School is about to let out for the summer, which means it's almost time for the annual last day of school ritual:
11:30 AM: School's OUT! YAY! Fun all summer!
11:45 AM: I'm so happy school is out! No more school!
12 Noon: I'm so BORED! I have nothing to do!
No worries, adolescents. The Mom of No has you covered with a fantastic list of things you can do to avoid boredom during the summer months. Print out this list and stick it on the fridge. Before you complain about being bored, review this list.
1. Go to the library. Yes, the building that has free books, movies and music. Even better, text a friend and go to the library together. No idea what to read? Ask a librarian. The library has something for everyone. One wonderful thing about the library is this: if you don't like a book, just take it back and get another one.
2. Go outside. Yes, I know it's hot. Stay hydrated. Make sure you wear sunscreen.
3. Practice your clarinet, or whatever instrument it is that you play during the school year and leave neglected all summer to gather dust under your bed, only to pull it out four days before band practice starts, all panicked because you have scales to memorize, or marching music, or whatever it is that you were supposed to work on over the summer and didn't.
4. Clean your room. By "clean", I don't mean just picking up the gum wrappers off the floor; I mean really clean it. Organize it. Go through your old t-shirts and markers from second grade that dried up four years ago. Toss stuff that needs to be tossed. Recycle stuff that can be recycled. Donate stuff that can be donated. Oh, look! Now you can see your floor! It's a miracle!
5. Bake something. No recipes? There are plenty of good recipes on the internet. Check with a parent to make sure that it's okay for you to use the oven first. After you are done with all that baking, clean the kitchen. Don't feel like baking? Cook something, like dinner. Don't know how to cook? Now is a good time to learn.
6. Volunteer somewhere. If you go to church, see if they need teen volunteers for Vacation Bible School. Can't think of anything? You can always pick up trash. Watch out for cars and be safe.
7. Do you have a pile of mail from colleges all over your bedroom floor? Pick it up and sort through it. Throw out the flyers from colleges you are not even remotely interested in.
8. Chores! Take the poor, neglected dog for a walk (make sure it's not too hot for her paws). Is the hamster's cage clean? If it isn't, don't be saying you're bored. Yard work is fun! Does the yard need some weeding? I bet it does. Get to it! Do your laundry. Don't know how? I'm sure one of your parents would be happy to give you a lesson.
9. Text your BFF's to come over and have a Monopoly or Clue (or board or card game of your choice) marathon. Don't forget to clean up whatever mess you make.
10. Earn your own fro-yo or snowcone money. Babysit. Yard work. Lemonade stand. Garage sale with all the stuff you cleaned out of your room in #4. Be inventive.
See, here is the thing, kids- your parents do not want to hear you complain about being bored. We still have to go to work, cook dinner, and pay bills. We are not sympathetic to your plight, although we might be a bit envious. We don't want to hear it. Go find something constructive to do.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Memorial Day
If you ask the Son of Never Stops Eating what Memorial Day is, he'd probably tell you something like "It's the day of no more school!". He's so excited about no more school for the summer, he can barely stand still. We have conversations that go like this:
Son: Mom, aren't you excited about summer?
Me: Not as much as you are.
Son: Why?
Me: I still have to go to work.
Son: That's a sad story, Mom.
If you asked the teenager, she might say "That's our band trip weekend!" Yes, my teenager is also so excited she can barely stand still; four days of fun and excitement with her high school band friends. Actually, my son is excited about this, too- four entire days with no sister.
When I was a park ranger, Memorial Day meant the start of recreation season. The entire weekend was one big campout at the lake, with people boating and picnicking and hanging out with their families. I spent a lot of time enforcing park rules and asking people to please wear their lifejackets while on the lake. (Side note: if you are going to the lake, make a park ranger happy; wear your lifejacket.)
Memorial Day also brings back two memories from my own childhood. For awhile, my family lived in the Philippines. The Grandpa of No likes to go see and do things, and one of his field trips was a place called Corregidor Island. If you are not up on your World War II Pacific Theater history, Corregidor Island was the last stand of the American and Philippine armed forces, and when it was surrendered in 1942 the Philippines fell to the Japanese. I was in elementary school at the time of our visit, so I don't have crystal clear memories, but I do remember seeing the dark tunnels of the fortress. Seeing it many years after the end of WWII as a quiet memorial park was eerie and jarring at the same time.
I was a Girl Scout at the same time, and one of our troop's annual activities was to participate in a reenactment of the Bataan Death March (Google it). As I remember, we were only walking 5K and at the end of it there was probably a pavilion with drinks and cookies, but I couldn't even make it 5K without dissolving into a 8 year old wreck. Somewhere in my parents' photo albums there is a picture of me having a meltdown. Not my finest moment.
I don't remember what was going through my head at the time, but I remember the walking and the heat. I vaguely recall redeeming myself the following year by completing the entire reenactment. I don't know if it ever occurred to me to think about the hundreds of American and Philippine soldiers who had been forced to march that same path, so many years before. It probably did not; I was a lot more into my seashell collection than I was military history. My father may have said something; I couldn't tell you. If he did, I probably rolled my eyes and ignored most of it.
I think about it now, however. I wish I could take my own offspring there and show them, have them stand on that ground where people died, far from home, for a country they loved. I can't imagine what it was truly like, but I know that the sacrifices made by those warriors, and those made by every man and woman who died in service before and after are worthy of deep respect.
So on this holiday, be safe. Have fun. Enjoy your family and your friends. But also take some time to respect the holiday by recognizing, in some way that is meaningful to you, the purpose and meaning of this long weekend.
Son: Mom, aren't you excited about summer?
Me: Not as much as you are.
Son: Why?
Me: I still have to go to work.
Son: That's a sad story, Mom.
If you asked the teenager, she might say "That's our band trip weekend!" Yes, my teenager is also so excited she can barely stand still; four days of fun and excitement with her high school band friends. Actually, my son is excited about this, too- four entire days with no sister.
When I was a park ranger, Memorial Day meant the start of recreation season. The entire weekend was one big campout at the lake, with people boating and picnicking and hanging out with their families. I spent a lot of time enforcing park rules and asking people to please wear their lifejackets while on the lake. (Side note: if you are going to the lake, make a park ranger happy; wear your lifejacket.)
Memorial Day also brings back two memories from my own childhood. For awhile, my family lived in the Philippines. The Grandpa of No likes to go see and do things, and one of his field trips was a place called Corregidor Island. If you are not up on your World War II Pacific Theater history, Corregidor Island was the last stand of the American and Philippine armed forces, and when it was surrendered in 1942 the Philippines fell to the Japanese. I was in elementary school at the time of our visit, so I don't have crystal clear memories, but I do remember seeing the dark tunnels of the fortress. Seeing it many years after the end of WWII as a quiet memorial park was eerie and jarring at the same time.
I was a Girl Scout at the same time, and one of our troop's annual activities was to participate in a reenactment of the Bataan Death March (Google it). As I remember, we were only walking 5K and at the end of it there was probably a pavilion with drinks and cookies, but I couldn't even make it 5K without dissolving into a 8 year old wreck. Somewhere in my parents' photo albums there is a picture of me having a meltdown. Not my finest moment.
I don't remember what was going through my head at the time, but I remember the walking and the heat. I vaguely recall redeeming myself the following year by completing the entire reenactment. I don't know if it ever occurred to me to think about the hundreds of American and Philippine soldiers who had been forced to march that same path, so many years before. It probably did not; I was a lot more into my seashell collection than I was military history. My father may have said something; I couldn't tell you. If he did, I probably rolled my eyes and ignored most of it.
I think about it now, however. I wish I could take my own offspring there and show them, have them stand on that ground where people died, far from home, for a country they loved. I can't imagine what it was truly like, but I know that the sacrifices made by those warriors, and those made by every man and woman who died in service before and after are worthy of deep respect.
So on this holiday, be safe. Have fun. Enjoy your family and your friends. But also take some time to respect the holiday by recognizing, in some way that is meaningful to you, the purpose and meaning of this long weekend.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Swimsuit Shopping
The Mom of No has two shades of skin tone: extremely pale and bright red. A few years ago, I had a basal cell carcinoma spot removed off my back, and the dermatologist suggested that I get an "SPF shirt" to wear as a cover-up. I ordered one online, and after I wore it once, I fell in love with it. Not because it kept me from getting sunburn on my back, although it does which makes it well worth the money I paid for it, but because no one could really see what my bathing suit looked like underneath it.
The first time I wore it to the water park, six people asked me where I'd bought it and one guy asked me if I was all covered up because of my religion. Nunyas, I told him. As in none of your business.
I hate shopping for bathing suits. I suspect it's an experience generally loathed by women. Men, apparently, can just walk into any clothing store and buy a pair of bathing trunks. No one tells men how to select the best bathing suit for their body shape. Teenage boys don't have to worry if their bathing suit might be too revealing for the youth mission trip, or if a bathing suit top is going to fall down if they go down the really steep slide at the water park. Half the time, they don't even have to do the shopping; every year I go to Target and buy the Son of Never Stops Eating three suits, same style, different color.
Bathing suit shopping is a classic example of how something that should be simple is actually extremely complicated. First, the bathing suits come out in January. Seriously, who wants to buy a bathing suit when it's thirty degrees outside, and you've just finished the holiday season with all those high calorie treats? The last thing I want to do in January is shop for anything because I have shopping burnout from November and December.
Second, unless you go online to order a bathing suit, which I have done, but am not a fan of because I almost always end up sending the first one back, a simple one-piece bathing suit does not, apparently, exist. The stores sell the bottoms separately from the tops, so people like me who are fashion-challenged stand there, asking "Does this go with this? They have this top in my size, but not the bottom". All I want to do is walk into a store, select a bathing suit, pay for it, and leave. This, evidently, is nearly impossible.
Then there is all this not-helpful advice about what style you should select. Are you pear-shaped? Apple shaped? Tall and lanky? Petite? Do you want your torso to look longer? Do you want to minimize or maximize your bust? Do you want bling on your bathing suit? (the Mom of No does not do bling). No matter which style you select, judging happens. Either your suit is too dowdy or too revealing.
This is what I want: I want a bathing suit that I can wear to the pool and do laps, or wear to the beach and jump in the waves. I want to spend less than an entire day shopping for it, and I want it to cost less than my monthly car payment. And I want the danged thing to actually fit.
This bathing suit does not exist.
But now that I have my beloved SPF shirt, it doesn't really matter if the suit is plain black or has some eye-popping floral pattern on it that reminds me of wallpaper from the 1970's. Because no one will actually see it.
The first time I wore it to the water park, six people asked me where I'd bought it and one guy asked me if I was all covered up because of my religion. Nunyas, I told him. As in none of your business.
I hate shopping for bathing suits. I suspect it's an experience generally loathed by women. Men, apparently, can just walk into any clothing store and buy a pair of bathing trunks. No one tells men how to select the best bathing suit for their body shape. Teenage boys don't have to worry if their bathing suit might be too revealing for the youth mission trip, or if a bathing suit top is going to fall down if they go down the really steep slide at the water park. Half the time, they don't even have to do the shopping; every year I go to Target and buy the Son of Never Stops Eating three suits, same style, different color.
Bathing suit shopping is a classic example of how something that should be simple is actually extremely complicated. First, the bathing suits come out in January. Seriously, who wants to buy a bathing suit when it's thirty degrees outside, and you've just finished the holiday season with all those high calorie treats? The last thing I want to do in January is shop for anything because I have shopping burnout from November and December.
Second, unless you go online to order a bathing suit, which I have done, but am not a fan of because I almost always end up sending the first one back, a simple one-piece bathing suit does not, apparently, exist. The stores sell the bottoms separately from the tops, so people like me who are fashion-challenged stand there, asking "Does this go with this? They have this top in my size, but not the bottom". All I want to do is walk into a store, select a bathing suit, pay for it, and leave. This, evidently, is nearly impossible.
Then there is all this not-helpful advice about what style you should select. Are you pear-shaped? Apple shaped? Tall and lanky? Petite? Do you want your torso to look longer? Do you want to minimize or maximize your bust? Do you want bling on your bathing suit? (the Mom of No does not do bling). No matter which style you select, judging happens. Either your suit is too dowdy or too revealing.
This is what I want: I want a bathing suit that I can wear to the pool and do laps, or wear to the beach and jump in the waves. I want to spend less than an entire day shopping for it, and I want it to cost less than my monthly car payment. And I want the danged thing to actually fit.
This bathing suit does not exist.
But now that I have my beloved SPF shirt, it doesn't really matter if the suit is plain black or has some eye-popping floral pattern on it that reminds me of wallpaper from the 1970's. Because no one will actually see it.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Say what?
The other day my son and I were out running errands. We happened to drive by a place called the "Kwik Kar Wash".
Son: Mom, I thought "car" was spelled with a "C".
Me: It is.
Son: But on that sign it's spelled with a "K". They spelled it wrong.
Me: I know. They did that on purpose.
Son: (sigh) Doesn't anyone follow the rules anymore?
I feel his pain. Often, I feel like even though I speak English, and almost everyone around me also speaks English, we're not always all speaking the same language. An English professor in college told me once that the English language is a mutt; because it borrows from so many other languages, the rules are confusing and don't always make sense.
It also doesn't help that I am surrounded by both teenagers and acronyms, and that no one talks to anyone any more. We all text each other.
When I graduated from college, I got a job as a park ranger and was introduced to park ranger English. For example, when writing incident reports, the phrase "the man walked down to the lake" became "The male individual proceeded south towards the shoreline". I could feel generations of English teachers silently weeping each time I wrote a sentence in ranger English. My car became my "privately owned vehicle". Once, I went to get the oil changed in my elderly Honda Accord. I asked the mechanic if he could change the oil in my POV, and he replied "I only do cars".
Then my son was diagnosed with autism, so I was introduced to Special Education Speak. Special Education English is full of acronyms. For example, when he was young, he was in PPCD- public preschool for children with disabilities. Every year my son has an ARD meeting- Admissions, Review and Dismissal. In his ARD, we review his IEP- Individualized Education Plan. We have discussions about his ALS class- Academic Life Skills- and ensure that he has access to his FAPE- free appropriate public education. Now that he's getting older, we discuss when we'll start working with DARS- Department of Aging and Disability Services.
I often get the sense that when I'm discussing my son's special education issues with people who are not actually special education professionals or parents, they have no idea what I am talking about. Actually, sometimes, I have no idea what I'm talking about. The special education department of our school district has a list of acronyms on their website. It's over three pages long. The acronyms, unfortunately, have infiltrated my vocabulary. They've become part of me. I cannot escape it.
So I have work English, special education English, and now I have teenager English. A while ago I heard the teenager use the word "bay". To me, a bay is a body of water, but the word was out of context. I would have asked, but I had a feeling I'd get the rolling eyes, so I looked it up online.
BAE: Before Anyone Else. Or, significant other, like a boyfriend or girlfriend.
When it comes to written English, don't even get me started on texting. A few days ago I received this text from the Dad of No, after he'd dropped something off for the teenager:
"Wallet at office once fire dept gives all clear".
Something a mother at work does not ever want to hear: the words "fire department" used in relation to anything having to do with the school building in which her offspring is currently located.
Fortunately, he followed that up with "Everyone out, all OK". Whew. It did take about 10 minutes for my blood pressure to return to normal.
It gets hard to keep all this separate. I have a feeling one of these days I'll be texting someone that I had to take annual leave (vacation time) so that I could drive my POV to meet my Bae (the Dad of No) to attend my son's ARD so that we can talk with DARS.
And the recipient of that message will probably have no idea what I am talking about.
Son: Mom, I thought "car" was spelled with a "C".
Me: It is.
Son: But on that sign it's spelled with a "K". They spelled it wrong.
Me: I know. They did that on purpose.
Son: (sigh) Doesn't anyone follow the rules anymore?
I feel his pain. Often, I feel like even though I speak English, and almost everyone around me also speaks English, we're not always all speaking the same language. An English professor in college told me once that the English language is a mutt; because it borrows from so many other languages, the rules are confusing and don't always make sense.
It also doesn't help that I am surrounded by both teenagers and acronyms, and that no one talks to anyone any more. We all text each other.
When I graduated from college, I got a job as a park ranger and was introduced to park ranger English. For example, when writing incident reports, the phrase "the man walked down to the lake" became "The male individual proceeded south towards the shoreline". I could feel generations of English teachers silently weeping each time I wrote a sentence in ranger English. My car became my "privately owned vehicle". Once, I went to get the oil changed in my elderly Honda Accord. I asked the mechanic if he could change the oil in my POV, and he replied "I only do cars".
Then my son was diagnosed with autism, so I was introduced to Special Education Speak. Special Education English is full of acronyms. For example, when he was young, he was in PPCD- public preschool for children with disabilities. Every year my son has an ARD meeting- Admissions, Review and Dismissal. In his ARD, we review his IEP- Individualized Education Plan. We have discussions about his ALS class- Academic Life Skills- and ensure that he has access to his FAPE- free appropriate public education. Now that he's getting older, we discuss when we'll start working with DARS- Department of Aging and Disability Services.
I often get the sense that when I'm discussing my son's special education issues with people who are not actually special education professionals or parents, they have no idea what I am talking about. Actually, sometimes, I have no idea what I'm talking about. The special education department of our school district has a list of acronyms on their website. It's over three pages long. The acronyms, unfortunately, have infiltrated my vocabulary. They've become part of me. I cannot escape it.
So I have work English, special education English, and now I have teenager English. A while ago I heard the teenager use the word "bay". To me, a bay is a body of water, but the word was out of context. I would have asked, but I had a feeling I'd get the rolling eyes, so I looked it up online.
BAE: Before Anyone Else. Or, significant other, like a boyfriend or girlfriend.
When it comes to written English, don't even get me started on texting. A few days ago I received this text from the Dad of No, after he'd dropped something off for the teenager:
"Wallet at office once fire dept gives all clear".
Something a mother at work does not ever want to hear: the words "fire department" used in relation to anything having to do with the school building in which her offspring is currently located.
Fortunately, he followed that up with "Everyone out, all OK". Whew. It did take about 10 minutes for my blood pressure to return to normal.
It gets hard to keep all this separate. I have a feeling one of these days I'll be texting someone that I had to take annual leave (vacation time) so that I could drive my POV to meet my Bae (the Dad of No) to attend my son's ARD so that we can talk with DARS.
And the recipient of that message will probably have no idea what I am talking about.
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Transitions
Last weekend, my son and I went to a program on birds of prey at our local nature preserve. At the end, the presenters had a surprise for the attendees: they were going to release a great horned owl back into the wild.
That owl was ready to go. He was taken out of the crate he had been transported in and set loose. He flew off, not looking back. The second he took off was an astounding moment; it was the boundary between restricted and free. I was tempted to break out the iPhone to take a picture, but sometimes you just need to be in the moment.
I feel that I am in a time of transitions. Some transitions, like the release of the owl, happen with clear boundaries; I remember watching the wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles years ago. Before the wedding, she was just "Lady Diana"; after the wedding, she was a princess! One minute you are one thing; the next you are something else. Many transitions, however, seem to sneak up on you quietly.
When the teenager was young, I remember giving her a bath one night after returning from a work trip, and when she stood up, I could clearly see that the baby belly and chunky legs had somehow disappeared and been replaced with the longer, leaner body of a toddler. That hadn't happened in one day, but I hadn't noticed it until then. I felt a twinge of sadness; in that moment, I realized she'd transitioned from infancy to young childhood.
I didn't get enough pictures ! I wanted to cry. I never did the baby handprint Christmas ornament I was going to do! Go back! Do-over time!
I remember the day the princess dress-up went into the Goodwill box. Most of them didn't fit anymore, but they were still treasured, or so I thought- until the day my daughter was told to clean out her room and, as a result of that effort, piled up the well-loved costumes and said, haughtily, "Those can go. I don't do dress-up anymore".
Since when? I said. Weren't you just wearing one of these the other day?
No, Mom. She rolled her eyes at me. I'm too old for dress-up now.
And just like that, my little girl was a tween.
Recently I attended an awards ceremony at the teenager's school. Name after name was called; as I watched the students accept their awards I realized that many of the recipients were kids I'd known since they were in kindergarten. The teenager had played soccer with them, gone to school with them, been in Girl Scouts with them. I remembered some of them as young children, and at some point they had grown up and become almost-adults, headed off to 11th grade.
When did that happen?
Recently the teenager got a "teen checking account" at the bank, along with a debit card. The banker and the teenager handled the transaction with some (not much) input from me. When did my baby girl get old enough to have a "teen checking account"? When did she get old enough to drive a car? When did that happen?
Last night was the final band concert of the year. Afterwards, I was talking to a friend while waiting for the teenager to appear.
Next year they'll be juniors, my friend said. That's when all the important stuff starts happening.
Two more years before graduation; it seems like such a long time. 24 months. Yet, I don't think it is. I suspect that before I know it, I'll be watching her walk away from me in a cap and gown, towards graduation, asking myself, when did that happen?
I'm not sure that I'm ready.
That owl was ready to go. He was taken out of the crate he had been transported in and set loose. He flew off, not looking back. The second he took off was an astounding moment; it was the boundary between restricted and free. I was tempted to break out the iPhone to take a picture, but sometimes you just need to be in the moment.
I feel that I am in a time of transitions. Some transitions, like the release of the owl, happen with clear boundaries; I remember watching the wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles years ago. Before the wedding, she was just "Lady Diana"; after the wedding, she was a princess! One minute you are one thing; the next you are something else. Many transitions, however, seem to sneak up on you quietly.
When the teenager was young, I remember giving her a bath one night after returning from a work trip, and when she stood up, I could clearly see that the baby belly and chunky legs had somehow disappeared and been replaced with the longer, leaner body of a toddler. That hadn't happened in one day, but I hadn't noticed it until then. I felt a twinge of sadness; in that moment, I realized she'd transitioned from infancy to young childhood.
I didn't get enough pictures ! I wanted to cry. I never did the baby handprint Christmas ornament I was going to do! Go back! Do-over time!
I remember the day the princess dress-up went into the Goodwill box. Most of them didn't fit anymore, but they were still treasured, or so I thought- until the day my daughter was told to clean out her room and, as a result of that effort, piled up the well-loved costumes and said, haughtily, "Those can go. I don't do dress-up anymore".
Since when? I said. Weren't you just wearing one of these the other day?
No, Mom. She rolled her eyes at me. I'm too old for dress-up now.
And just like that, my little girl was a tween.
Recently I attended an awards ceremony at the teenager's school. Name after name was called; as I watched the students accept their awards I realized that many of the recipients were kids I'd known since they were in kindergarten. The teenager had played soccer with them, gone to school with them, been in Girl Scouts with them. I remembered some of them as young children, and at some point they had grown up and become almost-adults, headed off to 11th grade.
When did that happen?
Recently the teenager got a "teen checking account" at the bank, along with a debit card. The banker and the teenager handled the transaction with some (not much) input from me. When did my baby girl get old enough to have a "teen checking account"? When did she get old enough to drive a car? When did that happen?
Last night was the final band concert of the year. Afterwards, I was talking to a friend while waiting for the teenager to appear.
Next year they'll be juniors, my friend said. That's when all the important stuff starts happening.
Two more years before graduation; it seems like such a long time. 24 months. Yet, I don't think it is. I suspect that before I know it, I'll be watching her walk away from me in a cap and gown, towards graduation, asking myself, when did that happen?
I'm not sure that I'm ready.
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Old-Timer Status
The suspicion is dawning on me that I am not as young as I have been thinking that I am.
A few weeks ago, I was on a work trip out of town. When I checked into the hotel, the front desk gave me a key card. Nothing out of the ordinary, although I remember when they gave you actual keys to hotel rooms instead of a plastic card. I went up to my room, put my bags down in front of the door, and stared at the lock. It was different. It didn't have any slot to slide your card through. It was just a black block.
I'm going to admit it here for your amusement. I tried to slide that plastic card through a key card slot that didn't exist.
After a few seconds of trial and error, I figured out how it works: you touch the sensor with the card! I mastered technology and I didn't even have to call one of my teenagers for assistance!
Several of my co-workers are talking about retiring. I still have several years of work ahead of me, but people I've worked with for years are, one by one, announcing their retirements. One day I commented on all these old timer retirements to another co-worker, who is about my age.
You know what that means, he replied. You and I are now the old-timers.
He's absolutely right. When the new hires were born after you graduated from college and you remember using dot-matrix printers, Polaroid cameras, and bag phones, you are definitely eligible for old-timer status.
A few months ago, I went to the department store makeup counter to buy the moisturizer I like to use. I don't wear any makeup at all, so I just needed the moisturizer. The woman at the counter studied me for a minute.
You know, she said, as we get older, sometimes we need to revisit our skin care routine. Your face looks a little red. Maybe you need a different concealer. And some night cream to refresh your skin. What is your night routine, currently?
Oh, I said. I don't care about that red. It's either rosacea or sunburn. Or both. She seemed offended that I didn't appear too excited about the idea of a new concealer. My philosophy on makeup is this: I'd rather sleep for 15 more minutes than apply makeup in the morning. I didn't tell her that my night routine consists of packing my lunch, brushing my teeth and making sure my iPhone is charging; that might have sent her over the edge.
That's also how I know I am getting old: once, I would have suffered through the concealer tutorial and felt compelled to buy something. Now, I don't care. That's another aspect of getting older: you figure out what to care about and what not to care about. Caring about what other people think I should wear or do with my skin as I get older, for example? Nope, not caring.
I have other, more important things to think about, like my family, explaining the 1980's to kids born in 1993, and retirement planning. I'm not getting any younger, you know.
A few weeks ago, I was on a work trip out of town. When I checked into the hotel, the front desk gave me a key card. Nothing out of the ordinary, although I remember when they gave you actual keys to hotel rooms instead of a plastic card. I went up to my room, put my bags down in front of the door, and stared at the lock. It was different. It didn't have any slot to slide your card through. It was just a black block.
I'm going to admit it here for your amusement. I tried to slide that plastic card through a key card slot that didn't exist.
After a few seconds of trial and error, I figured out how it works: you touch the sensor with the card! I mastered technology and I didn't even have to call one of my teenagers for assistance!
Several of my co-workers are talking about retiring. I still have several years of work ahead of me, but people I've worked with for years are, one by one, announcing their retirements. One day I commented on all these old timer retirements to another co-worker, who is about my age.
You know what that means, he replied. You and I are now the old-timers.
He's absolutely right. When the new hires were born after you graduated from college and you remember using dot-matrix printers, Polaroid cameras, and bag phones, you are definitely eligible for old-timer status.
A few months ago, I went to the department store makeup counter to buy the moisturizer I like to use. I don't wear any makeup at all, so I just needed the moisturizer. The woman at the counter studied me for a minute.
You know, she said, as we get older, sometimes we need to revisit our skin care routine. Your face looks a little red. Maybe you need a different concealer. And some night cream to refresh your skin. What is your night routine, currently?
Oh, I said. I don't care about that red. It's either rosacea or sunburn. Or both. She seemed offended that I didn't appear too excited about the idea of a new concealer. My philosophy on makeup is this: I'd rather sleep for 15 more minutes than apply makeup in the morning. I didn't tell her that my night routine consists of packing my lunch, brushing my teeth and making sure my iPhone is charging; that might have sent her over the edge.
That's also how I know I am getting old: once, I would have suffered through the concealer tutorial and felt compelled to buy something. Now, I don't care. That's another aspect of getting older: you figure out what to care about and what not to care about. Caring about what other people think I should wear or do with my skin as I get older, for example? Nope, not caring.
I have other, more important things to think about, like my family, explaining the 1980's to kids born in 1993, and retirement planning. I'm not getting any younger, you know.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Do Not Grow Up
The other day, the Son of Never Stops Eating and I were having a conversation in my car about school. It went like this:
Son: I wish I was done with school.
Me: Well, when you grow up, no more school. You can get a job.
Son: I don't want to grow up.
Me: Oh, so you want it both ways. You want to be a kid forever but you don't want to go to school.
Son: Yes. That's what I want.
I have to admit, I can sympathize with him. Sometimes being an adult sucks. It's definitely not the life of paradise I imagined when I was a kid. He's already figured it out and he's only 13. When I was his age, I couldn't wait to grow up and not have to follow stupid rules. I could do what I wanted when I wanted to do it and no one was going to stop me.
Then I actually grew up and I found out that it didn't really work like I had envisioned in my youth. Instead of my parents telling me what to do, I acquired a job and a boss, who also told me what to do. Instead of getting all summer off, I got two weeks off. Instead of spending my money on fun stuff like clothes and music, I had to spend it on boring, stupid stuff like rent, electricity and car insurance. When I came home at night, dinner did not miraculously appear on the table. I even had to make my own dentist appointments. When I got sick, I had to be miserable all by myself in my lonely apartment.
To make matters even worse, the Grandpa of No was decidedly unsympathetic when I called him to complain that after paying all my bills and fixing the brakes on my aging 1983 Honda Accord, I had almost no money left. Not even enough money to go see a movie. The world's smallest violin was playing a sad, sad song.
The other night, my son was out riding his scooter while I was on the computer, trying to set up a new account for TV and internet service. One company had been sold to another company and the entire process was not going well. I was getting mad and saying bad words at inanimate objects in the insane hope that the computer would produce a wizard with a magic wand to fix the malfunctioning technology. See how that works? Kid gets to go outside and have fun, adult gets to yell at computer in frustration.
I suppose that being an adult isn't all bad. You can vote, although sometimes your choice of candidates isn't that great. Once you're over 21, you can legally have a glass of wine or a beer with your BFF's. After you have children, you can make stupid rules that they have to follow, like "The hamster is not allowed, under any circumstances, to roam freely around the house", or "If you are the one who clogged the toilet, you are the one who needs to plunge it", and when they complain you can offer to help them move out, because your house, your rules. But it's definitely not all my adolescent self had envisioned.
My son, however, he's got it all figured out. Stay a kid forever. Good plan.
If only it worked like that in real life.
Son: I wish I was done with school.
Me: Well, when you grow up, no more school. You can get a job.
Son: I don't want to grow up.
Me: Oh, so you want it both ways. You want to be a kid forever but you don't want to go to school.
Son: Yes. That's what I want.
I have to admit, I can sympathize with him. Sometimes being an adult sucks. It's definitely not the life of paradise I imagined when I was a kid. He's already figured it out and he's only 13. When I was his age, I couldn't wait to grow up and not have to follow stupid rules. I could do what I wanted when I wanted to do it and no one was going to stop me.
Then I actually grew up and I found out that it didn't really work like I had envisioned in my youth. Instead of my parents telling me what to do, I acquired a job and a boss, who also told me what to do. Instead of getting all summer off, I got two weeks off. Instead of spending my money on fun stuff like clothes and music, I had to spend it on boring, stupid stuff like rent, electricity and car insurance. When I came home at night, dinner did not miraculously appear on the table. I even had to make my own dentist appointments. When I got sick, I had to be miserable all by myself in my lonely apartment.
To make matters even worse, the Grandpa of No was decidedly unsympathetic when I called him to complain that after paying all my bills and fixing the brakes on my aging 1983 Honda Accord, I had almost no money left. Not even enough money to go see a movie. The world's smallest violin was playing a sad, sad song.
The other night, my son was out riding his scooter while I was on the computer, trying to set up a new account for TV and internet service. One company had been sold to another company and the entire process was not going well. I was getting mad and saying bad words at inanimate objects in the insane hope that the computer would produce a wizard with a magic wand to fix the malfunctioning technology. See how that works? Kid gets to go outside and have fun, adult gets to yell at computer in frustration.
I suppose that being an adult isn't all bad. You can vote, although sometimes your choice of candidates isn't that great. Once you're over 21, you can legally have a glass of wine or a beer with your BFF's. After you have children, you can make stupid rules that they have to follow, like "The hamster is not allowed, under any circumstances, to roam freely around the house", or "If you are the one who clogged the toilet, you are the one who needs to plunge it", and when they complain you can offer to help them move out, because your house, your rules. But it's definitely not all my adolescent self had envisioned.
My son, however, he's got it all figured out. Stay a kid forever. Good plan.
If only it worked like that in real life.
Friday, May 6, 2016
Kid Cards Rule
The Mom of No loves homemade kid cards. My offspring are both clever individuals, in my unbiased and objective opinion, and I've taken to keeping their cards at work just because I enjoy looking at them from time to time, especially if I'm having a frustrating day.
Last year, I got this from the teenager:
You may be wondering what fungi have to do with Mother's Day, and the answer is, probably nothing- an organism that reproduces by spore dispersal doesn't really bring motherhood to mind. However, the teenager knows that I love fungi, so she spent hours researching interesting fungi around the world, and made me a card/guide for Mother's Day, complete with artwork. The time and the work, that is the gift. I plan to keep it forever.
Last year, I got this from the teenager:
You may be wondering what fungi have to do with Mother's Day, and the answer is, probably nothing- an organism that reproduces by spore dispersal doesn't really bring motherhood to mind. However, the teenager knows that I love fungi, so she spent hours researching interesting fungi around the world, and made me a card/guide for Mother's Day, complete with artwork. The time and the work, that is the gift. I plan to keep it forever.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Mother's Day Cards
This past weekend, I went out to buy my mother a Mother's Day card. Since she has Alzheimer's, she probably won't know that it's Mother's Day, and my father will probably have to remind her that she has children who are grown up and have their own children. However, I still send her a card because she's my mom and I love her.
The cards were all frilly and sweet, with pretty pictures of flowers and hearts and lovely poems inside. I bought my mother one of those cards. But then I started thinking about how funny it would be if Mother's Day cards reflected reality. For example:
Dear Mom, thank you for not killing me when I was three and flushed four Hot Wheels down the toilet on Thanksgiving to see what would happen, and the plumber had to come. Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, even though you replaced my dead hamster with a live hamster while I was at school and then pretended surprise when I asked why my hamster all of a sudden had red eyes instead of brown ones, you are still the greatest mom ever.
Dear Mom, I am still amazed at how you were able to drive to the emergency room with one hand and with the other hand hold a towel over my brother's chin after he split it on the faucet in the bathtub so he wouldn't bleed all over your car. May this Mother's Day be emergency-free!
Dear Mom, even though you said one dog was enough and under no circumstances could I have a snake as a pet, you are still the best mom ever and now that I have my own kids, I completely understand and agree. Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, you are the best at sneaking candy into the movie theater in your purse. Love you!
Dear Mom, I don't know how you did it, but you always knew we were in trouble at school even before we walked in the door. Thanks for letting us live!
Dear Mom, to this day I do not know how you always knew I was faking being sick on test days, and I admire that about you. Have a great Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, even though I know you were saying the Lord's Prayer non-stop under your breath every time I drove the car the first six months I had my driver's license, I think you are the best Mom ever!
Dear Mom, thank you for all the hours you spent in the car driving to the orthodontist, softball practice, band contests, Girl Scout camp, play dates, the mall, swim meets, babysitting gigs, birthday parties, and the library. Double thank you for the time you went back to the rest stop in Oklahoma after I realized I'd left my blankie there way back when I was two. You are the best mom ever!
Dear Mom, one of my fondest memories of childhood is you telling me "I'm not doing your homework for you. I already finished school." I love you! Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, I learned so much from you, including "a brownie for breakfast is better than no breakfast at all" and "the best parking space in summer is the one under a tree". Thank you for your love and wisdom. Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, thank you for volunteering and joining the PTA when I was in grade school, even though I know now that you really wanted to be reading a book in bed while eating a big bowl of chocolate ice cream. I appreciate everything you did for me. Love always and Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, thank you for not killing me after I spent thirty minutes yelling "I WANT MCDONALDS" at the top of my lungs while we were driving to Grandma's house that one time. You are my heroine. I love you!
Dear Mom, even though you had to be talked into it, and you knew nothing about soccer, and we lost every game we played, you were still the best soccer coach ever! Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, thank you for working in the marching band concession stand for four football seasons and waking up at 1 AM to pick me up from away games. You rocked band mom! Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, even though it didn't quite turn out like the cakes on Pinterest, thank you for attempting a 3-D princess cake for my 6th birthday. Even though it looked more like Barbie being strangled by pink snakes, it tasted great and that is what is really important! Happy Mother's Day!
So tell me, what do you think? Should I get my business plan ready?
The cards were all frilly and sweet, with pretty pictures of flowers and hearts and lovely poems inside. I bought my mother one of those cards. But then I started thinking about how funny it would be if Mother's Day cards reflected reality. For example:
Dear Mom, thank you for not killing me when I was three and flushed four Hot Wheels down the toilet on Thanksgiving to see what would happen, and the plumber had to come. Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, even though you replaced my dead hamster with a live hamster while I was at school and then pretended surprise when I asked why my hamster all of a sudden had red eyes instead of brown ones, you are still the greatest mom ever.
Dear Mom, I am still amazed at how you were able to drive to the emergency room with one hand and with the other hand hold a towel over my brother's chin after he split it on the faucet in the bathtub so he wouldn't bleed all over your car. May this Mother's Day be emergency-free!
Dear Mom, even though you said one dog was enough and under no circumstances could I have a snake as a pet, you are still the best mom ever and now that I have my own kids, I completely understand and agree. Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, you are the best at sneaking candy into the movie theater in your purse. Love you!
Dear Mom, I don't know how you did it, but you always knew we were in trouble at school even before we walked in the door. Thanks for letting us live!
Dear Mom, to this day I do not know how you always knew I was faking being sick on test days, and I admire that about you. Have a great Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, even though I know you were saying the Lord's Prayer non-stop under your breath every time I drove the car the first six months I had my driver's license, I think you are the best Mom ever!
Dear Mom, thank you for all the hours you spent in the car driving to the orthodontist, softball practice, band contests, Girl Scout camp, play dates, the mall, swim meets, babysitting gigs, birthday parties, and the library. Double thank you for the time you went back to the rest stop in Oklahoma after I realized I'd left my blankie there way back when I was two. You are the best mom ever!
Dear Mom, one of my fondest memories of childhood is you telling me "I'm not doing your homework for you. I already finished school." I love you! Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, I learned so much from you, including "a brownie for breakfast is better than no breakfast at all" and "the best parking space in summer is the one under a tree". Thank you for your love and wisdom. Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, thank you for volunteering and joining the PTA when I was in grade school, even though I know now that you really wanted to be reading a book in bed while eating a big bowl of chocolate ice cream. I appreciate everything you did for me. Love always and Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, thank you for not killing me after I spent thirty minutes yelling "I WANT MCDONALDS" at the top of my lungs while we were driving to Grandma's house that one time. You are my heroine. I love you!
Dear Mom, even though you had to be talked into it, and you knew nothing about soccer, and we lost every game we played, you were still the best soccer coach ever! Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, thank you for working in the marching band concession stand for four football seasons and waking up at 1 AM to pick me up from away games. You rocked band mom! Happy Mother's Day!
Dear Mom, even though it didn't quite turn out like the cakes on Pinterest, thank you for attempting a 3-D princess cake for my 6th birthday. Even though it looked more like Barbie being strangled by pink snakes, it tasted great and that is what is really important! Happy Mother's Day!
So tell me, what do you think? Should I get my business plan ready?
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Mother's Week
This coming Sunday will be Mother's Day, and children everywhere will be asking that essential question: What can I do to make my Mom's mother's day extra-special and something she'll remember for the rest of her life?
Actually no, just kidding. The Mom of No knows what they're asking.
When is Kids' Day? How come there's no Kids' Day?
All together now, moms, in unison:
EVERY DAY IS KIDS' DAY!
I became a mother for the first time on a night in August 2000. The only thing I really remember about that night is yelling at the Dad of No that it was perfectly fine to run every stop sign between our house and the hospital; as the contractions started coming, my birth plan became rapidly distilled down to one sentence: Get this baby out NOW.
After we came home from the hospital, I quickly learned my first motherhood lesson: there were a million ways I could screw up being a mother. After a few weeks of sticking close to the house, I decided to venture out with the baby. As I wandered around the grocery store, an older lady peered into the infant carrier. How old is she, the lady asked. A few weeks, I said. I was expecting her to say something like "oh, what a sweet baby!" or "you look fantastic for a few weeks postpartum!". Instead, she said, well, that baby is too young to be out of the house. She's going to get sick. I fled the scene, horribly embarrassed.
I called the Grandma of No, who as a recently retired NICU nurse, was my go-to baby advice person. That's ridiculous, my mother said. Women with babies leave the house all the time. Just don't let people cough on her.
So here is a (partial) list of the things I did wrong as a young mother: I used bottles. I went back to work. I didn't rub down the grocery cart with an antimicrobial wipe before I put the toddler in the little seat. I didn't sign either of my kids up for mommy and me classes. When my daughter took dance, I couldn't get her hair curled like the dance teacher demanded. I have more, but you get the idea. Being a mother didn't stress me out. Other people telling me how they thought I should be a mother stressed me out.
However, about a month after my daughter was born, a friend of my mother's sent me a card. Inside, she wrote a lovely note, and mentioned that my own mother had praised me and how I cared for my daughter. Every now and then, I would take it out and read it, and feel my confidence return. That woman did not know me, but she gave me a gift I still have.
For Mother's Day, all of us should give ourselves and each other two gifts. First, we should give ourselves a break. No self-doubt, no guilt, no second-guessing. No feeling like a bad mom when we know we're not. Perfection is not a requirement of motherhood.
Second, let's give each other a break from the judging. So some of us work and some of us don't. Some of us breast-fed and some of us bottle-fed and some of us did both. Some of us are free-range and some of us are helicopter parents. Some of us buy only organic food and some of us are regulars at the McDonald's drive-thru line. Is any of that really a deal-breaker? Let's all stop judging each other and finding each other wanting in Mom ability.
Maybe we could even give each other some positive vibes. You're awesome. I appreciate you. If you know a mom who needs some backup- the moms struggling to overcome a challenge, the moms who are grieving, the moms who are overwhelmed and exhausted, reach out to them. Send them a text, give them a hug, write them a short note. Like that card was to me, a gesture like that could be a real gift to someone.
Finally, Happy Mother's Day week to all moms reading this. I hope you have a great day. You deserve it. Enjoy all of it. You're all awesome. And kids, if you do breakfast in bed for your mother, clean up your mess in the kitchen. I know you can do it.
Actually no, just kidding. The Mom of No knows what they're asking.
When is Kids' Day? How come there's no Kids' Day?
All together now, moms, in unison:
EVERY DAY IS KIDS' DAY!
I became a mother for the first time on a night in August 2000. The only thing I really remember about that night is yelling at the Dad of No that it was perfectly fine to run every stop sign between our house and the hospital; as the contractions started coming, my birth plan became rapidly distilled down to one sentence: Get this baby out NOW.
After we came home from the hospital, I quickly learned my first motherhood lesson: there were a million ways I could screw up being a mother. After a few weeks of sticking close to the house, I decided to venture out with the baby. As I wandered around the grocery store, an older lady peered into the infant carrier. How old is she, the lady asked. A few weeks, I said. I was expecting her to say something like "oh, what a sweet baby!" or "you look fantastic for a few weeks postpartum!". Instead, she said, well, that baby is too young to be out of the house. She's going to get sick. I fled the scene, horribly embarrassed.
I called the Grandma of No, who as a recently retired NICU nurse, was my go-to baby advice person. That's ridiculous, my mother said. Women with babies leave the house all the time. Just don't let people cough on her.
So here is a (partial) list of the things I did wrong as a young mother: I used bottles. I went back to work. I didn't rub down the grocery cart with an antimicrobial wipe before I put the toddler in the little seat. I didn't sign either of my kids up for mommy and me classes. When my daughter took dance, I couldn't get her hair curled like the dance teacher demanded. I have more, but you get the idea. Being a mother didn't stress me out. Other people telling me how they thought I should be a mother stressed me out.
However, about a month after my daughter was born, a friend of my mother's sent me a card. Inside, she wrote a lovely note, and mentioned that my own mother had praised me and how I cared for my daughter. Every now and then, I would take it out and read it, and feel my confidence return. That woman did not know me, but she gave me a gift I still have.
For Mother's Day, all of us should give ourselves and each other two gifts. First, we should give ourselves a break. No self-doubt, no guilt, no second-guessing. No feeling like a bad mom when we know we're not. Perfection is not a requirement of motherhood.
Second, let's give each other a break from the judging. So some of us work and some of us don't. Some of us breast-fed and some of us bottle-fed and some of us did both. Some of us are free-range and some of us are helicopter parents. Some of us buy only organic food and some of us are regulars at the McDonald's drive-thru line. Is any of that really a deal-breaker? Let's all stop judging each other and finding each other wanting in Mom ability.
Maybe we could even give each other some positive vibes. You're awesome. I appreciate you. If you know a mom who needs some backup- the moms struggling to overcome a challenge, the moms who are grieving, the moms who are overwhelmed and exhausted, reach out to them. Send them a text, give them a hug, write them a short note. Like that card was to me, a gesture like that could be a real gift to someone.
Finally, Happy Mother's Day week to all moms reading this. I hope you have a great day. You deserve it. Enjoy all of it. You're all awesome. And kids, if you do breakfast in bed for your mother, clean up your mess in the kitchen. I know you can do it.
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