Role Models

 You know that saying "more is caught than taught?" I feel that, as a parent, there is nothing more true than that. There is a scene in the movie 42 where a young boy wants to cheer for Jackie Robinson and then hears his dad call the legendary baseball player the most horrendous and derogatory name and he, like his father, starts to shout the same racial slurs. It is heartbreaking, but is so much representative of our culture.

This past weekend, I ventured into Target. Now, it was a Sunday and there were a lot of families in there doing college shopping. It is understandable for people to be stressed when they put these important life choices (what color comforter? how many towels?) off to the last minute. But, surprisingly, Target wasn't awfully crowded and the line was moving at a decent pace.

Until Trashy McGee got on line. He was a person behind me so I didn't notice. The young man in line in front of me let me go first because he needed a self-checkout that accepted cash. So now Trashy would be two people behind me. The cash kid stepped up and had to wait because the machine needed ID or something. So, by then, Trashy was at the next self-checkout. And his machine started to act up. His kid, probably about 9 or 10, was being patient. But the dad was another story. He started yelling "Yo. Hello. Can we get a human over here? Does anyone actually work here? We need a human over here." 

The entire checkout audience did a collective eye roll. It was not event 11am and this guy was already either on his fourth beer or his fourth cup of coffee and he was pissed. It didn't take long for someone to run over - the store is obviously understaffed and these kids are running back and forth doing online orders. When she did come over, instead of letting her help cash guy (who was there first) Trashy waved her over and basically criticized her slow gait, the lack of employees, Target in general and everyone else on the planet because he had to wait 36 seconds to swipe his card.

A woman behind him said "you don't have to be so rude" and he told her to shut the f*ck up. She then said something about talking like that in front of his kid, which sent him into a tirade of F bombs about her audacity in questioning his (obviously stellar) parenting skills. The woman was calm, but you could tell she just wanted to stick up for the poor girl who was trying to punch in her key code and get the heck out of that situation. She was trying to stick up for that little boy who was obviously embarrassed. And then Trashy had the nerve to call this woman a fat, f*ckin bitch. Fat? Really. Trashy, you have boobs. I don't mean like some big pecs from working out - you have literal boobs that could comfortably fit into a C or D cup. And you have the nerve to call a woman fat and tell her to go F herself? 

Listen, I have a bad mouth. I have a bad temper. I'm all for yelling at someone who really deserves it. But that lady didn't. The workers didn't. The kids working were all patient and friendly and helpful. But, does Trashy's son learn that his dad is a jerk? Or does he learn that this is the way to get what you want no matter who you offend? No kid wants to think their dad is a jerk. But, if that is how you grow up - watching someone to talk to people like they don't matter - then it's hard to not turn into that person yourself.

Sometimes, I watch how my daughters interact with other people and wonder if they saw me do that or they just did that on their own. I hope the way I behave in public is something they aren't embarrassed about. I feel like my mom taught me good manners and how to be kind to people. I know I have a LOT of faults, but not yelling at people in public is one of the things I think I am okay at.

And I will say this - the woman who called Trashy out? She had an adorable doofy pit bull with her and in my head, I was hoping that dog would just flip a switch and bite that Trashy guy right in the butt to get him to shut up. I'm sure I'm not the only one!

Barbie

 I thought my daughters were just humoring me when they came with me to see the Barbie movie. I figured they might be embarrassed so we went to a theater a few towns away where I didn't think anyone would recognize them.

Turns out, they were super excited to see it - maybe even as much as me. At first, I was hesitant about seeing Barbie because I'm not a huge fan of live action remakes of treasured animated favorites. But, the marketing genius behind that movie made it nearly impossible to stay away from. That is 1 hour and 54 minutes I was glad to give and would do again.

If you haven't seen that movie yet, go. It was funny and sad and silly and sweet and thoughtful but, most of all, memorable. I can't remember another movie that has so stirred up memories of my childhood and my daughters' childhood. 

Barbie was one of my favorite toys. I didn't have a lot of them but I took care of them like they were my kids. I would never ever ever think of putting marker makeup on them or trying to change their hair and would get really upset if anyone else touched them. My mom made my Barbie clothes. Looking back, that was freaking awesome. How her fingers could stitch such intricate patterns and sew little snaps and buttons on will forever amaze me. Back then, I didn't like it much. When you are poor, having homemade clothes is not fun - even when they are Barbie clothes. So, if you got a Barbie Dream House, even if it was from a yard sale, it was the best thing you ever saw and you made sure to keep it clean and tidy. And if your friends up the street wanted to use your Barbie clothes, even though they weren't fancy and new, you would not let that happen no matter what.

When my kids got old enough to play with Barbies, I was over the moon. I couldn't wait to sit with them and brush their hair and make sure their shoes matched their outfit and have them act out their roles as mothers and doctors and pilots. But, that wasn't their Barbie vision. My kids, those animals, wanted to change Barbie's clothes and give her mismatched shoes and braid her hair. Um, no, that is not how we play with Barbie, girls. 

You know that feeling you get when you spend five hours cleaning your house and your kid dumps a bowl of fruit punch on the carpet? Or the one when your kid puts play-doh in their hair instead of making a nice little sculpture? Those feelings did not compare. It was more like a feeling of watching your child knock over your dining room hutch filled with your great-grandmother's china. Yeah, I know it's insane, but Barbie being Barbie was important to me. And not because I wanted to ever be like Barbie, but because having something that nice and pretty made me feel in control of something nice and pretty.

My mom did make clothes for my daughters' Barbies. And they did and still do cherish those clothes. Spoiler Alert - One of the most beautiful parts of the movie is a montage of women and girls playing with Barbies. It literally made me sob. (and if my girls weren't embarrassed about seeing the movie with me before, they certainly were now!) It made me think about my mom, who passed away eight years ago, and how much time she must have taken making those Barbie clothes. It made me think of my girls when they were small and how my youngest is leaving for college in a few days. And it also made me think about all the wonderful memories I have that are tied to that doll. I bet there are a lot of moms and daughters who have those same kind of wonderful memories.

So, go see the movie. Embrace its powerful message. Just remember to bring tissues.

The Summer of See Ya!

 There are fewer than two weeks before my youngest daughter moves into college. My internal clock that is filled with sadness and memories and wondering if I bought enough body wash and the right kind of comforter do not match the clock that she has. 

Her clock has no alarm. It doesn't wake her up in the morning and have her pop out of bed ready to spend those last few days at home enjoying my company. Instead, her clock just keeps quiet until the afternoon hours when she finally wakes up.

It doesn't remind her that her mom is out in the dining room looking through a collection of photos, trying to find the best ones for her wall and getting sad about her leaving. It doesn't remind her that there are still a dozen things left on her must-have list that she has yet to pick out.

Her clock reminds her that it is time for her to get ready to go out with friends, spend hours around a firepit laughing or find a party. 

I wish that clock could start over. Not just because I wish I had more time with her, but because I wish she could get the last four years back. I wish she didn't have to cram a high school social life into a summer of "see ya". Like so many other people, my daughters both lost out on so much of high school. One was a senior and one was a freshman when the pandemic took away normalcy. The oldest didn't really care too much since she didn't like school anyway and didn't care about the traditional prom and graduation stuff. But, the youngest? She was hit....hard. She thrives when she is around other people and being isolated for two years took its toll. Even when kids started to go back to school, she could barely face it - her life was forever changed. So, she didn't get all her fun in during her senior year and is now trying to make up for it. 

That is why I have no problem with her clock. Mine is ticking and the minutes are going by too fast. My sadness is for myself and my loss but also for all the time she lost. I know that when she is a few years older, she will probably be thankful for missing so much of high school (let's admit it - high school kinda sucks) but I wish she got a bit of a do-over. 

And right now, I might just go and "accidentally" vacuum outside her bedroom door and if she happens to wake up, I won't be sad.

MYOB

It has been a VERY long time since I updated this blog - mostly because life often gets in the way  of doing what you love but mainly because I never really think that anyone wants to read yet another mom blog.

The latter thought has been on my mind a lot lately. My youngest daughter is leaving for college in 17 days (I cringe just thinking about it) so I have joined some social media groups hoping for tips and tricks on a successful move-in day. My oldest went locally so I didn't have to think about the best type of mattress cover or closet organizer for her. And when I went to college, I crammed everything in the back of a 1976 Chevette and unpacked myself in a room that didn't have a phone or internet or air conditioning. So, I am new at this second round of nesting. 

Hoping for advice on the best options for a fan or desk lamp, I joined these groups to see if someone had the inside track on a good price for a Woozoo or knew the best place to get a dorm rug. What I got was a lot of unsolicited advice from people who have "been there, done that". These are the people who respond to a woman's comment about the shelf life of granola bars with "Just let them be. They will figure it out on their own."

I get that this is the way of social media. Someone asks a question and instead of answering it, people give their "solution" and advice. They give the wrong answer or take the conversation on a path that no one wanted to walk down. But, here is the thing - when I asked if anyone knows if there is an elevator in the dorm my daughter is moving into, that wasn't an invitation for you to judge my parenting.

Full disclosure, I am a lawnmower parent. I always have been and probably always will be. I know it. I own it. And I don't care what you think of it. So Mind Your Own Business! 

You might say I am asking for comments when I put a post on social media, and you're right. But, what I'm not asking for is you telling me that I need to learn to let go of my kid and let her spread her wings and fly. Duh. I'm sending the girl to college three hours away. I'm giving her the tools she needs to start a life on her own. And if those tools happen to include enough snacks to feed her dorm floor for a week, so what? What do you care? Does it make me an inferior parent because I bought her a first aid kit or a hot pink fluffy pillow? 

It is going to be hard enough for parents to put down that last box and walk out of that room knowing that they are going home to an empty teenager bedroom. Why break them down even more by telling them to "get over it" and just drop them off and leave? Sure, we did this 13 years ago when we watched our kid get on the school bus for the first time. But, back then we knew they would be home after a few hours. This is not at all the same thing. So, be quiet, and let us all worry a little more than we should about whether or not we are packing enough socks and if they need the platinum meal plan. 

Mind Your Own Business and let us do what we can to feel like our kids need us for a little longer.