Life Comes at You Fast

It's a catchy slogan for an insurance company, and a line from a movie. It also happens to be the truth.

The journey that started with a case of vertigo has ending with a most unexpected result - a clinical diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. As there is no history of neurological disease in my family, at least that I am aware of, this was more than a bit of a shock. A diagnosis of breast cancer I would have expected. This, well, not exactly.

The journey from August to October was difficult - emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Physically there were a lot of annoying tests, some of which resulted in some pretty severe residual pain (a week-long migraine on steroids - I recommend avoiding it). Emotionally it was a roller coaster. There was the initial shock that this was even a possibility. Just when I thought I had accepted that, there was another curve/adjustment/curve cycle that left me wrung out and exhausted. I mean we are talking about the nervous system here. The thought that it was slowly unraveling was more than a little unnerving. And spiritually, well, I blogged about that in the past (Mother Teresa and I) so enough said.

This diagnosis has caused me to redefine who I am on all those levels as well. Physically, my definition of "healthy" has changed. Before, I would have called "healthy" as being disease-free. But now "healthy" includes how long it's been since my last flare-up and the amount of damage in my nervous system. Emotionally, I've had to adjust to the changes. No longer am I just mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, and working professional. I'm also a person with what is, at least right now, a life-long disease condition - something that must be managed every day. Spiritually, I've wondered "why me?" and what I'm supposed to do now. I believe it's Ecclesiastes that says "I can do all things through He who strengthens me"; I believe there is purpose to everything and God will not put a mountain in front of me that I can't climb. But where the purpose is here I just don't know.

Of course the first thing I thought when the neurologist raised this as a possibility was, "What about my kids?" I mean, my kids are young. There are tons of things I want to do with them that are undone - everything from vacations, to dance recitals and soccer games, to graduations and marriages. All I could think of were visions of people like Annette Funicello, wheelchair bound and unable to really do anything. It was rather terrifying. I mean, this is my nervous system, the thing that runs everything else. If the brain don't work, it doesn't really matter how healthy the rest of you is - no electrical impulses and it's all for naught. And speaking of my kids, what does this mean for them? The medical community believes MS has a genetic component, so does that make it hereditary? If so, what are their chances of finding themselves in a neurologist's office some day?

I spent quite a few days reeling, trying to make sense of all this. In the end, there are a few things I can't do physically - get enough rest, eat better, exercise, and, if needed, there are medications. I found out that I didn't have to do this alone emotionally - I have plenty of people around me to listen and help. And spiritually, well, I'm still working on that one. But I'm getting there.

An estimated 1 in 100 people have MS. In a country with approximately 300,000,000 people, that's, well, a lot. The good news is that medical science has come a long way in 20 years. MS isn't what it was - new medications and new treatments mean less interference with daily life and that people with MS have the same life expectancy as "normal" people. I've been fortunate in that I've really never noticed the effects of these flare-ups. The neurologist doesn't believe that the vertigo is related, and all the myriad of tests fail to provide a conclusive diagnosis. I have what is called a "clinical diagnosis" based on a single spot on my cervical spine and a physical examination. I've opted out of medication for the time being, although I will see an MS specialist in January for a second opinion. I get to go about my life as I always have, always watchful for the next "thing" of course. Considering the alternatives - either a more serious disease or injecting myself every day - it's a pretty good situation.

A friend of mine at work who has dealt with health issues his whole life told me how he has dealt with it: I'm luckier than the person they diagnosed yesterday. And ultimately he's right. There are millions of dollars in medical research that yield new advances every day. Who knows what they'll find tomorrow, or next week, or next year. People with MS used to be sentenced to wheelchairs; now they are living ordinary lives. Some day science may find a cure. Anything is possible.

Things like this also have a funny way of snapping things into perspective. You are that much closer to separating the trivial from the important. I've always felt that not living is worse that dying. I started to understand that when my mother died from breast cancer at 54. Now I'm one step closer to understanding that Kenny Chesney is right:

Don't blink, cause just like that
You're six years old and you take a nap,
Then you wake up and you're 25
And your high school sweetheart becomes your wife.
Don't blink, you just might miss
Your babies growing like mine did.
Turning into moms and dads
Next thing you know, your better half
Of 50 years is there in bed,
And you're praying God takes you instead.
Trust me friend, 100 years goes faster than you think.
So don't blink.

Why Driver's Licenses Shouldn't Be in Cracker Jack Boxes

Okay, I know. You can't really get a driver's license out of a Cracker Jack box. But as I watch other drivers, especially during my daily commute, I really have to wonder.

Take Friday. I'm heading northbound out of the city. Two solid lanes of traffic for miles, creeping along at less than 10 miles per hour. Must be an accident. Or a disabled car. This stinks, especially at 5:00 on a Friday. But what are you going to do?

Sure enough, I soon see flashing lights ahead. Must be some accident. We creep closer. Definitely a big accident. There are police, tow trucks, fire, ambulance, the works. All on the southbound side of the highway. Wait, southbound? Yes, that's right. All the excitement is on the opposite side of a divided highway. None of the production should be interfering with northbound traffic. What the heck? So I've been creeping along for the last 30 minutes because of rubberneckers? Ding, ding! The minute traffic moves past the accident scene everything opens up. You would think that people would have better things to do at 5:00 on a Friday. I know I do - it's called going home. Duh.

Or take this genius. Intersection of two roads, both two lanes - one in each direction. Road coming down the hill widens to two turning lands, right and left, and the lane for traffic going up the hill. Morning, and there is a line of cars waiting at the red light waiting to make the left. Mr. "I'm More Important Than You" pulls out into oncoming traffic zips up to the light, and then makes a left turn against the red light! Here's a real rocket scientist for you, boy. I mean, I'm not talking about a couple of back country roads where you might see a car every 45 minutes. The road he turned on to is a major artery into the city and heavily traveled, especially during the rush hours. So what this jag-off did was not only incredibly stupid and incredibly illegal, but incredibly dangerous. But of course he was in a hurry. That makes it all right.

I could go on, but you get the drift. Otherwise rational people get behind the wheel of a car and become absolute maniacs. It's like there's a circuit that runs from the ignition to the driver's seat. When you turn the key, two things happen. First, the car starts. Second, an electrical impulse is sent through the steering column, across the floor panel, and up the seat into your derriere. When this impulse reaches your brain, all ability to think is shut off. Yeah, you know how to push the accelerator and turn the wheel, but such simple thoughts such as "Maybe I shouldn't cut off that Mack truck if I'm driving a Civic," are gone. Poof. Like magic.

Some people I know are in favor of equipping vehicles with rockets, to blow up these bozos. I'm not so harsh. Stupidity should not be an automatic death sentence (unless you are a Darwin Award recipient, of course). I would, however, like a set of laser beams positioned perfectly to blow out tires. Zap! and watch the tires of the car disintegrate and the vehicle come to a screeching halt. And the driver has to pay to replace those tires. Do it enough times and the cost alone should be a deterrent.

Here's another idea. OnStar, the company that makes all that communication and navigation technology found in GM vehicles, recently announced a new service. They can send a signal to the car that turns off the engine and renders the vehicle impossible to start. The intention is that if your car is stolen, you can call OnStar, they can determine if it is being driven, and then stop it until the police arrive. All we have to do is expand this service to allow people to report idiot drivers. Imagine the call:

"OnStar, this is Kelly. How may I help you?"

"Hi, the GMC Canyonero in front of me just made an illegal turn on red and cut me off. Can you shut him down?"

"Of course. Do you have the license number of the Canyonero?"

"Yes, ABC-1234."

"One moment." Pause. "I'm sending the signal now. The Canyonero should be slowing."

"Yes, he's drifting off to the right-hand shoulder. Thanks!"

"No problem. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

"No, thanks. You guys are awesome!"

Just think about it. How liberating for those of us who understand that turning on the ignition should not be connected to turning off the powers of higher reasoning.

Things That Make You Go "Hmm"

Some questions I have asked myself recently, with no real answers. If you think of some, please let me know.

Question 1: Why wash dishes by hand if you have a dishwasher?

I really don't like washing dishes by hand. In fact, in the universe of household chores, washing dishes is right at the top of my "least favorite" list, only slightly behind "scrub the toilet." Washing dishes leaves my hands feeling like sandpaper, no matter what Palmolive claims. The exposure to hot water weakens my nails (yes, every woman has a vanity - what of it?). And dish gloves irritate my skin. So when we moved into our house 9+ years ago, I was thrilled to see a dishwasher, even if it was slightly dated. When that got to the brink of quitting, I convinced The Hubby to buy a newer one. I was a happy girl.

The Hubby, however, does not share my joy. He will actually wash dishes by hand - not just pots and pans, but plates, cups, and silverware - rather than load the dishwasher. He claims its because if have some "arcane method" of loading the dishwasher. There's nothing arcane about it. If you put glasses on the left-hand side of the upper rack, they will get broken. That's because the left side is elevated, and when you go to close the rack with 8-12 ounce glasses in that spot, the glasses will collide with the top of the machine and break. I warned him about this once. He has not loaded the dishwasher since. And, in fact, he rarely empties it. He will actually open the door to remove the single item he needs, and close it on a load of clean dishes. Why?

Question 2: Why do people say "I'm out of clothes" on the day they have no clothes?

Last weekend we traveled out of state to attend a wedding - my dad's in fact. Nice time, long drive. The result was I didn't get to do weekend laundry. I'm thinking, no big deal. The kids have enough clothes to get them through a couple days, so I'll do laundry on Tuesday or Wednesday. Cool. This morning, thinking I'll be really slick since I had a couple minutes, I throw an entire load of kids clothes, including school uniforms, into the wash. This way, they are ready for the dryer when I get home. Time savings for the night. Excellent.

As I go back upstairs I hear The Girl say, "I don't have any shirts." Well, too late; everything is in the wash. Wear your jumper. There is much pouting and huffing as she dons the jumper she insisted I buy, but has since refused to actually wear. Too bad, so sad. The I hear The Boy. "I don't have any pants." Well, it's 60 degrees outside and shorts season is over (not to mention shorts aren't in the uniform code for October). Guess you'll have to wear jeans. "But people will laugh at me!" No, they won't. Put on the jeans. Of course then I had to write a note to his teacher explaining why he wasn't in uniform. And of course this could not have happened tomorrow, Picture Day, when they can wear whatever they please.

News flash. The time to tell me you are out of shirts/pants/skirts/whatever is when you pull the last one out of the drawer, not at 7:10 on the morning you need to wear the shirt/pants/skirt/whatever.

Question 3: Why ask me a question when you don't like my answer?

This is a work thing. I am, as I have mentioned before, a project manager. My job is to put together a schedule of work, monitor that schedule for slippage, alert the appropriate folks when it does slip, and assist in getting things back on track. It is also my job to call people when I think the plans they are developing are not even connected with reality. I am a bull-crap detector, and I call it like I sees it.

So this past week, I'm asked to jam a task into a plan that is going reasonably well, but has a lot of risk. I ask for a task definition. "Performance enhancements." Okay, what are the estimates? "No idea, maybe a week maybe two. Just stick in a task for two weeks." Uh, do we have any requirements? "Make it faster." How much faster? "Faster than it is now." Okay, so you're really asking me to put in a task for an undetermined amount of time that you are giving a half-baked two week estimate for, there are no specific requirements, the task may go longer than two weeks if you think you can get more functionality, and if it really explodes we'll just take it out. "Yes." My bull-crap detector goes off. "But I need to show we're working on it!" Are we really? "Well, maybe." Then why put in a task? "Because I need to show it." What about testing? "We'll do it in system testing." More bull-crap. Dear god.

This went on for twenty minutes, I kid you not. The lead product manager, lead developer, and I, with them saying "Why does it matter?" and me answering "Because I cannot knowingly put together a plan that I believe is a lie just so you can look like you're doing something." And then I get accused of being negative, of not being a team player, and of making things difficult.

Fortunately, my boss is on my side. We, the Project Management Office, are all that stand between bull-crap plans and the Rest of the World. It's a sucky job, but somebody has to do it.

Question 4: Why are video games so addictive?

I am not a big gamer. Don't really like shooting things, or blowing them up. I do, however, like puzzle and "adventure" games. Once upon a time, I played the original Zelda game for Nintendo and really enjoyed it. But I don't really have a lot of time for it, nor do I have the money to invest in serious gaming. So I don't do a lot of it.

However, a friend at work has a Nintendo DS and the latest Zelda game - Phantom Hourglass. He let me use it once at lunch. He is an evil man. I now spend my lunch time bolting my food so I can get maximum game time. Today, I was so engrossed in getting to the next level of the Temple of Flame, I was nearly late for a meeting. My geek cred has skyrocketed in the Development section. My time management has plummeted. My friend says, "Why don't you buy one?" Because I have other things to do with the $165 plus tax buying a DS and the game would set me back. But he's a good guy - he'll let me keep playing his at lunch.

Crack for adults, I tell you. "Just once, everybody is doing it. The first one is free."

He is an evil, evil man.

~~~~~~~~

All these questions presented themselves in the last three days. Not quite as deep as the meaning of life, but if you have any answers, please, share with the class.

How Bad Can it Be?

I would not naturally describe myself as an extreme optimist. That's not to say I'm a pessimist either. I prefer to think of myself as a realist. Things are rarely as good or as bad as folks think. However, I lately have found myself not being as "realistic" as I might want to be.

Last Monday, I underwent a testing procedure known as a lumbar puncture. Just the sound of it is bad - puncture. Despite being warned by the physician who did the procedure and a number of people who have had this done, I figured "How bad can it be?" After a week of head-splitting headaches, culminating in another procedure known as a blood patch - which eliminated most of the pain, but not all - I can answer that question. It can be pretty damn bad. I always knew having needles stuck in my back was a bad idea.

This is not a new facet of my personality however. Seven years ago when I became pregnant with The Girl, I was warned about morning sickness. I read about it, people told me about it, my mother counseled me. "How bad can it be?" I wondered. Hm, there's that phrase again. I threw up 9-10 times a day for the next 4 months, and 1-2 times a day after that. I was hospitalized for dehydration. Slightly less than two years later when I got pregnant with The Boy, I should have been prepared. It couldn't be worse, right? Uh yeah it could - and it was.

I am not sure, however, that this trait is unique to me. I'm beginning to think it afflicts most people. There seems to be something in human nature that prevents us from really recognizing how bad a situation can be. At least, most of us in most situations. Think about it. How many times have you or people around you said, "It can't get any worse, right?" And how many times have you been wrong? I thought so.

I think it's natural protection. If we were truly aware of how bad things could be, we'd be mired in depression, unable to function. But something in us always - or almost always - wants to find the upside in things. Even people who describe themselves as cynics will try and look on the bright side. At least some of the time. Maybe that's why clinical depression truly is a disease. It runs counter to human nature. We weren't built to be depressed.

Of course this doesn't mean we weren't built to be sad. Sadness is part of the human condition. If you aren't ever sad, how can you appreciate being happy? And without looking forward to something better, how do you get through the rough patches?

I suppose that acceptance of this human condition does make me a realist. And that's a good thing. It's not healthy to wallow in negativity, but neither is it good to ignore it completely. Just do me a favor, okay? The next time I say "How bad can it be," just say "Remember that lumbar puncture?" I'll remember, I promise.

Things Parents Say

When you have kids, you automatically sign up to say certain things. It's just a part of parenting. I think once conception happens, Nature trips a part of the genetic code - in both mothers and fathers - that prepares them to utter any number of things that parents have said for centuries.

- Don't run with scissors
- Don't touch the stove
- Don't play with matches
- Don't hit your sister/brother

The list goes on. A lot of basic safety and good conduct stuff. Then there are the things that your parents said to you. You know the stuff you swore you'd never say to your kids.

- Because I said so
- I'm the parent, that's why

And the ever popular, "If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you want to do that too? Don't kid yourselves my friends. If you have kids, one day you will say something that will make you go, "Oh my god, I've become my mother/father." Trust me, it will happen. Just do it and get it over with.

This is all well and good, but it still doesn't fully prepare you. Because you will also find yourself saying things you never in your life thought you would say. Your beloved offspring will do something so arcane and unexpected, you will find yourself thinking, "I can't believe I need to say this!" Some examples below.

"Stop hitting your friend over the head with a hot dog roll."
Yes, this gem came out at The Boy's birthday party. We were at the neighborhood pool and grilling hot dogs and hamburgers. Now, I am always prepared to tell my son not to hit people with sticks or toys. But as I looked up, he was bouncing a hot dog bun off his friend's head. The friend was not helping matters by laughing hysterically. As I uttered my admonishment, I turned to another mother: "Now there's something I never thought I'd say." She was sympathetic. But the truth is, kids do weird things and any object can become a toy - sticks, the water hose, leaves, and yes, even hot dog buns.

"Don't eat all the vegetables."
Most parents cannot imagine ever needing to admonish their kids to not eat vegetables. I mean, isn't that a part of the Childhood Code of Conduct? Thou shalt not willingly eat vegetables (especially green ones)? And yet, things happen. Recently my employer partnered with a local company to offer a "virtual farmers' market" at my office. You order over the Internet and on Friday your goodies are delivered right to your work place. It's absolutely brilliant; fresh grown veggies, fruits, artisan breads, gourmet pastas all with the click of a mouse. So a couple weeks ago I bring home a pound bag of whole green beans. The kids fell to with enthusiasm. Fantastic. Except three nights later, they came home from school, went directly to the fridge, pulled out the bag and started eating. "Hey, don't eat all the vegetables! We won't have anything for dinner!" The Hubby and I looked at each other. "Did you ever think you'd have to say that?" "Nope."

"Please, play on the computer."
In an age where kids are obese at earlier and earlier ages, this is a no brainer. Hours in front of the TV or a computer have robbed kids of the need - or indeed the desire - to play outside. Right? Um, maybe. My two spend a fair amount of time outside simply because we don't allow them in the house on nice days, especially as "nice days" are numbered in Pittsburgh in the fall. However, The Boy has to wear a patch over one eye for 30 minutes a day. The eye doctor wants him to wear it when he has to do something that requires a lot of visual stimulation. Needless to say, The Boy detests wearing a patch and tries to avoid it all costs. "You have to wear your eye patch." "No, I don't want to." "If you put it on, I'll let you play on the computer for an extra 30 minutes." "No, I don't want to." Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I was begging my kid to play on the computer, not to get off it. Amazing.

These are only a few examples. I'm sure there are others. I'm sure I'll say more. I'm sure that if I opened up submissions to parents across the globe, I'd get some real humdingers. And if I collected them all up in book form, it would probably be a New York Times #1 Best Seller. It's just a part of parenting.

Erma Bombeck would be proud.

Mother Teresa and I

The death of Mother Teresa in 1997 touched a lot of people across the globe. The wrinkled old nun who worked in the slums of Calcutta inspired a lot of people. She seemed to exude the very essence of spirituality, peace, and connectedness to God. Winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, she taught by gentle example how people should treat each other. People across the globe, Catholic and non-Catholic, were inspired by her example, even as she remained humble about her work. It was unsurprising, therefore, how fast the Roman Catholic Church moved to beatify her and even less surprising at how many people are working for her canonization.

All of this made the revelation of her personal letters, many of which articulated a profound "spiritual darkness" and feeling disconnected from God very surprising to a lot of people. How could Mother Teresa, of all people, feel that God was ignoring her? If anybody in the last century had lived life in the path of Christ, it was Mother Teresa. If Mother Teresa felt this way, what hope is there for the rest of us?

I've never particularly felt as though Mother Teresa and I had much in common, apart from being Catholic that is. I don't work with the poor and I've never taken a vow of poverty. I certainly don't have her calm, gentle demeanor, or seemingly infinite patience. I don't think you could examine the globe and find two women more different.

But lately, I feel very connected to Mother Teresa. For most of my adult life, I would describe myself as being pretty spiritual. I found a great connectedness to my faith and God when I was in college with the Franciscan order. My faith got me through the death of my mother, the deaths of my grandparents, and a 15-month separation from The Hubby. Whenever I've alone or afraid, it's been a rock I can lean on.

Lately, the rock isn't so strong. In fact, doesn't seem to be there at all. I feel sort of lost and disconnected from the very thing I've relied on to keep me grounded. And it's not fun. It's also very disturbing. I feel like a piece of driftwood floating down whitewater, swirling around and bumping off the rocks. A boat with no anchor. Yes, that's a few mixed metaphors. Cut me a break.

Frankly, I'm kind of angry about it. I rarely ask for anything for myself. I've prayed for my family, friends, friends of friends, and people I've never met. I volunteer at my kids' school, with The Girl's Scout troop, and our parish festival. I've participated in food drives and book drives, and every other kind of drive.

None of this is meant to say "Look at me" or toot my own horn. Lots of other people do exactly the same things, and even more. The point is it's not as though I go through life only concerned about myself. I don't even expect payback. I do all this stuff because I really want to do it. It makes me feel good, and it many cases it's even fun.

I would think, however, that when I do ask for something I deserve at least a response. Six weeks after being diagnosed with vertigo (Stop the World), I'm still dizzy. Not so much, now I can actually drive, but walking a straight line can still be a challenge. For the past week, I've had bouts of double vision (talk about something that is very disorienting). All I want is to go back to being able to play soccer with my kids and read them a story at bed time. That's it. I don't want to be able to run a marathon, or some other stupid thing. I just want some parts of my life that I really enjoyed to come back.

I've prayed pretty consistently over the past six weeks - to God, to Christ, to every saint I can think of, even to my own mother. As I'm stuck in this rut of dizziness and double images, I can only say I don't appear to be getting a response. Yeah, I know. The response you want isn't always the one you get. But I don't even get the sense that anybody is listening. As I told someone earlier today, "God appears to be too busy for me."

I've got well-intentioned friends, some religious and some not, who'd say I am overreacting. My own brother has referred to "my imaginary friend." I suppose to them this may seem like a lot of fuss over nothing, but for me it's quite real. And I'm hurt, and angry, and spiritually alone. It sucks.

Traditional wisdom in these matters says I have to stop fighting things and put it in God's hands. I've tried that - at least I think I have. What else does "God please help me" mean? I'm quite familiar with the concept that God doesn't give us what we can't handle, but is He trying to break me here? Because if so, I'm feeling pretty broken. Feeling whole would be really good right now.

Mother Teresa felt the same way, I guess. She somehow managed to keep going. Maybe she was stronger than I am. I don't know. I do know I could use a bone here, something small just to let me know I'm not all alone. Let's say we start small - I'll stay dizzy if I could just see straight.

Yeah, I know. God's not a deal maker. Maybe I just need to read copies of those letters. You know coin a new phrase - What Would Mother Teresa Do?

What's Wrong With Wholesome?

If you are a parent, especially of a girl between the ages of say 6 and 16, and your child watches the Disney Channel, you are probably aware of the juggernaut known as High School Musical. The first movie debuted in 2005 (I think) and surprised even Disney execs with its popularity. The Disney Channel Original Movie (DCOM) spawned a mega-hit soundtrack, clothes, toys, various accessories and, most recently, a sequel - High School Musical 2. The HSM2 debut was anticipated by eager fans with at least as much enthusiasm as any Hollywood blockbuster, including Pirates of the Caribbean and Lord of the Rings. The Girl attended a premiere party at the house of one of her friends, and even The Boy wanted to stay up an watch. Lots of sports pretty much guarantees boys will be interested too, I guess. Young stars Zac Efron, Vanessa Hudgens, Corbin Bleu, and Ashley Tisdale (and others) catapulted from relative obscurity to high popularity with the teeny-bopper crowd.

The story lines of these movies are not very deep - boy meets girl (or in the case of HSM2, boy has girl), boy loses girl, boy gets girl. And in the true spirit of Disney, they are a little campy. I mean really, no high school has that many good-looking kids. Even the one overweight girl is pretty. But all that aside, there are some good messages about friendship, being true to yourself even when that's not easy, and the pressure to conform (The first HSM has a rather catchy tune called "Stick to the Status Quo" that is all about not stepping outside of your social circle; if you're a brain, don't say you like hip-hop, for example.), all good themes. And the music is catchy.

The movies are also something of a rarity in entertainment - pure "G" rated fare. Just about every one of today's animated movies, from Pixar to Shrek, contains something that kids don't really get, but adults do. Not HSM. When director Kenny Ortega wanted to put in a line that "parents would get, even if kids didn't" he was told "this is a movie for kids, not adults." The line did not go in. The result is two movies completely devoid of drugs, alcohol, sex (not even much kissing), swearing, law breaking, cigarettes, suggestive dance moves, questionable song lyrics, baggy pants or bare midriffs. HSM2, which takes place at a country club with pool, shows all the girls wearing either one-piece suits or tankinis, with nary a belly button or butt cheek in sight. To those without kids this seems ludicrous, but let me tell you that as a parent of two young kids it's a refreshing thing. Something I can let my kids watch unsupervised and know they aren't seeing anything I wouldn't want them to see.

So this is good, right? Newspapers and magazines are cheering this event, right? Maybe, maybe not.

A few weeks ago, I happened upon a copy of Newsweek that had a brief write-up about HSM2. The article left me feeling a bit perplexed. It started off positively enough, citing many of the things I mentioned above, while simultaneously making snide comments about Lindsey Lohan, the Disney child star turned party girl. But I got the impression that the article was somehow both disbelieving and disappointed at the lack of "dirt" on the HSM stars. Hudgens' Disney-approved biography was cited as listing "walking in the rain and puddle jumping" as one of her favorite activities in a scoffing manner that left me thinking the author didn't believe it could be true. I would suggest that the author visit the campus of my college alma mater when the rugby fields flood after a severe rain storm. He'd find about 50 undergrads, and more than a handful of grad students, having the time of their lives treating the fields as a gigantic Slip-n-Slide. It snidely stated that both Efron and Bleu said they never got a detention in school, as if such things don't happen. Hey, I never got a detention either. By the end of the article, I couldn't decide if Newsweek thought the apparently wholesome nature of the HSM cast was refreshing, disappointing, or fake.

I pondered this for a while. What is the lament of entertainment industry analysts everywhere? A lack of good, quality entertainment for children, things that don't give parents nightmares. And whether you be a Disney fan or not, here is exactly what these pundits are crying for. So why the disappointment?

The answer, I think, lies in the peculiarity of the American culture. At heart, American culture is puritanical. Yes, those pesky Puritans haunt us still. The so-called "Moral Majority" is practically raised on Calvin. Think of the Puritans and the stereotype: rigidly moral, against sex, against fun, disapproving of any who fail to conform. But underneath, there is the pull to things decided un-Puritan: sex, money, gossip, scandal.

Fast-forward 300 years and not much has changed. Oh, we deplore the antics of Lohan, Paris Hilton, Russell Crowe, Ray Lewis, and every other spoiled celebrity out there. "Oh, what a poor example for the children," we cry. "American society is degrading, morals are missing, oh we're surely headed to hell in a hand basket," we lament. (Note that I'm speaking of American culture as a general thing here, not about specific individuals. Ask any European, Americans are much more prudish about sex and drugs than those cosmopolitan Continentals.)

Yet what is the staple of the American check-out counter in supermarkets, convenience stores, and drug stores everywhere? If you don't know, you are a) completely non-observant, b) living under a rock, or c) shopping from the Internet. The answer, of course, is the tabloids. Headlines in bold, screaming print blast the latest gossip about all the Hollywood antics. Brangelina is over, no they aren't; Lohan arrested just days after completing rehab; Nicky Hilton pregnant and 87 pounds; all the starlets who weigh less than my 7-year old; Whitney Houston on another coke binge; Tom-Kat and all the drama surrounding them. It's all there in letters so big even the most myopic of shoppers can't miss it.

And believe you me, it sells. Oh boy does it sell. I know this because if it didn't sell, these papers wouldn't exist. Oh, some of them are higher class than The Enquirer or The Globe. It's hard to put the shiny cover of People in the same category as a trashy newsprint. But make no mistake -People is just a tabloid in pretty clothes. The same goes for In Style and all the rest of those rags. They make their money reporting on the foibles, foul-ups, and decadent lifestyles that are fodder for celebrity gossip. And the American public eats it up.

Unfortunately, the young stars of HSM didn't stay unknown or exempt for long. People recently featured real-life couple Efron and Hudgens on its cover, talking about how they started dating on the set. In Style showed Efron, flanked by Hudgens and Tisdale, with the headline "Behind the set!" and a sub-heading talking about the sniping and fighting "especially over Zac!" And while I have not seen it, Rolling Stone reportedly featured Efron on the cover with a half-buttoned shirt and is left hand up the front.

All in all, it's kind of sad. Yeah, kids grow up and the innocence is lost, but why do we treat this as inevitable? Why is it so difficult to believe in a group of kids who just might be what they seem to be - good-natured, sensible kids who just like making movies, music, and having fun? Why must we drag them on to the tabloid covers?

I don't have the answer. I'm not sure anyone does. But I do believe this: When we figure out the answer, and actually act upon it, maybe some of the "oh, society today has no morals" outcry will lessen.

Or maybe not. Just ask Socrates.