Attitude is Everything

I am big on quotes, and I just read one of the best quotes ever:  “The problem is not the problem.  The problem is your attitude about the problem.”  Truer words could not be spoken.  And to whom do we owe this awesome insight?  Why Captain Jack Sparrow of course.  He’s definitely more than a drunken, dreadlocked, adorable, Disney pirate!

So with this way cool quote in mind, I am suggesting some positive attitude development strategies that will serve you and your family well.

PUT DOWN YOUR ELECTRONICS!  I get it.  In between your long bouts with facebook and Candy Crush, you are actually checking your work emails.  Stop!  Not all the time, but sometimes.  Make it a point to NOT be the role model for being on a device.  They suck you in, and they suck valuable time away from talking face to face with your kids, or playing cards with them, or writing them a letter you can slip into their book bags.  Childhood goes fast.  Really fast.  Don’t let your days slip away into cyberspace.  There will be plenty of time to email your kids when they move away.  Sniff, sniff.

BUILD SELF CONFIDENCE!  Who doesn’t need more self-confidence?  I can only think of one person and he is only good at firing people on reality TV.  Normal people can always use an ego boost, so pass them out.  Start with you family.  Kids of every age are continually being pushed into uncharted territory.  Your encouragement and praise goes a long way with your kids.  Spend some one on one time and talk about how your child really feels.  Assure him:  It’s ok to be apprehensive.  I was, too.  You’re an awesome writer.  You have great ideas.  You are such a kind person.  I am so proud of you

And while you’re at it, build up yourself.  I really made her feel good.  I really helped ease her trepidations.  I am a good parent.

BE THE ROLE MODEL YOU WANT TO BE!  Start some new positive family traditions.  For myself, I am working on family exercise time.  I think it is important that everyone break a sweat, and not because their character has only one life left.  Move!  And don’t just do anything.  You can get hurt exercising incorrectly (especially you, you’re old.) Learn some proper exercises and do them as a family.  You’ll be doing something together that benefits everyone.  And don’t just do it, explain it.  Knowledge is power, and power creates productivity and self-confidence.

These are just a few of the ways you can help yourself and your family going forward.  Make your own list, and even if it’s just baby steps, go for it.  Attitude is everything.  Pass it on.

Google It!!!

“Look it up!”  I must have heard that a million times growing up.  Seriously, my parents refused to explain anything to me.  They made me go into my room, find the correct volume of the 20 book encyclopedia collection, or the 5,000 lb dictionary, and search for answers.  I’d like to think they were mixing cardio into my homework, but those were the days when we actually had gym every day, WITH an actual gym teacher.

My kids will never know the heft of a disintegrating Merriam Webster.  “Look it up,” has basically been replaced by “Google it,” and although Googling it may be easy, life post internet has its pros and cons.

1.      Pro:  Finding information is easy.

A sentence in a search engine can answer almost any question.  Portable knowledge at your fingertips.  What could be better?  You can find answers, examples, and video tutorials on your phone on the bus.  Who was Charlemagne?  What is the difference between Mandarin and Cantonese chicken?  What were the names of the Wonder Twins?  Data is accessible almost everywhere.  How great is that feeling when you find a coupon for the item you are buying while standing in the checkout line with it?

Con:  Finding information is easy.

Our kids are growing up in a world of instant gratification.  Not only do they lack the patience to thumb through a thesaurus, they can’t even wait 30 seconds for a page to load.  We are growing an impatient society, and often times, the better choice is worth the wait.  Giving up after 30 seconds does not foster a problem solving attitude and the skills that go with it:  Critical thinking, perseverance, creativity, etc.  If Samuel Morse lacked these problem solving skills, we may still be waiting at our outposts for the pony express.  And just think if Steve Jobs lacked critical thinking, creativity, and perseverance!!!

2.      2.  Pro:  Meeting people is easier.

The web connects you to people all over the world.  Chat groups exist for just about everything.  You can commiserate with others about your acne or your parents’ divorce.  You can get helpful advice and feel less isolated.  When I was a new mom for the first time, I didn’t know anyone.  I had recently moved, and the friends I did have either didn’t have kids or didn’t have time.  I found a local moms’ group online and it just might have saved my sanity.  We chatted about new baby stuff, and we had playdates and moms’ nights.  Eleven years later, I still have friends from this group, including some of my closest friends, and our kids are now tween BFFSB (best friends forever since birth!)

Con:  Meeting people is harder.

It used to be that people met in college.  The bookstore line, classes, the laundry room.  Now students are talking to friends they already have, and the real world is just background noise.  There could two kids from the same dorm walking right next to each other will never stop and chat an d build a friendship because one of them is face timing some kid from high school.  Kids are not meeting each other as young adults, nor are they learning the social skills they need in adult life.  Eventually there will be a time to network, and face to face job interviews, and young people won’t be prepared.  Everyone can’t be Lisbeth Salander.  You have to look people in the eye, have a firm handshake, and hold real conversations..

3.   Pro:  Texting.

Texting is the communication of choice these days.  It’s easy. It’s quick.  “I’ll b there at 5.”  “ELA notes attach.”  It’s a convenient way to check in or give a progress report, and it may or may not entail an entire conversation.  “I am back safe” is one of the best texts a parent can get.  Plus auto correct makes for some pretty hilarious interactions.

Con:  Texting.

Texting is often misconstrued and leads to unnecessary altercations.  There is no body language with a text, and an emoji doesn’t quite project a facial expression (though it can get the general temperament across <3.)  For me, the worst part about texting is that the actual art of writing disappears.  No details.  No syntax.  No beauty created with language.  All the great words we have in our language with such subtle differences we need a thesaurus can be replaced by text slang, or a blob man winking.  Semantics is such a wonderful puzzle from which we can form our exact thoughts, including emphasis and tone, and it’s all lost with text when even the simple “be” becomes “b.”  Not only that, but the physical form of writing disappears with it.  Remember all those notes you got in class?  I saved mine in shoeboxes for a while.  Girls had so many flourishes.  Smiley faces dotted the lowercase “I’s and j’s.”  Some kids worked hard at having physically beautiful handwriting, and it was impressive!  Texting has no place for eye catching rhetoric, and there are no conversation traces left behind to indicate any relationships, be them romantic or otherwise.  Nothing to lead us fondly down memory lane.  Our history of communication vanishes, oftentimes with the pictures that accompany it.

Like all things, life after the online universe has its pros and cons.  Of course the internet is great.  So much content that is so accessible.  You can learn more information, faster, and study the world, its history, politics, and atmosphere from a comfy spot on your couch. However, I do think that it’s a good idea to teach your kids the retro way to communicate.  Like you should still learn to add despite the calculator, and you should know how to tie a shoe even after Velcro.  Kids should look things up in a dictionary and thesaurus.  Learn how to read a map and plan a route.  Maybe even (gasp!) hand write a letter in the correct format.  God forbid one day their hard drives will crash!

100,000 Miles

My dad died when my firstborn was 11 months old.  It was pretty sudden, and as you can imagine, pretty horrendous.  My dad was that person in my life who truly understood me.  He always knew where I was coming from, and I always understood him.  When he died, it was the first time in my entire life that I had no one who completely understood me.  I mean I had my mom, my siblings, my friends, and my husband, but even he doesn’t have the kind of intrinsic bond I had with my dad.  My dad was my person, and when he was gone, I was lost.  I didn’t know how I could be me without him, and I certainly didn’t know how I could be a parent without the parent who really understood me and could teach me in ways I totally understood.  And how could my child/children never really know how awesome their grandfather was?  But I had no choice.  That’s when I thought of something my cousin Peter did that always stuck with me.

Peter’s dad and my dad were brothers.  Peter’s dad, my Uncle Frank, had died years before.  It was leukemia, and it was one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my life.  Uncle Frank died long before Peter had any children.  Now, Peter has 3 amazing, friendly, smart, beautiful kids.  I remember once when my family got together with Peter’s.  His kids were sitting around the table telling stories about their “Grandpa Frank.”  They had never met him, but Peter’s kids knew all the great stories and funny quirks and even what their Grandpa Frank would do in a given situation, and they were spot on!  I was dumbstruck.  Peter had told his kids everything about his dad.  From the silly stuff to the important lessons, Peter had kept his dad alive in the lives of his kids.  They may not have met him, but they HAD a Grandpa Frank, and they knew him, and they loved him.  Peter has always been a really cool, fun, caring person, and he is an excellent parent.  I never forgot that day, and now it was my turn.

Since my daughter had known my dad for almost a year, I had pictures of them together.  I made some 8x10s, framed them, and hung them in her room.  We would look at the pictures together, and I would tell her about my dad, “Grandpa Jack.”  When my son came along 3 years later, I showed him pictures of my dad, and introduced him to Grandpa Jack.

As my kids got older, there was more about Grandpa Jack that they learned:  like how he loved walking by Cinnabon in the mall, French burnt peanuts, and the Rolling Stones.  How Grandpa Jack loved lilacs and cardinals, and HATED rye bread with caraway seeds.

Eventually, when my kids could understand, I told them stories:  Like the time the cat puked in his shoe, and when he picked up 10 kids from the bus stop, piled us into his 1971 Toyota Corolla and drove us to school doing donuts in the parking lot (for which he was severely reprimanded but I’m glad he did it!)

The thing about my dad is that he was one of those really likeable guys.  He was funny, insightful, and could make anything and anyone seem important.  He was very honest, sarcastic, and respect and morality were very important to him.  So, if my kids were really going to know their Grandpa Jack, I had to tell the kids about what my dad would say or do in situations, and oftentimes, do them myself.  Of course this is not difficult in most cases.  My dad raised me after all.  He taught me about respect, and morals, and honesty.  He taught me to pay attention to the little things, wonder, and explore.  And when I share these traits with my children, we include my dad, and speculate on what he would think or say.

So the other day, I noticed that my odometer was at 99,989 miles.  Almost 100,000 miles!  I remembered when that 1971 Toyota hit 100,000 miles.  That was a huge event.  Back in the ancient days before Instagram, cars rarely lasted long enough to acquire such mileage.  In fact, I remember the little dials that clicked forward the numbers of the odometer, which didn’t even have a spot for 100,000, and after 99,999, the odometer just went back to zero.  My dad was so excited, it was a family event.  We all piled into the well-worn Corolla, my dad drove as we hovered over him watching the odometer (I don’t think seat belts were invented yet,) and it was like the ball dropping in Times Square when the numbers slowly clicked all the way back to 00,000.

So here I was, almost at the 100,000 mark in digital miles.  I started ramping up the kids.  “Look!  We have almost 100,000 miles on this car!  Do you see these numbers?  That is called the ‘odometer’ and it counts all the miles this car has driven and when it gets to 99,999, all the numbers will turn to zero and there will be a 1 right in front! 100,000 miles!  That’s a lot!  We should all watch it when it happens!”  Of course I told the Toyota story, and actually, the kids were kind of excited.  Every few minutes my 11 year old would ask what number we were on, and we estimated that the next day we would hit 100,000.  We reached our driveway at 99,997.

The next day was Saturday, which was awesome because now the entire family could take part in the odometer party.  The problem of course was that it was Saturday.  The 7 year old was up and dressed by 8am eating breakfast with my husband by 9.  I had two cups of coffee and was putting on gym clothes by 10, and no one had seen the 11 year old at all by 10:30, which means she was under her covers with headphones on watching YouTube videos on her Kindle.  “C’mon everyone!” I proclaimed, “Let’s go watch the odometer hit 100,000 miles!”  My husband was all for it, the 11 year old agreed to go if she could bring her Kindle and stay in her pajamas, and the 7 year old threw himself on the floor proclaiming the adventure “boring and stupid!”  After much negotiation, threats, and yelling, we all got in the car with me excitedly behind the wheel.  This was so great.  I was re-experiencing a fun time I had as a kid with my kids, and I was genuinely psyched! 

While still at 999,997, the 11 year old was screaming that the 7 year old hit her.  The 7 year old then kicked the seat protesting his innocence.  By 99,998 everyone “had” to see a picture on Instagram.  At 99,999, it was a bad time to be a pedestrian in the street in our path.  I turned onto a side street and let the kids take off their seat belts (gasp!) so they could watch.  I had to pull over to adjust my arguing kids who were jostling for position, and as we slowly drove down a small street in a housing project, it happened:  99,999 became 100,000!  We all cheered and pulled over again to take pictures for Instagram, and my heart was bursting for my family adventure, and for my dad.

On the drive back, I started talking about all the trips that made up our 100,000 miles:  The preschool I drove back and forth to for 4 years, the elementary school, dance recitals, concerts, Boston, Florida.  The happy trips to the waterpark and the Liberty Bell.  The sad trips to the vet when we came back with an empty pet carrier.  I asked everyone what he and she thought were our most memorable trips.  My husband said bringing our son home from the hospital.  I said evacuating from Hurricane Sandy.  After “This is stupid,” and “Nothing,” my son said getting his green belt in karate, and my daughter didn’t hear the question since she was listening to Pandora in headphones.

I have to say, so far this is one of my favorite family memories.  We did a Grandpa Jack thing.  We got together as a family and made an event.  It’s the stories and feelings that keep my dad alive for my children.  They are for me to pass on.  I felt my dad right beside me as I made one of his adventures my own, and I know if he were here, Grandpa Jack would have videoed the whole thing and posted it on Instagram.

Oh the Roads You May Travel

If you know me at all or have been following my blogs, you know there is one very major theme in my life:  Driving in Brooklyn SUCKS!  I mean it doesn't kinda suck.  It doesn't usually suck.  IT ALWAYS FUCKING SUCKS.

And it's not about no turn signals or cutting people off.  I'm talking about major roads that look like scenes from the Walking Dead with pedestrians slowly wandering everywhere except in the crosswalks.  I'm talking about cars WITHOUT drunk drivers pinballing from one side of their lanes to the other for miles, and cars coming around behind yours to turn left in front of you while you wait for a pedestrian to get his turtle ass across the street.

Just yesterday, on my way to pick up my 6 year old from school, a city bus pulled out right in front of me (like slam on my brakes in front of me,) a car service (it's like a private cab company that has worse drivers because I think the standards are that you are breathing and have a driver's license from some country anywhere in the world) stopped short right in front of me, so after I eeked around him, he proceeded to race in front of me to the red light (30 yards away.)  Then, as the car service was stopped by construction, a giant white truck, one of those trucks with 8 foot wheels and a naked lady sticker on the back windshield, U-turned into my lane from the other side, over a 5 inch median strip of shrubs, only to tailgate the poor little Honda in front of me.  I knew the giant truck was from Brooklyn because he slowed to the posted speed limit while driving where the speed camera used to be, before he tailed the Honda onto the Belt Parkway like a porn star giving it his all right before the cum shot.  Ha ha.  They moved the speed camera!  But at least the truck slowed down for 40 seconds.

In any case, this is not an abnormal day driving in Brooklyn.  The fact that 5,000 pedestrians a day don't get taken out amazes me.  Maybe they do.  There is an ambulance screaming down any given street about 5x per day, minimum.  And in almost 12 years of living in Brooklyn, I don't think I have seen more than one, maybe two cars get pulled over for a traffic violation, unless you are countimg me, who has already been pulled over 4 times.  Once:  Insurance lapse. Dismissed.  Twice:  Talking on cell phone.  Cool colorful cellphone light definitely a bad idea.  Third time:  Didn't make a complete stop at a stop sign.  Are you kidding me?  I am the only one who even stops at this stop sign!  Warning.  And number 4.... well that was just recently, so let me tell you about it.

Let me preface this with the warning that if you are not familiar with Brooklyn this may be confusing.  You won't know the streets or routes, but I will try to explain them the best I can.  Don't give up, though.  You will definitely get the police situation.

So, I had two things on my agenda.  I had to go to Walgreens to pick up a prescription, and then make it to a Dr. appt at 12:45.  These places are about 2 miles from each other, but if you have ever used a GPS in Brooklyn, you know that it takes about 45 minutes to go 5 miles, and the additional parking search could take up to an hour plus.  I left at 11am.  Plenty of time.

So I went to Walgreens, and after a minor debate about my birthday not existing in the computer for my refill (HOW could she think my birthday was 4-20-18?  Just how?  I was even wearing eyeliner!) I was on my way to the Dr.  Now when I drive around Brooklyn, I actually put some thought into it.  Like trucks can't drive on Parkways (good.) The busier streets have tons of service trucks double parked (bad.) And not all busy intersections have turn arrows so it's better to get yourself on the desired street before those intersections and generally making a right turn will put the least oblivious sloth-like pedestrians in your way.

So my two mile journey included the possibilities of a Parkway (Ocean), A super busy Avenue that is always a nightmare (Coney Island), a few semi busy streets (Avenue U and Stillwell), and one street always full of double parked service trucks but doable (Kingshighway.)  So I chose the two semi busy streets (Stillwell left to Ave U,) a left onto the Parkway (Ocean Pkway where a school bus in front of me cut off all the cars crossing from the oncoming lane,) to the double parked service truck street (right onto Kingshighway, where I almost got hit by a red car backing up that I thought was going to make a U turn, but actually was double parking in front of me, then a car service stopped short in front of me to turn into a diner, and I had to go around a double parked Brink's type truck to cross the hell Avenue (Coney Island Ave) and arrive at my destination.  I know it's crazy and confusing, but I like to have a plan driving around Brooklyn, because as my 6 year old will tell me when I yell at some idiot driver, "What do you expect.  We're in Brooklyn, and driving in Brooklyn sucks."

Now if you are totally confused by my route, stay with me.  Here is the good part.  So I cross the hell Avenue and am 1 block from the doctor's office when I see flashing lights and hear a siren behind me.  The police car wasn't trying to pass me, so I knew he wanted me.  As a looked for a spot to pull over on this busy street, I was thinking, "What did I do?  My license plates are not expired.  I didn't go through a red light.  My insurance is up to date. WTF?)  The police told me to stop but I was not about to block the street, so I pulled into the first bus stop I saw.  Seriously, the cops don't care if they block traffic, but I do. Not only is it rude, but I'm not getting sideswiped by some pissed off moron.

So, the cop comes to the car and asks me, "Did you see the woman in the gray shirt in the crosswalk?  You went right in front of her but the lady behind you let her go.  You were interfering with a pedestrian.  Can I see your driver's license?"  What?  I don't remember a pedestrian?  Was there one?  I'm usually pretty good about that since they are everywhere and easy to hit. "No officer,"  I replied, "I am really good about that and I apologize if I cut in front of a woman."
"Well," said the officer, "When you turned onto Kingshighway there was a lady in the crosswalk."
I handed over my ID and started thinking.  I had turned onto Kingshighway 11 blocks ago.  Had he been following me the whole time?  If so, why didn't he pull over the jackass in the red car?  The cop came back to my car with a ticket.  I asked him, "So have you been following me from Ocean Parkway?  Because that is where I turned onto Kingshighway."
"No you didn't, " he said, "You turned from Coney Island Avenue."
"No," I replied, "I have never been on Coney Island Avenue today.  I avoid it like the plague."
"You turned from Coney Island Avenue."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes you did. I saw you."
"That wasn't me.  There are a thousand silver SUVs and I was never on Coney Island Avenue."
Then I repeated my route to him.  Starting at Walgreens, with every turn, every detail on the way.  From the school bus to the red car to the Brink's truck.  Everything.
"You didn't go that way,"  He said.

Now if there is one thing that really pisses me off, it's being accused of something I didn't do.  What immediately came to mind was when I was in the hospital after I had my son.  A nurse came in to check on my c-section stitches.  After looking at my stomach she told me, "You didn't have a c-section."  WHAT?  I was in the operating room two hours ago being cut open by my OB who took a baby out of my uterus!  I was there!  I have witnesses!  Seriously!  How can someone tell you that you didn't have a c-section?  Not a good argument to have, especially with a post pardum woman.  "Are you kidding me!"  I told her, "Of course I had a c-section!  I was there in the operating room with my husband, doctor, nurses, and an anethesiologist!  You were not!"
"I don't think so, " she replied.  "Oh, here's the incision.  It's really low."  I was raging and determined that I must be in some alternate reality hell.  Apology?  You must be joking!!!

So here I was now parked in a bus stop with a deer in the headlight cop trying to figure out what to do.  After staring blankly for a few minutes, he handed me the ticket and my ID. "Well," he said, "Just go to court, plead not guilty and you will probably get out of it."  And he walked away.  Again, WTF????  Now I have to go to court because Wet-Behind-The-Ears can't admit he made a mistake??!!!  Fuck that!

But what can I do?  I pled not guilty, wrote down my route and all the details, ask my friends who have driven with me often to write down their experiences driving with me (One of which thinks I drive too slowly since I am always on the look out for pedestrians and always let them go even against the light!) and try to find out how many silver Toyota SUVs have been sold in Brooklyn in the last 10 years.  I will get everything notarized and go to court.  I'm thinking Officer Dingbat will not show up.

So what's the moral of the story?  From the rage filled, clueless drivers, to the comotose blindly walking pedestrians, to the cops who don't know what the hell is going on, driving in Brooklyn REALLY FUCKING sucks.
Thanks for letting me vent.

Halloween Seemed Spookier Back in the Day

Ever since I was a little kid, Halloween has been my all-time favorite holiday.  I remember lying on my bed trying to decide if I liked Halloween better than my birthday.  Halloween usually won, unless I was asking for some big birthday present like a bike or a Barbie townhouse with a real working elevator!  These days, it seems like corporate retail America is doing everything possible to suck the fun out of Halloween, like advertising costumes and decorations in July on the tail end of the back-to-school sales.  Personally, I have never understood buying Halloween candy in August, or actually any time before mid-October.  First of all, why is this necessary?  And more importantly, I will eat every piece of the 50 lb. bag of peanut butter cups within a week.  One year I actually bought candy that I don’t like just so I wouldn’t eat it.   That’s when I found out that even disliked candy is tasty at 3am.

Halloween is still my favorite holiday as an adult, and it adds a whole new dimension as a mom.  Although I still would love to go to an adult dress up Halloween party, these days I find myself on the trick-or-treat circuit, watching my kids do the frantic running from house to house that I remember so well.  Back in the ancient days of my childhood (before bags of pretzels were even considered a treat and homemade popcorn balls could be consumed fearlessly,) the parents who did take the children out almost never dressed up.  One of my favorite stories a friend told me was of two little princesses running door to door collecting candy while their dad waited patiently on the sidewalk pushing a cooler of beer in a wagon.  Still cracks me up!  Today, entire families get dressed up in a theme.  I was actually able to pull it off when the kids were little.  We did Star Wars featuring baby Yoda, Superheroes (which always seem to partner with a girl version of the superhero in a skirt,) and pirates.  Now of course the kids have minds of their own, and look out for Godzilla and Katniss Everdeen in my neighborhood.

My siblings and I had no parental supervision in our uber safe 70s suburban neighborhood where everyone on the block knew everyone’s kids and the threat of telling your parents was definitely not empty.  My brother was the trick-or-treat expert, hitting every house within the hour, changing costumes, and going back for more.  And more often than not, it would take until his fourth costume change for a neighbor to get suspicious and bust out, “Haven’t you been here before?”  It didn’t matter though.  My brother had already collected enough candy to stock a shelf at Walgreens, which he stored in a giant black garbage bag under his bed.

Back in the day, we used what we had in our closets to make our costumes.  I had a red dress, I was Little Red Riding Hood.  My mom had her old prom dress, I was a princess.  If we were really lucky, my mom would make us costumes.  One year she made me a white cat suit.  It was really cool, except I ended up saying, “Trick-or-Treat!  I am not a bunny I am a white cat,” at every house.  If we were really, really lucky, my parents would splurge on a store bought costume.  There were witches, vampires, Strawberry Shortcake.  Just about anything you could ever hope to be.  And you felt totally cool in a store bought costume despite the fact that the plastic mask’s eyeholes weren’t even close to your eyes, you were sweating profusely, and you couldn’t actually breathe through the 2cm mouth hole.  But you stumbled blindly and wheezing from house to house as the coolest Batman ever, unless of course it was really cold out and you had to wear your jacket over your costume.  Trick-or-treat fail!

Today’s kids have no concept of our store bought or homemade costumes.  The plastic masks were no doubt recalled after 30,000 kids passed out into their plastic pumpkins.  But today’s costumes are totally off the hook.  The basic ones are kind of similar to our retro costumes, minus the mask.  Pirates and Dracula are still made with that flimsy, seamless material that I have never actually seen used for anything else.  There are a few accessories which generally need after-market parts to get the full effect.  These basic costumes cost about 5 times as much as ours did, but for the really cool costumes, price tags can go into the $100s!  Some kid just showed me a costume he wanted of some kind of Captain Hook looking pirate made of velvet that was $1200!  Are you kidding me?  If I had an extra $1200 I would be spending the week at an all-inclusive adults-only resort in St. John!  Of course there are also middle level costumes for around $60 that use foam or wire as support, and come with a few more accessories.  And homemade costumes?  Not so much.

And then there is the candy.  Anything homemade goes right into the trash.  Today’s trust of strangers does not exist.  Prewrapped is a necessity, and some people even make goody bags with a bunch of stuff inside!  There are pencils and bags of chips, which were unheard of in my day.  So far the best candy my kids received were these giant colorfully wrapped chocolate truffles.  I decided to try one, and lo and behold, it had a liquid center made of BRANDY!!!  No wonder the grandma looking lady passing them out looked so happy.

But in this retro world we inhabit, everything seems to come back around.  Suzanne Collins must have denied permission for Hunger Games costumes, so Katniss is a DIY.  And the Godzilla mask, it’s softer than the plastics masks of yesteryear, but the eyeholes, well, they just don’t line up.

Back to School... With What????

Ahhhh!  Back to school again.  Parents’ annual time for reflection.  Reflecting on our children’s lives, growth, and education, as well as our own unbelievable aging process.  The time of year when the phrases, “How can I have a senior?  I’m too young to have a senior!” and “Wasn’t he just in kindergarten?” get thrown around like a beach ball at a Van Halen concert.

For me, the kids going back to school is a mixed bag.  On one hand, they get to see their friends again, and get back into the routine of learning more advanced stuff.  Plus my daily chore routine kicks back into gear (No more baby carrots and hummus for dinner!  Mom went shopping!)  On the other hand, we all have to get up hours earlier, and the fighting resumes about getting up, getting dressed, homework, gaming time, bedtime, etc. 

Personally, I like hanging out with my kids in the summer.  Ok, not every second (“She touched my leg!  He bit me!  I’m borrrrrred!”)  But for the most part, we have fun taking our time and doing spontaneous fun things.  I know many kids go to camp for the summer, but it is still a refreshing break from homework and math tests.

Some kids, like mine, get a big packet at the end of the year.  This packet contains a welcome letter from their next teacher, a school supply list, and yes…SUMMER HOMEWORK!  Every year since kindergarten, my kids have had summer homework, sometimes worse than others.  Generally, it’s a 10-20 page packet of math and English, with a possible side of something else.  This summer, for example, my first to second grader had a 20 page packet of math and English, and three book reports consisting of 6 components, including a summary, an illustrated cover, and an alternate ending.  Needless to say, he knocked out the packet about 3 weeks into summer break, and the book reports… well, let’s just say there was a lot of door slamming and pillow throwing.  I know that not all school kids get summer homework.  I never did.  I mean it’s called “Summer Break,” as in “a break from school,” homework should NOT be included.  I was tempted to write a letter to the teacher stating that my child did not complete the summer homework because we were camping, going to museums, visiting other cities, and doing interesting things.  I thought better of it, though.  The reality is that in life, you have to do a lot of things you don’t want to do and may think are dumb.  Buck up kid.  You have a few reports due, negative feelings or not.

Aside from the homework, the most interesting information in the summer homework packet for me is the school supply list.  I went to public school, as do my children, and the first time I saw my eldest child’s school supply list, I was incredulous.  There are items on that list that I NEVER had to bring for school.  I know times have changed, but paper towels?  Back in the day, each classroom had a huge bolt of that brown butcher paper which was generally used in the bathroom for hand drying.  It wasn’t actually absorbent, but somehow we managed to get the paint off our hands, and sort of, kind of, dry them.  Glue removal was a problem, but isn’t it always?  What makes today’s kid’s hands so much better than mine?  My mom used the same paper towel for a week.  Wring and reuse, right?  And if not, you can get 18 rolls for $10 at the bulk store.  Can’t the Department of Ed get a good deal on 2 million rolls?  The IRS spent 4 million dollars on office furniture this year alone.  Surely they can shop at Ikea to fund hand cleaning for our country’s schoolchildren.   The first day of school looks like a pilgrimage to see the Brawny Man, or his fifth cousin three times removed, the Generic Brawny Man, in most cases.   And generic paper towels are about as effective as the brown butcher paper, except while the butcher paper just floats on top of the water, the generic paper towels sink and break apart like the Titanic.  In both cases, the water spill is larger after the attempted clean up, and an entire roll of generic Brawny will be used for one beaker spill. 

Then there is the copy paper.  Even if you are trying to delude yourself into thinking your paper towels will be used for your kid, there is no way around the copy paper.  Sometimes the teacher calls for one ream.  Other times it’s two reams.  I once had to supply a teacher with FOUR reams of copy paper!  If a teacher needs 120 reams of copy paper, she is giving way to much homework.  Not to mention that copy paper should not be a school supply.  It should be school supplied.  Although I have to admit it is kinda funny to watch the kids flip over like turtles and get stuck trying to carry 20 lbs of copy paper in their backpacks on the first school day.  As long as no one gets hurt, of course.  Honestly, it’s just a matter of time until homework will be all online, and copy paper will go the way of the 8-track.  Can’t the Pentagon recycle plastic bottles for the Dept. of Ed til then?

In any case, after I finished packing up my children’s school supplies, I wrote a poem about them.  Hope you like it.  I had to write it with eyeliner on an envelope, since I packed up all the paper and pencils:

My School Supply Poem

(Inspired by Joyce Kilmer and Dr. Suess)

I think that I shall never see

Such a list that bothers me.

Five packs of pencils, 1 box tissues

Five dollars for Scholastic News.

I hunt for Post-Its row by row

And wonder where my taxes go.

Copy paper? Not to be mean

But should I send a fax machine?

When I was young, (and maybe you,)

I brought some markers, crayons and glue.

Baby wipes brought in by kids???

My parents would have flipped their lids!

So much stuff our teachers lack,

My son can’t lift his own backpack!

And while big business teems with greed,

Our schools remain in dire need!

So how will education cope?

I guess by parents buying soap.

Have a great school year!

The Bedroom Disaster Made Me Cry

Recently I went to kiss my tween daughter goodnight.  Yes, there are “tweens” now.  I think it is a girl thing and basically covers ages 10-12, you know, when young ladies first show signs of their haughtiness before true teenage angst… But I digress…

So I entered my daughter’s dim bedroom, and felt a sharp pain in my foot.  I quickly moved to the side, tripped over something shin high (humidifier,) and fell into a pile of things both pointy and soft.  I was still a good foot away from her bed, where she was entranced in videos via headphones, so I crawled carefully over to her and removed them.  “What is up with your room???”  I asked emphatically. “I came to kiss you goodnight and I may need stitches!  Do you even know what all this stuff everywhere is???”  She shrugged her shoulders.  “Tomorrow we clean everything!  I’m serious!  Now turn off those videos before I bleed out!”  Then immediately in the sensitive, protective-mom softer tone, “I love you Baby Girl…”  I wasn’t happy, but c’mon, she IS my baby….  I left the room like I was walking through a minefield.

The next day I came to her door with a couple of garbage bags and a lot of determination.  The room looked like the massive devastation scene in an earthquake movie.  “Ok,” I told her, “This one is garbage, this one is donate.  Let’s go!”

We had to start somewhere, so I started at the front door (since I wasn’t risking anymore injuries,) and she started at the bed (where she had been reclining watching videos.)  I knew within the first 15 minutes that we were both in over our heads.  I don’t think I have uttered the phrases, “What is this?’ and “Do you want this?” more times in my entire middle-aged life.  Seriously.  It was like one of those dreams where you are drowning and you finally reach the shore only to get pulled back in again.  Actually, I believe those dreams are called nightmares and result in cold sweats.

Pile after pile we sorted, tossed, and organized.  The entire room:  under the bed, behind the bed, under the dresser, behind the dresser, under the bookshelf, behind the bookshelf, around every corner, more and more piles were attacked.  Some of my highlights include an unopened letter from school that I was supposed to get 4 months ago marked URGENT, a Halloween costume from 3 years ago, and 10,000 candy/gum/cashew wrappers from God knows when.  Wow was I being optimistic with 2 garbage bags!

I finally lost her about two hours in.  “I can’t do this anymore!” she wailed.  “I believe in you!” I encouraged. “We are almost done!”  She picked up a book from under a Monster High slipper and started reading it. Panting and sweating, I carried on alone.

Almost three hours and four garbage bags later I was done.  One bag of donations, and three for the curb.  I felt like I had just run a marathon, collecting trash all the way.  “Now isn’t this better?” I asked, sweat trickling down my neck.  We both surveyed her new clean, organized boudoir.  “Totally!”

So there are two main lessons I came away with from the hellish room cleaning experience: 

 1.   Check the room often and take action!  Make room cleaning a huge priority for your offspring before the hurricane hits.

And  

2.  Don’t cry into the give-away bag.

I know.  I should have learned the first lesson years ago.  Laissez-faire parenting has been out of style since the 80’s.  But lesson 2 kind of took me by surprise.  Of course it was obvious that her princess dress-up clothes and old Halloween costumes were destined for the donation bag, but when she immediately tossed in her nightlight and princess figurines, my heart fluttered.

And there’s the rub.  Your child is growing up.  Outgrowing her old clothes and toys, but sometimes, you are not.  I mean the nightlight…. THE NIGHTLIGHT?  She couldn’t sleep without it from the moment we put her in her crib until she was… well, I thought yesterday.  We brought it on trips by car and plane, and when it stopped working, the company had replaced it with a new “cooler” light, so we scoured thrift stores and garage sales to find an exact “old school” light.  That light was the most important thing to her, thus to us, for such a long time.  For years it was our mission to find another one that worked, and there she is, just tossing it glibly into the donation bag.  A tear mixed into my sweaty face.

And THE PRINCESSES!  Every single Disney princess INCLUDING the uber rare Pocahantas and Mulan!  Received from the Easter Bunny around age 4.  My daughter absolutely loved them.  All of them.  She would play with them for hours at a time.  Lining them up in different ways. Pairing them up with different partners.  Taking them with her everywhere.  And if one was missing, my husband would search through the night and into days to find that little lost princess.  There were a few nights when I had to put my daughter tearfully to sleep with promises that, “Daddy will find Cinderella, just not tonight.” And bless that man, he always did.  I think he used the night vision feature on his video camera at least once to search for a plastic princess in my daughter’s dark room as she slept.  After 7 years, all princesses are present and accounted for, and currently in the discard pile.  Another tear slides down my face.

My sister always tells me that when I clear out my stuff, take it out of the house immediately.  Don’t look in the bag.  Own your decision and move on.  Maybe I shouldn’t have looked in the bag, but I wasn’t sure if she might actually need something and was even paying attention.  How many folders were rescued that she or her brother can use next year?  I know I am a sap and I need to toughen up.  We all know it’s coming, but it still seems sudden.  Our children are really growing up.  Not babies, not toddlers, not even elementary school kids.  My swaddle baby is a tween.  She has a lava lamp and doesn’t play with princesses anymore.

So now, when I kiss her goodnight, a can walk peacefully from the door to her bed without incident.  She is MY baby, but she is a young lady.  I confiscate her cell phone, tuck the covers around her and tell her how much I love her, while a complete set of Disney princesses slumbers in my dresser drawer.