Mid-CenturyModernMoms

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?

At Least I Wasn't Buying Preparation H...

Well, today I learned yet another reason why getting old stinks. (And I’m not just talking about the fact that you start to appreciate the comfort and holding power of a pair of underpants that reach up to your armpits.)

If you’ve lived long enough in one area — as I have — and your children have worked their way up the school system, Kindergarten through high school, you’re bound to have a couple of unpleasant youth-related experiences. Our first occurred a couple of years ago, when my husband and I were at a local restaurant having a nice dinner. We even looked forward to imbibing, just a little.

Imagine our horror, then, when the waitress arrived to take our orders — including martinis — and we realized that she was the little girl across the street who used to beg us to let her babysit our boys but she was too little. Only now she wasn’t so little. She was suddenly very big, wearing lots of makeup, and asking us what kind of vodka we wanted in our martinis.

Well. My husband and I were a little taken aback. And though we recovered — and gave her our order, which she had to have someone else bring out because, thank GOD! She was still too young to carry alcohol herself — we felt vaguely criminal while sipping our martinis. And we wondered what she would tell her parents — who, after all, were our neighbors — when she got home. “OMG! You won’t believe what lushes the Hausers are! And do you have any idea how much food they ate?? They each ordered dessert!”

That was bad, but it wasn’t horrible. Because the girl in question wasn't in the same grade as either of our sons, so it was just horrible in a "well, now the neighbors know we like to kick back a martini or two" kind of way.   

But then there's what happened on Saturday.  That was horrible.

I was at the grocery store, unloading an entire week’s worth of groceries, including alcohol, assorted embarrassing items you usually keep hidden away in your medicine cabinet, and guilty snack foods I only eat when I think nobody else is around. 

All of a sudden I heard a cheery, "Oh, hello, Mrs. Hauser!  How are you?"  And I looked up, only to find that the cashier in my check out lane was a girl who is in my son's high school class.  A girl whom I’ve known since first grade, chaperoned on many field trips, watched from the sidelines as my husband coached in soccer, and from whom I've bought far too many Girl Scout cookies over the years. 

And as I watched the contents of my grocery cart roll down the conveyor belt toward this girl who’s known me as an upstanding member of the PTA for her entire life, I had a dilemma.

Did I want her to think that my son — the one with whom she goes to high school, and who has, thus far, displayed a remarkable clumsiness when it comes to conversing with the opposite sex — has a condition that requires deodorizing foot powder? No.

But did I want her to think that the extra strengh powder in question was mine?  NO.

Did I really want her to know that I needed two bottles of wine to get me through the week?  No.

But did I want to snatch the bottles and dump them in the cart of the unsuspecting stranger behind me, thus going without?  NO!

Did I really want her to know that I have, on occasion, a need to use Jolene lip bleach? No.

Did I want her to assume my husband was the one who needed it, instead?  Well....Why not?  He wasn't with me; might as well throw him under the bus.

But really, I had no choice.  All I could do was blush and stammer as I paid for all my embarrassing necessities.  Thank goodness she didn’t then add, “And would you like your wine in paper, or in plastic?”

This is just not something you think about, when your kids and their friends are all tiny and cute and playing together; you just do not look at them, holding hands on the playground, and think to yourself, “Wow. I can’t wait until I can start asking them what the drink special is tonight!”

I don’t know what to do now. I guess I’ll have to start buying groceries — and ordering martinis — in the next town or two over. Darn these kids and their pesky habit of growing up.

They’re really putting a cramp on my life.

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

Guess What? Teenagers eat a LOT.

Today I did my monthly Trader Joe's run. TJs is one of those stores that you go to and stock up on all your favorites. It's not a 'just run for a few things' kind of store, at least for our family. We have our favorite products and we tend to buy them over and over and over again. I happen to love TJs food, and the prices can't be beat. Plus, they always have a little snacky and some nice, piping hot coffee. Good tasting coffee. OK, it's served in teeny little cups, but they don't care if you refill the teeny cup two or three times, especially if your cart is filled to the top with food.

I'm standing in the corner slurping down the coffee and snacking on a delightful carmelized onion tart ($4.99 for the box) when an older man, meaning older than me and not yet dead, came up to get his own caffeine fix. He looked at my cart and made some stupid remark about buying the store out. Ugh, why do people feel the need to comment on other people's lives? I paused, and then I said, "I've got teenagers" which, to me, explained the cart piled up the ceiling. But being and old nosy man, he had to comment some more. "I've raised three teenagers and they never ate that much that we had to push a cart that filled up."

Well, thank you Mr Nosy for your commentry. Perhaps you starved your children. Perhaps your wife, who obviously did the majority of shopping, never let you see the mountains of food she bought when your kids were teens. Maybe you raised all girls. I don't know, but I don't think my shopping is so out of hand that you needed to comment on it.

But it did get me to thinking. I know that several of our readers and writers have raised or are still raising teenage boys. They tend to eat a lot, right? I mean, they tend to have a hollow leg that holds the overflow from their stomachs, because there is no way the amount of food they eat can actually fit in a normal sized stomach. Or at least it seems that way.

My son is 15, and the amount of food he consumes daily would scare any mom of toddlers. I knew going in to parenting that teen boys eat a lot. But I had no clue that they could, and do, eat 3 dinners a night. Or be 'starving' an hour after a big dinner. Or could eat a whole package of turkey bacon in one sitting. Without vomiting, btw.  Maybe my son is unusual, but he eats like a horse. A horse that has gone over to the dark side and eats meat and plenty of it.

Is he that unusual? I don't think so, but I'd like to hear what you all have to say on the topic. Can you describe your teenagers eating habits? Are boys bigger eaters than girls, like they are in my house? Enquiring minds want to know.

Labels: food, teens