Sexting

When I was a young girl, our way of letting a boy know we had a crush on him was to:

Pass a note to a girlfriend hoping she would let someone know who could pass the information along to him.
Or, call his house and hang up. This usually happened during sleepovers.

We did not have caller ID. Many of us still had party lines. Even so, teenagers are usually pretty transparent and it's not hard to figure out who has a crush on whom.

Technology has given us many gifts but it has also opened Pandora's box. A survey discussed on morning television today cited that one in five teenage girls admits to sending nude or semi-nude photos of herself to a boy. Apparently, boys are also photographing and posting their private parts.

I can be self-righteous about this because I have never done it and will never do it. But even in my carefree, pre-Internet, pre-social networking and naive days, I NEVER would have allowed a nude photo of myself. Even I was smart enough to realize there would still be negatives that could be redeveloped. There would still be break-ups where people forgot to gather the incriminating evidence.

What seems like a joke, a funny stunt or a dare can become life altering. I would hate to see a loved one denied law school admission because of some slutty photos on My Space. I would hate to see the look on the groom's face when his "friends" show him the wild and reckless days of the bride. I would hate to sit in a job interview and realize the person I am asking to hire me has seen me nude because he's linked in. This all happens. Seemingly, every day.

I've only recently learned to text. Once again, I'm way behind. Once again, I'm glad.

Giving Up the Keys

I'm convinced this was the breaking point for the Belle. When she started mowing over the mailbox and parking the car in the front yard, we had to act.

Driving is a privilege, not a right. I've given this lecture to teenagers and I've given it to oldies.

I admire people who can say, "You are driving. Here are my keys"

Bad Pick Up and Date Lines

When the England sons were teenagers, their father and my husband used to tease them by giving dating advice. Of course, the baby was there too and soaking it all in.

This was major entertainment for the grown men and the teenage boys. There were scores of bad lines. A few of my favorites:

You don't sweat much for a fat girl.
Wow, your acne is really clearing up.
Is that your real hair?

Thankfully, I don't think any of these young men have used the lines. They seem to treat women with respect. I'm giving credit to the moms.

The "Get Me Out of Here" Window

Remember being pre-teen or early teens? In my day, you did not have the option of cell phones and texting. You were at the mercy of your parents and what they chose as family entertainment.

For a while, my parents chose square dancing -- complete with the full outfits.

Ok, I admit I enjoyed the dancing part but most of the time I felt like a dork. I've always loved dancing but this was not my fave. Part of it felt like I landed on the set of Hee Haw. When you go to school and someone asks, "What did you do this weekend?" Trust me, you don't want to say, "I went square dancing."

We dragged others along. One of my first crushes was Greg Davis and that kind boy accompanied me to many square dances. What was he thinking?

I used to count the days until Jan would get her driver's license. She didn't need my help but I would've taken the test for her. Just get it and let's get out of here!

The Belle would be proud that I was wearing pearls.

Persuasive People -- A Belle Story

The Belle was one of them most persuasive people I have ever known. She could get me, the husband, Hangdog and her other sons to do it her way. Her grandchildren learned long ago to go with the flow. None of them would win the argument.

During her last working years in Holly Springs, she was Head Nurse and Clinic Manager for a medical practice. She adored the work and ran the office as if it was a military unit. She took care of the doctor, took care of the practice and provided excellent care to the patients. She could also deliver a message.

Once, a teenage boy came into the clinic. His clothes were shabby and he had the fashion of the time -- pants below the equator with boxers hanging out. He also had long, greasy hair and facial hair run amok. Bathing had not been a priority.

During the course of examining and treating, this young man was cornered. He was in the Belle's court room and she was the judge.

Ten days later he returned for his follow-up appointment. His hair was cut and clean. He had shaved. Somehow the waistband of his pants found his waist. Plus, he found a belt.

She had a way of making people -- even total strangers -- want to please her. I wish more of us had this gift.

The Only Man I Love

One of my teenage friends recently said to me, "He's the only man I love."

After I stopped rolling my eyes and holding my side, I explained my perspective: You will love many men.

If you're lucky, your first male love was and continues to be your father.

Grandfathers make some pretty great loves. Plus, they let you get away with a lot.
I've never had a brother but I've always wanted one and I understand their love is a bond that no one should mess with.
Uncles are one of life's greatest gifts.
Male friends will protect and honor you.
You never know when a brother-in-law will turn out to save you.
You will have a first love, maybe some middle loves and hopefully, a forever love.
Someday you might have a son. Tell me then about only loving one man.

The Belle had four sons and loved them all with a passion. She also loved the Captain. Movies and books simplify love and life. It's not simple; it's extremely messy. But love abounds and like her, I love a lot of men.

Shock Proof

There's a difference between legitimate shock or just being jumpy. I'm extremely jumpy but very little shocks me anymore.

People get divorced. It's sad but it no longer shocks me.

XXXX number of people were killed in the Middle East today. It no longer shocks me.

Some politician (local, national, international) has done something corrupt. It no longer shocks me.

Teenagers push the limit, get caught and still do some stupid things. This is not a shock to me.

Marriage is a marvel of good times and bad times. It took me a long time to learn this but it no longer shocks me.

Sometimes people who you think are on your side will throw you under the bus. I forgive. And, I'm never shocked -- just disappointed.

The moment you're flip enough to think all is under control, God has other plans. Doesn't shock me.

The cutest and most animated puppy in the litter will turn out to be the dog that's hardest to train. Doesn't shock me and doesn't stop me.

Jumpy is harder to cure.

The Ant Song

I have no idea how this tradition started (or why) but a jillion years ago when I was about 12 or 13-years old, my girlfriends (the Golden Girls) and I used to sing it to each other in a crisis.

A crisis at age 13 is usually being rebuffed by a boy, getting a bad grade, having a pimple, someone being mean to you. It doesn't matter; it's still a crisis. During those times, having a girlfriend sing it could make you smile, make you feel loved and change your day.

Just what makes that little ol' ant think he can move that rubber tree plant?
Everyone knows an ant can't move a rubber tree plant.
But, he's got high hopes.
When you're feeling low, 'stead of letting go, just remember that ant.

You know the rest.

This morning I received an email. The gist of it was: I need the ant song.

So, I called and sang it to her. I don't know if she feels any better but I definitely do.

The song title is actually, High Hopes but in our world it's The Ant Song. We're alllowed to request it from each other at any time. It's also mandatory anytime we all get together.

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.

Remembering 17

My Annie is 17 today.

Technically, she's not really mine but I'm not hung up on the technicalities.
Sunrise, sunset. Wasn't it yesterday when she was born? Wasn't it a year ago when I stood at the altar and took a vow to be her Godmother?

With both of my goddaughters, I was on the short list to hold them right after birth. I completely respect the right of the parents to hold them first. Then, I start knocking people out of my way.

Long, tall, and gorgeous doesn't begin to describe her. She looks like her mother but some of her father's genes are also apparent.

At 17, her mom and I had a lot of fun and participated in some mischief. I suspect she does the same.

You will notice her beauty before you talk to her. And then you will engage in conversation and see that she is smart and creative.

She's interested in writing and journalism. Guess how that makes me feel.

She doesn't recognize her powers yet and that is a good thing.

And Then They Are Grown

The daughter is grown. I'm happy for her but I hate it. She lives in another city and I miss her. She's very smart but I am certain that she could use my advice more often than she asks.

The baby is off at college. Sort of grown. I'm proud of both of them but I hate it.

Most of my friends' children are grown or on the cusp. Yes, I hate it. I want their little giggles and snugly bodies. I would even take back the teenage years when some things got dicey. I keep telling my friend Debbie (who still has young children,) "Don't Blink!"

One of my favorite people in the world is celebrating a birthday. I was honored to be invited to join him and his parents on Saturday. We sat outside on a beautiful evening and enjoyed a great Italian meal. He lives in Chicago now. He's all grown up. (I hate it.) But, in my mind, he's that little boy I met many years ago. He's the teenager who got in occasional trouble. He's the one who confided in me about various escapades.

I walked into the restaurant on Saturday and was immediately embraced. I said, "Benny Bear, the Birthday Boy!" He said, "You are the only person I would allow to get away with that."

He's all grown up. I hate it.

Garage Doors

My home is old. The automtic garage door contraption is a constant pain. Even though we replaced the entire unit a few years ago, it still gets out of whack. The oldies hit it with a walker or a cane. The dog bumps it. If you touch it while taking trash cans to the curb, it is no longer aligned.

Some very crafty person designed this system so the company could come out and fix it in a nanosecond, while charging $70 for a service call.

Garage door problems make me laugh because I remember my favorite story of all time.

J and I went out. They had a gravel driveway with a cement bumper in front of the garage. The rule was, let the tires hit the cement so you're far enough forward to let someone park behind you. So, we did. We pulled through the gravel, felt the bump of the cement and went to bed.

The next morning, her mother came in and asked, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" Bleary and sleepy eyed, we looked at each other and tried to be telepathic. What did we do? We were sort of pleading with each other to save one another. It didn't work.

Finally, we went downstairs. Yes, we felt the bump because we (J) put the car through the garage door. In her defense, I was clueless.

How You Address Someone

I love people who address others as "Sir or Ma'am." These are titles of respect, especially when they come out of a young person. I sound like a dinosaur but I get a little sad that this formality has gone out of fashion, except in the deep south.

We Baby Boomers are partially to blame. We want to be young and hip forever.

The husband has always called my mother, "Mom." I think he started it as an ice breaker but it developed into a habit. I don't remember him ever calling her by her first name.

Before the oldies joined our household, we only saw them once or twice a year. (Oh, those were the days!) I didn't really call her by any particular name. Mrs. Roman seemed too formal; her first name seemed too chummy. Some of her grandchildren call her Grams but that seemed weird since she's not my grandmother. So, I would just wait patiently until she made eye contact with me and then speak to her.

I continued this little dance when they moved in. Finally, the husband called me on the carpet. "It would be nice if you called her Mom." Immediate, gutteral response: NO!!!! But then, I pondered and prayed. I reminded myself that the baby has called me Mom since he was a tot. The woman (my friend) who brought him into this world shared this wonderful title with me. Instead of jealousy, she embraced it. So, I agreed.

At first, it sort of stuck in my throat. But, with practice, it became easier. Now it just rolls off my tongue with zero thought. I completely underestimated the importance of this decision. We immediately became closer. And, just the address of "Mom" reminds us both of our relationship. With four sons, she has never had a girl/woman call her Mom.

When I was late teenage/young adult, I addressed my Aunt Connie as just Connie. No way, Jose! She yanked my tail and reminded me that being called Aunt was important to her. Well, you don't have to hit me twice. My aunts and great-aunts will attest to this: I never say their name without the Aunt attached.

There's an intimacy with names and titles. I get annoyed when a total stranger, like a store clerk, hands my credit card back and says, "Thank you, Sheri." I was born in the wrong era and I need to get over it. What happened to Mrs. Roman?

Then, the baby will call and say something like, "Mom, I love my classes." Or, "Mom, I need more book money." Or, "Mom, some people invited me to visit their fraternity." My brain misfires. All I hear is "Mom."

I've (Almost) Run Out of Teenagers

The baby is happily off at college. My next door neighbor's child (and my friend) is there too. My elder goddaughter is attending a different college, but she's out of here also. I'm a mess.

I don't know how to throw a party without some teenagers to help with errands and hauling. If I go brain dead with some computer issue, I need a teenager. When work calls me away for hours at a time, I could count on a teenager to help with Gabby or the oldies. Why can't I program my iPod or my cellular phone? My usual answer would be provided by one of my teenagers.

The teenage years are when the young ones test the waters. It's a little dance. The rest of us who survived the teenage years cha cha back. We've been there. We remember. That's especially scary for parents, even parents of "good" kids.

I need my teenagers. I want them to have this great experience of college and the big, wide world. But, I hope they come home for the holidays because I need some help.

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.

Cell Phones: A Love/Hate Relationship

Do you know anyone who doesn't own a cell phone? Other than a few 5-year olds, I don't think I do. Mine is attached to me most of the time. I rarely turn it off. (A couple of years ago, it rang during Good Friday service at church and my girlfriend glared at me. Last week, it rang in the movie theater and my mother glared at me. I'm human! I forgot!)

Several years ago, when my mother first got a cell phone, she would forget to turn it on, forget to take it with her or let it be buried in her handbag. I used to leave hateful messages like, "Hello! Your bag is ringing! Pick up!" Now I can usually reach her. Anytime the oldies leave the house, I make sure they have the cell phone. She still can't check the voicemail so you have to call repeatedly.

I can track down the husband if I need him. I can usually track down the kids and even if they don't answer, they both call back immediately. It's a luxury and a relief, especially with one headed off to college and one living in another city.

That's the love part. Here's the hate:

Sometimes you just don't want to be found. There might be an opportunity for a quiet moment or you might be truly involved in something else. It's an interruption. I have started new rules for myself, like not answering when I'm brainstorming or writing. It doesn't work. Even if I put it in another room, I still hear it. Like Pavlov's dog, I run to see who's calling. I'm trained.

When I was a teenager, we didn't have cell phones. We didn't even have cordless phones. Some of my friends still had party lines. I'll never forget the day my friend (J) got her driver's license. She showed up at the front door, waved it in front of me and we bolted. Freedom!!! I don't remember what we did, where we went or any other details. I remember we were gone for seven or so hours. It was a rite of passage, much to the dismay of my parents. Kids today don't get to experience that -- as a parent, I'm glad -- but I get a little nostalgic thinking of that time. Ha Ha! You can't find us!