Actual Unretouched Photo

When you start writing in a blog, you never know where you’ll end up. My first big national publication!

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I received the following response via email from someone of an older generation. I thought you might find it as thought-provoking as I did:

Here are my unsolicited thoughts on “Fortress America.” I was the age of your boys in the late 1950s and early 1960s growing up in Steilacoom. Both my parents worked, so during the summer we were on our own roaming the streets of Steilacoom. On warm days, while wearing swimming suits and flip flops (no helmets), we rode our bikes to American Lake to go swimming. We built rafts out of driftwood and floated out into Puget Sound paddling back with makeshift paddles. We rode our bikes up to Chambers Creek and used the rope swing to drop into the freezing cold water (sometimes naked).

One time I rode my bike to Lacey and stayed the night with a friend at a cabin owned by his grandparents (no adult supervision). We lived in a world of risk and there were occasionally some consequences. One of my friends (R. M. age 10) was hit by a car while riding his bike on Nisqually Street and died on the spot. Perhaps you have met his mother.

Did we have sex predators in the 1950s? No one talked about sex predators or sex for that matter, but they were out there. I encountered a couple of them. What kept us safe most of the time is that we roamed the streets in packs or at least with a buddy or brother. We also became “street smart” and knew who the weird people were in town and to keep our distance.

I guess the point is that we learned to live in a world of risk, and we developed a base of knowledge about these things that we would use during our life. I remember my childhood as being very carefree, but I know now it was not risk free. We did learn how to weigh risk versus opportunity. I’m not sure kids learn these things now, but maybe they don’t need to learn these lessons. Anything they want to know they can find on Google.

I’m also putting this comment (from the blog) here because I think it offers a great counter-balance to my article (no “flaming” from me . . . I think this is a complex issue and I agree with this commenter on many points):

I loved the article too, but I am compelled to ask, “Why not?” There were sex offenders in the 60s and 70s too, and in fact, crime rates were higher then. It’s actually SAFER out there today. I don’t want to minimize the horror of a sex offender on your street, and I’m not saying let your little ones out unsupervised, but aren’t your twins old enough to understand and stay away? The sex offender is a known risk that teenagers should certainly be able to comprehend and avoid.

Remember too, kids are most likely to be molested by someone they know and trust. Sad to say that stranger abduction is one of the things LEAST likely to happen to our kids, but we’ve been trained by the media to worry about it to a ridiculous degree.

If we agree that kids benefit from some independence, then let’s give them some. Isn’t there something to be said for teaching the skills they need for independence (street smarts, not going with strangers, etc) and letting them start using them, slowly but surely? I suspect we are protecting our kids to the detriment of their own safety skills. Remember the little boy scout who got lost in the woods last summer or the summer before, and he hid from the searchers because he was afraid they’d abduct him? He could have died because he didn’t have a good understanding of how to get help when he was alone and needed it!

I adore my kids and don’t want anything bad to happen to them, ever. I feel that part of my job is to teach them the skills they will need to stay safe and let them practice those skills as they get older. If I could walk to school at eight years old in the 1970s, my kids can today, as long they know how to be safe and I can ignore the Culture Of Fear that the 24 hour news organizations have polluted our culture with.

Zipping up my flame suit now.

Thanks, everyone, for your congratulatory comments and for your thoughtful responses. (I’m having issues with Gmail right now, so may not respond personally to all my comments as I normally do.)

While driving to the grocery store at 9:15 tonight, I was startled by the moon.  It hung low in the sky like a battery-operated coin.  I was a hazard while driving along, because not only was I staring at the moon but I was also digging in my purse in search of my camera.  (It was not there.)

When I finished shopping, the moon had risen higher and shone bright white.  I admired it while I drove.  I walked the length of my driveway to catch one more glimpse of the moon.

Then, I said goodnight. 

Goodnight nobody.

Goodnight mush.

And goodnight to the old lady whispering “hush.”

Goodnight stars.

Goodnight air.

Goodnight noises everywhere.

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As some of you mentioned, the moon is a blue moon tonight . . . the second full moon in a month.  Last time a blue moon appeared was in June 2004, I think. 

Won’t you click on my other blog, The Amazing Shrinking Mom?  I write there nearly every day . . . and for some reason, my traffic has fallen off this month (all those New Year’s Resolutions have lost their power?) and I’m feeling a little neglected. 

How pathetic I am.  But still.  Click for me?

So, Memorial Day weekend has passed and all I have to show for it is one right sunburned shin and one left sunburned forearm.  That’s because on Saturday, I sat on one side of the pool and on Monday, I sat on the other.  On Monday, the wind fluttered all afternoon and the sun kept ducking behind clouds and I was cold in my short sleeves, so when the sun appeared, I scooted my chair right into the burning rays to warm up.  I have no regrets.

I cleaned out my storage room on Sunday while my husband took my youngest daughter to visit some friends.  When I say “cleaned out,” I don’t mean cleaned out as in Clean Sweep.  Oh no.  Who has the time to do such a gratifying clean up in a stray hour or two?  I merely sorted through the piles of junk that has accumulated in the middle of the floor.  I loaded up a bunch of garbage bags to unload at Goodwill.  Good riddance.

I also walked a nearby 3.3 mile trail with views of the Puget Sound and wind whipping up the winding pathways.  I walked alone, which is good because any of my children would have whined and complained like the Children of Israel heading for the Promised Land.  (“My legs hurt!  I’m thirsty!  I want to go home!”)  I walked briskly, congratulating myself on my superior cardiovascular system.  (That’s what daily exercise will do for you.  I haven’t missed a day of exercise since August of 2006.  Be impressed.  Be very impressed.)

My daughter has decided she wants to live with Mr. and Mrs. S., an empty-nester couple from our church who have a dog.  (They aren’t much older than us, but they started reproducing while they were still young, whereas it took us quite a while to produce offspring.)  Anyway, she came home tonight after an hour’s visit complaining bitterly that she still wanted to be at their house with their dog.  In fact, she said, “I want to live with Mr. S.”  I said, “Won’t you miss me?” and she said, “No.”

Well.  Okay.  Same to you, kid!  Actually, this change in her personality is such a shock to me.  She was such a clingy baby, not even letting her grandmother touch her . . . and now she’s ready to move out thanks to a cute Schnauzer. 

Oh, and she swims underwater, just as she did at the end of last summer.  I thought it would take her some time to get acclimated to the water since she hadn’t swum all winter . . . but no.  She just bobbed right under without hesitation.  She paddles from one edge of the pool to the other. 

I just finished reading Peace Like a River.  I cried at the last paragraph.  What a book.  I recommend it with my whole heart.  By the way, if you click on “What I Read” over there under my picture, you can see a list of the books I’ve read recently.  I love Librarything.com . . . it’s a great way to keep track of what you’re reading, what you want to read, or the books you own . . . whatever works for you.  I own too many books to catalog, so I’m just adding books as I read them.

Isn’t it lovely that we’re almost halfway through the week?  I am thrilled . . . already, I need a weekend! 

Are there mothers in the world who do not crave time alone? Are there mothers who take their children everywhere they go because they want to be with their kids all the time? Are there mothers who do not dream about having an empty nest?

When I think about these sorts of mothers, I judge myself harshly because I am all about hopping in the car and driving away without looking back. I would no sooner take my children with me to the grocery store than I would wear my pajamas pants to Target.

Am I alone? Or should I nurture these feelings of shame?

Here’s more about the spaces after periods.  (And we’re not talking menstruation.)  Some of you asked. 

Last night, I drove into Seattle to meet a friend who was passing through on her way to Vancouver, B.C.  We hadn’t met face-to-face before–she lives in New Jersey, within spitting distance of Manhattan.  She used some highfalutin technological GPS gadget thingamajig to find us a restaurant.  We ended up in a laquered black and red Thai place and despite my utter lack of experience with Thai food (unless you count that Thai sauce from Trader Joe’s), I enjoyed the meal.  More than that, I enjoyed the conversation.  It’s always pleasant to converse with someone who is talkative and in possession of strong opinions.

My Sister’s Keeper film

I had to walk to my car alone.  She offered to walk me there (basement of a parking garage!), but I said, “no, I’m fine,” and I was.  Lucky for me, no crazed urban rapist followed me or I would have had to do some extreme mom-karate moves, killing the guy with one well-placed kick.  I say “lucky” because I’m sure I would have pulled a muscle if I’d been forced to defend myself.

I didn’t get home until almost 11:00 p.m.  By then, I had to peel my contacts off my bloodshot eyeballs. 

But it was all worth it, even my exhaustion today.

Oh, but bad news. I have recently been informed that you’re only supposed to have one space after a period. This forces me to undo a habit I have had since that typing class I took in high school. Ack. My thumb believes two spaces are necessary at the end of a sentence. I do not think my brain is strong enough to foil the unconscious space-space of my thumb. 

What have I been doing besides cursing Gmail?  Well, watching “American Idol,” of course. 

I’m also reading Peace Like a River which is hogging all my spare time.  And I’m busy fixing snacks for my daughter who asks for, but does not eat, a snack every fifteen minutes, including the meatloaf she rejected at dinnertime.  She wanted it right before bed . . . but did not eat it.  Tonight, I was reclined on my bed, reading and she came flopping in, asking me to get her water bottle downstairs.  I said, “No, I’m too tired!” and she said, “No, I’m more tired than you.”  (I won the argument, just so you know.)

By the way, I think Lisa Rinna seems like a lovely, if overly-perky woman, but whenever I see her on television (a lot lately, due to “Dancing with the Stars”), I cannot stop staring at her upper lip.  I know.  I am shallow and I should be half the beauty she is.  But still.  STOP WITH THE LIP ENHANCEMENTS, YOU HOLLYWOOD STARS!  (If her lips are natural, I extend my most sincere apologies for my judgmental attitude.)

Sometimes, I feel like the most ancient woman in the world . . . especially when I read other mothers asking “how do I make my toddler son stop hitting me?”  Really?  Seriously?  YOU JUST DO!  I fear for our society in which mothers can’t figure out how to make little ones obey.  Pick up the kid, shout “NO!”, deposit him in his room.  No fuss, no muss.  Rinse and repeat.  Or, if you are opposed to shouting, stand up, walk out of the room and ignore the little ankle-biter.  Just be consistent.  Geez.  Do not tolerate misbehavior.  Either I have turned into a curmudgeon or I am the victim of hormones.  I think it’s the former.  I’m also old and will not tolerate tomfoolery. 

That is all.  Carry on.  

I have been an avid fan of Gmail . . . I’ve had an account from the very beginning and never experienced any trouble until a few days ago.  Now, as I answer the deluge of email that continually piles up in my box, my account gets locked down for “unusual activity detected.”  I have emailed the Gmail people twice with no response. 

I cannot figure out a reason for this difficulty, other than the possibility that a demon has taken possession of my computer and if so, OUT WITH YOU!  Stupid technology is making my life difficulty.

So, if I owe you an email, be aware that my hands are handcuffed by the idiocy of my Gmail account. 

And, while I’m ranting, can I just say that the spray deodorant I bought for one of my boys smells like bug spray and I really regret purchasing it?

My 14-year old twins chose an unwise action today and their father caught them.  (I’m sparing the details in deference to their privacy.  It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking.)  After letting them explain themselves and excusing them from the room, their father turned to me and said, “Well, what shall we do?” and I said, “How about grounding for three days, no electronics, no friends.”  He nodded.

Then he called them back in and asked them what punishment they deserved.  They both suggested grounding for a whole week . . . not from electronics, but from friends.

Apparently, I am too lenient.

It’s going to be a long week.