Motherwise TartsMary Fagan (659)   Mary Fagan    Motherwise A Bitter Sweet NotePosted Friday, April 25, 2008 (71 days 5 hours ago.) Viewed 2,573 times. I discovered this secret to beautiful music quite by accident. My son had a band practice session at our house just recently, that I admit at first, was touch and go. There was that forgotten guitar strap, a missing page of lyrics, a cord too short to reach somewhere, etc. In short, every good boy was not doing fine. Rest assured that I did my best to prod my son and his friends to get going as they only have so much time for practice. I got the usual, “Yeah, we know" and “We’re gonna have a snack first." I was getting ready to threaten to bring the little sour notes back home unless I heard some sounds other than cupboards closing, fridge doors opening and mouths flapping. Suddenly, the quality and quantity of the music produced increased dramatically - I mean they actually started to play. It was even musical. I had to investigate this abrupt transition. Then it all became crystal clear as I spied them eyeing my college-aged daughter and her friend, home for a visit. Pulling her aside, I asked her to tell me exactly what happened when they walked in the room. “The boys suddenly got silent, shoved their sandwiches down their throats and started to play. They sound pretty good, don’t they?" my daughter said sweetly, acting pseudo-oblivious about the boy’s sudden motivation, but the toss of her hair and little smirk betrayed her self-knowledge that she is pretty cute. That and the boys’ drool that was beginning to make me nervous about their use of electricity so close to moisture. It was clear that the girls got them to do in one minute what all a mother’s cajoling couldn’t in an hour. And sure, I know the score. No one has to tell me twice that I am chopped liver. Maybe it was wrong for me to suggest the girls sun themselves just outside the window, but I am sure the other boys’ parents want to get their money’s worth of out their instrument purchases and lessons too. And besides, I didn’t want them to just keep eating and eating what’s in my fridge and add to America’s obesity problems. (And my grocery bill.) So parents, to get your little music lover to play their heart out, you just need someone of the opposite sex, close in age, in close proximity. Was I bitter when I realized that I no longer have the ability to inspire beautiful music from teenaged savage beasts? No, my days of inspiring that special motivation haven’t fallen completely flat. I still get me share of attention, if only for a brief interlude. And besides, I always feel like a better person after I visit the nursing home. 
Permalink Comments (15) Small Town Living is the Life For MePosted Saturday, March 01, 2008 (126 days 5 hours ago.) Viewed 6,059 times. My kids have complained now and again about where we live. They say, “There is NOTHING to do here" or “This place is a dump." I think they miss its strong suit - simplicity. For example, while other communities flaunt hot pink flamingos or those sun-charged patio lights, we can experience a pilgrimage without leaving the yard at Our Lady of the Dish (formerly a tub) while nearby, a wide-variety of gardening backsides, shadow cut outs, surrounded by a colorful mix of annuals and weeds, offer our children yards of fun. The untrained eye doesn’t see that the abandoned cars in our yards and hedgerows are monuments to our strong sense of commitment, a valuable thing to teach our children. Not only do these old cars insure an endless supply of spare parts, but we are very attached to them. We name them things like “Petunia" or “Sparky," and consider them part of the family, sometimes leaving them gifts of air fresheners or large speakers under the tree at Christmas. These “significant others" are included in the family photo albums and one can often hear Grandma say things like, “Look, there’s when we got Bubby from college and Petunia made it all the way from Oswego with one brake working." It’s all very warm and fuzzy. Unique to this type of town is the lack of Joneses. Here there aren’t any of those challenging people to keep up with. We don’t know who they are, and we are not in a hurry to find them. They would always be welcome of course, as we are hospitable people, but they would have to do some adjusting. (Only “upkeep" is permissible here.) Like the mural from the 1940s on our Post Office wall, we like the present at that time, and plan to continue living in it. The future arrives here just a tad late - about 10 -20 years late - and we are just fine with that. Being in “fashion" here is much easier to afford, and saves us parents a bundle on clothing, sneakers, electronic devices, etc. We know how to savor trends like fine wine, keeping once trendy things in our cellars like vintners. We know that they will be called out again in about 20 years, like when hip huggers resurfaced. Off came the Partridge Family patches, and we were good to go. Imagine, people paying for “vintage" clothing. It’s almost laughable, but we are kind people and don’t usually delight in others’ lack of foresight. Our strong environmentalist tradition of recycle, reuse and reclaim is especially evident during our annual Community Yard Sale. On the first Saturday in May, people come for miles to pay homage to our collective practices, and we sell them hot dogs, chips and pop at outrageous prices to help pay for flowers and banners to decorate the main drag. We decorate in this way because want our town looking nice for visitors because we are considering attracting more of them due to the recently re-discovered Erie Barge Canal. I say “re-discovered" only because it was virtually ignored for years. In truth, the canal hasn’t changed one iota but suddenly, boaters, bikers and joggers are using it. (Moving fast around here is a sure sign you’re a visitor.) This movement on the canal is a bone of contention among residents. The trick is to move ahead while standing still and this has locals in a quandary as they contemplate how to do this. We want what’s good for the economy but are reticent to give up our insulation to the outside world and full exposure to its influences. Also among our other assets is our drive-in movie theatre with 3, count ‘em, 3 screens. Kids can’t experience the thrill of hiding in the car trunk so they don’t have to pay admission just anywhere, now can they? There is a snack shop and an ice cream stand there too because we like our sugars and fats, and parents find that a little Lipitor goes a long way. Life here does pose some dilemmas. While we love the slow pace and lack of the Joneses, there are very few places for our kids to find jobs after we are done raising them here. Hence, they move away and usually leave us another old car to store in the shed or hide in the old brush behind the barn, not to mention that we miss them. Not to worry as our elected officials (one is running for President but I won't mention any names) have promised that they are going to deliver jobs galore any day now. Another of our virtures is patience, but we have memories like elephants so making empty promises is a tricky business to be sure. Personally, I love our seven restaurants, four bars, five churches, drive-in movie theatre (with 3 screens), four gas stations, liquor store, Laundromat and lack of places for gainful employment. If we wanted crime, drugs and huge billboards with sexy things dripping from them we’d travel the 400 miles to New York City. We don’t need some big city slicker telling us what we need and what we should do. Golly. It’s just like my kids think this is Mayberry RFD and people around here aren’t sophisticated enough to understand a putdown when they hear one. And that’s not very good for Aunt Bea’s blood pressure.
Permalink Comments (10) Raising a Full-Figured ChildPosted Friday, February 01, 2008 (155 days 7 hours ago.) Viewed 3,698 times. “Mom, can you drop off a few things at the Salvation Army for me?" asked my daughter not long after Christmas. “When I put my new stuff away, I cleaned out clothes I don’t wear anymore." It sounded like a reasonable and venerable act. That was before I carried the three HUGE plastic garbage bags to my car. Whenever my kids make me break a sweat, it’s time to investigate further. “So, you cleaned and organized your drawers. How nice. Can I see?" I asked innocently, opening up her underwear drawer. Holy lift and seperate! Who wears 32 bras? In my day, your bras weren’t color coordinated with your outfit - that‘s what beige is all about. (But that was back when you died of embarrassment if your bra straps showed. Now it’s a fashion statement.) And who needs enough underwear to outfit the entire audience at a Hannah Montana concert? My daughter. I held my tongue and went to the shirt and pants sections. Oh, they were clean and neat alright. They would have made the army platoon they were intended for look very nice. My shock was at two levels. First, the sheer number of things and second, the amount of money it must have cost. And trust me, I didn’t pay for the vast majority of her trappings. We outfit our kids very frugally. The kids each get a “back to school" pants and two tops, set of underwear, shoes and sneakers in September, a pair of pants and couple of tops for their birthday and the same at Christmas. Shoes or sneakers are replaced as needed, but there is a catch. I pay the first $35 dollars and they pay the rest if they choose to get a more expensive pair. And of course, they ask for clothing from their grandparents for Christmas and birthdays to supplement what provisions we issue. They are always neat and clean. And apparently, willing enough to work to bow to peer pressure. Each child does some household chores weekly for a less than two digit allowance. My husband makes them bank half, so they end up with a few dollars in the end. That exercise was supposed to teach them to save. Because we don’t provide for everything the kids desire, each of them found jobs early on. Between babysitting, collecting cans, mowing lawns, waitressing and working at fast food places, they have their own money and bank accounts. We hoped they both had a working balance. Of course, the kids think we are cruel. I was beginning to think our work to get the kids to save had failed. Looking up from what seemed like the complete summer inventory at the Gap, I asked, “Do you have any money left from all your work after buying all these clothes?" “Mom! I can’ believe you," she said indignantly. “What do you think I am, stupid?" Deciding to hesitate before answering, I said, “Well, um, there are a lot of things here." Knowing my bottom line very well, she pulled her bank book from underneath bra #27, a nice green flowered model, and opened it up. I gasped! My mind raced as any parent’s would when finding out their 20-year-old daughter had a five figure savings account balance. Pushing aside my initial feelings of jealousy, I asked how she had so much money and so much stuff. Turns out she has been dutifully saving for years and limits her spending to 25% of her earnings. She purchases clothing from discount stores only, revealing that she did pay at least some attention to me at some point. Even while enrolled in college full-time, she works proctoring, tutoring and refereeing volleyball games for spending money. (She‘s an accounting major. Figures.) After checking the long deposit history, I breathed a sigh of relief. Not only did she procure her funds legally, she actually learned how to save. (And to shop at discount stores.) The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all. I congratulated her on her savings and decided not to comment about how much more it could have been if she hadn‘t been single-handedly keeping Victoria‘s Secret in the black. On my way downstairs, I realized that not only does my daughter have 32 bras, she has my respect. She earned it. I did stop in my room to tidy up my basic black and oh, yeah. I was wearing the beige.
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