Category: kids these days

*sigh* It just ain’t the same

While visiting with my godkids last week, I had occasion to lament how fast they are growing up.

The oldest of the two is soon to be ten. TEN! Wow. I remember when she was just a little preemie baby, yowling when the wind blew across her little face. She was adorable, tiny and rather sour of disposition.

Now she’s a bright, effusive ten year old, full of life and energy and fun.

She’s been facing some rather grown up issues at school, which breaks a Nina’s heart. I’d like to go to that school and give some folks the what-for.

Seeing my little girl growing up so quick made me think about a lot of things that change, drastically, as you age.

For example, I recall when goddaughter #1 was going through potty training. Her folks worked with her quite a bit to get that going. (pun sort of intended)

One evening, there were several friends visiting at the house, and goddaughter #1 came racing out of the bathroom right to the middle of the crowd. She had not a stitch of clothing on, threw her arms in the air and yelled, “I pooped in the potty!”

Well, we all applauded and congratulated and hugged her. It was a very proud group of adults.

This doesn’t happen when you are 40.

If I came racing out of the john naked, right into a dinner party exclaiming my poopy prowess, well…for sure I’d not be invited back to the party. They might even see about having me talk to a “special” doctor.

Ya get no applause for bodily functions when you get past the age of, oh say, five.

How about birthdays? When you are five, you get a pile of fun presents to unwrap, your friends come have a sleep over and when they put the cake in front of you, first you blow out the candles and then everyone giggles when you put your face right down into your cake.

RIGHT down into the frosting!

Nobody thinks it is funny when you have cake all over your face when you are a grown up. People just look at you like you’ve lost your marbles.

It isn’t fair.

Oh! And how about naps? When you are a kid, naps are required! Oh yes, much enforced! Must nap, do it now! Here is your special blanket and stuffed friend and a kiss on the forehead.

Today? A nap is a luxury. Stolen moments. Time I could have used to do something more productive.

The ubiquitous “they” say that being a grown up is a good thing.

Generally I might agree, but sometimes………..

A not very scientific analysis

Seeking to up the volume of traffic to this little blog of mine, I recently joined a free service that can help drive some eyeballs my direction.

The way it works is this: you have to start out by earning credits. To earn credits, you surf the blogs and websites of other members, stay there for at least thirty seconds, and then click a button to log your visit.

Once you have credits, based on how many you have, your blog gets put into the rotation. With that, your site starts to get views, with the hope you’ll find some sticky visitors.

So I’ve been doing this, idly surfing websites, while watching television or doing other internet surfing, working to earn plenty of credits.

Over the past couple days, I’ve looked at a lot of blogs. I’ve even found a few new sites I’ll keep visiting (see, the process works!).

I’ve also discovered that there is A LOT of dreck out there.

So based on two days of this surfing along, here is my not very scientific conclusion:

The majority of blogs out there on the internets are written by Malaysian teenage girls. Some boys too, but mostly girls.

Malaysian teenage girls who like to post photos taken with their phone cameras.

Photos of themselves with their boyfriends. Photos of them with their BFF’s. And usually at least one photo of their parents who always *clearly* look like they don’t want to have their picture taken.

Oh, and food. Over the past days, I’ve seen a LOT of sushi, udon noodle bowls and a preponderance of mochi.

I knew mochi was gaining popularity here in the Bay Area, I had no idea just how crazy the Malaysian people are for this confectionary treat. Especially mochi ice cream. That shows up on a lot of blogs.

Who knew? Apparently, this whole time, if I wanted more views, I just needed to post this:

Behold, original mochi (with red bean paste center)

I’m just an ol’ fashioned girl

Sort of, anyway.

I mean, over the weekend, in fact, last night, I had occasion to make dinner for my husband. I admit, there is something so *deeply* satisfying to cook for my man, and even more so when he took a first bite and made a yummy noise. Gets right to the heart of me!

Ok, so here’s another way I may be a bit stodgy. Ladies, listen in here… The weekend just past was Labor Day.

And we all know what that means, right?

Of course, no wearing white after Labor Day. We can wear it again come Easter.

There, I said it. I know, I know, that rule is out of date and there is such a thing as “winter white” and so on.

To me, this rule really applies to two items of clothing…pants and shoes.

A nice crisp white blouse with darker pants is fine.

But pair that with white shoes? *gasp*

My mother, who was, in her day, quite fashionable (don’t scoff dear mum, I have the photos to prove it!), taught me the no white after Labor Day rule.

But then she also gave me the handy carve out that, since we lived in New Mexico and the weather stayed warmer in New Mexico than, say, eastern climates, wearing white a little bit longer was acceptable.

But no, I took the rule entirely to heart. Nope, nada, ain’t gonna do it! Back in my college days living in the sorority house, I was one of *those* girls who would point and gasp in horror when one of my sisters dared to sport a pair of white heels in the month of September.

Really rude, I know.

Then again…who wears white heels? Seriously.

I seem to have zero trouble following my own rule because…I don’t own a pair of white pants. Really, there are only a very select group of women in this world who should be allowed to wear white pants. The rest of us can sit out this fashion, trust me.

And I’m pretty sure I don’t own any white shoes either, if you don’t count athletic shoes, which I don’t. (and mine aren’t white anyway)

Pretty much, in my middle years, I’m less and less inclined to get uptight about this rule.

And what kicked off this whole train of thought was an article in Time discussing the origin of the rule. Turns out the history is a bit fuzzy.

Ah well.

Really, in fashion, to each their own, right?

(I’m looking at you, Lady Gaga)

More blogtastic random fun

Well, the dearth of good ideas continues.

So instead of a random word today, I found a random blog topic generator.

Ok, so here’s my assignment: “When I’m on top of the world…”

Well. So. Yeah.

Ok, here we go, a trickle of an idea, like rain on a dry riverbed.

Yep, here we go.

A memory.

When I was a kid, my folks owned land in Cuba, New Mexico. If you don’t know where that is, go toward Jemez, and keep going.

The piece of land was rather undeveloped, up in the mountains, bumpy washed out dirt roads that required four wheel drive to get there. But get there we did.

Lots of camping in that Apache Pop Up Trailer I’ve spoken of before on these pages.

Good stuff. Cold fried chicken and marshmallows toasted over a piñon wood fire. Very pretty and truly the beauty of the mountains of New Mexico.

Inevitably, we’d go hiking, plucking small cactus balls off pants legs the whole way. We’d do our best to hike to the very top of a pretty decent sized hill, then we’d sit on the ground and rest, eating gorp (for you young uns, that’s what they used to call trail mix).

Being a brat, I’d always pick out the M&M’s and raisins and leave the rest.

My mom, dad, brother, sister and I would sit and take in the view of the valley floor below, feel the wind across the sweaty brow, eat the gorp, and then, being the goofball I’m so proud to be, I’d usually begin a rousing chorus of…

Wait for it…

I’m on the
top of the world looking
down on creation
And the only explanation I can fiiiiiiiiind
Is the love that I’ve found
ever since you’ve been around
Your love’s put me at the top of the world

(How much do I love The Carpenters?)

So, when I’m on top of the world……I sing. Badly.

There you have it!

(had to recycle that image. I love it so.)



Image is of Latvian mezzo-soprano Elina Garanca and a pretty extensive web search could not net me the attribution on this photo. I found photos from that same event on the European Commission page which allows for the use of photos with attribution.



Keep it to yourself, sister

The weather outside yesterday was what they call “low cloud cover”. Low ceiling, gray clouds, occasional sprinkling rain.

This makes most people think, “brr, cold” and toss on all matter of arctic gear.

This is not true for me. Low cloud cover means the heat is held in and the drizzly rain means humidity.

See, I was brought up in New Mexico and my body has been attuned to be a convection cooled device. Or, more accurately, an evaporative cooled device. I sweat. The dry desert air slurps that up, thus cooling my rig and allowing me to continue on.

I’m attuned to this and it suits me just fine.

When it’s warmish and humid, I cannot effectively evaporative cool my hard working human mo-chine.

You can ask anyone who knows me, my internal temp tends to run a little hot anyway. The frosty pawed feline doesn’t favor me as a sleeping device because she thinks I’m nice, ok?

So what all this means is, even on a cloudy drizzly day like today, I don’t want anything to do with a jacket.

This tends to make the biddies and would-be work moms crazy.

“Aren’t you cold!?!” they shriek.

“Where is your jacket?!?!” they demand in harpy voices.

Look, I have a mother. She’s a fine, upstanding lady. She taught me to be self-sufficient. If you are cold, put on a jacket. If you aren’t cold, don’t. If you are cold and don’t put on a jacket, it’s your own damn fault.

Mom and I have been in agreement on this for years.

Yesterday, I was wearing a sweater dress with a long sleeved sweater over, tights and knee-high black boots. That is practically Nanook of the North for me, and yet, one of my menopausal coworkers eyed me up and down and screeched “Aren’t you cold!?!” because I was sans jacket.

It was close to sixty frapping degrees outside, but it was drizzly, so that must mean everyone should wear an overcoat.

An overcoat? Hell. No. I was hot in what I was wearing!

But if I had said to her, “Hey, you look a little hot, why don’t you take some clothes off” I would have been reported to HR.

It’s a bizarre up world out there, and I’m but a passenger on this carnival ride.

Image via FreeFoto.com