Learning From Our Mistakes

 "When our children make mistakes, they are not failures they are learners.”  - Dulce Chalé

Well, if this quote is to be believed, then maybe my children really do know everything? Perhaps, they’re right when they say, “Ya, ya, Mom, I KNOW, ok? Jeeez.” Trust me, the mistakes made by my kids have been learning experiences, but not just for them. Before having children, everyone has a plan. Whether it’s school, potty training, or discipline, there’s a plan. Everyone says it's the hardest job ever, and we nod as if we get it. The realization that we are not even close lands hard, however, and usually comes right around the first time our little darlings screw up. Until that happens, we are all the perfect parents. Trust me though, it will come, and you will learn just how much you don’t know.

It's easy to think you have your act together when your child is toddling around smiling at fifty adoring relatives on Thanksgiving and singing "Baby Shark." No one looks at that idyllic moment and thinks to themselves, "I can't wait until this darling little gift from God is sitting in the principal's office because he went rogue at recess and punched someone  over a game of four square.” Been there, done that.

Norman Rockwell, "Shiner" 1953

It’s not something we plan for, either. You think that being ready for anything means college savings bonds, braces, and banking the cord blood? Oh, no, there is so much more to it. You not only have to provide basic food, shelter, and clothing, you also have to educate them, buy them at least a few of the cool toys, and make sure they are "good kids." No pressure, right?

When you get a call that your high schooler has skipped school to go on a joy ride with a friend, you learn pretty quickly that you are not at all ready. So you rush over to the school because you don't know where your kid is, and neither does the principal. I'm sure the phrase "FML" was bouncing around in his under-developed, teen-aged, pea brain when he sauntered back into school (via the front office door, DOH!) and found me waiting for him. Mom 1, kid 0. It was perhaps not my best parenting moment when I stood in the principal's office ripping my son's head off and asking the guidance counselor for military school brochures. The threat level goes right to bright orange when a mother finds out her child has not only broken the rules but has been caught because he was, quite simply, stupid. It sounds awful, I mean, who calls their own kid stupid, but at least once or twice, they will meet that standard. 

It occurred to me recently, however, that maybe there shouldn't be such a firestorm when a kid screws up. The joyriding high school kid is now a fully grown, gainfully employed, functional adult who is independent, sweet, and still a lover of taking off now and then for an adventure. The last few months have shown me that it’s not easy being a kid. Parenting isn’t the only tough job; growing up is no picnic either, especially now. Our young people have lost so many milestones and opportunities, nothing is what they expected it to be, and they have no way of knowing when or if it will get better. They are struggling, how could they not? If every now and then they drop the ball, as long as they come home safely, is it really so bad?

I'm not talking about dangerous behavior, violence, or other major issues. (In other words, no keggers when the parents are not home!)  I mean the normal, yet distressing moments like a fender bender with the family car, a broken curfew, or an afternoon of hookey at the beach.  Rather than looking at a situation, and figuring out how many days to put a kid on Amish lockdown (no cell phone, internet, video games, or TV), we could maybe let it slide with just a good conversation, a plan for going forward, and some cookies?  

Just ask my kids; it's not normal for me to be this Zen about their screw-ups. I've always been the mom to shoot first and ask questions later, but it's a different world now than it was just a year ago. As parents, caregivers, and adults, we need to find a little grace, a little peace, and maybe a small bit of common ground with our young ones because they need it. So do we. 

Twitter vs. The Dinner Table

"Your opinion is your opinion, your perception is your perception--do not confuse them with 'facts' or 'truth'."  John Moore

A funny quote for a piece that runs in the Op-Ed section, but recently I spent some time on a social media platform that I do not normally use, and it seems that many are confused over the differences between facts and opinions. I finally took the plunge and started using Twitter more, and honestly, it still eludes me, for the most part. It's easy enough to sign up, write a Tweet, and post it, but it's a little more complex trying to figure out replies, follows, and retweets. It's a numbers game, and that's probably where the disconnect lies for me. If your Twitter account has a lot of followers, more people will see what you post. Throw in the right hashtags (those words with the # sign in front of them) and even more people will see it. That's kind of the name of the game on Twitter; you want to get the most amount of people to see what you have to say. Quantity seems to count more than quality, but that's just my opinion, it's not necessarily a fact. See how that works?

The Twitter arena is huge. Worldwide the platform has 330 million users, and 145 million of those are daily users. That's a lot to wade through, so narrowing down exactly what you want to read and talk about can be difficult. I'm following a lot of journalists, but I deliberately chose a wide range of outlets and people to follow. Some would say there are two sides to every story, but I would disagree. There are way more than two sides to every story, and if you only pay attention to the parts of the story that align with your stance, you won't have a complete picture of the issue. I really just cannot fathom not being aware of other points of view, even if some of them make my blood pressure spike. Who wants to live in an echo chamber where no new information is ever considered? Well, it seems plenty of people on Twitter want to do just that. 

My debate skills were not honed online, but rather at home. Growing up, the dinner table at my house was often the scene of some heated discussions. More than once my father would make a point while waving a piece of steak balanced on the tip of his fork around in the air, and getting all red in the face. My mother was the moderator, and when she started clearing the dishes, your time was up. More than once a dinner roll might have been tossed at someone's head, but that was mostly my brother. My father's favorite way to end a debate was to say, "Well, when you can show me proof of that, let me know, until then it's just you spouting off, so sell that nonsense somewhere else." More often than not, the next night would find one of us tossing a newspaper clipping, or a book on my father's plate and saying, "Now what do you have to say?" Truly, it was a better education than any class I ever took.

Twitter is nothing like the dinner table at my house. There's no food, and there's no one to clear up the dishes after a particularly snarky debate. It's also more complex, at least for me. One user could say something, and if another user replies with a different point of view, all Hell breaks loose. Hashtags are flying instead of dinner rolls, and everyone is "atting" each other. That's another part of it. If someone mentions you, they do so with the @ symbol and your "handle" which is your Twitter username. It's sometimes considered aggressive to at someone. Please, many of these users wouldn't have lasted ten minutes at the Kelley dinner table. The names we used had no symbols and were mostly sarcastic. Aggressive, at least when making your point, was required. No harm, no foul was the only rule and it worked for us. 

Perhaps Twitter should be more like the dinner table? Whoever is making the meal, decides what gets served up. Whatever winds up on the plate can be taken or left, and often requires a grain or two of salt. If it's something you don't like, you don't get to decide it's wrong, it's just not what you like. One person's favorite meal is another person's cereal night. Yes, that is an oversimplification, but don't we all need things to be just a little simpler right now, and not quite so chaotic? For now, I will probably stick to just scrolling through my Twitter feed, and not engaging much. I'm still up for a debate, I just prefer to be face-to-face, over something delicious, so at least if I get my butt kicked, there's dessert. Happy Tweeting, and if you want to follow me, that's fine, just don't expect much, I'm still new at it.

Still Here...

 

“Even though it was a very long distance to cover, we are still here.” -Alan B Shepherd Jr.

 

While it might seem obvious, it took a bit for me to realize that the flip side of this national nightmare of politics, pandemics, and problems, is that we have come pretty far. We’ve covered a lot of ground and that should be acknowledged. Think back to December of last year, or January. We were hearing about this virus, but who would ever have thought that we’d still be in this whole panic mode? Throw in an election and a volatile political climate and it’s been quite a time. If you’re reading this, congratulations on still being here.

 

Honestly, that’s an accomplishment. Everyone whines about “participation trophies” and how there shouldn’t be an award for just showing up, but I disagree. No one realizes what it might take for someone else to get up every day, care for their family and friends, work, manage a home, oversee remote learning, and navigate it all without losing it entirely. We’re mostly focused on ourselves, and we have to be. Airplane rules, right? When that oxygen drops out of the ceiling it’s go time. At least, metaphorically. You can’t help others if you’re gasping for air yourself, right? So, give yourselves a big pat on the back. You’re here. 

 

Slowly, some of what was normal, is coming back. Restaurants have limited capacity, but many are open. School is back…sort of…and while challenging, it’s a small step towards getting back to normal, whatever that may be. This week, I was so lucky to get back something I have been missing terribly. My sport, my game, my go to for blowing off steam has always been badminton. I don’t play that well, but I show up. Smashes, clears, drives, cross court drop shots, and backhands are my weapons against falling apart, physically and mentally, so it’s been hard to not have that. Safety first though, always. This week, I got to play an actual match. The badminton shoes that had been stashed away, unworn, were coming out of the closet along with my racket and a wicked attitude for smashing some birds. It was amazing, by which I mean, I did not die, fall down, or bash myself bloody. Considering the previous week found me tripping over air and kissing pavement, this is quite something. 

 

While I was beyond giddy to have gotten to play, it must be said, re-entry…stinks. There’s another “S” word that fits, but this is a family paper.  Holy fitness Batman, staying off the court for seven months will bite you right in the gluteus maximus, and every other muscle that’s been laying around unused. Also, while not technically a muscle, my hand eye coordination is pretty much gone. It’s not like it was one of my strengths to begin with, but now it’s almost nonexistent. There were mortifying moments of swinging at a bird, only to see it sail past the end of my racket, mocking me, as if to say, “Not today, Brenda, no ma’am.”

 

It really should not have come as a galloping shock, because rest leads to rust, right? While my red shoes and my little dog make me sometimes think of myself as a Dorothy, it was all Tin Man on the courts, squeaking and banging around. But guess what? In those immortal words from another great movie, Gone with the Wind,  “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Regardless of the score, my moves, the missed shots, and post-match pain, it was everything just to have been able to show up. To put on my way cool badminton shoes (which are silver, with red trim, of course) and be off the bench and back in the game is worth every ache and pain, every sweat-soaked swing, and every cursed net shot. No, there was no participation trophy, unless you count the ice-cold beer I cracked open when I got home, but for me, it’s still a win. Matches are not what they were before, because safety protocols require reduced capacity, no crowds, no guests, no cocktail hour (gasp!) and no high fives, but the game is still here for me. While it will take some time to get back to where I was, isn’t that true of everything? It’s been more than twenty years since I took up badminton and I’m still floundering around the back court missing at least as many shots as I make. So what? There was no choice to sit out for seven months; everyone has been on hold in some way during this time. If we are lucky enough to still be here? Well then, we are lucky enough. 

 

Zooming Along

"Life is about perspective and how you look at something…ultimately you have to zoom out.” ---Whitney Wolfe Herd 

 Remember back in the day when your parents would tell you how lucky you were? How many starving children there were in (insert faraway location here) and how fortunate you were to have a home, and food, and clothes? While it’s true that daily gratitude can improve your mood and lessen the chance of you having an epic fit in the paper towel aisle, it's a fact that gratitude is in shorter supply now than bleach wipes and Chromebooks. We've passed the early stages of the pandemic when we were mostly fine to stay home, wear the mask and wait it out. We were in it together, right? Summer was coming, the heat would kill the virus and it would just go away. 

Well, things change. 

 The nip of fall is in the air now though, and people are so damn tired of all of this. Outdoor cafes will start to close in a month or so; the reality of a New England Fall, with winter weather on its way, means sitting oceanside for a plate of clams is in the rearview. So, what’s ahead? Remote learning, flu season, less sunlight, more snowstorms, and I think the news said there is also a large asteroid headed straight for Earth in early November. We can all be forgiven for not being able to find gratitude in that dark mix. I'm in the bargaining stage right now, "OK, listen up here Universe, if I promise not to complain about the weather, the masks, the TP, and the flu, and also do better with recycling, do you promise to re-route the asteroid? Lemme know, k?" This week though, due to the Facebook function that shows me what I was doing on a certain date in other years, I found the following post about the silly complaints of some parents I knew. 

 1) A teacher asked college students to think up a funny title for an essay, something to make them laugh. Much gnashing of teeth and wailing ensued from parents who thought it was completely inappropriate to require a one-liner title at the LAST MINUTE. One mom is convinced her child will be ‘up all night’ and tearfully asked, ‘What are we doing to these kids?’ 2) Another kid is traumatized (the parent's word) because the school counselor suggested the kid should be the one handling college applications and interviews. 3) A parent insisting that they must oversee grades and have weekly conversations with her college sophomore's professors and residence hall staff because ‘I’m the customer, I’m paying the bills, they work for me.’ 4) A parent that refused to let her high-achieving, never in trouble kid, go back to college unless they agreed to a phone tracker, a car speed monitor, and daily 30 minute FaceTime check-in visits. 

 

Seems kind of stupid given what parents are dealing with now, right? Tracker mom seems especially off the chain, because at 20 years old, the kid who has never put a foot wrong, been in trouble, or gotten anything less than A, doesn’t need an ankle bracelet and a probation officer parent. While Facebook is something I’m trying to limit, because it really can be quite a sewer sometimes, the Memories feature does offer the opportunity to “zoom out” and gain a better perspective. Back in April, a post came up that had me in a silly selfie, wearing a surgical mask at the doctor. Turns out, I had the flu. So, a year later, swamped in a pandemic that is way worse than the flu, sure, I might still wear a mask, but I’m healthy, so that’s good, right? 

 It’s not just parents that are struggling to find the gratitude in their attitude. It’s all of us, though I do feel like right now, as we begin getting back to education, parents (and educators too!) are under a buttload of stress. There’s also an election looming that will impact all of us. I'm no political scholar, but I can't recall an election that has been this divisive, this anxiety-inducing, this…well…FUBAR’d. We all need that wide-angle view about now. Those curved mirrors that they put on blind corners, so you can see what's coming at you? Wouldn't it be awesome if they worked as a harbinger of other matters? Wouldn't just a small glimpse at what's coming up be helpful? There's almost no way to tell if the light at the end of a tunnel is a new day or an oncoming train. For now, while I've never been a fan of looking backward, I will definitely try to widen my view a little and not focus so much on the stressful parts but rather try to zoom out and include happier parts, like the sound of seagulls I can hear in my yard, my neighbor having his windows open when he plays the piano, and maybe one last plate of clams before the chill makes it impossible.

The Real Cold War

“Kitchens should be designed around what's truly important-fun, food, and life.”

---Daniel Boulud

 I really like fun, food, and life. I mean, who doesn’t, right? It’s just difficult to make it happen in my kitchen. First, there is the issue of safety. There have been fires, concussions, slips, falls, near misses with the knives, and at least one small explosion. In my defense, the explosion was a faulty electrical socket. The rest? Ya, that was all me. Besides the safety aspect there is the fact that cooking isn’t my strong suit, organization eludes me, and I definitely get way too much takeout. When you have forty-seven packets of soy sauce and more than a few containers of duck sauce, it’s time to lay off the Pu Pu platters and have a salad once in a while.

This past week, my faithful refrigerator breathed its last. It shuffled off the mortal cooling coil and became bereft of life, after having a massive ice maker malfunction that was almost as epic as the calving of the glaciers I saw once in Alaska. The hunt was on to replace it, but before that, there were all the usual kitchen nightmares. Cleaning up melted ice cream, finding a place to store food, and disconnecting the water line became urgent tasks. There was also the stark realization that the rear corners of my fridge were populated with at least a dozen bottles of old salad dressing,  three expired blocks of cream cheese, and some shriveled up veggies that might have been cherry tomatoes at one point but were now some new species of petrified produce. Who knows what evil lurks in the bottom bin of a side-by-side? I do, and it’s not pretty. I watched the video below, and all due respect, she knows her stuff, but I kind of wanted to shove this overly organized, way too happy, neat freak into the deep freeze. 

You’d think purchasing a fridge wouldn’t be that challenging, but you’d be wrong. They have them with TVs on the front, others have remote control temperature settings from a smartphone app. They make fridges that are WiFi-enabled; some have a door within a door, which is some kind of culinary sorcery that makes me question everything I ever knew about condiments and ideal temperatures for dairy. Lucky for me, most of the ones with all the bells and whistles were out of my price range and too big for my space. Oh, and bells and whistles? That’s a literal term, not an expression. One model has a bell that chimes if the door is left open too long. Another has a high-pitched whistle to indicate when the ice maker is done. I passed on those features, because honestly, there’s enough on my plate right now, without my appliances freaking out on me too.

Thankfully, the Internet kept me from having to brave the big box stores unaware of everything I should be considering. Comparing models on websites, I was able to narrow it down to two units that were priced right, would fit, and didn’t require an engineering degree to set up. Math and finance are not areas in which I excel, so for the longest time, there was no way I could understand why the larger of the two fridges was less expensive. Apparently, in the appliance world, size doesn’t matter.  The more expensive one had an additional bin, even though it had less space, and that was the deciding factor. When it comes right down to it, every refrigerator needs a deli drawer, OK? Where else would you put the turkey, the cold cuts, and the cheese?

Delivery day arrived, and the old fridge was dispatched to the appliance graveyard, and the new one was installed. Then the games began. Milk jug Jenga, tomato Tetris, and, the ever-popular soda Suduko. As it turns out, there are tons of web pages to help. One friend, who is a professional chef sent me a graphic of where foods should go based on cooking temperatures and other factors so you don’t poison your cottage cheese when bloody steak juice drips on it. It’s a miracle I’ve not given anyone salmonella all these years because putting fresh haddock next to ground beef is a bad idea.

Sing it with me..."Hotttttt......pockets!"

Finally, everything is now neatly squared away. The ice maker and water dispenser are humming along, and the light works. But wait, there’s more!  My old fridge was stainless steel, which wasn’t magnetic, so for years I had no way to hang up those school pics, and important notices. This one is magnetic, while also being the shiny, silvery stainless steel that I love. Life is good. There is healthy food in my home, nothing is leaking (well, except my wallet) and one small section of my life is neat and orderly. Who wants some ice-cold milk and a cookie? Come on by!

Temptation

 "I can resist everything except temptation."

---Oscar Wilde

Temptation is a funny concept. There's a belief that temptation, of any kind, is bad. It's some shadowy emotion, leading you to the dark side, drawing you away from everything good, and on to a path of destruction and despair. Honestly though, is every temptation such a big, fat, hairy deal? Aren't we faced with small temptations every day, that, really won't kill us, but probably don't do us any good either? 

Some will tell you that willpower is the solution. That you just have to be strong enough to resist some urges. Well, I agree that it takes a strong person to turn away from something that appears to be shiny and happy and fun. Not everyone can do that. Large issues like addiction, alcohol abuse, and risky behavior are extremely hard to kick for millions. To those who fight the good fight every day to stay clean, sober, and safe, my heart is with you. You're all heroes, even when you slip up. 

That leaves the smaller temptations that we all come across every day. The bag of chips. The candy bar. The pair of red shoes that look so good, and so what if you already have lots of red shoes, you don't have THESE red shoes and…OK, wait, that's just me. Still, we all have something that maybe isn't the best choice, but darn it, it's what we want. Now!

I suppose we could blame the pandemic. Many of us have been shut up in the house, stuck on Zoom meetings. Kids are missing school, camp, and milestones like graduations and proms. Businesses are closed, or severely limited in capacity, so we can't gather as we used to do, socializing over a Bloody or a cup of chowder. There are sports on TV, but we can't go see a game live. Concerts are over unless you count Keytar Bear at Park St in Boston. It's been a long haul, hasn't it? One would think that when bars were closed, clubs were shuttered, and restaurants were left empty, that the temptation to party and overdo would be gone, right? 

Not so much. 

In my house, I've still managed to fall into temptation, and I'm not alone in that. When you're all bummed out about a canceled vacation or a postponed party, it's easy to say, "Why shouldn't I bake three dozen brownies; I deserve something fun, right?" The thing is, those three dozen brownies aren't going to the breakroom at work or a neighborhood potluck. They're going to sit on your kitchen counter and mock you, incessantly, until you have to end them. With a big glass of milk, while binge-watching some Real Housewives. Hey, I don't make the rules, OK? But this is what will happen, if not with brownies and bad television, with something else, like online shopping late at night, or annoying people on social media just because you're spoiling for a fight. Don't deny it; don't say, "Oh, not me." Yes, you, me, and just about everyone else I know has come up against some kind of temptation over these last few months. 

My brownies never look this good, but they go down well

It's not all about the virus and being cooped up, though. I've never been able to keep potato chips in my house. Not any kind of chips. For years, I would buy the cheap chips, the ones that were all broken and dry, thinking "OK, if I buy these, I will have a few with my sandwich, but I won't go overboard." Oh, the lies we tell ourselves. My house is a no-chip zone. Except for last week, and well…we are not going to discuss that. Yes, denial is the twin sister of temptation, and both of those chicks need to go find someone else to peck at.

I suppose chips are not the worst thing to be powerless against, but still, it does annoy me that a soggy bag of fried starch is almost like Kryptonite was for Superman. I don't want to brag, but I've handled bigger crises than a bag of Ruffles and I'm still standing. I have to think that giving in, once in a while, isn't the end of the world. There have been days when I believed everyone needed a high five. To the face. With a hockey stick. I was able to resist that temptation, every time. So, is a bag of chips really so bad? Of course not. 

Now and then, something has to give. No one can hold out 100% of the time against every challenge. My daughter is very good at keeping me on the right track. If she is in the grocery store with me, the Ruffles do not wind up in our cart. Neither do the Tate's chocolate chip cookies. She's my favorite buzzkill. She also will keep me from steering the car into the drive-thru for Mickey Ds French fries, another disciplinary failure of mine…most of the time that is. Every so often, I get the fries. I order the shoes. I buy the chips (and the cookies too) because they're delicious. Life is tough, so, if some small, but guilty pleasure is tugging at you, and it won't ruin your life, your bank account, or your health? Go for it. 

Small Efforts Matter

 “Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.”  - Robert Collier

Big things and little things, doesn’t it seem like that’s how we sort our lives out? Pandemic? That’s a big thing. Re-opening schools, also pretty big. Someone walking down a public street while being black? So not a big deal. Well, it shouldn’t be, but recently it was. The fact that one person did pick up the phone to report another person as suspicious because of their skin color is pretty big. Who does that? I wish I could say it was just a fluke, but it’s not. Calls like that happen every day, in small towns and big cities. What is the thought process that goes into making a call like that? Who thinks, “A brown person? OMG, I better call the cops!”  Never mind, I do not want to know, it would probably make me cranky, and almost no one enjoys that.

 

It’s hard not to get mired down in small, petty problems. Crankiness is not just a problem at my house; I think we are all pretty close to melting down and lashing out. Social media is full of arguments on the schools, public health, the upcoming election, masks, distancing, and so much else. People are screeching at each over their keyboards making every noisy kid party and every pick-up basketball game a “Get off my lawn” moment.  We’re all going from zero to sixty in a nanosecond. Guess what? The last straw is something nearly insignificant, but when you hit critical mass, emotionally, that last straw feels like someone dropped an anvil on your foot.

 

Recently, a very close friend got a frightening medical diagnosis. Do you want to talk big thing, versus little? This was big. Huge, even. There’s a plan in place, however, and it will all be fine because quite frankly, everyone who knows her will make sure of it. How will we do that? My bet is that it will be a long string of small moments and little gestures. Help with carpools, bringing a meal, picking a bunch of flowers and sticking them in a red Solo cup just for fun.

There’s probably some complicated math equation that has to be solved, some kind of ratio of how many kind moments, how many tiny efforts we have to make to shrink a big problem into something that can be dealt with easier. Think about it. On the one hand, we have this major virus happening. COVID rules our world now. It’s overwhelming and scary, and it touches every single part of our lives. What’s the answer? I have no idea. What I do know, however, is that every time someone shows me a kindness, no matter how small, it makes the larger issue a little easier to bear. There is immeasurable value in finding a box of tea, or a pan of brownies on your doorstep. Will brownies and chamomile solve the world’s problems? No, of course not. But when they come from someone who sees what you’re going through and understands that you just need that one small, bright moment? It can light up your world.

 

If we consider every major world problem or crisis, we find that matters like pandemics, wars, economic issues, and environmental concerns need big solutions, with lots of moving parts, thousands of people involved, millions of dollars, and usually years to come to fruition. That’s just reality.  Know what else is true? Enmeshed in all of these really big, really serious undertakings, are a ton of very small efforts, that might not always seem relevant. They are though. They are like small anchors that prevent us from getting swept away by a rogue wave.

 

If we get so overwhelmed by a problem that we can’t imagine what big steps to take, I’d say to take a few small steps first. Is there someone you know you can bounce ideas off? Bring them a coffee, sit down for a few, and tell them everything. You’d be surprised what you can gain from that. Is a friend facing something unimaginable, and you want to just make it all better, but you can’t? Show up with cookies. Seriously, isn’t everyone baking up a storm in the pandemic? You probably have a few sacks of flour and some chocolate chips in your cupboard, right? Make the cookies.

 

Sometimes you don’t need to fix every part of every problem. Sometimes small efforts really do add up to more than the whole. Ya, the math people will say that’s not true, but trust me, it is, especially now. No effort is too small if the goal is to help make a situation better.