet me with a too cool for school head flip the next. His father’s behavior toward me is equally erratic; depending on what he wants, what he did wrong and who else is around to witness it.

But most of the time, thankfully, they’re both pretty happy guys. I guess I should consider myself lucky there’s not a lot of Dad-olescent behavior going on in our house. Of course there’s always that possibility that they’ll both evolve into moody, uncommunicative teens at some point, but for right now boys will be boys-and so will a lot of middle-aged men.

When Leslie’s not stocking up on Clearasil for her boys she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.  Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 4, 2009.

How much duck could a turkey chuck?

Posted on by
Reply
Turducken (via wikipedia)

Turducken (via wikipedia)

I giggle every time I hear the word “Turducken.” I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s the first four letters, or the “duck” (literally) in the middle, but Turducken references abound this time of year and I can’t help but chuckle every time I hear or read the word.

I’ve never even tasted Turducken, though I have tried Tofurky, and Turducken has got to be better than that. It’s certainly funnier, and not at all self-righteous. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder about the origins of this Thanksgiving delicacy, so I decided to do some research.

Turducken, for those of you that haven’t heard about this, is what you get when you take a chicken and stuff it inside of a duck, then you take that ducken and stuff it inside of a turkey.

In my head, I keep hearing Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof singing “Turducken, Turducken. Turducken!”

According to a 2002 New York Times story by Amanda Hesser, turkey found his inner duck (and chicken), “Once upon a time, possibly at a lodge in Wyoming, possibly at a butcher shop in Maurice, Louisiana, or maybe even at a plantation in South Carolina.” She wrote that “an enterprising cook decided to take a boned chicken, a boned duck and a boned turkey, stuff them one inside the other like Russian dolls, and roast them. He called his masterpiece Turducken.”

I guess chickdurkey and duchicky were already taken.

Of course these scenarios are certainly possible, as are the unsubstantiated claims that Cajun-Creole fusion chef Paul Prudhomme created the Turducken. But here’s the thing: all of these Turducken theories revolve around the idea that a man was the one who created the Turducken. I for one have never, in my 40-something year history of Thanksgiving celebrations, seen a man willingly move more than four feet away from any TV screening football games on Thanksgiving Day.

Therefore, it seems completely logical to me that a woman must have invented the Turducken.

Here’s my theory. You probably know the tune.

I Know An Old Lady Who Swallowed a Turducken (with apologies to anyone who can carry a tune or make a rhyme)

I know an old lady who swallowed a Turducken

I don’t know what kind of booze she was chuckin

She first bought a chicken

It seemed finger licken

But then in walked Chuck

He’d picked up a duck

The old lady sighed

With no room in the freezer

She’d have to cook both, to please the old geezer

She consulted Giada and Martha, her coven

They both told her simply to turn on the oven

She swallowed some wine, then swallowed some beer

What she did at this point isn’t perfectly clear

But then Rita showed up at the door with a turkey

The old lady took it; she didn’t want to be jerky

The oven then beeped it was ready to cook

How could the old lady get off the hook?

There was no way to fit three birds in her range

She had an idea, although it was strange

She’d seen a commercial a time long ago

Where peanut butter and chocolate did a Do-Se-Do

If Reese’s can do it then so can I

She gulped her martini and let out a sigh

Perhaps I’ll try.

And there you have the real explanation for how the Turducken came to be. Happy Thanksgiving!

If you’ve got a better explanation for this culinary oddity, email Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 20, 2009.

Recess Rage

Posted on by
Reply
Photo by by Naypong freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by by Naypong freedigitalphotos.net

When kids don’t get to run around and play, we all pay the price. This is why I’m absolutely dumbfounded that all educators don’t get this very simple and painfully obvious reality: when they don’t play, we all pay-dearly!

This is also why I get so worked up when I hear about teachers punishing a child for not doing their homework, or misbehaving in class, by keeping them inside during recess. All kids need to run around and let off steam on a regular basis, but kids who have a hard time in class need the break even more.

I’ve got plenty of anecdotal evidence from my own son and his friends, and there’s even scholarly research to back me up. I love when that happens.

* An analysis of nearly 200 studies on the effect of exercise on cognitive functioning suggests that physical activity supports learning (Etnier).

* As overall fitness scores improve, mean achievement scores also improve (Grissom).

* Fourth-graders were more on-task and less fidgety in the classroom on days when they had recess, with hyperactive children among those who benefited the most (Jarrett).

* Although not all children are active during recess, children’s tendency to choose physical activity on the playground when they need it the most is evidenced by their higher levels of activity on the playground after recess was delayed (Pellegrini and Davis; Pellegrini, Huberty, and Jones).

* In studying the link between recess and classroom behavior among about 11,000 children, researchers found that those who had more than 15 minutes of recess a day showed better behavior in class than those who had little or none. (Barros, Silver and Stein).

The bottom line: one of the best ways to improve a kid’s performance in the classroom is to take them out of it for a while.

This is why it just kills me when teachers punish children by taking away recess privileges. That also struck Dr. Romina M. Barros (who researched the link between recess and classroom behavior) as illogical. She told the New York Times, “Recess should be part of the curriculum. You don’t punish a kid by having them miss math class, so kids shouldn’t be punished by not getting recess.”

Yet due to school budget cuts and an increased focus on academic standards, lots of American schoolchildren miss out on unstructured playtime with their peers, so much so that there is a “Right to Recess Movement” building around the country.

While recess doesn’t seem to be a danger here in fitness-conscious Santa Barbara-in fact the Orfalea Foundation is now funding an initiative to put “Recess First” before lunch with the idea that kids will be able to better concentrate on making healthy food choices after they’ve had time to run around-the practice of taking away recess as punishment is still alive and well.

An editorial in “Young Child” compares depriving children of recess to depriving them of a meal. “Just as hungry children cannot concentrate well, children deprived of breaks cannot concentrate well either. Sometimes the most disruptive children need recess the most.”

Most people wouldn’t dream of denying a child lunch to make more time for math, or withhold breakfast if a child misbehaved, but they seem perfectly satisfied to starve a kid out of recess.

With all the moaning about kids turning into couch potatoes, sedentary obese blobs, or video game-playing zombies, I say let’s make some healthy choices about school punishment strategies.

When Leslie’s not raging about recess, she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit LeslieDinaberg.com.  Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 13, 2009.

Is Shouting the New Spanking?

Posted on by
Reply
Photo by David Castillo Dominici, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by David Castillo Dominici, freedigitalphotos.net

Spanking—like fountain pens, hardback Webster’s Dictionaries, and control top panty hose—is one of those things that is still around, but hardly ever used anymore. According to a recent story in the New York Times, shouting has taken its place as the discipline du jour.

“Many in today’s pregnancy-flaunting, soccer-cheering, organic-snack-proffering generation of parents would never spank their children,” writes Hilary Stout. “We congratulate our toddlers for blowing their nose (‘Good job!’), we friend our teenagers (literally and virtually), we spend hours teaching our elementary-school offspring how to understand their feelings. But, incongruously and with regularity, this is a generation that yells.”

Of course I yell from time to time-usually something like “hurry up,” or “I can’t believe you forgot again”-but it’s really not my go-to behavior, as evidenced by the fact that both my husband and I can bring our son to tears by simply changing the tones of our voices.

When I get frustrated I’m more of a “mean-sarcastic-if-you-could-hear-me-you’d-be-crying-hysterically-commenter-under-my-breather” than a yeller. Of course I feel incredibly guilty about this within minutes. Probably even worse than I would have felt if I’d just yelled.

Apparently, I’m in the minority.

A study published in “The Journal of Marriage and Family,” says 88 percent of the families interviewed admitted shouting, yelling or screaming at their children in the previous year and that percentage jumped to 98 percent in families with seven-year-old children.

Wow.

I decided to do a completely unscientific survey of my own and ask my friends what they thought about this shouting as the new spanking theory.

Not surprisingly, the yellers were in the majority.

“At our house it gets really loud. I am talking really loud,” says V. “Three kids (15, 14 and 10), two dogs, two parents in a 1,600 square foot house then add in the TV and doing dishes etc. My kids often say ‘mom stop yelling’ and I don’t even think I am.”

“I yell, I scream, I swear, and mostly I seem to be talking to myself,” says T. “Sometimes I give myself a sore throat from yelling at my kids, but it seems to have no effect on them whatsoever.”

“Dude, I am a total yeller. AWFUL yeller,” admits S. “I yell myself hoarse sometimes and my entire family just ignores me. Which is as it should be.”

But does yelling really yield any results other than working out your lungs?

Some parents say it does if used strategically.

“Sometimes when my toddler is yelling in the car for no reason-and she knows when she’s doing it to push my buttons-I yell back,” says G. “Not at her, I just yell out one loud ‘Ahh!’ and it immediately stops her. She doesn’t cry, she doesn’t sulk, she’s not emotionally scarred, she just looks at me like I’m a little crazy for a second then behaves.”

“Whatever works,” agrees L. “Two of my kids don’t need yelling at. They listen and are sensitive and know the right thing to do. The third is not sensitive and is very, very stubborn with wanting to do want he wants. I’m a different parent with him. I use yelling as a last resort to snap him out of his relentless behavior.”

Never one to mince words, M, the mother of four exceptionally well-behaved children, says, “People who don’t yell or spank are usually the ones with the biggest brats!!!!” This comment touched a few nerves.

“Yelling, like anything, can be abused. I teach two and three year olds and NEVER have to yell at them to get them to listen. I am consistent and loving and firm in my day. Children do not need to be yelled at nor do adults. Yelling solves nothing,” says J.

“I have never yelled at my son and he is nowhere near a brat. I agree with J, being consistent, loving and firm has worked for me. I just think you need to act like you want your children to act,” says L. “If you’re a yeller, I guarantee your child will become a yeller. We have to be an example to our children.”

No kidding.

All of this research and I’m still not sure how to feel about yelling, other than guilty. My extremely scientific conclusion: depending on who you want to listen to, you’re either setting a terrible example for your children by yelling at them or dooming them to a lifetime of brattyness if you don’t yell at them.

I guess the best news is that however you feel about yelling at your kids, and whatever you actually do behind closed doors, you’re definitely not alone.

When Leslie’s not yelling under her breath at her son, she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 6, 2009.