Two dozen years of parenting

How can that be? One minute you are obsessing over nursery school and then you turn around and you have been at this for 24 years. And by some miracle you haven’t messed them up.

Yes, kiddies, today marks the 24th birthday of my girl. And oh what a difference a year makes. Since 23 she has found her dream job, moved into her own apartment and learned to balance a tight budget.

There is so much I can say about her, but mostly I want to thank her for being such a good sport about posing, for always being there to make me laugh and most of all for constantly reminding me why I was put on this earth.

To be a mom.

I love you Petuney; and I could not be any prouder of who you have become. May this be your best year ever!

Mom Fail

Packaging. It can be so deceiving. At first glance the red and white box simply seemed to be the inhaler I had just picked up from the pharmacy, so it went in the ‘to pack’ pile for my son’s semester abroad.

Ok, so it was the dog’s ear drops instead. Hey, she never let’s me get near her with them, anyway. Someone might as well use them.

I know, a wheezing American in Spain would probably not have seen the humor in that.

Mom fail or honest mistake?

Time to Cry Tuesday – Buckaroo

I am not one of those moms that pines away for the days when their children were little. Don’t get me wrong, I loved raising my kids. And though sentimental by nature, I am not one of those ‘oh-where-have-my-babies-gone’ types. Each stage had its joys and its challenges and I loved them all. Some were more trying than others, but as a package, motherhood has been a great gig.

But every once in awhile something hits me. I am innocently cleaning the closet in my office (yes, I am still on the office project) and buried in the pile of quilting fabrics (yes, I was a quilter) was this tiny pair of cowboy motif pajamas.

Not just any pajamas, but the ones that had to be washed constantly so that my son could sleep in them yet again. They are threadbare and soft as can be, with faint stains of what is probably maple syrup from the 1,000 waffles he ate at that age. Just the sight of them gave me that tight feeling in my chest that I get when a piece of my past comes crashing into me.

Perhaps when he wore these is when we started calling him Buckaroo. We don’t use that name often, but when we do he tolerates it probably for the same reason we say it; it brings us back to little boy time we both loved.

I took this shot and texted it to my now 19-year-old son with the caption ‘Bucka-f’ing-roo’.

Sometimes you have to know your audience and tailor your message. Know what I mean?

Twitter Parenting

For those of you who don’t know me, I am somewhat of a social media obsessed 50-something mom that jumps on most trends before her college aged kids because… well because frankly I am way cooler than they are. (says me)

Tonight, as I was wrapping up work around 10:45 because I have no life am trying to take some time off while my kids are home. I did a quick check in on twitter because I am addicted you never know what groundbreaking news or info you will find there.

Right there in the middle of my stream was my sweet adorable daughter, one of the last living breathing souls left in Madison, WI. She has not broken her record for having a final on December 23rd – the LAST day of finals – four years running! This is what she had to say.

This cracked me up as we are the family of the HEAVY tag when we fly. So shoot us, we like to have options.

I thought I would ease her mind and tweeted back:

For those unfamiliar with twitter, the # is called a hashtag. You use a hashtag at the end of a tweet to designate a topic. When a lot of people tweet with the same topic, that topic ‘trends’ or becomes the most popular thing people are talking about on twitter. At this moment the top trending topic is #howtopissyourgirloff. So I am thinking that it is not far-fetched to think that one of my hashtags could catch on.

Ok, maybe not #schmanboy.

Time to Cry Tuesday – MY Mom is NOT on Facebook

With all the attention on facebook these days, what with the movie and this week’s hysterical SNL skit about Mom’s being on facebook; I thought now would be a good time to talk about what my mom and I discovered this weekend.

Mom had never seen facebook and was curious. I took her through the basics and then drifted down the path of not so basics. You know, the ins and outs of semi-not-really-but-if-you-are-being-honest-with-yourself… stalking. Photo albums of friends of friends. Searching for people from your past that maybe have no clue that facebook actually has privacy settings. You know, some innocent stuff like that.

I must say, she was rather appalled. Both at how easy it was to view these things and what people will actually post about themselves. Being a very social, but equally private person, my mom could not fathom this place we call social networking.

When you put it that way, neither can I. Being one to pick and choose the digital footprint I leave,  I am very sensitive to that.

But the real revelation that came out of this exercise was not about privacy, it was more about why people of her generation – for the most part – don’t feel all that compelled to join in. Sure part of it is the technology piece. Some who are more technically savvy try it out to keep up with the grandkids but soon find that is ‘so not OK, mom!’, to quote a certain college student I know. But I think more than that, it is the fact that their lives ran deep but not as wide.

Unlike my generation – where friends moved all over the country, and my kid’s generation – where they will most probably move all over the world; they lived most of their lives in the New York area. Except for a stint when dad was stationed in Panama and she joined him, they have been New Yorkers. They still have their dearest childhood friends in their lives. They went to college locally. Their friends all moved to the suburbs, mostly our side of the city. Their parents were local. They raised their kids here and stayed in my childhood home. Their real-life communities were, and still are, stronger than any online community could be for them.

The only shift has been that they all migrated either full or part time to the east coast of Florida. For some, they have reconnected down there with people from their past much like facebook. Would that be called reality imitating virtual? Hmmmm, think about it. Floridian closed-gate communities are like the facebook of the older generation.

But the most compelling reason my mom had for lack of interest in engaging in this space was this, “I want to remember the people from my past that I did not choose to keep in touch with the way they were. I want to keep them in my mind’s eye as we were then. And frankly, if I did not really connect enough with them to keep in touch in real life, why would I want to reconnect?”

Good point.

And THAT is why MY mom is NOT on facebook, and does not feel like she is missing one blessed thing by not being there. (thanks for the insight mom).

The Mangler

Get ready for some really ridiculous posts. This weekend my mom and I are on a road trip. I told her we would be like Thelma and Louise. I thought it was funny until we were stuck in our 4th traffic jam on I-95 in as many hours and she told me she was going to take out a gun and shoot herself in the head. “Mom? Did you actually take me seriously and bring a gun on this trip?” I figured this one was going to be kind of hard to explain. Luckily she was only kidding.

We decided to take this trip to suburban Boston to visit my aunt (her sister) and my cousin who is like my sister. This is a very special trip as the 2 sisters have not seen each other in 5 years!

Dinner was a riot as we reminisced about our past and brought up names and stories of people long gone. Ok, who remembers Nana and Poppa’s phone number? Bang! We all recited it as if we had just called them. As my friend Joyce would say, “Just don’t ask us what we had for breakfast or what our kids’ names are.”

The most bizarre memory of the night was that of ‘The Mangler’. (my brother is going to love this as I believe it was housed in his bedroom for many of his formative years). Now wait till you hear what this thing is. It was a machine used to iron. It had knee pedals and you fed the clothing through the hot metal roller to press them. Yeh, I know, sounds like the perfect item to keep in a toddler’s room, right? And the name Mangler? Well, if you fed you fingers into that sucker instead of the clothing…

Hello Mrs. Z, this is social services! Yes, we were wondering why you thought it was ok to have this piece of equipment in the room of your young child.

Never! Remember this was the late 50s/early 60s. The era when you not only did not wear seatbelts but you let the kids hang out in the back of the station wagon on long car rides – without seats, let alone belts! When pregnant women smoked and drank coffee and lines like, “go play in traffic” were uttered when kids complained they were bored.

I find it rather funny that the helicopter generation was raised by the what the hell generation.

All kidding aside, my childhood memories are great ones. We always felt loved and secure.  There was always family around and we had a lot of laughs. Right and wrong were not so hard to distinguish. None of parents wanted to be cool; or be our friends. They were our parents, and if we screwed up, we paid for it.

And no, not with the Mangler!

 

Eighteen!

There is nothing like the wonder of a 5th birthday party when the birthday boy gets to open his presents after the festivities. What I would not give to know what gift prompted that perfect little thrilled face on my boy. And the equally impressed face of my other little boy to his left. Of course, his sister – the Boss, was on hand to make sure he opened his gifts correctly.

Fast forward 15 years that flew by so quickly I am suffering from a little mommy whiplash today just thinking about it. And there is my boy, firmly planted in his new college life, most probably still fast asleep right now.

But waiting for him in the package room in the dorm would be the ever famous box of…

you guessed it: 18 presents. This idea came from my friend Karen and I copied her for Jana’s 21st. Of course sending it to Spain cost more than the contents but it was surely worth it.

So, to my 18 year old ‘baby’, may this day and your new life be as filled with wonder and excitement as your 5-year-old face in the picture above. And know that no matter how old you get, you will always be a little bit of that bowl hair cut sporting, basketball jersey and t-shirt wearing, lego building little guy in this mom’s heart.

Happy Birthday Danny Boy. Be all you can be and…

be careful.

Love you, man!

Jeans, a Hurricane and Wet Feet

I know what you are thinking, “She has finally snapped. The pressure of her son’s graduation has snipped the remaining thread she was hanging by”.

Close.

Long and short of it, Danny’s brand of jeans are nowhere to be found sending us on an exasperating quest. Some bizarre storm blew through a sliver of Long Island leaving in its wake the worst damn gridlock I have ever seen and the AC in the kids’ car is spewing ice cold water on our feet every time we make a turn.

Honestly, none of this matters. But it does give you a little glimpse into the type of day that Danny and I had – the last day together before graduation.

And there it is folks: The Last Day. Staring me down with its beady little eyes. Making me threaten to curl up in a ball and hide under the headless mannequins in the mall while searching for the perfect pair of boy jeans and finally letting it all out with either a primal scream or uncontrollable sobbing. (both of which are not all that desirable to witness your mom doing when you are a 17-year-old boy who is also at the end of his rope).

So we found jeans and the car will wait in line to get fixed. And I, being one who with a strong distaste for drama, did not lose it at the mall. It was tempting, but I used restraint.

Then I walked in the house and there it was…

The graduation gown hanging on the back of the door.

And the tape loop of a little boy turned man furiously ran through my mind. Legos. Why can I not stop thinking of Legos? And blocks. And Brio trains and bridges on the basement floor at 6AM Sunday mornings when I was dying to sleep. And little blonde bowl haircuts. Apple juice – why is the smell of apple juice so damn nostalgic?  And Axe, why do I tear up at the thought of the whole upstairs smelling like Axe Body Spray? Could I actually be craving the smell of sweaty soccer socks? Have I lost my mind or would I give any amount of money to drive one more carpool or sit on the sidelines of a soccer field in the broiling heat/pouring rain/freezing cold just one more Sunday morning in Center friggin’ Moriches or better yet Ronkonkoma?

This is what mothers do at times like these. We reflect. And we share. And we promise our sons we will keep it together when everyone knows that keeping it together is actually the last thing we are skilled at.

So here’s to the class of 2010.

And their moms (and dads). And to sons thinking that maybe it is ok to let mom lose it once in awhile… because they know that the act of keeping it together may be the one that finally sends her over edge. And that crying at graduation is the mom version of separation anxiety. And perhaps our sons remember that feeling from way back when…

as they watched us drive away.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Cracking of the Rock of Gibralter – Part 2

Or: This chick surely does not have her sh*t together anymore!

Back in December of 2008 I wrote this post about the gradual – or not so gradual – deterioration of my ability to keep things together the way I used to. When the kids were young I could juggle a toddler, a baby, a job, a puppy, a husband in the ICU and still hold down a full time job.

Now? Lucky if I remember to feed any of them. Hey they are old enough to fend for themselves. Ok, maybe the dog has an issue with the can opener, but she could live off the begging she does just fine.

Today I bring you the top ten list of why I simply cannot consider myself superwoman anymore. And to let you know that I am fully liberated from giving a crap about it.

10. No milk for the coffee and cereal (for more than one day)

9. No lunch reservation for graduation day (next friday)

8. No corsage ordered for Danny’s prom date (again, next friday)

7. Danny’s suit for this Saturday night’s fundraiser is not altered (masking tape anyone)

6. Cannot find the receipt for Danny’s prom tuxedo (See a Danny pattern here? Hey, he needs to start taking care of himself, he is going to college)

5. Have not written a blog post since Tuesday (please tell me you guys noticed)

4. Picked up the materials for a presentation hours before I was giving it (usually had this done at least a day in advance in the past)

3. Have lost my blackberry, shoes, wallet, glasses,  ______ fill in the blank, at least once a day (hopeless)

2. Have not filed the last 2 month’s worth of paperwork (office is an embarrassment)

And the Number One reason I am convinced I am no longer even a shadow of the woman I used to be:

1. Camp trunks go out tomorrow and they are still in the attic at 2PM

Ok, but here is the thing. Eventually I went to Dairy Barn and got milk. No one in the house is starving to death, certainly not the dog. If I don’t blog for a few days, only my stats suffer.  Danny is 17 and does not care how well his suit fits, is fully aware that we will order the corsage today, and knows that even without the receipt I will find a way to get that tuxedo. (I still have skills, for G-d sakes!) The presentation went fine, I find and re-lose all items daily like the tides. Papers were meant to left in piles, and most important, those trunks will get packed in the same 1 hour window whether we do it over 2 weeks or one night at 10PM.

Lesson learned: it all get’s done anyway. Lighten up.

Superwoman is sorely over-rated!

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Time to Cry Tuesday – A Hole in the Blogosphere

on facebook

If you read me regularly you have noticed that I also write over at 50-Something Moms Blog. I have been part of the SV Moms Group community for almost two years and consider them a family of sorts. Or as Gary likes to refer to them, my satan-worshipping blog friends.

As far as I can tell, none of them are actual satan-worshippers. Instead they are hundreds of moms – and a few dads with a strong sense of their masculinity – who write about everything from parenting to politics. The blogs are segmented geographically with one demographic group – the must current group of 50-somethings I have ever met!

In the background we are members of a thriving discussion board where we offer support, help promote one another, network and collaborate. Never before have I worked within such an amazing group.

I have been in business for many years. I have watched moms struggle with every aspect of the collision of parenting and career –  be it the choice to continue working or the option to stay home. As part of this group I have watched and listened. At times I have given council and at others I have been taught by the masters. When I needed an answer or a resource on any topic, they were my go-to group and there was always someone who would jump in and help me out.

It is with great sadness that I report the SVMoms Group is dissolving the site. The bloggers were all notified at around 3:00 PM EST on Monday. Within 6 hours a new alumni community was formed on Ning with members immediately joining by the dozens. I would imagine the whole group will migrate there within a day or so. This is a network that will not dissolve.

So, to the Sisterhood of the SVMoms I show my deepest gratitude for having been a part of something so very special. And to our fearless leaders, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for inviting me to be a part of something so life-changing. (oh yeh, and letting me lie about my age for the first year I was writing on 50-something).

Yes, there will surely be a hole in the blogosphere where we once lived!

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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