The More Things Change

Have I told you how grateful I am for Monday Listicles?  When I get out of the habit of caring for Sperk*, Monday Listicles always brings me back, gently and successfully.  Thanks, Stasha.

Today’s theme is 10 Clues We Are Living In 2012.  But, you know, the more things change, the more they stay the same. 

5 Clues I Am Living in 2012

1.  I have no landline. My home phone is my cell phone.

2.  My oldest is a freshman in high school.

3.  I can go an entire week without speaking to anyone, but still communicate with the world.

4.  Completed my college degree without stepping foot in a classroom.

5.  $100 buys only one bag of groceries.

5 Clues Nothing Has Changed Since 1992

1.  My kids’ school backpacks weigh over 50 pounds each.  (When will technology replace all of those binders and books?)

2.  I get calls from telemarketers soliciting time shares.

3.  Teens still have make-out parties in the basement and think parents do not know.

4.  Watching television is still one of America’s top forms of entertainment.

5.  Moms top the list as the number one most embarrassing thing in the lives of teens.

Who knows.  Some of these things may change.  Our school district will eventually embrace technology.  Kids may have online make-out parties.  But one thing that will most definitely never change:  our kids' need for love and acceptance.  

Go hug your baby.  Or your puppy.  Or go online and feed your cyber-pet.

Go forth into the new week with optimism. . . because I said so.

photo credit: m a c h i n t o y via photo pin cc

The Paradox of Beauty

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My girls have hair appointments at a salon somewhat randomly chosen from a list generated by that trusty search engine, Google.  I am nervous about this afternoon’s pending trip to the selected beauty establishment in the Short North, a trendy, artsy neighborhood here in Columbus.  Why be nervous?

First, this means I must style my own hair and find something presentable to wear other than my favorite red plaid flannel jammie pants that I’ve sported all week.  (Yes, my older daughter, Sophia, is planning to submit my photos to TLC's What Not to Wear).  Second, this means I must convince my girls that after five months, they do indeed need their hair trimmed.  For some reason, they think if they get a trim, their hair will cease to be long.  They do not understand that without regular pruning, their long flowing locks will turn into thin frayed wisps.  Lastly, I am not looking forward to meeting a new stylist.  The last two hair experts we’ve loyally employed turned out to be unstable professionally.  Oh, things always started out great. But one stylist stopped listening to what the client wanted for she could not hear over her own talking, and the other refused to return money paid for tinsel extensions that fell out in one hour.

The trip to the new-to-us salon cannot be avoided.  Next week Sophia is performing in her middle school’s musical.  She has the lead.  She can’t have stringy Marcia Brady hair and convincingly portray Winnifred the Woebegone.  Antonia, my younger daughter, complains every morning that she hates her hair.  This fascinates me because, although it does need shaped up, she has a gorgeous head of hair with perfect color, texture, and wave.  Are the talks about self-talk failing? 

So, haircuts, here we come.  

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Maybe it’s not the actual experience of the haircuts that I am dreading.  Maybe it’s that I despise the fact that I see my girls beginning to be crushed by the societal standards placed upon women to be pretty.  You know what, my girls are pretty—with hair or bald, new clothes or hand-me-downs, a broken out forehead or clear skin.   I am frustrated that they do not see their own beauty, honor it, embrace it, and give it the merit it deserves.  

This brings me to a heavily debated question.  What merit does beauty deserve?   

If beauty deserves no value, why am I concerned about my jammie pants?  I can chalk that one up to wanting to teach my girls what it means to be appropriately dressed and taken seriously.  Yet, left to be answered is why we celebrate celebrities and movie stars but put down the woman we pass on the street who needs to lose ten pounds?   

Maybe I'll make a statement against the value of beauty by rolling to the salon just as I am, right now, sitting at my kitchen table with no make-up applied, hair wild, and a Chihuahua comfortably cuddled in my lap.  Possibly too extreme.  I will continue to contemplate until it is time for this little dog on my lap to be let outside.  While he is frolicking in the winter sun, blissfully unaware of his beauty, I'll give in to societal standards by applying  my make-up and doing my hair.  The jammie pants?  That's a rough one.

  

Zipper Binders and Braids

Heading into the weekend without an itinerary leaves opportunities for me to shift roles from task manager to parent.  The down time offers moments void of activity that foster the emergence of my daughters' true personalities.  This is a joy and gift, but sometimes can be overwhelming.  I have read that kids change in adolescence and become unable to listen and respond in a sensible way.  But I never thought my girls would actually exhibit this behavior as they morph into teenagers.

During a middle school orientation, the principal explained to parents that our children would lose things, forget things, and basically become unrecognizable.  I thought, “Sophia won’t.  She’s very organized, conscientious, and diligent at keeping up with things.”

Not long into the school year I began to hear, “I forgot my notebook in my locker or maybe it’s at Dad’s.  I don’t know, but I can’t even do the assignment anyway because the teacher hasn’t posted it on Power School.”

It was happening.  The principal's prophecy was coming true.  And it continues.

Sixth and seventh grade science classes seemed to be no problem for Sophia.  Eighth grade has been different.  Two weeks ago, after she explained to me she had to retake another test for mastery, I asked her how she studied for the tests.  She pulled out a folder stuffed with papers of several different scientific themes arranged in a motley mess.  

Then I asked if she kept a notebook, and she replied, “Yes.  I use one for every subject.”

I replied, “You mean you have a single notebook designated for each subject?”

She responded, “No.  I mean I use one notebook for everything.”

The notebook wasn’t even organized by subject or date.  No headings.  No sign of structure to be found.

I was puzzled for I now had no clue what was going on in that other note keeping device--that giant pink zipper-binder that is toted to and from school every day.  I guess it doesn't contain anything that is needed for studying.  Is it some sort of new fashion trend?

Not to fuel any sibling rivalry, I do have stories about Antonia that add to my astonishment.  I am saving them for later and I am sure more will emerge as we stumble through the next two days--the weekend.  These are the hours in which I can let go of task managing and become reacquainted with these young women who are testing the waters of independence.

Sometimes it’s scary to think they’ll have to navigate through life without me someday.  Until then, I will continue to tuck them in at night.  I will still braid their hair when they ask.  And I will always drive to school to retrieve forgotten notebooks.