The Joys of Texting…With Your Kids
Life was a lot different before texting. If you are my age (cough cough, old enough to have kids in college), you remember when you were in college and you had to call your parents every Sunday night from the phone hanging on the wall in your dorm room. No privacy and you had to keep it short because, well…long distance cost money. Going a week without talking to your parents was supposed to encourage independence. And build character, right?
However, I can remember sneaking into the dorm room and using that phone at non-Sunday night times when I was overwhelmed or upset or just plain had a crappy day. Nothing sounded so good as my mother’s voice on the other end saying it’s going to be okay. Sometimes, you just need to hear that, you know?
Now, my kids, who are all in college or grad school, can find us twenty-four-seven. I’m not sure that’s good as far as cutting the old umbilical cord. On the other hand, we have a relationship with them that doesn’t entail both of us being stoic like our immigrant forebears and seeing how long we can go without talking to each other. (Except my eighteen-year-old son, who might possibly be fine with that and needs a reminder every Sunday, CALL YOUR PARENTS TODAY, WE LOVE YOU AND WANT TO TALK TO YOU.) Anything in caps, he gets.
The girls are much more chatty. Maybe, at times, too chatty. Sometimes, I get texted free-fall stuff that I can’t or shouldn’t respond to. Such as this from my daughter:
I can’t find someone to cover my shift.
Um, okay, well, what am I supposed to do about that? I can commiserate, maybe send her a crying-your-eyes-out emoji or something like that.
“Hello, is anyone else out there?”
Several hours later, I get another text:
I really can’t find someone to cover my shift.
At this point, it seems that advice is being requested. I think of these kinds of texts not really as needing advice but more as, is anyone out there listening to me? And well, we all need someone to listen to us, right? My response: Start begging. (I hope that was compassionate enough.)
With my other daughter, who is living on her own in another state going to grad school, we share recipes, advice, (Can I use the same bottle of Afrin for another cold?) My answer: (Yes, it’s your own boogies), and text each other during the Bachelor every week. On a first date one time, she even texted me, I’m having a great time on my date! which warmed my heart.
Sometimes—most of the time, I think—they don’t want advice at all, they just want someone to be on the other end when they’re sad or frustrated or upset—or happy. I think of this often in terms of my own mom, who passed away long ago. How many times do I still silently call out to her? A lot. I like to think she’s listening just like she did before countless times.
So yeah, they can text me all they want and I won’t complain. And as long as I’m able, I’ll answer back.
Change is Good…Right?
It’s called Metathesiophobia, fear of change.
Nick Vinetti, the tough-guy detective hero of one of my favorite Lori Wilde books, There Goes the Bride, had it as a kid. Although he really wanted to learn to surf, he was afraid of the water–of sharks, of drowning, of getting snatched up and taken away from his mom–a self-described ‘fraidy cat. That’s when his mother bought him a little plastic hula doll named Lalule. She told him to give Lalule a shake and it would remind him to shake things up, instead of playing it safe.
It’s one thing to make a conscious decision to change. More commonly, everyday life forces us to change. It often throws us curveballs that we must do our best to dodge.
Two mundane examples. I upgraded my Mac a few months ago (after delaying doing this for a LONG time out of sheer, cold terror), only to find that my computer hated its new upgrade, protesting by shutting down for good (well, okay, for a day), necessitating several hours on the phone with tech support and finally a trip to the Apple store.
Even our most entrenched habits often need changed—at the most unexpected times.
I experienced this recently at my grocery store has been under remodel for the past few months. Last weekend was The Big Change—where all the shelves got rearranged. The resting spot of every foodstuff that I’ve known for years was suddenly now…different. It was so bad that they had people (aka, the Sunday Sample Ladies, except they were handing out maps instead of tasty samples) standing in the aisles for help.
Pic I took at sunrise one day.
Thoroughly confused, I stopped for a minute to look up at the big hanging aisle signs to see if I could figure out just where the heck the bread got moved to…and I happened to notice everyone else doing the same thing, bumping their carts around haphazardly, looks of confusion and puzzlement on their faces. I caught the eye of one of the aisle helpers…she had the tiniest smile on her face.
If it wasn’t so frustrating, I would have laughed.
I guess the point of this is 1) everyone was confused and 2) you just never know when you’re going to wake up one day and find your bread in the wrong place.
I totally took that security for granted! Nothing is safe.
So change is good. It shakes us up. It reminds us there are situations where we don’t have to be the passive victims of change—we can be the ones to instigate it, to make brave choices, to make our lives happen.
Our hero Nick did that. He put Lalule on his dashboard, where he could see her shaking it up. And the heroine saw her, and she got the subtle message for her own life.
And really…maybe we should be more afraid of things always staying the same.
Hugging Books Goodbye
Most authors have a love affair with books and I am no exception. In the past, I managed to contain my stash under my bed. With the advent of the kindle, my stash became mostly virtual, but I still buy paperbacks of books I love. Let’s put it this way: if I became a sudden shut-in, no problem! I have enough books to last me until I die and beyond.
My night stand.
It doesn’t help that the Romance Writers of America offers all the attendees to its national conference every year FREE books, signed by the authors themselves. (And just try giving away a book that an author you enjoy has signed to you. See the problem?)
Books are a writer’s lifeblood. They feed our creative souls, they take us out of the miseries we may be having with our own books (and with life) and transport us to our Happy Place. Problem is, when you’re busy writing books, you don’t have very much time for reading. So the books accumulate…and don’t get read. This is compounded by the fact that many of your friends are writers and you want to read their books, too!
Since the kids have gone, I’ve vowed to declutter my house, which looks lovely on first glance but if you open any closet, drawer, (or God forbid the attic door), you’ll see the ugly truth, that I am a closet clutterer. But I’ve vowed to reform my ways.
Marie Kondo, from Japan, hit it big with her 2014 book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, and has a new book out called Spark Joy, about her methods for doing so. She has a novel outlook toward throwing stuff away (or giving it away). If it doesn’t “spark joy,” it should go. How can you tell if it sparks joy? You hug it, and if you don’t get the vibe, you pitch.
I’ve been doing this over past few months with my closet, my drawers, and yes, that proud bastion to the fake floral department of Home Goods, my attic. But the books…my precious darlings…how will I do it? All those books I poured over with my children, from Goodnight Moon to Harry Potter…yep. They’re in there too.
My local RWA chapter has a massive book basket giveaway each year, and that is my big source of parting with my darlings. And friends and family who love to read. But I still keep a sizable stash of “but I know I’ll get to that this year” and “I always wanted to read that.” This is compounded by the seven books I’m required to read before March 7 in the RWA Rita contest, where romance authors judge their peers to vote for the years most excellent romance novels.
I suppose the excitement of reading a book is buried somewhere deep in my genetic code. My mother was voracious reader, and from a young age I was indoctrinated into the Books are your Friends school. Books calm me, teach me, and entertain me, and even when I am bleary after a long day at the computer, I (usually) take at least fifteen or twenty minutes before bed to wind down…you guessed it…by reading.
So in a way it’s pretty wonderful to always be surrounded by more and more wonderful books that come out regularly and push back in the queue those books that I just haven’t gotten to yet.
Thank you, books, for giving me joy. But now some of you have got to go out into the world and bring that joy to others. I better go start hugging.
Life after kids…I can get used to it!
This is the first year that all three of my kids are out of the house, the “baby” having recently gone away to college. For the first time, my husband and I set out on an adventure in January. January! Oh, the decadence of being able to kiss the cat goodbye (left in capable hands) and walk out the door (even though the kids did steal all our nice luggage). In the past, January, month of mind-numbing cold and blizzards, was a month I often wished I could skip in Ohio. So where did we go–well, we spent a few days in Scottsdale, Arizona, where hubby had business (and I wrote all day), and then two in Sedona for fun. 
It was weird taking a trip alone without the kids, a luxury we rarely had when the they were young. But it was even weirder learning some things I probably should have known but didn’t:
–The sky in Arizona was the most gorgeous shade of blue that I’ve ever seen. Ever.
–Grocery stores sell flowers in January. January! Amazing.
–Arizona has palm trees. Who knew?
–The state tree, the palo verde, has green bark that contains chlorophyll (hence the greenness). As my friend said, it looks like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.
Green all over! Palo verde, state tree of AZ.
–You can outside sit under the stars at a restaurant (in January!) and not be cold because every place has got these cool outdoor propane powered heaters.
–There was a dramatic temperature difference between Scottsdale and Sedona due to the elevation. In Sedona, we encountered a blizzard…felt just like home 🙂
Blizzard: Sedona or Cleveland?
Good old days.
–In a weird way, I still feel the same as when my husband and I took trips together in our twenties. Of course, many things have happened and our shared history is much larger, but it was really fun, being together and not talking about our children. Lest we get too happy, our kids still found us via text and phone and tormented us in that special way that only they can. It was just nice to learn that yes, folks, I still really like that guy I married and yes, there is life after kids.
The art of packing lightly
I am in Arizona.
I have never been in Arizona before but I got the opportunity to travel there with my husband on his business trip, during this, our first trip together with all the kids out of the house. It’s been a working vacation for me but hey, what a fun and wonderful way to work! And in January, a month unheard of for traveling (for us).
Beautiful bird on a sunny day in Scottsdale
As I packed for just myself, I couldn’t help but remember so clearly packing for all those summer vacations over the years for little kids. What a nightmare that was! The diapers, the car seats, the things to entertain them on the plane, the juice boxes, the snacks! Then taking care of them while trying to pack, clean the house and suck up the ankle-deep dog hair, and write out instructions for one of our sweet nephews who would come and stay to take care of our dog. Yeah. Nightmare.
This time it was easy. Until I learned that the temperature where we were staying (Scottsdale and Sedona) was going to vary anywhere from the 30’s at night to low 70’s during the day. Then I learned that my children stole (as in, “took to college and other places and never brought them back”) all of our suitcases except for the carry ons. (I did finally find one midsize case.)
I am fairly anal about packing but not when it comes to the possibility of being cold. So in went the undershirts, the polar fleece, the sweaters. The warm socks. The really warm socks. I wanted the slippers too but–hey, no room. The thermal pants. The ear muffs. The flannel pjs.
Men, on the other hand, have it so easy. A razor, some various black things, a pair of tennis shoes and the ONE good pair of shoes. (Oh, to be a man.) My hubby was done packing in five minutes. The only toiletry he took is shave cream (clearly planing to steal the rest from me).
Stuffed to the Gills
I finally fit everything in the suitcase, and here it is, the final product, a la nuclear explosion.
In the old days, I used to tuck different books in different nooks and crannies, never certain of which book I would want to read. (One? Only one?)
See that little yellowish-green thing in the middle there? That is my kindle. Hundreds of books at my disposal in one little thin package. Now that’s packing light. If only I could compress the rest so easily.
Oh, and that irritatingly light-packing hubby of mine? He offered to let me stash my ankle boots and another pair of shoes in his case. God love that man.
