Mid-CenturyModernMoms

A Successful Day

Father's Day in my house was a totally successful day.  Not because we were "celebrating" Father's Day, but because we had to do a whole bunch of things and we all got through the day without anyone blowing up.

The most successful part of the day was our visit to Abe (17, PDD, ADHD, etc) at his new (therapeutic) boarding school.  He has now been there for 2 weeks and it's going fantastically!!!  I get wonderful reports about him from the staff there.  And his room was clean.  And he had learned to use soap, so he didn't smell. And he was a pleasant person to be with on our visit. And he was talking.  Wow!!!

Funky Granny came with us to see Abe.  Rosie came, too.  She said that she didn't want to come, but not too strenuously.  We walked around the campus a bit and then went to the world's largest mega-store to buy Abe a belt.  Rosie ended up with some very inexpensive T-shirts.  The family went to Friendly's for french fries and ice cream and then back to school.  Very pleasant, and a wonderful visit with Abe.  He's so much better than he was before he went to C.

On the way home, we stopped at 2 other mega-stores and did a variety of errands.  Cross those off the list of places we have to go this week!

And a nice day was had by all.

Best-Dressed

Suburban Correspondent here again with a discussion question.  Open book.  It's all about dress codes for teens (and I think we all know that we're mostly talking about teen girls here).  Mary Alice had an interesting post last week, all about the wisdom of being open with our children about sex (or s-e-x, as she put it).  As an aside, she mentioned that her mother had never put any restrictions on how Mary Alice's youngest sister dressed.  And this comment gave me pause.

As anyone who reads my blog knows, my teen daughter Anna and I have had several run-ins on the what-to-wear issue.  Appalled by the sultry, I-am-a-slut look that seems to be in vogue for teen girls, I've endeavoured mightily to hold the line at my daughter dressing in a manner that communicates to others her sense of self-respect.  Oddly enough, Anna doesn't seem to like the long-sleeved prairie dresses and high-buttoned shoes I've picked out for her....

Ha, ha - just kidding - but, from the way she acts, you would think that is how I am telling her to dress.  Essentially, my dress code rules have consisted of basic guidelines regarding cleavage display, heel heights, and skirt and shorts lengths.  She has cooperated, but it hasn't been pleasant.

And yet, it is hard for me to imagine saying to her, "Wear whatever you like, honey."  Somehow, it seems disrespectful for Anna to be sitting in the same room as her father with her boobs hanging out of her shirt or with 3-inch heels showing off leg all the way up to mid-thigh.  And it would feel odd to me for her father to let her go out into the world that exposed and vulnerable looking.  I doubt anything bad would happen to her, but it still seems to be sending a message that he doesn't care at all about protecting his daughter.

So (and here is my question, finally) - does any of it matter at all?  Really? Type neatly, and make sure to give examples to back up your answers.  Input from fathers would be appreciated.  And extra credit will be given for amusing anecdotes.  Because I could really use a laugh right now.

Crocs and Birks and Sneaks...Oh My!

By Nina Rubin
Today's topic is boys and footwear.  You know, those 7 pound missiles teenage boys fling off their feet and leave for you to trip over in the hallway, doorway, under the table, etc., and then cry out, "Mom, have you seen my shoes?" 

Shoe shopping, alas, isn't the retail thrill for guys that is it for girls.  We're not talking about stalking Manolos or cruising the Nordstroms sale rack here.  Both Jaws and Grumble, who are each over 6 feet tall,  have humongous slabs for feet. They wear 13.5 and 13 respectively and their slabs are still growing. I stay up nights worrying about this because style choices begin to fall off at size 13W, but my lads seem completely untroubled by this. Just keep them in Birks and Crocs and flip flops and Merrills and $85 sneakers and they are blissfully happy, the fools.

Have you noticed, by the way, that shoelaces are a thing of the past?  Even sneakers are elasticized. I know for a fact that Grumble doesn't know how to tie a shoelace and that Jaws only mastered it a few years ago.  He does it the two-loops way.  [If either boy reads this I'm dead meat.]

However, teenage feet are on my mind because we have a ritual on the last day of school, which is today.  When school gets out, we go get shoes. Shoeing my boys makes me indescribably happy. In the old days it was about taking them to the childrens' shoe store and getting lollipops and watching them take their practice walk in shiny new shoes.  These days I take them to Abbadabbas, Atlanta's funky shoe emporium which overflows with Keene, Merrill, Teva,  Dansco, and other high end comfort shoe brands sold by salespeople sporting tatoos and noserings.

Here's what happens. My sons walk into Abbadabbas,  ask for the two or three brands they like, try them on, and in like 5 minutes they are happy ready to roll.  Me? I am combing the sale rack, trying on orange climbing shoes and thinking that a pair of those cute Crocs "Mary Janes" in pink would make my life complete. Then, omigod, I see that Earth Shoes are back, and I wonder, "Gee, maybe I'll have less back pain if I start wearing negative heal shoes." This prompts a reverie about Fred Braun shoes.  Do you think they'll ever bring back Fred Braun shoes?  I still dream about them.

My name is Nina and, yes, I am a shoe-aholic, and the mother of sons who don't understand. I have an embarrassing, Imelda-esque quantity of shoes.  My personal theory about women and shoes is that we love 'em because while our dress and jeans size changes alarmingly, our shoe size (once we're done with birthing babies) stays about the same. I didn't need Carrie Bradshaw to teach me that there's nothing like a new pair of shoes to bring a whole new perspective to life.  And then there's the matter of toe cleavage ... which I must admit, I find incredibly sexy, but which is apparently unknown to my boys.  When I explained it they said, "Eeeuuuuwww."

Which is what I say when I see (or smell) their feet.

Where you really get burned with boys is on dress shoes.  Unless you're a stickler about appropriate footwear for church, synagogue, holidays and special occasions, or your kids go to a school that makes them wear closed-toe shoes, dress shoes are where you get soaked.  I recently broke down and bought Grumble a pair of black leather shoes for his brother's graduation and his own Confirmation and it set me back over $100.00.  If I'm lucky he'll wear them a total of five times and they probably won't even fit him in six months. 

Can I say one more thing about shoes?  And this is not a gender thing.  I don't approve of wearing flip flops to your college or high school graduation.  But at Jaws college graduation I saw literally hundreds of guys and girls wearing cap, gown and flip flops.  Where are their manners?  Where are their mothers?  Where is the nearest DSW? 

Sometimes Mom is Right

by Ora

Did you know that the 60's are back?  Just look around at the clothes that are on display in the stores.  And it's not just for kids anymore, it's for grown-ups (read: Moms).  I went shopping with Rose for some much needed dresses.  This kid, aside from the fact that she has more clothes than some nations, didn't want to wear any dresses when she had to get dressed up for religious services or other events. 

But....

She needed a dress for her "semi-formal" dance and another one for her graduation.   But wait, I thought that Rose was only 14 and in 8th grade, how could she be graduating?  Well, the religious school that she currently attends only goes through 8th grade, so therefore there is a graduation.

In this case, Mom actually came through with picking out dresses that Rosie liked.  The pink is for graduation, although since the ceremony is in a synagogue, she'll be wearing a black T-shirt underneath (must have your shoulders covered and not too much bodice showing).

                     

Now the dance is also supposed to adhere to the school dress code, but I think that these kids have had enough of that, so the turquoise dress will be worn as is.

We got both of these dresses (the dance dress about a month ago) at JC Penney.  This store has turned into a wonderful Mother-daughter compromise store.  The compromise being she likes the clothes and mom likes the prices.  And best of all (in Rosie's eyes) is that said store is located at nouveau-riche gigantic mall (excuse me Collection) that is hip to go shop at.

Oh, and by the way, I had picked up a dress in a similar (but quieter) fashion that she even liked for herself!  Wow.  And she liked it on me.  Will wonders never cease?

Mixed Messages

So much is going on at our house that I feel the need to unburden myself or I'm gonna 'splode from all the information overload. There's good news, there's bad news, there's insanity, and there is relative calm. Oh, and there are two nutty teenagers that live to change the equilibrium at any given moment. Because, you know, they're teens!

So what's new?

The Boy made high honor roll in school. HIGH HONOR ROLL. You have no idea of the nachas this gives me. I'm so very proud of him for finally, after 11 years in school, buckling down and deciding to maybe, perhaps, um...do his work. Because that's a good idea if you're trying to get into college, isn't it?

But is he happy? Why no, because I'm a bitch to him and I never do anything nice for him and he hates me and hopes I have a heart attack and die. He's just a bundle of joy these days. I'm so sick of being screamed at I just want to duct tape his mouth shut. I won't, but don't think I don't fantasize about it. And just what is it that he's so angry about? Oh, I had the unmitigated gall to ask him to dig up some weeds in the garden. Last week. And then again every freaking day. But he won't do it, and he says that he gets no pleasure from gardening, so why should he do it? Um, maybe because you eat the food I grow from my garden? Could that be a good reason? Evidentially not.

And then there was that party. The one my darling son held while I was out of town. The one he was told not to even THINK about. But he did it anyways, and there was alcohol and probably pot and a whole bunch of kids spread all over our front hill. How did I find out about the party? Well, first I found an empty liter bottle of gin in his closet. That was a fun discussion. And because I am the suspicious type (do you wonder why?), I checked his Facebook page. Facebook is awesome for catching kids doing bad things. They're so dumb they leave up photos of the parties. All you have to do is follow the photos. I did, and lo and behold, that was our porch with my son holding a beer can looking particularly wasted on a friends photo set. Ahem. I could probably get a job with Scotland Yard. I'm that good.

Consequently, things are up and down with him. School = good. Home = bad.

The other one? The Girl? She's gonna drive me absolutely bonkers writing a paper on a book she read for school. She hated the book. So what else is new? She hates reading of all kinds. Sort of a disappointment for a serious book lover and writer like myself, but what can I do? Her father is an engineer. Say no more.

The deal is, if she persists in whining and nagging and complaining, at some point I'll come to her rescue just to shut her up. Guilty as sin, I am. But gosh, how much whining can one person take? My tolerance is low, apparently.

Her schooling is coming along despite the fact that her tutor is dyslexic (I know!) and not overly bright. Sweet as sugar and helpful as can be, but OMG, I eventually insert myself in the tutoring sessions in English because otherwise my kid would be learning the wrong stuff. Math and science, I'm not that worried about. The kid is doing fine in school.

However, the school. Well, as nice as they are about my son, they're nasty and unpleasant and totally unhelpful to my daughter. They do not like her. They do not like green eggs and ham either. Well, the feeling is mutual. Not about the green eggs, although I doubt I'd like those either. About the school administration. They are not nice to me, to her, and they're driving me beserko.

And then there's me. I'm doing ok, hanging in there. We're going as a family to Chicago in a couple of days for an event sponsored by Ford Motor Company. You would think that traveling with teenagers would be a piece of cake compared to toddlers and infants. Well... you would probably be wrong. The preparation before the trip is exhausting. We're being feted at a fancy restaurant for a Mother's Day dinner, which meant that we had some shopping to do.

The Boy has outgrown every single piece of clothing he owns, so we had to get him pants and shirts and a pair of shorts just in case the weather ever cleared up in Chicago. Apparently the weather will never clear up in Chicago. Sigh.

The Girl only owns summer dresses that fit well. And no decent pants. More shopping. Like the Girl, my only dress that is currently in style and that fits after a major weight loss is a strapless summer frock. Off to another store to get me something springy but with sleeves and a bit of skin coverage. I hate to shop, I hate to spend money on clothes, and I hate to take my kids shopping. So this week was really swell. 

Oh, and the allergies. The allergies! We all are suffering. The sniffles, the nosebleeds, the itchy eyes, the rashes.

All in all, a jolly good time at our house! So what's going on with you?

Afar and Beyond: Another Time, Another Place

Occasionally, we at MCMM will be posting guest bloggers on weekends. If you're interested in writing about your teens, please contact us. 

Work and social life, to this generation, is a matter of keystrokes.
by guest author Channie Greenberg

When I was a teenager, my peers and I were focused on the usual things of our generation; which color polyester pantsuit to wear to school dances, how to meet boys from other schools, and whether or not our eye shadow was sufficiently neon. Personally, I: eschewed machined fibers for gauzy creations, met a boy through an intercity debate tournament, and used my entire underdeveloped artistic ken to paint a figurative rainbow on my face.

Things are different for my kids. My girls wear skirts which cover their knees, my boys go to schools where theirs is the only gender, and none of my children adorn their cheeks or lids with any manner of color (albeit my youngest teen does wear bangles in her ears). As for dates, my family is part of is a collective in which dating is for marriage, not for sexual gratification or for any other currently acceptable purposes.

And yet teenagers, regardless of the demographic from which they stem, are at once ranging hormones and calm astuteness. It is to my children’s credit that my wardrobe contains blues and greens and not only browns or other somber tones. It is to their merit that I have learned how to apply for an Ad Sense account and that I am currently constructing a webpage. It is because of their grace that I have tried a few more music genres and have even liked some of them.

Such wisdom, as found in youth and in sombulant cats, keeps mommy-type minds slim despite the thickening of our other parts. My offspring know how to link computers with Ipods and think nothing of communicating via instant messaging. Work and social life, to this generation, is a matter of keystrokes. I have to think to keep up.

But such teens as these still need their feet to be massaged before they go to sleep. They still need to discuss means by which to create peace among belligerent factions of friends. They still need, especially if they are boys, to consume, unfathomable amounts of calories, as those calories are found in foods cooked especially, and exactingly, by their moms.

So, keyboard in hand one moment and iron pot in the other, I wade through this water known as “the adolescence of my children.” Join me in weeks to come in my exploration of homemade sushi, of this year’s hair styles and of the “significant” differences between regular DVDs and HD DVDs.

If you have a teen or more in your own home, you might enjoy smiling along with me. It’s been proven that laughter is a far more utilitarian medicine than even the most beneficial of tears. Besides, no amount of wringing of hands or of honking of noses will ever restore the heirloom vase, which the cat knocked over when someone let her into a closed off area, will ever explain why one child has a telephone permanently affixed to her head, or will ever provide an account for why teenagers, themselves, laugh, or cry, incessantly, if you look at them funny.

Chalking out her future

When she was two, she "decorated" her older sister's wooden train tracks with markers. They were water-soluble markers, but once a marker has soaked into a piece of unfinished wood, that's about as permanent a stain as you're going to get.

When she was three, she coloured her pillowcase (with permanent markers this time) so she could have "pretty dreams".

When she was six, she discovered that toothpaste creates a very cool relief effect upon a white tub. She subsequently discovered that toothpaste is equally effective as a bathtub cleanser. (The latter being mum's idea, not hers.)

Should it come as any surprise that, at fourteen, she is colouring on her bedroom walls?

Given that she first scrubbed, then primed, then painted the very same walls, all by herself, I rather think she's earned the right to do pretty much whatever she likes to those walls, short of knocking them down. And don't think she hasn't considered that very thing. The pity is that the one she'd like to remove turns out to be a bearing wall. Remove that sucker and the attic ends up in the living room. By way of her closet.

So for now, she's drawing on her walls.

Not a shark, emerging from behind her dresser, but a heart with teeth, chasing a little ant-like critter. I love the little ant-like critter, and his wild, long-legged scramble. (Heart with teeth? Cardia dentata? Can't wait till the girl hits her first Women's Studies class...)

 

And how about this?

-Trapped by love?
-Constrained by emotion?
-Prisoner of desire?

"What this one, sweetie?"

"It's a guy in a heart, mum."

Ah.

Of course.

The girl, hard at work, under the love-struck alien.

All those hearts in one room.  I think I see a theme emerging... Perfectly normal theme for a fourteen-year-old girl...

This is the only one not drawn by my girl. It's a bit smudged, but I think you can catch the gist. The 14-year-old girl draws pictures of hearts. The 14-year-old guy draws a Mexican hot tamale.

(Wait. Who's a hot tamale? My daughter? Take your chalk away from my daughter, kid.)

Chalk. Yes, chalk. Because, creative though she undoubtedly is, she's learned some practicality over the years. These drawings rub right off.

Creative kids aren't standard. They thrive on the unconventional, they like a little creative chaos -- which doesn't always translate into "mess" -- in their lives. As a mother of creative kids, you learn to stand back, give them a little freedom, and see what emerges.

There are the occasional disasters along the way, but mostly, it's pretty interesting!

Thinking outside the box

When I was in high school, the uniform was flannel shirts, 501-button fly Levis, and Clarks Wallabees. Man, those were comfy shoes.

In college the uniform was flannel shirts, 501-button fly Levis, and Earth Shoes. Shoes not quite as comfy, but otherwise, the same damn clothing.

I understand the need for conformity. I dressed just like everyone else in high school in college. Except, I didn't. I've always been pretty much my own person. In LA, back in the paleolithic era when I was in high school and dinosaurs still roamed the LaBrea Tar Pits, there were distinct groups. The "surfs" wore a lot of plaid shirts and wheat colored cords with Jack Purcell sneakers. The "grease" wore leather jackets and pegged jeans and white t-shirts ala the Fonz. The "burn-outs" wore the flannel shirts, 501s, and Wallabees. So I identified heavily with one particular set of kids, but I really wasn't a burnout, I was kinda artsy-fartsy. I majored in photography in high school. I went to a music and art school where you could pick a major and spend a lot of time doing that particular interest.

But in my senior year my parents, in their infinite ignorance of what it meant to be 16, decided to uproot me and move to Baltimore Maryland. Oh yeah, they did. I wasn't even given the choice of staying, I just had to go and do my senior year in a place I didn't know with kids I didn't know and it was hotter than hell there and they had 17-year locusts. You can imagine the thrills I was feeling. Fucking asshats.

I arrived in our fancy Jewish 'burb in Baltimore, and it was like 1958. The girls were wearing peter pan collars and frigging circle pins, for God's sake. They wore skirts to school! With knee socks. And little Capezio flats! It was frightening. Of course, I had no interest in ever copying these people, so I went with the...wait for it... flannel shirts, 501s, and Wallabees. This caused a huge commotion because there was a freaking dress code. A WHAT? I'd never even heard of this before. So I ignored it, which made me incredibly popular with the vice-principal and the school staff. But they couldn't break me. I just would not wear anything else, and they eventually dropped the dress code. This endeared me to the other rebellious students and made me plenty of friends, all of whom were, of course, the school's artists and burnouts. I knew my place! I found my social group.

In my high school year book from this school in Baltimore, the senior portraits were taken in the city by some goofy photographer that insisted that the girls wear this stupid black drape and pearls. Um, no. That wasn't going over with me. So I'm the ONLY girl in the entire book that wore a grey sweater instead of a drape. Even though I was a conformist of sorts, I was really a rebel and stood up for myself even way back then.

Which brings us to today. As you know, I'm still a rebel and I've got quite the wild side when it comes to clothing and general appearance. There are very few women in their mid-50's that have shocking pink hair like mine. My rebellious nature has definitely been passed on to the Boy, who has a crazy fashion sense. This past weekend he picked out, and has been wearing, a pair of plaid Etne skate shoes. Even I balked at them, but he liked them and we bought them and he's totally into them. OK now. He tried to talk me into a pair of orange wide-wale cords but I absolutely refused. They were peachy orange and I just thought they might be a little TOO overboard for high school in our suburban town, but he would have worn them no problem.

However, and this is the real reason for this long-winded saga, the Girl has not been blessed with the rebellious gene when it comes to attire. She is a sheep. She wears the uniform of our town. Layering tees topped with a Juicy velour hoodie, flared jeans tucked into Ugg boots, and all topped off with her North Face Denali jacket. Every kid in school has the same outfit. EVERY kid. It's like they were pushed off an assembly line. I surely don't deny her the right to feel like a part of the crowd, but I wish she were just the slightest bit adventurous when it comes to clothing. She isn't.

I took the Girl and her friend Squid to H&M on Newbury Street today. If you're not familiar with Boston, Newbury Street is the equivalent of Rodeo Drive, same designer shops, same high fashion mavens with a lot of shopping bags, same crowded streets, same celeb sightings. We miraculous, and I do say so with great glee, found a parking space a block from the store! This is unheard of. When we got into the store, I told the Girl to "think outside the box" because the vast majority of clothes you can see at H&M are trendy, high fashion, cheap prices, choices. She looked and looked all over the store. She had a gift card with a pretty penny on it, and she could have bought some really outstanding pieces for her wardrobe. Several times she was looking at stuff she already had at home, like layering t's and camis, and I would say "Think outside the box." But she's just not an outside the box kinda kid. Sigh.

She ended up purchasing two bras and a pair of jeans. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. There were such cute things there, and yet she couldn't find ANYTHING that she would feel comfortable wearing. OMG! If I were her size and her age, I could easily have spent hundreds and hundreds on stuff there. Cute coats, dresses, pants... such cool clothes and totally different than everyone else in town.

She doesn't want to be different. She wants to be just like everyone else. But, in her defense, she also had a gift card to Old Navy and we went there and she could not find one thing she liked. We left empty handed. She HATES Old Navy clothes except for... hold on... camis, layering t's, beaters, and flip flops. So she'll spend her card on summer stuff later on in the year.

It's so hard defining who you are when you're a teenager. I feel for her because she just hasn't found her both a comfort zone and her individual style yet. She will. I know she will. It's just going to come later on.

But at least she's not wearing plaid shoes!

Labels: backstory, fashion, shopping, teens