Parenting has its ups, downs and spins

A few months back, when my teen was bemoaning my telling him "No" to something, he came up with something I found surprisingly thoughtful, along the lines of, "I'm a teenager. I'm going to make some mistakes. But you have to let me make some mistakes."
Fortunately I had a counter-argument. "Yes, you will. And it's my job to make sure you make fewer mistakes -- and less harmful ones -- by steering you away from the ones with potential for danger or serious trouble."

I know it will be a long time before he concurs -- and he may never tell me, unless he has to when he complains about his own teenagers someday. And at 17, he's close to being able to make more of his own decisions. Close, but not all the way there. There are certain things I still say "No" to, and sometimes he doesn't understand why I make my decisions. And sometimes I can't -- or won't -- try to explain. That's when the "Because I said so" or "Because those are my rules" answer will have to suffice. He doesn't like that one bit, but I'm not going to debate certain decisions with him. He will not see my way of thinking for a long time. And admittedly, it's been awhile since I've had that teenage mindset. But I did have it at one time. And I can look backward with some clarity, he can't look forward.

Parenting is a helluva roller coaster ride. Sometimes it's fun and exciting, sometimes it's dizzying. Sometimes you just want to throw up. But throughout it all, you're just hoping you all come out OK on the other end.

Mushed in the mosh pit

Sooooo, my 17-year-old went to the Warped Tour at Raceway Park yesterday. This was his third year and we've never had any problems. Yesterday, his friend's mom said she was going to pick them up. I was going to meet her at the halfway-home point so she didn't have to drive all the way to our neck of the woods. Around 8:45, I was on the phone when I saw he was trying to call me. I got off the call but missed him. Tried to redial, couldn't get through. So I went to get my cell phone where I saw a missed call from him, a missed call from his friend's mom and a missed text message with these words: "I'm on my way to the hospital." And I couldn't get through to him.
Panic set in. But at least I figured it was a text and call from him, so I figured he was conscious and that was a good start. Turns out, he was fine. His friend got slammed next to a mosh pit and got a nasty gash in the mouth. "The weird thing was, this was the only time we weren't IN the mosh pit!" my boy said. So where my night involved only a trip up to retrieve my teen, I really felt for the other parents who now had a few hours of hospital emergency room stuff, stitches, consult with a plastic surgeon because of where the gash was, and about 3 hours later they were able to head home.
I remember the first time he went to that concert a few summers ago. I was a nervous wreck the whole day, because the kid he was supposed to go with had to back out that morning, but a lot of his friends were going there and with cell phones he knew he'd meet them. A friend of mine was going and staying in the parents' zone, and he checked in with her several times during the day.
It's strange watching them grow up, and knowing you've got to loosen up on your grip, slowly but surely, until they take off on their own. There are going to be bumps in the road, and my son's friend's parents hit a big one yesterday. God bless 'em. It ain't easy.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

My 5-year-old climbed in with us last night, prompting my 40-something-year-old to climb into the 5-year-old's bed. So there were three of us: Me, my 5-year-old, and Shrek, who came along with my little guy. About 3 in the morning was the first wakeup, then 5 a.m. was the second. He loves to snuggle. My son, that is. Shrek is a little more aloof.
But when my little guy decides it's snuggle time, he pretty much hurls himself into snuggle position. So I'll be sleeping, then ... OOOF, my stomach. Then I'll be sleeping again, and .... SLAM! onto my shoulder. I finally maneuvered Shrek in between us about 5:30 and scooted far enough away, with my back facing my son and Shrek so if they slammed into me it wouldn't hurt so much, and got back to sleep sometime after 6. Normally I'm getting up at that point, but this morning I just decided against it.
I will miss the day when I no longer have a sleepy child wandering into our room in the middle of the night --- they're stealthy, they can maneuver their way in without waking me. It's only when they're asleep that they either slowly push me to the edge of the bed or, in my son's case, slam into me and wake me up. I'll miss opening my eyes and seeing a peaceful little face snuggled up next to mine. I'll get more sleep --- but I'll miss it.
And this morning I told my husband that next time we have a nocturnal visitor move in with us, it's my turn to switch rooms.

Go to sleep, for crying out loud!

I'm sure I've touched on this topic before, but it's something I see again and again and it's making me nuts. Are too many parents trying to be their kids' friends? Or are concerned that their teenagers don't like them enough and go out of their way to be approved by their child? To me, that's backward.
The thing that makes me crazy is the ones who allow -- in some cases I've seen it encouraged by parents -- the co-ed sleepover. I can't stand them. One recent one comes to mind ... my son came home and said he and his girlfriend were the only ones not allowed to sleep over. (And he really wonders why, after telling me that, I'm even more dead set against it?)
I've had a mom call me to reassure me that the boys will sleep in one room, the girls in another. But why invite problems? And did you lock up your liquor cabinet, and check backpacks for contraband and re-filled water bottles? Another parent I spoke to recently had a bunch of girls sleep over with his daughter and spotted a "water bottle" that he decided to check out. Good thing. It was filled with vodka. I've heard from another parent where another girl snuck booze to a all-girl teenage sleepover and the girls went for a "walk." Later, one of them was throwing up while another was passing out. The mom called all the parents and told them what happened.
I'm glad she did, although her daughter pleaded with her not to.
Best to go by the "Would I want to be told?" rule: If you'd want the parent to tell you, you should tell that parent.
So if a group of same-sex kids will try to sneak in something for their sleepover, why invite double trouble with sleepovers and mixing of the opposite sex, especially during the high school years? Aside from the chance for hanky panky, kids are more likely to "show off" with members of the opposite sex around, by doing things they can't handle.
But parenting is made so much harder by parents who want to be "cool" with the kids, who seek their approval rather than set rules.
A few buzz phrases that always set off warning bells in my head:
"We're best friends." Not to be confused with, "We're very close," which is wonderful. But when a mom says she's her teenage daughter's best friend, there's something wrong.
"My daughter/son tells me everything." Not necessarily. Ever peruse e-mail or text messages of your 16-year-old?
"I trust my daughter/son, he/she is a good kid." But good kids get caught up in peer pressure, temptation and curiosity. I recently had a mom, whose child had to get a stomach-pumping, say, "But I TRUSTED this kid!" There's your first mistake, I thought. I bit my tongue, then said, "But there are so many things out there tempting them, you can't trust them completely."
And you have to set limits and boundaries. They may not like you for awhile. Too bad. I didn't like my mom for awhile. I'm sure I was no picnic at that age. I remember wishing she let me run free, just as a few, very few, parents did back then. Now I'm glad she didn't. She slowly loosened the apron strings as I got older. And that's how I plan to handle my young'uns.

"The sick jumped out of me."

You've got to appreciate the imaginations of children. I got a call from camp late Monday morning -- my 5-year-old was under the weather. I got there, he was asleep on a couch. I brought him home, he was running a low fever. His grandmother stayed with him for the rest of the day and I took off Tuesday.
He recuperated pretty quickly, no fever yesterday. Not up to 100 percent, but a nice restful day at home (and running a few errands) with Mommy did the trick. He was back to about 80 percent by last night and 100 percent this morning.
But his theory is this: About 3 a.m., with thunder and lightning shaking the neighborhood, he came running in, jumping into our bed and asking me to go back and get his Webkinz cow for him. He wasn't about to leave. Our 8-year-old arrived shortly after, and it was a bit of a squeeze for awhile, but when things settled down, she went back to her room.
This morning, my 5-year-old explained what happened. Seems HE wasn't scared. The "sick" was scared. "The storm scared the sick out of me!" he said. I laughed, and he continued. "Yeah, the sick jumped out the window and ran away." Oh, it did, did it? "Yup! I looked out the window, and the sick landed on his hiney." Now you're just entertaining me, kiddo.
As I was trying to figure out what exactly, a "sick" looks like, and how it might possibly have a hiney, my little guy realized. "Hey, I'm all better. I don't have a sick anymore. I can go back to camp!"
Sigh. Yes, and I can go back to work. That little visit from the "sick" was a brief respite from our crazy schedule. But I'm glad he left, hiney and all.

This is a vacation?

Talking to my boss this morning, I asked if I could use a vacation day this week. Not going anywhere, so it didn't matter which day. I just need a day in the house, with no kids around -- to clean. Our weekends have been so busy with activities and visiting relatives that I haven't had time to do anything beyond minor picking up ... and it shows. I can't take it anymore.
I was going to try and find a cleaning service, but ... now every woman should understand this ... my house hasn't been clean enough to bring them in. I'm afraid they'll run screaming down the street. I had the idea a few months ago, but wasn't financially ready to with my youngest still in day care and preschool. I've got to revisit that idea. I've also got to develop cleaning assignments more clearly for the kids. Right now it's, "Clean up the TV room" or "Clean your rooms." They're all able to help out in some way, I just have to figure out which way is best for each. I'm beginning to think I need more than one day off this week.
At least until school starts, I'll use a vacation day here or there, plus my time already scheduled for taking off, to get the house in order. For a day or two, anyway. Sigh.

Pick a little, talk a little

I had to crack up seeing the photo on our jerseyshoremoms.com home page today, an 18-month-old picking his nose. How often have we all seen that? He's at that adorable, somewhat gross, age where body needs are handled in the most efficient way they can think of -- or the first and fastest action that can provide relief from whatever ails 'em.
It reminded me of a story involving my niece and my brother-in-law. When my niece, now 24, was about the same age as the child in the photo, my brother-in-law and sister were in some type of store to make a large purchase, something like a big appliance, can't remember if it was something like a TV or refrigerator or heaven knows what. But my sister told me later she was cracking up, from a short distance, watching the spectacle. My B-I-L was holding my niece up in one arm while he was discussing the product with the salesman. I'll never forget my sister re-creating the scene, saying how her husband was trying to look knowledgeable, cool, savvy, the whole persona that guys adopt when trying to finesse a salesman. Anyhow, unknown to him, the whole time he was chatting with the salesman, my niece was digging away into her nostril, trying to reach an elusive boogie that apparently was just beyond her grasp.
So much for looking cool!
But it's what kids do. They burp, pick noses, scratch and fart to their hearts' content, with little concern for what anyone around them thinks. Ain't early childhood great?

Are you talking to ME?

OK, last night was Girls Night Out: The Concert Edition as Erika, Karen, Janet, Cheryl and I attended the John Mayer concert at the Arts Center. We got together beforehand for a quick visit over appetizers then headed to the venue.
We're slightly older than most of the attendees, save for those who attended with their kids, but it was a really well-behaved crowd as far as I could tell. The kids and the young adults who attended were friendly, respectful, chatted amiably with us walking in and during the concert, or when we made our way through the crowd. I didn't see anyone drunk or throwing up or getting arrested or acting up, except for a few who were trying to re-enter after leaving, and giving the security guard a hard time for not allowing them to return.
One kid made me laugh by high-fiving me on his way in, then stopping me later and saying, "Hey, I high-fived you before!" (I'm just glad he didn't throw in "Granny" or something like that in there.)
There was one thing that really made my jaw drop. As Erika and I went to get a beer, a teenager came up to me on the line and said, "If I give you $10, will you get me a beer?" I had to look around and see if there was a video camera nearby.
"Are you kidding me? I have a kid your age!" I said. The dingaling didn't give up. "And if your kids were here, they'd want you to buy them a beer!" she responded, with a look on her face indicating that she thought she might have convinced me to see her side. Our jaws dropped. Not the captain of the Debate Team at her school, I'm sure.
After my "I don't think so!" discouraged her, she looked pleadingly at the 20-something woman behind me who didn't even give her the chance to ask. Putting both hands up as if to say, "Stop!" the woman behind me simply said, "I'm not getting arrested!"
I was incredulous. There were a lot of 20-somethings in the crowd, and this girl chose me, a long-since-I've-been-20-something mother of four, to ask to illegally buy her a beer. I didn't think I looked that cool. Mostly, because I'm not.
I had a conversation with a friend recently about how my kids will NOT see me as a "cool" parent. And I can remember being a teenager and wishing my parents were as "cool" as others who let their kids run free, who turned their heads or just didn't watch out for over-the-top behavior. Amazing what a few decades, and a few kids, will do to you. My friend said she remembered a mother who not only let the teenagers -- we're talking 14 and 15 -- drink in her house, she'd down a few with them. "I remember thinking she was cool, but now I'm horrified," she said. "There's no way I'd want a woman like that around my kids."
That's the type of person the $10-bribe-offerer was looking for her. Fortunately, there appeared to be few, if any, on hand.

HEY MAURA!!!! Remember the e-mail you were supposed to send me reminding me to water the plants? Ha! I remembered all on my own this time, thank you very much. OK, so it helps that I trip over the watering can on my way out the door in the morning -- a painful reminder to take care of the flowers in the front yard so carefully put there by my dad. It was a topic of conversation the other day, followed by my sister's slightly condescending pledge to e-mail me with a nudge to care for them. Dad pointed out to the rest of the clan that his first attempt at beautifying my front walkway resulted in him returning the next week to dig them up and throw them out.
"No fair," I said. "That was a brutally hot week, and well, OK, I forgot to water them." Actually, I believe I did water them once or twice, then I'd return home at the end of the day and they looked wilted beyond repair. What's a working mom to do about tender flowers on a steamy day?
OK, I've never been much of a gardener, although I'd like to try my hand at it. Maybe next year I'll get a tomato garden going -- my daughters have taken a fancy to Jersey tomatoes just like their mom. This year my big project was the deck -- I finally got a chance to stain and seal it over the weekend after the last two months in which every weekend predicted a good chance of rain.
Briefly in my single days, I had a fire escape garden in one of my Ocean Grove apartments. I grew some tomatoes, and one beautiful sprig of broccoli that was the best I've ever tasted. Now I'm growing kids, and that's about all I've been able to handle while they got through the toddler and preschool years.
Fortunately, big brother has a tomato garden, as do a few neighbors. So I'll sponge off them this year. But next year, for the delectable tomato and mayo sandwiches my girls have discovered they adore, we'll grow our own. I promise. Nothing tastes as sweet as something you've cultivated in your own garden.
Hopefully, one of us will remember to water them once in awhile.

On your mark ... get set ....

Things went off without a hitch at our first attempt at a one-mile "Fun Run" for the kids at our beach club on Friday night. My friend Kate and I hatched up the idea over the winter, and had an enthusiastic bunch of club members join on as volunteers. Then when we put the sign-up form in the May newsletter for the July 11 race we got --- only two responses. But this was our first attempt, and we're learning from our mistakes. The lesson there was, don't put it in so far ahead of time. Come to think of it, I should have figured that one out before anybody. I don't want to make ANY summer plans in May, too busy finishing up school and the winter and spring things.
We plugged on, because anybody with kids in the target age range (up to 13 or 14) said what a great idea they thought it was.
The whole time, we had worries of no one showing up, of rain and rain delays, and of it being, well, not fun.
It was -- and then some. We had 40 kids show -- our goal was 30. And there were several others who were interested but couldn't because of other obligations.
It was perfect weather, we got a registration table up at 5 and people started filtering in. By 6:15, we had a parking lot filled with yellow-shirted kids -- with "Shark River Snappers" on the front and "In memory of Pete Novak" on the back. We had an offer from the club to help us out with the T-shirts, but Kate said she'd like to donate 60 of them, for kids and volunteers, in honor of her late husband.
At 6:20, the kids were all stretching as other volunteers put barricades up along South Riverside Drive. A week earlier, Kate and I went house to house along the route, notifying them of the half-hour road closing and apologizing in advance for any inconvenience. A letter Kate penned for the neighbors closed with a line encouraging them to come out and cheer on the kids.
The horn sounded and the kids took off -- we had a yellow wave of runners, even those who said they would only walk went ahead to run part of the distance. I was bringing up the rear, helping along some of the little kids, and when we got around the bend, there they were -- homeowners out on their porches and decks clapping for the children as they jogged by. That was outrageous.
Volunteers from the Shark River Hills fire company brought a rig down for our halfway point -- a half mile from the starting point -- where our members Linda and Kennedy had a water stop, giving each kid a plastic cup of water and telling them to slam it into the garbage can on their way back. The firetruck had them thrilled, and slamming the cups into the can made them feel like pro runners.
Afterward each participant received a "goodie bag" assembled by our wonderful volunteers and adorable heavy-paper ribbons created by the talented Sandra C (I wore mine all night!), and we had three superprize baskets assembled by Kathy H. that we gave out through random drawings of the registration forms. And a mambo contest right after those drawings got the kids moving, so there was no disappointment on the 37 faces of those who didn't win a basket. The intrepid Jimmy Mura -- son of friends of mine -- served as disc jockey for a few hours while the kids had burgers and dogs, cupcakes then played volleyball and on the swings, did dance contests and played on the beach.
It couldn't have been better and then -- surprise, Belmar had its fireworks that same night, for which we had a beautiful view while Jimmy pulled out some patriotic music.
Kate said that earlier in the day, she looked up and asked Pete if he could help us out. "No bugs," she said. Not only were there no bugs, but the weather couldn't have been more perfect. Pete must have pulled some strings up there.

This could be the start of a beautiful friendship ....

About a year and a half ago, friends of mine had their grandchildren down at our beach club --- two girls and a boy, the same ages as my two girls and younger boy. They took to each other instantly -- the two older girls have similar laid-back, easygoing, positive personalities and similar interests. The two younger girls are "girly girls" who are happiest with a mess of dolls, love to dress up, giggle a lot and have very funny personalities. And the two boys are busy, activity-loving 5-year-old boys. Really, that's all they need in common -- that and a big open area to run around in -- boys is as boys does.
They spent a few hours together the first time they met. The next time they came down from their home in Rhode Island a few months later, we got them together again. And they picked up right where they left off. And it's ideal -- all three have their "own" playmate, they all play together, then they split up and do different things, then they play together again, and no one gets feelings hurt, gets left out or feels like a third (or sixth) wheel.
The girls have written each other a few times -- no e-mail for us, there's nothing more exciting than seeing a letter in the mailbox, even if it's just a picture they've drawn for each other.
Last night, I stopped by the club, sans kids, and saw Renie and Carmine and their daughter Renee. I knew the three kids had to be out on the beach, and when I confirmed that, I went back to the house to get my girls. The little guy was pooped and cranky -- I opted to leave him with his dad. Renee's older daughter hopped in the car with me and when my girls saw her, they squealing and high-fiving commenced. They're getting together again tonight and tomorrow. On Sunday, the family is moving to their new home in Chicago.
Now, Renee already said hopping in the car and driving out here is no big deal for her, and with the grandparents here, we'll see them a few times each year. But in the meantime, we're taking some photos of them -- in groups of two, and as a group of six -- to frame and hang up in their rooms here and in the midwest, to help the kids settle into their new home. As their mom said, it'll be a little scary for them starting out, so pictures of the happy times they have here should help ease the transition.
Plus, we're going to get postage stamps with their photos on them. I haven't done it yet, but I've seen it, where you get your photo on a stamp. This way, they can keep writing letters and sending pictures, and they'll see each others' smiling faces before they even open the envelope.
I wonder where life will take them years from now ... if their paths will continue to cross, if they'll have lifelong friendships or if they'll fondly recall their childhood buddy/penpals. Either way, I'm glad to encourage the former with real letters that they'll put in a shoebox in their closet, not e-mails that get deleted.
Another thing we plan on doing

Poor sports, spoil sports

How do you instill sportsmanship in your kids? And when is it OK to let them blow up about losing versus talking them through it?
Last night, my daughters entered into a "Guitar Hero" contest at a club we belong to. My older daughter, who's played a little guitar-hero at camp and friends' houses (nope, we don't have it), signed up right away while my younger daughter admitted going in that she wasn't very good at it, so she just wanted to watch. She got caught up in the enthusiasm though, and tried her hand at it.
Daughter No. 1 got up to play --- and got creamed. We found out much later, the boy she was matched up against usually plays at the "expert" level, so she was no match for him when they both clicked on to play in the "easy" level. How can you beat a kid who hit 100 percent of the notes? Not by hitting 85 percent, like my daughter did. But she smiled for a camera shot afterward, then shrugged "Oh well!" and went and joined a game of "Left-Right-Center" that was held for the kids who were eliminated from the contest.
Daughter No. 2 got matched up in the first round against a boy who had even less experience than she did. It was close, but she pulled ahead and managed to hit a few more "notes" than her challenger. The glow on her face was priceless, as "Player No. 1" was named the winner and she turned around, grinning ear to ear, to yell, "Mom, I"m player Number 1!!!"
Round 2 wasn't quite so pretty. She got matched up against another boy (one who I've seen her flirt with a couple of times) and he defeated her pretty easily. It was late, so I was kind of relieved as I gathered my other kids to head out the door while the winners went to Round 3.
Outside the door, the tears started to pour, as did the claims that "I stink at Guitar Hero and I'm Never EVER going to enter another contest again! I had no chance of winnning AT ALL!"
I tried putting it into perspective: "Look, there were 30 kids and only one can win. You made it further than 15 of those kids. You did great! And it was just for fun, anyway." Her sister chimed in saying, "Yeah, and I played against an expert. Talk about no chance."
Nothing helped. The wailing got louder. So when we got home, I sent her to her room until she could calm down. After some stomping didn't get anyone's attention, she settled down and came back to watch TV. They were all tired, and so was I, so I decided against pursuing it. Sportsmanship will be a topic of discussion for another day when she and I are alone.
I remember frustrations galore when I was a kid. You recuperate from 99 percent of them. A few linger on forever. Case in point: I can still give you the details of my seventh-grade basketball game, Avon vs. St. Catharine's, when a couple of our starters were out and the coach held off putting me in until the second quarter, saying he needed small, faster players even though I was normally "sixth man." I went on to score 15 of our 19 points, in a 21-19 loss. I couldn't speak to the coach for a few days after that I was so mad. I did get some satisfaction about three years later when the coach of St. Catharine's got a job at St. Rose and told me, "I remember you. Three jumpers from the top of the key." And decades later, it's still in my head.
Fortunately, only 24 hours later, Daughter No. 2 has already forgotten her "Guitar Hero" mishap. And she'll be flirting again with that boy at the club this weekend.

Mama's little boy

My husband picked up the kids from camp on Monday and Tuesday this week. Last night, my 5-year-old told him, "Daddy, don't pick us up anymore. I want mommy." Awwwwww, I thought. He's still my baby.

Then I remembered: he plays Gameboy in the morning on the way to camp, then shuts if off when we're pulling in and hands it to me. He doesn't want me: He wants what's still in my car, especially since we've limited his time playing. With Daddy picking them up instead, I usually stay a little longer at work. Gameboy: still in my car.

Sure enough, when I got home, my almost-9-year-old shouted, "Mommy's home!!!!" She ran in and hugged me. My 10-year-old called out "Hi Mom!" from the computer. And my teenager didn't say anything, other than to yell at his brother to get out of his room. So my little guy, rebuffed by big brother with his attempt to share the news of my arrival home, ran and hugged me, then said, "I need to get my Gameboy out of your car."

Sigh.

So this morning, as I was getting him bathingsuited and sunscreened before camp, he said, "Mommy, will you pick me up from camp today?" "I think so," I answered. "I want you to pick me up, not daddy." "Why?" "I just do," he said, with no Gameboy in sight.

OK, it made me feel a little more loved, but as we're loading camp bags and lunches into the car, he came out and climbed into his seat, his eyes glued to the Gameboy. Oh well, at least I rank up there somewhere

Does anybody have a dial-phone anymore?

I suppose it's my (almost) last-minute regret about backing out of a triathlon I signed up for that's taking place this coming weekend. Last night I had a really, really weird dream about it. I signed up for the Philadelphia women's triathlon this Sunday, but I've beeen so busy, I haven't done any training, I don't have a racing bike (rode a mountain bike in a triathlon last year that had a shorter bike route and absolutely killed my legs for the run that follows) and I couldn't get anyone else to sign up with me. Strike Three, I'm out. Honestly, I just haven't had time to do any training, done little more than long racewalks. And it's in Philly --- if it were local, I'd go and just take my time. But it's not, and I don't want to go by myself.
But last night, I had a dream it was the day before "tri" day and I changed my mind. I wanted to go. But I had to get my "packet" of stuff (you have to get your timing chip to be allowed onto the course) and it was running late in the day, and I was trying to call them to let them know I was on my way to get my timing chip. But the phone I was using was a dial-phone, not a push button. And everytime I started dialing, 1-215-(WHATEVER NUMBERS I WAS DIALING) I would mess up, then have to start over. Remember those old dial phones, where when you didn't get the dial around all the way, you figured you dialed the wrong number and had to start over?
Now, I've had dreams where I was back in college and it was finals week and I hadn't studied all semester and didn't even know where the classroom was. I was told that's a sign that you're overstressed and overextended, time and responsibility wise. I've even had "aging" variations of that dream -- my college called me back and found out my transcripts were off and I had to make up like five courses. I haven't had that one in several years now, though. Guess my brain finally realized there's no way I have to go back to complete my senior year now.
But this dial-phone thing made me wonder -- what the heck does that mean? In my dream, I ended up going to a house across the street to use their push-button phone. Now, had my brain been in full gear, I'd have realized I haven't used a dial phone in decades, and always have my cell phone nearby.
I woke up as I was heading to use the push-button phone, realized it was all a dream, but I started regretting my decision not to go and started to figure out how I could get there on Saturday (packet pickup) and Sunday (race day). Then I remembered what kind of shape I'm in, and how far away this is, and decided to stick with my original decision.
And I glanced on my night table. There were my house phone (push button) and my cell phone. I'm just glad I didn't try to dial either of them in my sleep.

Before the parade passes by ... get out of town!!!!

I drove friends up to the airport on Saturday morning and got home a little before 10:30. Nobody had eaten much for breakfast, and since I had nothing, I proposed to go out for a late breakfast/early lunch. I should've just poured a bowl of cereal and kept my mouth shut -- I would've saved a lot of gasoline.
I headed toward my old stomping grounds in Ocean Grove, where I lived in three different apartments over nine years -- one with a roommate for one year, another for five years and the third -- my favorite, over by the tents, for three. There used to be a Perkins style place on the north end, so I said why didn't we head there and see what was in that spot now. Little did we realize that the July 4 parade was being held July 5, and we pulled into town just before it stepped off.
Now it's been more than a dozen years since I moved out of the Grove, and when I did live there, I used to watch the parade from my front yard in one apartment, or I'd walk over to Main Avenue from the others. Or I'd skip it entirely. I wish I chose the latter Saturday -- we arrived too late to get a parking spot, to either try and get a bite to eat OR to watch the parade. And by the time we figured that out, it was too late to get back out of town.
We drove along Ocean Avenue and found no parking, drove around some side streets and after about 10 minutes, we realized it was futile so we headed back toward the south end of town. But the parade started by that point, and you could only go so far north or so far south, and the western exits were blocked by the parade route. We were stuck, with three semi-hungry kids, one starving adult and another who thought it was pretty funny --- only for awhile. But even my husband started whining, along with me, "How can we get out of here???"
Fortunately, after driving around for 15 more minutes trying to figure out how to get out of town, we saw a break in the parade on Broadway and the police officer there was letting traffic through. We made our escape, and headed to Ocean Township where we settled in at the Hungry Hobo for a lunchtime breakfast.
Now in my last, and favorite, apartment, I was right by the tents and the Great Auditorium. I knew the summer concert and festival schedule, I knew when I should wait to move my car if I wanted to find a parking space there when I returned. I also knew what time not to try and drive into town on a concert day -- and I knew what time to come home when people would be leaving so I could park near my place.
I've taken the kids there during the winter and showed my old apartments. I'll have to take them back for breakfast in town --- on a quieter day.

No kids? Okidokey

Got a call the other day from a friend who was throwing together an impromptu barbecue this weekend. The idea came up only last weekend, and my friend said she'd get it together. Then she called me early this week with the word after surveying the other attendees: Nobody's bringing kids. Actually, she then decided to even getting a sitter for her own grandkids who are visiting.
Is that a problem? Nope. We got plenty of notice, we can find a sitter. The kids can do without us for an evening, and we certainly can use the break. If it was a bad time or we couldn't find a sitter, one or the other, or neither of us would go, no hard feelings.
We barbecued for just our family Sunday and Monday, took them out to a kids' themed dinner Tuesday, took them to a kids arts and crafts program Wednesday, are taking them to a festival/fireworks tonight, to a family barbecue tomorrow and another family barbecue on sunday. Saturday night, we can spend the evening with friends.
I know some parents get upset when told it's a "grownups only" day. I remember single, or married-with-no-kids friends feeling terrible about offending parents by requesting that no children attend a party. But I've been on both sides. I've been to parties where it's perfectly OK for children to run amok and to other affairs where children just would not fit in. I've also been to the events in the latter category where parents insisted on bringing a child or children. That's unfair to the host or hostess, and to the other guests who found sitters and would like a chance to relax without a child underfoot. Now there's a youngster who may need to be entertained, kid-friendly foods to be found and the "watch what you say in front of the child" rule in force.
Out of seven days this week, six and a half of mine will be devoted to work and children. When I got the message that this Saturday's barbecue was grownups only, I actually was a little relieved. This beautiful house we'll be in isn't set up for a gaggle of children, and I'd spend much of my time making sure mine were all behaving. Being able to chat unfettered with the other grownups is a welcome break once in awhile. We'll keep the kids busy all day, do some play dates and the like, then get our sitter and order a pizza for them and head out.
I always feel a little guilty that I don't feel guilty about taking grownup time, especially since I'm a working mom. But we all need a social life. Occasionally social and parent roles can intertwine, and it's great, but not every time, and that's just fine too.

Check your rear-end

This is a public service blog: Check out your rear-end. Of your car, that is.
This is a pet project of my friend Marj (creator of one of my favorite refreshing summer cocktails, the "Marj Madness"). She notices burned out taillights and brake lights before anyone. I pulled into my driveway one evening when she was going by and she stopped to tell me. Good timing -- my car was due for inspection and they'll flunk you for that. They'll also flunk you if your wiper blades are really old, as I found out. Marj doesn't check that!
But this morning, Marj pointed out another car going by with one of its lights in poor working order and noted a few recent occurrences. She told one friend that both of his taillights were burned out. "Wow," was the response, "Only one was burned out last week!" "So why didn't he change the one last week?" Marj wondered.
Driving to work on Route 18, Marj got stuck behind someone with one brake light out. So every time they approached a red light, she thought the driver was turning by the way he hit his brakes. Frustrating!
Another time she was driving behind someone who had a burned out light in the back. Approaching a traffic light that was turning red, Marj pulled alongside the driver to let him know. She saw a huge crack in the windshield and wondered if the lacking light would really bother him, but signaled to him anyway and told him of his burned out light bulb. The driver thanked her profusely -- we're pretty sure he knew about the windshield, but who checks their rear lights on a regular basis?
It's not just the potential for missing inspections, but think of two burned out brake light bulbs -- can we say rear-end collision?
Not every car has warnings for burned out bulbs, and not everyone with warning systems tells you about all lights.
So when the sun sets, check your lights. Thank you. Your regular programming will now resume in progress.

Teen drama

Something I keep hearing over and over again from parents of teenagers is, "Everyone's always telling me what a great kid my teen is. I just wish he/she was like that to me!"
I hear it from almost everyone who has a kid in the 14-18 year range, even from those who seem like the sweetest people in the world, where you think, "How could anybody be mean to this person?"
I've said it a million times myself. What is is about teenagers that makes them so crazy with their own parents? A friend of mine said she was told, about her daughter, "You're her comfort zone. She knows she'll get unconditional love from you, so she takes all her angst out on you." "OK," said my friend. "She might get unconditional love from me, but I don't think I like her much anymore." And this girl is one of those really nice kids who is great with other grown-ups, just not with her folks right now.
I can remember being like that. I knew exactly which buttons to push with my mom. When I was mad at her, I "punished" her with the silent treatment. That drove her nuts. "What's the matter?" she'd ask. "Nothing," I'd say in a flat voice, refusing to have any eye contact, instead looking the other way. Same tactic I use on my husband now. But back at 14 or 15 years old, my poor mother would get frustrated. Today, my husband doesn't notice, or, as I suspect, knows better than to try and pursue it. Oh well.
When my teen tries to bring his drama out, I shrug my shoulders and say, "Oh well." I can tell the difference between when he wants to talk and when he wants to "engage." Not long ago, he was trying to blame me for everything wrong in the world. I started answering it, and he said, "I don't want to talk anymore." "Fine, don't, but you have to listen," I answered. And he did, as point by point, I showed how I had nothing to do with his problems that day. He finally started admitting that he had issues with a friend of his and it was really bothering him.
Great. I take the brunt of the friend issues. Augh.
But by the time we got home, it was all out. But the only reason that it worked was that we were in the car -- there was no escaping.
I hate teen drama. And I have to deal with it three more times? At least I'll have breaks in between to regroup, reenergize and refit the armor.