Sure, some might say we grew up roughing it by today’s standards…but maybe we were the ones who actually gained in the end. Is it possible, as the author says, that “we just don’t have the cojones our parents had”?
“If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting a raw deal where this parenting gig is concerned. When did adults start caring whether or not their kids were safe, happy or popular? I can assure you that Ginny and Big Jerry were not wiling away the hours wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled.
Big Jerry was stoking the fires of his retirement savings and working, and working some more. Ginny was double bolting the door in order to keep us out of the house, and talking on the phone while she smoked a Kent. Meanwhile, we were three neighborhoods away, playing with some kids we’d never met, and we had crossed two major highways on bicycles with semi-flat tires to get there. Odds are, one of us had crashed at some point and was bleeding pretty impressively. No one cared. We were kids and if we weren’t acting as free labor, we were supposed to be out of the house and out of the way.”
Are Today’s Parents Getting a Raw Deal? | The Huffington Post
Let’s get this out of the way right up front: I’m a big believer in herd immunity. Really big. Huge. A shout it from the mountaintops, hire a skywriter, put it on Broadway kind of believer.
I guess you could say I’m a fan.
Full disclosure: Life got away from me so T-man and I caught up while he was heading to bed. He would rather have been kicking back in Starbucks. Apparently I have committed the ultimate RFTM interview foul.
Okay, so who else has been totally bummed out by the last two days at RFTM? Trust me, my name’s at the top of that list. Thank you for sticking with me – for reading, for adding your thoughts, for the words of encouragement – it’s helped. Not made-it-all-magically-delicious helped, but helped nonetheless.
So can we please, for the love of all things holy, shift gears into something less doom and gloom? (“Sure! Why not!” says the quietly chirpy voice in my head.)
If you visited the blog yesterday you know this has been an intense week. Frankly, I’ve downed a lot of Advil and done more than my fair share of stress eating, neither of which really fixed what ailed me. Beer didn’t help either. That’s what I get for trying to self-medicate.
Bee recently talked about what it’s like to live in redneckia and it made me laugh. Then it made me cringe. Then laugh again. Because sometimes the world is so freaking distressing, so overwhelmingly frustrating and infuriating, that my only coping mechanism is to find humor in the macabre. Which is certainly how I categorize the racist sh*t we’ve run into over the last three years or so.
The never ending balancing act that comes with having more than one kid.
“Thus began Bella’s campaign for her own TV. She started off slowly, asking Phaedra to turn up the volume on her TV so she could hear it from across the hall in her bed. But when she started to disagree with Phaedra’s DVD choices, she started to get real.
I wish I had a TV in my room like Phaedra.”
The TV – 649.133: Girls, the Care and Maintenance Of.
Mornings have a certain flow. Roll out of bed, grab a quick shower, throw on the clothes that (if I was smart) I laid out the night before. If I’m really lucky I’ll manage to get through all of this without hearing that knock and plaintive, “Mom?” at the door.
A girl can dream.
But when one part goes awry, well…that’s when the train really goes off the rails.