A couple of things happen when you wait until you're 35 to have a baby.
First of all, for nine months (through eight OB/GYN visits, three ultrasounds, one amniocentesis and an unforgettable stay in the birthing center) you get to see a big orange sticker on your folder that reads "Advanced Maternal Age."
Second, since most of your friends have already been there, done that, you get great advice.
"You have to ask for a Diaper Genie," we were told prior to my baby shower. We heard this over and over, from mother after mother (except for the one mother who assumed we would eschew disposable landfill-fillers and sign up for an organic diaper delivery service like she did ... um, not).
Diaper Genies were news to us. What an amazing invention! Manufactured by Playtex, it was a tall thin, lidded pail that you line with a long, thin tube of plastic. You put a used diaper in, shut it, twist it, then repeat as long as your baby is producing used diapers and until the pail is full. A few extra twists and the whole thing can be removed, so you can start over. The byproduct of all this diaper disposing and twisting is a long string of plastic wrapped diapers, sort of like an old-fashioned string of sausages.
The upside is no mess and no fuss and, most important, no smell.
The downside, of course (just ask the aforementioned friend), is that you take something that's basically bad for the environment and encase it in plastic, making it that much badder for the environment.
Um ... guilty as charged.
Other miracles of modern motherhood soon filled our happy home. My Snugli (where "comfort meets cool") gave way to collapsible strollers, melamine dishes, microwave macaroni and cheese, and juice boxes. (What did our moms do without juice boxes?) All of these inventions made motherhood so much easier. And, while my daughter is no longer a baby, a toddler or even a child (she's eighteen, omg!), I still rely on fairly new technology to get through our days together. And, I'm not even talking about smartphones or texts or the GPS system.
This time of year, my two favorite wonders of modernity are: suitcases with wheels and spray-on sunscreen.
In the early 1970s, a gentleman named Bernard Sadow created the first suitcase on wheels, which was sold at Macy's. To this day, the inventive but unfortunate Mr. Sadow doesn't get any money for his brainchild. Nearly twenty years later, a Northwest pilot named Robert Plath updated the design so that cases were rolled upright (Sadow's were rolled flat like a steamer trunk). Originally sold to other airline employees, the "Rollaboard" eventually became the norm we all use today.
Whenever we travel, I marvel at memories of my mother taking three kids and wheel-less luggage to Missouri every summer. (Thank goodness for airport porters and chivalrous fellow passengers.)
The other advance that brings me joy is spray-on sunscreen. Remember that goopy white cream? Ugh! But, my daughter is fair-skinned and easily burned. In fact, after twelve years of horses, she has pretty much perfected the farmer's tan — or in her case, the equestrienne's tan. (She's dark brown below the sleeves of her polo shirts and above the line of her gloves; below her shorts but above her boots.) Each day, before she leaves for the stable, we go out onto the patio. She spreads out her arms and stands in an "X" while I simply spray her with Coppertone Sport SPF 50. What an improvement!
In two and a half months, my daughter will leave for college. I'll send her off with plenty of spray sunscreen in her wheeled luggage. And, I'll look forward to enjoying another mother of an invention.
Our weekly Skype.
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I still remember my first sleepover party. It was thrilling. I had a Girl Scout sleeping bag; I was eleven years old. It was my best friend's birthday and she took a bunch of us to see American Graffiti, most of which, I'm sure, went right over our heads. Then we camped out in the living room of her sprawling upper westside apartment. Between the hardwood floor, the gaggle of giggling girls and the novelty of not being in my own bed, I don't think I slept much.
There were also the cats. I'm desperately allergic, have been since I was tiny. My friend had not one, not two, but three felines. Two orange tabbies and an enormous Persian. So, I went home the next morning sleep-deprived and sneezing, itching and wheezing, and with eyes swollen shut.
I couldn't wait to sleepover again.
For a preteen girl, sleepovers were pretty much the best of the best. As I grew into my teens, I continued to attend (and sometimes host) slumber parties. Lots of them. They fell away once I went to college, of course ("sleeping over" meant something completely different at that point). But, sleepovers will always be an important right of passage in my tween and teen memory.
For my own teenage daughter? Not so much.
She and her cohorts had slumber parties earlier than we did. She was still in preschool I think when a friend had what her parents billed as a "sleepover/half-sleepover" party. The girls all wore pajamas and the more confident ones stayed over while others were picked up by parents mid-celebration.
When she turned seven, my daughter had a "Superstar" makeover-sleepover. Two of her teenage cousins (who were considered cool beyond belief by the guest set) joined us for hair and makeup, manis and pedis. A couple of years later, we hosted another sleepover, this one revolving around her favorite TV show The Saddle Club. We covered the dining room floor in bales of clean hay (to this day, nearly a decade later, we still find the odd bit of straw in the cracks of the floor). Fun was had by all.
Now a junior in high school, my daughter and her friends don't seem interested in sleeping over anymore. In fact, she's competing in a big horse event next week with another rider (and BFF). I suggested, you guessed it, a sleepover. To her credit, my daughter didn't roll her eyes or audibly sigh. But, she politely — and quickly — declined.
Why have sleepovers gone away? Why would an otherwise normal, healthy, red-blooded American teen not want to be up all night gossiping with her gal pals? Looking at pictures of Hollywood heartthrobs, making crank phone calls, participating in seances and eating junk food?
Waitaminute.
That's exactly what they are doing. It's just that mobile and digital technology allow them to be together ... apart. They are pretty much having remote slumber parties every night. They can Snapchat, Twitter, Facebook. They can Skype or FaceTime or LiveChat. They can group message, share pictures, flirt, tease, post videos.
We insist that my daughter leave her iPhone in the kitchen every night. It's one of the last vestiges of the rules we used to successfully enforce. (Oh, and if you ask her, it's m-o-r-t-i-f-y-i-n-g!!!!!!!) First of all, we leave ours down there too. Second, if we didn't have this rule, she would get even less sleep than she currently does.
And third, "Because I'm your mother, that's why!"
On the rare occasion that she goes to bed before I do, I can sometimes hear messages pinging through to her phone. Pretty much all night.
Hey, I was a teenager too once. It was the 1970s, which certainly may (which certainly does!) sound like ancient history. But, I'm glad I didn't have to deal with cyber bullying, texting or sexting when I was a teen. I'm glad I wasn't under the kind of pressure that high school juniors and seniors have to live with.
Most of all, I'm glad I got to go to sleepovers.
Cats and all.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
About twelve years ago, I was running a much larger ad agency than I do today. There were good things about it: a schnazzy office, a corporate credit card, a reason to wear something other than yoga clothes. There were also significant downsides ...
45 creative, passionate people. 45 sensitive, supersized egos.
In a word ... drama.
One afternoon, a vice president account director rushed into my office in a panic. "What do I do? What do I do?" It wasn't so much about what he needed to do as it was about what he had already done. He'd received an unfortunate email from a colleague. When I say "unfortunate," I mean she was snotty, stubborn, downright condescending. He immediately forwarded her email to me (I was his and her supervisor) with a snide observation including a term that rhymed with Ducking Rich (hint: try an F and a B). As often happens in the wonderful world of email, he did not in actuality send it to me. He accidentally sent it back to her.
"What do I do? What do I do?"
When email became the norm for interoffice communication, we had to teach all of our staff some new rules for this new world. Don't use all caps (IT WILL SEEM LIKE YOU'RE SCREAMING). Never hit "reply all" unless you really, truly, absolutely, unequivocally want to reply all. Don't hit "send" without proofreading the message first. Don't say anything negative about clients or coworkers (or the Bush administration).
And, perhaps most important, never put anything in email that would be better communicated in person.
Alas, our teens need similar guidelines in their all-text, all-the-time social lives. There are many conventions (and assumptions) that I don't understand. (For example, did you know that if you include a period in your text sentiment it means that you're mad? Ugh, I can't keep track. Period.) But, what I do understand is how words can clear things up or muddy them completely. How you can diffuse a potential storm or stir one up out of seemingly nothing at all.
And, in this at least, my daughter recognizes and truly appreciates that I can help.
Typically, my intervention (she actually seeks it out, believe it or not) occurs in the car when I'm driving her somewhere. Or she bursts into my office — whether I'm on a conference call or not — distraught because so-and-so misunderstood what she said about what's-her-name. "What do I do? What do I do?"
While I hate to see her so distressed, I welcome these opportunities to teach her about all the nuances of effective communication that they simply do not cover in the Honors English program. Like ...
• Giving the other person a graceful way to save face (even when you think they are — and should admit they are — utterly in the wrong).
• Apologizing for any misunderstanding (even when you believe that any such misunderstanding is theirs and not yours).
• Backing away from a conflict (even when it would be way more satisfying to stay and fight it out).
• Realizing that less really is more (even though you have so much more you want, need, frrrrkin' must say).
• And, finally, giving up a new argument in order to save an old friendship.
Teen girls (I can only speak for the girls; it may be very much the same for teen boys) are all about the drama. They are quick to find offense and not always quick enough to forget it. And girls like my daughter wear their hearts on their sleeves. Or, these days, on the text screens of their iPhones.
With careful wordsmithing, together, we have extricated my darling girl from many a thorny text situation. She appreciates this ("She likes me. She really likes me.") and I derive more than a little satisfaction from our successes.
It's nice to feel that mother knows best once in a while ... even if it's only once in a very, very long while.
If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
