Set in My Ways

As a younger person, my observation was always that older people were curmudgeons; cranky and inflexible.  To me, they lacked the beguilement and wonder of my generation.  I saw this as an irritating feature of this group of people, and asked myself why they didn’t share in my own open-minded culture.  Seeing it as something that was characteristic of “them” made it easier to accept that this brand of cynicism would not happen to me.   I would never become “set in my ways.”  Having seen what became of people who were, I felt cocky that the inevitability of this fate would never come to pass.  I wouldn’t become one of them, no fucking way.

Time has dealt me a cruel blow.  Much as I hate to admit it, I am beginning to be set in my ways.  Years of experience have formulated my opinions on such things as waiting in traffic, the high price of travel and the skimpiness of  clothes on today’s young women.  Politicians are too jaded.   Movies are too violent.  Kids are too spoiled.  These are actual thoughts I have had recently, and it scares the shit out of me.  Being judge-y is not in my character and when thoughts of this nature appear and reappear, it is striking to say the least.  I was going to be impervious to age, always keeping up with trends and relishing free thinking!  A goddamn goddess of change and compromise!  My ideas would continue to be unspoiled not by years of disappointment in how things were, but instead, energized by pure possibility!  And then, eventually, you get screwed.  No one wants to lose the ability to see the world through a free thinking lens.  But no one wants to sit in the middle seat on an airplane, either.

As you get older, you start to see things less out of possibility and more out of practicality.  You figure out what it is that you don’t really like or want in your life as a result of having gone through it in the past.  You know that there are all kinds of cool new artists out there, but you still love to listen to Tom Petty.  You know that change comes slowly, but the chaos and gridlock in government have turned you sour.  You know that taking a class will be really good for you, but you bristle at the cost and inconvenience.  You want to jump in the lake, but don’t want to get wet.  You want to learn how to snowboard, but can’t be bothered with the cold.  Maybe these aren’t all directly relevant to your life, but this is what happens.  The head knows what it likes.  That’s why I want to listen to my heart.

When I think of someone I’d like to age into, I think of someone I know named Nancee. Nancee is 70, 23 years older than me.  She has opinions, she’s doesn’t get pushed around.  But she retains a sense of wonder that is truly remarkable.  She takes dance classes with girls 30 years younger.  She asks for other people’s opinions.  And then she listens.  In a culture of “us vs. them,”  she is open to new ideas.  She has friends of all shapes, sizes, religions and political persuasions.  She hugs and kisses her husband while pinching his ass.  She curses in ways that would make some folks’ hair stand on end.  But she also prays vigorously.  She is in pain most days from arthritis, but you’d never know it.  She doesn’t have much money,  her home is small, but she lives big.  While I realize we can’t all be Nancee,  and that I might never be, I relish her abandon.  She is her own person.  She hasn’t created a small, safe box around herself.  On the contrary, her box is huge and her heart is limitless.

Now I know that our experiences don’t always jade us, they often serve us.  Just because I want to see the world anew sometimes doesn’t mean I’m going to love the idea of the guy my age who smells like vodka coming over and pick up my daughter.  Hell, no. Keeping your sense of openness in the face of reality is a challenge, one that I don’t think those in the thick of middle age (or young middle age in my case) get enough credit for handling.  It can be a bitch to reconcile it all.

So here I am, 47 years of voices informing me to not listen, not to get involved and to say no.  But I know better!  Deep inside there is a kid who thought there was no line too long to get a ticket (and no price too high) for my favorite band’s upcoming show.   A kid who didn’t care that falling and getting hurt was part of learning how to roller skate.  Who didn’t instantly judge.  Who didn’t lose her shit when someone doesn’t replace the toilet paper roll.  I wouldn’t trade my sorrows and regrets for anything, but I do wish I could turn back time and regain a fraction of the sheer hope and optimism my daughters possess.

For now, I’m going to pay attention to my kids’ music.  Force my brain to learn tough new things (on my list:  programming, sewing and constructing a drip irrigation system).  Ask questions.  Listen.  Listen.  Listen.   My goal is to not be predictable.  To filter myself not based on what I don’t like, but on the very best things about me.  Because I know one day I’ll be sitting in the middle seat of an airplane, on a tarmac, next to a person who won’t stop talking, before a long flight.  And at  that moment, on this journey, I want to be open.

To all the ways.

 

photo by Barbara Paulsen at tandemechoes.com.  Go check it out.

 

 

 

 

What Would You Do?

There’s a show on broadcast television called, “What Would You Do?”  Immediately after one of our favorite shows, it came on.   We just started watching it, so horizontal and lazy were we that changing channels seemed too huge an endeavor.   It works like this:  actors portray a brief scenario in public while being filmed.   Whatever it is, you are compelled to ask yourself:  What would you do in this situation?  An online stalker propositioning a young victim, an racist mother talking her daughter out of buying a brown-skinned doll, a couple arguing loudly about whether they should divorce.  Then-you guessed it-we see what happens.   A person will step in at some point and try to help, or to confront, the actors.  Then our host comes from behind the shadows and surprises everyone!  And interviews him/her!  And makes everyone feel good!  It’s overproduced and inauthentic but has sparked some great conversations with my kids.

There are a couple things which have always bothered me about this concept.  First of all, it feels like you are tricking the people into reacting.  After all, it’s not really happening, it’s actors.  I always appreciate the ones who step in and try to help, I’m not sure I always would under the circumstances, but still…It’s. Not. Real.  The other thing that bothers me is that my kids are just sitting and watching.  It’s reality television after all, everyone is always waiting for the train wreck to happen.  It’s not active, it’s passive, even if they are yelling at the television.

As I read “The Whole Brain Child” by Dr. Dan Siegel last week, I was thinking about the show.  He talks a lot about the “upstairs brain,”  which is the thinking and reasoning part of your brain.  And then there is the “downstairs brain” which is ruled by emotions and reactivity.  You know when your child has a tantrum (yes this happens even when they are teenagers) and it’s impossible to talk to them?  That’s when the downstairs brain is at work.  When you wait until they are calm to have a discussion, that’s when the upstairs brain is operating.  Newsflash frazzled parents! You are also calmer once the tantrum is over.  Dr. Siegel mentions using “what would you do” questions to develop your child’s ability to problem solve!  Imagine how brilliant I am that I was thinking the same thing as him!

So I sat down, thought about the ages of my kids, and wrote a bunch of questions on index cards.  They range from “what would you do if you saw your friend cheating on a test?” to “what would you do if you saw your friend’s boyfriend kissing another girl?”  and everything in between.  It’s actually kind of fun thinking of these questions.  Sometimes I throw them out during a long car ride, sometimes at dinner.  But someone always says something I wasn’t expecting.  It’s not really an opportunity to correct them but more connect to them.  It’s cool to know what they are thinking, even if I don’t agree with them.

We all have times in life that we have to make a choice.  For me, that comes down to asking myself what kind of person I want to be.  For my kids, I hope that I can guide them into asking those kinds of questions of themselves.  After all, I won’t always be there.  You take them to practice to help them be better at sports, why not practice being a better thinker?

What would you do?

 

photo at top of post by Barbara Paulsen at tandemechoes.com

 

And So

 

And so

little girl becomes woman

or older

at least

and she knows

how tough

she can be

I remember her

little feet

so fat her toes almost

swallowed up

and hands!

puckered knuckles

fingers always

pointing

Sometimes we talk

I think

we won’t ever

argue again

then

she slams her heart?

no, just the

door.

Her feet stomp

voice raised

arms crossed

she

her

emotions tears

she says

I’m sorry,

Mommy

photo by Barbara Paulsen at tandemechoes.com

Once you turn 40…

 

Jenna was having coffee with her friend Mary.  They were noticing, as the years were passing, that the frequency of conversation related to medical issues was rising.  Aches and pains.  So and so’s recent diagnosis.  Incontinence.  Tummy troubles. Headaches.  Hormones.  Impotence. It was all being discussed at dinner, birthday parties, coffee shops and the like.  Starting off slowly, it happened at an almost imperceptible pace.  But, Mary noted, it almost always was preceded by the words, “once you turn 40.” Is this what they are headed for?  The clutch of white-hairs huddled around in wheelchairs, all complaining about their doctors and upcoming surgeries?   Jenna said, “I refuse to go down without a fight.  Fuck once you turn 40.”

Jenna’s various doctors and friends had told her that once you turn 40, your libido declines, your waistline increases, you are more prone to fractures, you snore more and your ability to conceive takes a nosedive.  What Mary had heard was far worse.  Reduction in ability to recover from injuries, increased incidence of heart disease and cancer, weakened muscles, saggy boobs, slowed metabolism and low energy. When Jenna’s mom turned 40, Jenna was out of the house and nearly on her own.  But now, at age 45, she had a pre-teen and a teenager under her roof.  It seemed the ultimate bullshit that at the time when her body and mind began to break down, she had to deal with a teenager whose body and mind were, well, taking over.  It used to be that once you turned 40, your kids weren’t as high maintenance.  Thanks to delaying childbirth, we are now in the dubious position of reaping what we’ve sown at the precise time we want to be rolling out the red carpet for our golden years.

So Jenna and Mary decided it was time to make their own list.  Their very own once you turn 40 list.  Some of it they decided to make up for the hell of it.  Some of it really is a thing.  Here goes.

The Once You Turn 40 List…

• you can tell when people are lying way, way faster.
• you appreciate the small things more.
• you celebrate magazine articles telling you that you should cut back on coffee by drinking a cup of coffee.
• you do your kegels and maybe do the thing where you are spontaneous and meet your husband in a bar and pretend you don’t know him then go home and have great sex.  Then, after a long week, you decide to just ask for what you want. And have great sex.
• you have to make lists all the time, but you love lists.
• your creativity soars.
• your need to nurture and take care of everyone all the time drops precipitously.
• you want more.
• your boobs look amazing!
• you realize that people are characters and you see them sculpting themselves into old people who are set in their ways.  You vow not to do that shit.
• you notice who looks old and who looks young, but you always feel younger than you are.
• you know what needs to be done.
• you know a good book, a real conversation, a deep friendship or a chance encounter can change the world.
• your ass looks amazing!
• you light up when talking about your kids.
• you can be relied on to do things that you only inconsistently did in your twenties:  pay your bills, use birth control, fix something that is broken, and get gas in your car.
• you know yourself better, or at least, you know you could if you really tried.
• your skin is radiant!
• you laugh without asking yourself if your laugh sounds silly.  You just laugh.
• you think about retiring.
• you tinker.
• you think more deeply and profoundly, even if you can’t ever find your fucking keys.
• you eat whatever you want!
• you never get sore or hurt!
• your jokes are better because you know who to tell them to.
• you have more fun because you know who to have it with.
• you are loved beyond measure because you know who to love.
• your worth is not measured in a mirror or on a scale.
• you value your grandparents, even though it’s too late to tell them.
• your memory is perfect!
• your vacations get better.
• you can’t remember how old you are to key into the treadmill at the gym, but hell, you’re at the gym
• you are insightful and thoughtful about things you once could give a shit about.
• you could give a shit about things you were once insightful and thoughful about.

And then, Jenna and Mary resolve never to start the sentence once you turn 40 to anyone younger than 39.  Because that is just wrong. Let them figure it out on their own.  Which is what you did.  When you turned 40.

 

photo by Barbara Paulsen at tandemechoes.com.

Ballad of a Tech-Impaired Mom

It used to be easy, my mother once said

It used to be simple, it’s true

But now there are Iphones and tablets and more

All sorts of screens now to view.

 

How do you manage, if never before

Have parents faced such a struggle?

Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat and more

Can leave my old brain befuddled.

 

You see her there, face down and focused

On a screen that was never my purview

You realize the power in the palm of her hand

And that old tactics can no longer serve you.

 

Not going outside or walking downtown

You think of the things you know she is missing

Eye contact, exercise, great old novels

Or maybe the boys she’s not kissing (oh wait, that probably still happens).

 

She recoils, embarrassed, when I say something like

“TTFN” or “selfie”

But I’ll tell you right now, if she talks back,

That phone’s going up on the shelf-y.

 

But hold on, there’s a flip side as well

When a tale such as this is related

She’s a tech wizard it turns out and she helps

A mom whose skill building’s belated.

 

She knows what to do when I’m so confused

Frozen screens, copy and pasting

I just call her and plead to help me out please

Rolls her eyes at the time I’ve been wasting.

 

And you know what?  I look at her closely and see

A girl with a good head on her shoulders

She’s bright and savvy and lively and sharp

I don’t worry about when she gets older.

 

So maybe the moral of the story should be

To take a step back and find

All the ways you can meet her halfway

 

And just let her live in her time.

photos by Barbara Paulsen at tandemechoes.com

She’s Got the Astroturf Blues

A few years back, Linda and her husband Evan taught their son to pee on the grass.  At the time, it was funny.  And functional.  Landon was 3 at the time so he had to pee often, and urgently.  It was easier to find a patch of grass than a bathroom.  Who wants to go driving around looking for a bathroom with a toddler in the backseat screaming, “It’s coming out, Mommy!”  after all?  He was so cute, that little view of his backside as he was peeing against a tree.  Grass-peeing occurred when hiking, camping, on road trip pit-stops, and occasionally in the backyard-when going inside proved to be too long a disruption in his play.

Soon enough, his little brother Alex came along and learned the skill, which offered the same advantages as it did for his older brother.  Landon often gave sage advice such as, “keep breathing,” or “don’t look around” to put his novice brother at ease.  In chillier weather, Landon offered, “sometimes it takes a little longer when it’s cold” to an impatient Alex.  Both brothers delighted in the yellow art they created when there was snow on the ground.  Such frolicking and boyish play continued as the boys grew.

One rainy spring, Linda signed the boys up for indoor soccer.  Having spent the winter watching two little guys playing “Wipeout” using her new sofa, her tennis racket, a bucket of water and other assorted breakable items, she decided it was time for the boys to blow off some steam…under someone else’s watch.  The boys loved it, the running, the action, the competition.  One sweat soaked-practice after another, it was time well spent.  Linda congratulated herself silently, daring not rub it in Evan’s face, who had deemed it too expensive.

One practice, as she quietly tapped on her phone like 20 other moms seated on the cold, ass-flattening bleachers, she heard some out-of-the-ordinary screaming and laughing.  She looked up and saw a familiar sight, in an unwelcome venue.  Landon, standing beside Alex, was peeing in the corner.  On the astroturf.  Linda’s thoughts swirled from Should I run? to Does anyone notice? to Is this happening?  Finally, without her knowledge or permission, she felt her body lurching up toward her boys.  Alex, sensing the need to pee as well, began to unzip his fly, sending Linda into a full-on run.   Words began pouring out of her mouth as she entered the field.  She had no control of them, they were flying out too quickly.  She recognized “Stop” and their names, but other than that they were barely recognizable as language.  By midfield she feared she heard curse words coming from her lips but was unable to stem the tide.  Streams from both boys had stopped by the time she had reached them.  Teammates were abuzz with laughter, rolling around on the ground (away from the warm yellow puddle congealing in front of her boys) and pointing.  Alex looked at her and asked, “Mommy, why isn’t the grass sucking it up?” 

The rest is a “blur” as Linda recounts it.  A mom carrying two crying boys.  A befuddled coach.  A howling team of boys.  A pungent scent.  Linda threw $10 at the reception desk for “cleaning.”  And she went home and thought.  A lot.

If they don’t know the difference between grass and astroturf, how will they know the difference between right and wrong?  A nice girl and one who will break their hearts?   Fully cooked chicken nuggets and pink-inside ones which will make them sick?  Sighing, she decided she wasn’t a bad mom.  So she overreacted a little.  So what?  But she feels frustrated that she can’t always pave their way.  Sometimes they have to make decisions based on the information they have.  And sometimes they will make the wrong choice.  Maybe even learn a lesson.  That’s all any parent can do.

And so, Linda made her own choice.

Evan can take the boys to practice from now on.

 

photo courtesy of Barbara Paulsen at tandemechoes.com

 

My Flat Tire- A Fairy Tale

A Daily Post prompt to write something that happened in the past week in the style of a fairy tale.

And the wheels go ’round…

Once Upon a Time, a king and queen indeed had a wonderful dream:  a day of family fun and frolic!  Complete with never-ending smiles, a cascade of sweet and meaningful memories made with the entire royal family!  It would be great fun: an afternoon bike ride, complete with a stop at the kingdom’s favorite coffee shop.  Treats of gooey, sugary deliciousness would be the destination after a day spent in the saddle and beneath the sun’s warm rays.  Oh how the princesses would enthuse to embark upon such a day!

Alas, the dream was not meant to be.  Both sisters displaying a whiney wickedness, the king and queen cajoled them with the allure of sunshine and sweets.  The sun, however,  proved to be a difficult ally, trying desperately to poke through but succeeding only in drowning the kingdom in fog.  Not even a royal invocation for sunlight was heeded.  The family rode on, however, despite the cold.  The sisterly squabbles began in earnest, whilst the king and queen beseeched them for peace.  The day’s winds whipped about, created an uphill feeling to a flat countryside.

And then, lo, a misery stopped them cold!  It was the flat tire of the queen’s bike.  It hissed and spat in a display of contempt for the family outing.  The only option, lest the king’s army be summoned, was to pedal back despite the destination of the journey having not been reached.  A mild argument ensued, of what to do next.  And in the end, the queen walked to the coffee shop, damaged tire and bike in tow.  Spirits dragged much as did the queen’s dirt-soaked finery.  As the family met her, they agreed to make the best of the royal outing, and order up some sugary tidbits to soothe their weary bodies.

And then, just like that, almost as if the queen’s wand had deemed it so, the family began laughing.  Enjoying the company.  Forgetting the vexing problems that the day had so meanly presented them.  The sugar proved a salve to the family, and in due time the king fetched his noble mini-van.  Procuring the sickly bike in it’s wretched condition,  he took the family back to it’s kingdom, where they are all now in pleasant company within the castle.

And they lived happily ever after.

The End.