When Did I Become Potsy?

When did I become so uncool?  I remember when I knew the latest music,
the coolest music, the hottest trends… and in an instant it all
disappears in a *poof* related to a simple equation such as this:  #
of birthdays X (# of children X combined ages of said children).

In other words, unless you are a famous rock star, we will never be as
cool as we would like with our children.  We will never look hip
wearing the same style clothing they do even if it is simply an
updated version of what we wore in high school.  (Perfect example:  We
looked like geeks in bell bottoms in the 70's and we look like geeks
now if we try to wear them now.)

It is also humbling that my teens are more knowledgeable about
Facebook and Myspace accounts.  After some deep thought and much
prodding from y conscious, I decided to create accounts so I could
stay in contact with my children's lives.  In other words, I wanted to
spy on them.  With much diligence and half a bottle of Tylenol, I
finally figured out that I had to create a password that met the
parameters of the websites.  That task accomplished in a mere record
three hours, I proceeded to create my profile.  It was a breeze, and
within a week I was ready to network.

I searched out my children's profiles and asked to be added as a
friend.  To my amazement, I was denied!  Me… the mother their friends
think is cool!  I promptly called a family meeting to discuss this
apparent oversight on behalf of my teens.  After explaining my
position as cool mom and the need to keep tabs on them, I realized
that my teens were either having seizures or they were rolling their
eyes at me.  My daughter, after releasing a deep sigh, explained to me
that it was not cool to have your mom listed as a friend with her
middle-aged mug for all to see.

Okay, I corrected this problem by creating a stealth profile with an
appropriately cool anime pic chosen by democratic process (in other
words, the teens picked it out for me).  I was allowed to join their
networks under the following conditions:  that I do not embarrass them
in the cyber world like I do in real life by not posting anything at
all and that if anything bothers me about their profiles I will
discuss it with them in the privacy of our home.

That brings me back to my real profiles.  Too uncool to be useful as
covert teen spying tools, I decided to see if I could reconnect with
old friends.  But old friends were not the only ones to try to connect
with me!

I had not thought about privacy settings and the like because, after
all, I am an adult.  Now I know that was a mistake, and I am not above
admitting mistakes… sometimes… but only if someone else has caught me.
 Anyway, I opened my friend request box thingy to find that an odd
assortment of sociopaths and psychopaths were also contacting me.
From across the land, strange creatures were lifting their tentacles
to keyboard and informing me that my life would be much more rewarding
if I would add them as a friend and become a part of their select,
worthy people.  I was amazed by the gamut of pictures, ranging from
the not so scary to the "MY God!  I saw him on America's Most Wanted!"

Now this is the embarrassing part for me.  After searching through the
different tools and functions of the websites, I had to ask my
daughter how to limit the functions for people whom I did not know.
She looked at me as if she was about to help a small child learn to
write the alphabet and then proceeded to show me where each tool was
located.  And then it hit me… I know how my mother felt when I was a
teen and how she must feel now that she is a senior citizen.

I didn't really pay attention to Kat's instructions because my mind
wandered to my relationship with my mother.  My mother has a computer
at home, but she has some problems using it even to just email.  She
was a bank vice president, a highly competent woman and yet I still
fight the urge to just push her out of the way and show my command of
the internet world.  But I truly have no command… because there I sat
with my daughter tutoring me and I was not getting it.  And instead of
asking her to repeat it, I shrugged my shoulder's like Fonzie did in
the episode where Ritchie offered to help him get his GED and… I got a
handle on it.

But I don't.  I am still self-teaching on how to get rid of the
weirdos online.  I am muddling through expansive Google results on how
to use the tools effectively.  And I am still trying to hold on to the
last shred of coolness I have:  my 9 year old still thinks mommy is
awesome no matter what his brother and sister say.

Life Time Zones

I am new to the social networking and blogging scene.  I suppose that
I just never thought that I was that kind of person, but the older I
become I have noticed that geography and time have a way of scattering
those I know and care about across time zones.

And by time zones, I do not only mean which area of the country or
even world in which we find ourselves.  There are people still here in
Franklin County that I see only in a blue moon.  I have a better
chance of winning the Pick 3 than I do of seeing these people on a
regular basis.  The sad aspect of this is that when I do run into
these people, we will both exchange pleasantries and promise to stay
in touch… and then promptly real life will set in and the contact
information will be lost among the receipts for clothing that is not
the right size or is not the correct style for my children, doctor's
appointment cards, coupons, and chewing gum wrappers only to then be
thrown away with the absolute knowledge that I will run into said
person again… soon.

But it doesn't happen because we are on different life time zones.

Our children go to different schools, we shop at different times, we
go to different churches… we simply live in the same geographical area
but our lives are do not share the same life time zone.

Maybe, just maybe, social networking sites and blogging will close
some of these distances in time and space.  I hope so because not a
single one of us knows how long we have to be on this earth.  I have
classmates that have passed away since we graduated.  Terenda Green
was pregnant with her youngest son at the same time I was pregnant
with mine.  Our daughters were friends in elementary school.  Yet we
only saw one another in passing.  And I regret not taking the time to…
not making the time to have coffee with her or to linger when our
girls played with one another.  She and I had similar complications
after our sons were born.  After much fear and prayer, I am here with
my children.  Terenda passed away about two months after her son was
born.  I feel blessed yet still guilty because I did not make time.

Clifford Whitaker died suddenly, and I only knew of it after reading
the obituaries.  And I felt guilty because I had all but forgotten
him… and the friendship he offered me in school when I was an
underclassman in band and he was a senior.

There are so many others that I cannot even begin to list them for
fear of once more forgetting someone who touched my life, even in the
most minute manner, when I was the cocky teenager instead of the
worried mother.

So, what is the point of this melancholy, rambling post?  That I am
going to try to start writing again.  That I do truly appreciate those
people that God chose to come into my life no matter for how long or
for what reason.  That even though twenty years or more have passed
since most of us were together on a daily basis, maybe this
contraption that was not even around in its present form will shrink
the geographical distances and bring us all back into the same life
time zone.

School Days, School Daze Part I

School starts next week for my kids. The had a full 2 months of vacation this year! However, I think that they haven't really experienced summer break like those of us over 30 did.

For example, many of us old farts did not have satellite or cable television unless we lived in larger metropolitan areas. The rest of us had to entertain ourselves by other means. Here in the rural south, we used to go to lake a lot... to swim, fish, water ski. We would hang out and go camping. We would help out our family and neighbors with yard work, many times not expecting a reward and extremely grateful when we did receive one.

Many of us who had cars (and I am not talking about the showpieces kids drive today but the 10-15 year old junkers that needed oil whenever we stopped for gas) also had jobs in order to pay for the necessities such as gasoline, alcohol, and cigarettes. (Yes, I am talking of the ancient days of lore.) We flipped burgers, took orders, mucked stalls, mopped floors, delivered feed, washed cars, plowed fields, helped with the family... you name, someone was doing it. And we had fun doing it because, especially during the summer, we were working side by side with friends.

Furthermore, most of us were paid either a flat rate or a minimum wage that was half of what it is today. We didn't care because we had cold hard cash to spend.

When school started, we still worked. The only difference was we were expected to also maintain the highest grades possible. We had an active vocational program then, one where the students who were not interested in college could excel in their talents... be it agriculture or carpentry, auto body repair or cosmetology.

Now I have one in high school, and see such a different world through her eyes. Many of the kids she goes to school with have no idea how to do anything. The expect to be paid for everything they do including making decent grades. Only a few that I have met in their workplace environments actually take pride in the job. Most simply exist in that space, waiting till its time to clock out. They drive cars that I would love to be able to afford and wear new clothes every week. They cuss inf front of us old farts (something we would have died before doing when I was their age... not to say we didn't cuss... we just knew when and where was appropriate). Curfew is a joke, and sleeping around is consider the norm rather than taboo.

I am just in shock! I am trying my best to keep my kids from becoming jaded, lazy, non-performers but it is difficult. It seems I am constantly telling them to help around the house. I am constantly telling them to get a job if they want money. I probably have been painted as an evil witch to their friends, but I don't care. There are lessons that they will need to function in the real world... like job ethics, the desire to excel, the importance of money, the benefits of failure, and the rewards of success.

When I go to the store to purchase the needed school supplies, I will once again be taken over by memories of my childhood... but I will also be humbled by my new position as teacher.

Grocery Store Nostalgia

I was prowling around online earlier today trying to find out exactly what kind of fish I had bought at the store (a croaker) and how to fix it when I came across a blog written by a rather cool butcher from New York.

I live in the South, and his ramblings took me back to the 1970's.

Before I begin, let me say that this used to be a much more rural area. Many families, mine included, would buy either a bull to raise or a side of beef from a local farmer. We all had gardens and freezers, not to mention the canning cellar. Grocery stores were for when we either ran out of something or we could not grow it... but that is another post.

We had one chain grocery store in town when I was a kid, and it left a lot to be desired. My mother and grandmother usually took me to the locally owned stores to go shopping. Each one had a butcher, and he would slice and dice whatever kind of cut one could come up with to buy. You could see him through a glass window at the back of the store by the meat cooler. He would be dressed in a blood splattered white uniform with a little envelope shaped hat, hacking away at huge sides of beef or pork.

There was a little buzzer over the pre-packaged hamburger and chops. My mother or grandmother would ring the bell whenever they needed something special. The butcher would wipe his hands and come out, always with a smile. Mom or Mawmaw would explain what she needed, and the butcher would say he would be back in wink. I was fascinated just watching him cut the meat. If there was a specific weight, he NEVER had to go back and do it again. To me, it was magic. How did he know?

In a few moments he would return with the fresh cut meat wrapped neatly in the white butcher paper. Sometimes he would ask if we needed twine. I was always amazed that no matter how bloody he was, the package was perfectly white without one single spot!

Then again, there are a lot of things about the old family grocery stores that I miss now when I take my kids out.

In other places, these things may still exist... but not here with out three chain grocery stores and only one "home owned" store. (The one home owned store was bought by a foreign family a few years ago and has changed. Insert deep sigh.)

I remember the Brach's Candy bins where you could mix and match a pound of candy. (I loved the butter rum creams!)

People could call in their orders. When they came in, the bag boy would bring it to the front for them!

There used to be bag boys who would unload your cart, bag it up, then take it to the car and unload it for you... without being asked!

The racks by checkout were filled with not only gum but penny candy! There were also candy cigarettes (shich never caused anyone to smoke unless a kid ate too much and ended up having steam from the gigantic sugar-rush pour from their ears) and Marathon Candy Bars... wonderful, gooey Marathon Bars with the yellow ruler on the back of the package.



Marathon Bars... the perfect snack for school because you could use it for math class and then eat it in the afternoon. The perfect ruler for a kid!

I feel that I am fortunate because I have the memories. Maybe it was because "modern conveniences" were a little slower coming to my hometown. Maybe it is because we were a difficult town to convert. I don't know.

What I do know is that I miss those days, especially when confronted with the self-scanner check lanes at Walmart or having to take out my own groceries the other day. It just seems to me that we are all so busy that we have forgotten how to enjoy life. Or maybe we have forgotten that all jobs are important and human contact is something we all truly need.

My family does not have as much as others, but I pray that somehow I can give my children the same kind of memories I have... of interaction with others and the knowledge that having the biggest and bestest does not give you the best memories of childhood.

How can I get some?

For those of you who thought this was a sexual post, get your minds out of the gutter.

For all others, I simply desire some input.

It is so difficult raising kids today that I am amazed that there are birth announcements in the newspapers anymore.

I am almost 40, in a relationship that would make any therapist scream, and no one wants to open a dialog.

Guess I was wrong about blogging.

Me and My Big Guy

The teens are at my parents' house helping with yard work today. Sooooo, I am alone with my Alex.

Alex is four years younger than Alan and six years younger than Anne. He is also the spitting image of Beaver from the old television show.

Nothing phases him. He is almost always happy and ready to give someone a hug. Many of the other 9 year olds in his class are already jaded, but not Alex.

Alex has a sunflower garden and a pet cabbage. The cabbage was given to everyone in third grade as a summer project. It is supposed to be of the gigantic 50 pound variety, but Carl isn't that big. He is actually well taken care of and even has stories read to him daily. Personally, I do not know of any cabbage who is read to on a daily basis so I am going to assume this is the most well-read cabbage in the United States.

In order to know why this kid has such a special place in my heart, one needs to know the circumstances of his birth. When I was pregnant with Alan, the doctor discovered that I had stage 3 dysplyasia. In other words, I had cervical cancer. Alan was born three months prematurely. It was a blessing that he did not have birth defects and was considered above average at all of his checkups. The bad news was that the doctor told me I would never have any more children because my cervix was so week I would abort within the first month.

Guess what? I found out I was pregnant with Alex when I was four months along. The little fellow was not about to listen to a doctor or anyone else. I had a cerclage inserted, which pretty much resembles on of those purple rubber bands used to hold bunches of broccoli together. Alex was born fat and sassy on his due date (after 5 days of labor) via c-section. He was the baby I was never supposed to have.

It doesn't make him more special than the other two because, eventually, I will tell of their births on this blog. He is just special for his own reasons. He was the last baby I could have. (I had my tubes tied due to the complications and for some reason the insurance company did not consider my near death a reason to let me have a hysterectomy.) He is the happiest child I have ever seen. And he personifies the 1950's good kid in almost every way.

So, today was an "our day" together. I am soaking wet from assisting Alex water his sunflowers and Carl. Dinner tonight will be macaroni and cheese. We will watch silly cartoons and probably fall asleep together on the couch before church tomorrow.

And I will have a memory of his childhood and the unconditional love that simply flows from his soul.

Someone once said children are a blessing.

I am greatly blessed.