Car Dates

In my childhood household, the rule was I had to be 16-years old before I could car date with a boy. My parents allowed me to fudge it a bit once or twice.

Last night I had a car date. The husband had a new CD that a friend burned for him. Lots of his favorites and songs that hold special meaning to him. Instead of bringing it in the house, he wanted to sit in his car and share it with me.

We (Gabby-the-dog and me) shared the passenger seat. The husband went through every single song and explained why he loved it. Yes, we sat in his car, in our garage for the entire CD.

When we finally came back in the house, he bounced between my iPod (Where is it? Bring that speaker system out here!) and the piano. The dog got her squeaky ball and played along. He pretends he doesn't like her but he kept telling her she was off key. When I offered to put her to bed, he said, "Leave her alone, she is fine."

As usual, we played our little competition games. Which artist is this? Can you name the year? What is the song really about?

Certain rules were instilled in me as a child. I'm sure my parents were terrified that a boy and a girl, alone in a car, was a recipe for disaster.

Last night, there was a man, a woman and a dog alone in a car. It wasn't disastrous; it was fun.

Rules that Stick

I grew up with LOTS of rules. I managed to break most of them during my teenage years. But at 4 or 5 years old, my mother's rule about crossing the street was drilled into me. That one stuck. I still obey it to this day:

Never cross the street unless you have enough time to fall down and get back up!

Every child on Pasadena Street knew this rule. I would grab their hand and say, "Wait! We don't have time to fall down and get back up."

I was in a little neighborhood near my home the other day. We were waiting to cross a busy street. Jan and her daughter both knew the rule.

I suspect there's an entire generation of children out there learning Sandy's Rule.

Mean Moms

I raise my coffee mug in a silent toast to all mean moms.

Mean moms annoy you as a child and infuriate you as a teenager. They make the best friends when you've grown into a full-fledged adult.

Being a mean mom is hard work. You never assume your child is an angel; you demand to know what they did to get in any particular tough situation. With teenagers, mean moms wait up, check the curfew and check the eyes, usually with flashlight in hand. Mean moms say no a lot. Then, they suffer the cold shoulder, attitudes and badgering of, "everyone else gets to do it." In the days before cell phones, mean moms could still track you down. Mean moms don't need to demand respect. They've earned it and smart children are afraid of the consequences.

Children are not stupid. They figure out which mom is the soft touch. This is not me. This was definitely not my mother. Mean moms have rules and they're not very big on excuses. They also insist you figure out your own problems. "So, what's your plan to fix this?" I can't count how many times I heard this phrase in my childhood but the message was clear: I'm in your corner but this is your mess -- clean it up. Whenever I hear it come out of my mouth, I have to stifle a giggle.

I don't think the mother-in-law was a mean mom. I believe she tried to be strict and ran a little military family but I think whatever happened to her boys was someone else's fault. A couple of them have a sense of entitlement that makes her crazy today.