Davy and Goliath

When you have children, you start reliving your own childhood and remembering things that you hadn't thought of in years- beloved toys, shows and experiences.  (It's amazing how much stuff is stored in the brain.  Things you don't even know you know or remember are suddenly jarred loose.  I've told my kids, "I've forgotten more than you've learned!"  That's how I explain my stupidity.)

If you are of the same "certain age" as I am, you'll remember watching Davy and Goliath on TV in the 70's.  I remember loving the "Christian Morals" show and can easily call Goliath's voice to mind. "Well, Davy") When my daughter was much younger, I had told her about the show that I loved.  (It came up in the context of something church-y.)  But I could never find the show on tv for her...

One day, while perusing the shelves of our new town's library,  I stumbled onto a few VHS tapes of it in the library!!!  I was sooo excited!  They even had more than one episode! We studied the boxes and decided, since the holiday was approaching, we would take out the Easter episode.

I couldn't remember the details of the plot but was sure it would be a wonderful!  All the way home, I reminisced aloud  about the claymation boy and his dog.  What a build up I gave them!  (Note to self: Never over sell.) We didn't even pop it in right away.  I had dinner to make and wanted to make sure that we could devote ourselves to this shared experience.  (I wanted to indulge my inner child and sit, mouth agape, on the floor in front of the tv to soak it all in!)

Finally, the time was right.  I could devote my full attention to sharing this beloved show with my beloved daughter. (A feeling of coming full circle filled me- my mom had once watched it with me.)  It was as good as I remembered.  Goliath's voice was exactly right.  Davy was just the right amount of stop-motion-herky-jerky. Davy was spending the day with his wonderful (and very fit) Grandma and, on the show, it was almost Easter.  A perfect moment. Until...

(There had to be an until.  Nothing is ever as good as the buildup. And we don't always we never remember the entire experience. Usually the best parts are treasured and the flotsam and jetsam is tossed out of the brain.  Which is why every old movie I remember enjoying as a child has way more cursing and innuendos than I remembered. Even though they were rated PG... But, once again, I digress...)

To recap:    Davy was spending the day with his wonderful (and very fit) Grandma and, on the show, it was almost Easter.  Happy, happy, happy!  He goes home with the promise to see Grandma at his game and for Easter.  The next day, he comes home from playing with his friends and everyone is waiting for him.  Waiting to tell him that Grandma died.  Wait...  What was that? Did you hear me!? GRANDMA DIED!!! (Don't worry, we all die and rise again so chill out, little kiddies.)  Uuhhhh......  Awkward....  Sidelong glance at daughter to check for tears... This isn't the show I wanted to share scare her with! Time to start spin doctoring...

THE GRANDMA DIED?!?  I have no memory of this.  Apparently I blocked out the memory.  Who wouldn't?  A beautiful family moment.  BAM!  "Don't forget, kids, disaster can strike at any moment.  Don't be too happy. Better watch those grown ups around you.  They could keel over at any moment.  I am made of clay and my dog can talk but let's insert some terrifying reality.... " It's like a new Grimm's tale.  Morals with a sprinkling of death.  And let's not just kill wolves and wicked queens- let's use someone closer to home!

I can't believe I didn't remember that episode.  Did I supress it?  Is it repressed? Did my personality fragment as a result of the trama? (If I have been calling you saying I am someone else, let me know.)  What else don't I remember from the 70's?  Did they just replay the same PIX game over and over again and did my postcard ever really have a chance?  Was the story box on The Magic Garden" was possessed by evil spirits?  Next you're going to tell me there was another roommate that Bert and Ernie drowned in the bathtub with rubber ducky...

Well, now I've included some death in my story and here is a moral:  Pre-screen, people.  Don't trust your memories of the shows you watched as a kid.    (I have yet to learn that- sometime I'll tell you about the "Facts of Life" episode I showed the same daughter when she was older.  Oy...)  If you're lucky, the movies and shows you loved are just boring and so hopelessly dated that they are hard to watch.  If you're not so lucky, they are horrifying and damaging.  But, then again, maybe there is some nostalgic value in damaging your kids in the same ways you were damaged...

Hope your Easter and/or Passover are wonderful with good times and no yucky reality barging in!

Walk of Shame- Then and Now

If you went away to college, you remember the "walk of shame".   The walk of shame is when a girl sleeps over at her boyfriend's room and then has to walk back to her own room in the morning before class to get new clothes.  (I can only admit to the walk of shame because I have been married to the man for 20 years.  And... because my parents are dead.  Otherwise I'd still be pretending it never happened!) Usually, the walk happens early.  When the custodial staff are working like the shoemakers elves to clean up the craziness from the night before.   

Sidetrack:

Most students will work their entire schedule to avoid waking up early so most of us rarely ever saw the custodial staff.  (Or was it just me?  I probably chose my major based on class time...)   They were the mysterious clinks and clunks in the hall that made you groan and roll over.  Recognizing that another day has started but not needing to participate in it yet.  They were the soundtrack to my early morning dreams...  

Looking back as a grownup, I think that, if I were them, I would have been violently noisy with my bucket and pail.  Slamming my broom against every door and dropping something metal every few minutes.  (Passive-aggressive much?)  I think I would resent the idiot students who create such barbaric messes, break things and spill everywhere.  Sleeping all day and partying all night.  (Mostly, I'm talking about the boys.  That's a whole other story for another time.)

Veer back on topic:

I remember walking past those ladies and feeling like their eyes were searing into my back.  I kept my head down and walked fast while feeling judged.  More likely, they hardly noticed.  What's one more besmirched girl in the parade?  (As long as they didn't know my mother to tell her!)  

This school year I had to do the walk of shame all over again.  No, I don't have a boyfriend.  (Not a real one, anyway.)  But I had all the same feelings to go along with this walk of shame.  And much of the same soundtrack.

This year, on my daughter's birthday, I told her I would pick her and her friend up from school.  They had cupcakes and musical instruments and backpacks.  Too much to carry on the bus so I offered to pick up as a treat.  Like a birthday bonus, "It's your special day!" And then I forgot.  Completely. On her birthday.  I saunter out to the bus stop 15 minutes after the pickup time and it hits me.  I forgot my daughter AND her friend.  ON HER BIRTHDAY!

After imagining tears and calling the school, I raced across town.  I park and rush in.  The halls are empty.  Flashback!  It was a whole new walk of shame.  So different but so similar.  Walking down a quiet hallway in the off hours.   Custodial staff watching me walk ashamed down the hall.  The same feelings accompanied by the sounds of cleaning.  Feeling judged.  (Bad mommy.) Feeling embarrassed.  (I'll have to walk out with the forgotten child wearing the paper birthday crown! Everyone will know it's worse than JUST forgetting!)  

I get to the principle's office and there they are.  With their bags and cupcakes and instruments.  I start the whole diversionary routine, trying to make a joke, "Can you believe I did that?!  We always say I'm forgetful but this?! Boy, oh, boy!  What a story you have to tell!"  Luckily for me, it sort of worked.  But only because the friend was there.  A comrade in "mother bashing".  They could laugh and complain to each other.  If she had been alone?  With nothing to do but think of how awful it is for your mother to forget you on your birthday?  Tears would've been flowing.  I was so grateful that she had a friend with her that it was even worth having to 'fess up to the other parent that I am a total flake. 

I'll be hearing about that at family gatherings forever. They love to trot out the bad parent stories...

P.S. And really, at 9 years old, I only forgot her once.  (Maybe twice.) So that's once in over 3200 days!  (Maybe twice.) That's a pretty stellar record...

Follicle Follies

For the girls.  Boys turn back now because you can't poke out you mind's eye...


My husband and I are going away for our 20th anniversary. (Sadly, by the time you read, this it will be over. Boo hoo hoo!) We are going to the Carribean with NO kids!  Woo-hoo!!! [guilt, guilt, guilt] I think we deserve it.  In this day and age, 20 years deserves some big celebration. 

I remember when my parents went to Bermuda for, what I realize now,  must've been their 10 year anniversary. My mom said they were going on a "second honeymoon" and came back with a spectacularly bruised arm from wiping out on her moped.  I am hoping NOT to recreate that moment. 

Anyhow, I realized, we have NEVER been on a beach vacation without kids.  Never! Our vacations before kids were always to cities or new places with lots of touring. We have never just sat somewhere for a few days. (Ironic- we are happy to just sit at home.) I am quite excited!  I have not been reading my Time mag or Real Simple for two months so I can read them on the beach and I have two brand new paperbacks.  It will be a reading and being warm vacation. (I am always cold.) And we'll have to read because without the kids it will take us a few days to remember how to have conversations about other things.  In a cruel twist, we will probably remember how much we like to chat just in time to go home.  Then, we'll forget again as we get interrupted for all the years until they all move out...

Going on a beach vacation with kids is fun but it is also drudgery. You are a schlepper Sherpa.  A lifeguard and EMT. And constantly slathering bodies with cancer protection lotion?  Arg!  (And those bodies are adding up to more square footage of skin every year.  When can I expect them to do it themselves? And do it right? Those are two different things...) It makes great memories but it is also a LOT of work.  

This is going to be the first beach vacation that I only have to think of myself.  One bottle of sunblock. (50- my skin is Irish and I will probably be just as pale when I get home.) One hat. Only one water bottle. One book.  One towel.  I could fit all of that into a ziplock!!  Usually I have multiple giant bags- have I ever walked onto the beach with my head held high? NO!  Usually I am bent over like a wizened old hag under my load.  It will be a new experience to go to the beach like that!  Maybe there is another way I can take the drudgery out of a beach vacation...

(I told you boys to turn back.  Better do it now...)

Something else I dread about a beach vacation is the careful attention to shaving.  Remember how I said my skin was Irish?  Well, my hair is Italian. 'Nuff said.  So I thought, "Hmmm.  Maybe I could try some waxing so I don't even have to shave as much." (Freshly shaved skin hitting the salt water is "yowsers".) Then,  I can really relax!  So with some encouragement from a friend I decided to give it a try.  I had three babies- how much could it hurt?

Motherfletcher.   Turns out it could hurt a lot.  It was a weird bunch of thoughts and experiences.  I was embarrassed just asking them to even do it and I was embarrassed by the act of doing it. I was awkwardly looking at the ceiling and trying to find a happy place while telling myself that it couldn't be that bad.  I was imagining the lady yelling out the door, "We gonna need more wax!" (Ala "40 year old Virgin" movie." And once she started,  I wanted to curse like Steve Carrell too!) I have to commend all of you women who have been doing this for years- I don't know how you do it.  When I texted bad curse words to a friend, she replied, "My little girl is now a woman!"  It took only took 44 years!  

At least it was over.  I had been full of anxiety leading up to the experience.  But I still had one lingering fear.  I was afraid I could be like a circus-leg-bearded lady and never have realized it!  I was afraid of experiencing a scene like the one in The Santa Clause with Tim Allen.  His character shaves off his beard and, as he is wiping the shaving cream off with the towel, the beard immediately grows back.  What if I get home from the place and it's all there again?!  ACK!  No.  Not possible.  But that night, I even had a dream that it all grew back.  NOOOOO......

It's not easy being a girl...

Tycoon Aims To Send Couple to Mars in '18

This is what was in the news last week.  There is a plan for a "bare bones private mission" to Mars funded by a millionaire.  The plan calls for a trip of "up to 16 months in a cramped space capsule half the size of an RV".  The thinking is that on such a long, cramped trip it might make sense to send a married couple. They can give each other emotional support. 

Hmmm.  They also acknowledge that the trip involves a huge risk.  You think?  A married couple in a teensy capsule sounds like a space disaster in the making!  Even if they manage to get the capsule there and back without any problems, I'd be surprised if they are still both alive when they open the capsule!  I wonder how long before the whole thing breaks down.  (I'm thinking that the gas caused by the big send-off meal would have the wife bailing out before they even left our atmosphere!)

In two days,  my husband and I are celebrating our 20 year wedding anniversary.  20 YEARS! It's hard to believe.  (Too help you with the math, I was married when I was 7.)  It's been a great 20 years.  But I don't think I could make it 16 months in space.  We are perfect together.  On Earth.  We are the same in many ways but different in many others.  If all we had to do was surf the internet for 16 months straight, ooofa.  Our differences would wreck us.  I would be all, "Read this joke. Look at this picture of baby animals. Watch this music video. Watch me play solitaire. Read my book -it's fiction."  And he would be all, "The markets are down. Watch CSPAN with me. Read my financial texts.  Look at this picture of pasta. Watch Gladiator.  Again."  It wouldn't be long before we would wind up with a masking tape line down the middles separating us.  (Maybe they should just paint one on the capsule during construction.  Then no one has to argue that "it's crooked and you have 4sq. in. more than me!")

Current technology is amazing.  Not because we can consider travel to Mars but because, on your way to the red planet,  you can surf the net to try and hang onto your sanity.  Nowadays, astronauts are tweeting and video chatting from space and they are no more isolated than your average awkward gamer/Reddit addicts. (In fact, with their fellow astronauts around them, they may have more human interaction.)  BUT!  Is that technology enough to get through 16 months drinking your own recycled urine and subsisting on minimal food while cooped up with a guy who seemed perfect right up until the moment the burners ignited?  Seems doubtful to me.  But it could make one hell of a reality show!  (Or horror show!)