Pipptydoo!

One of the things I'll miss most about working in the office is the lunchroom conversation. Yesterday's topic turned tochildren and their place in the family.  One of my colleagues, whose husband is one of 10 children, was reminiscing about her father- in- law.  "When he came home from work at the end of the day, he expected his newspaper on the chair, and his dinner on the table, and he expected peace and quiet.  If the (ten!) children got too noisy, he would grumble ominously, and my mother-in-law would quickly shush them. 'Quiet, children!,' she'd say.  'Your father has worked all day and he needs some peace and quiet!'"

As if she hadn't worked all day raising ten children.

Another co-worker recalled her father in-laws favorite saying to his brood of six.  "If things got too noisy, he'd yell out 'Pipptydoo!' and they all knew that was the signal to quiet down and shape up," she said.  This was the same man who brought home pizza on Friday night, but always ate his fill before allowing the kids to come in to get the leftovers.

My, how things have changed.  Now family life is centered around the kids - their schedules, their food preferences, their bedtime routines.  One of the women in the group mentioned her niece's elaborate bedtime ritual that involves her mother laying down with her for at least an hour each night before she goes to sleep.  "She'll never learn to get to sleep on her own!" was the general consensus.

Well..gulp.  That story hit close to home - a bullseye in fact.  My dear son had the most elaborate bedtime routine you could imagine, and I admit that I indulged it religiously.  He liked to be read to (several stories), he liked to make up stories to tell me, and when he started kindergarten we began a ritual known as "day telling"  in which he relayed every activity of his day in minute detail. It took at least an hour, sometimes more, before he was finally "down" for the night.

Contrary to the expectations of my co-workers, he did learn (eventually!) to fall asleep on his own. But in retrospect, I should probably have set some limits on the procedure, rather than allowing him to control the situation.

Truth be told, our son was spoiled by any standards.  The beloved only child/grandchild of two only children - how could he not be indulged beyond all reason?  Besides that, he was a good child, well-behaved and quiet. He might have been "spoiled" in the pejorative sense of the word, but he was never "rotten."   By the grace of God and some uncommon good sense on his part, he turned out to be a responsible, hard-working, and considerate man.

I know that isn't always true.  Children who are overindulged, who have no expectations set or limits on their behavior, often lead miserable lives, and make everyone around them miserable as well.  It's a syndrome that's prevalent these days, where children rule the roost in many households, and are the pampered darlings of the family.

I was reading a book the other day about the psychological and sociological ramifications of being an only child.  Although we're notorious for being "spoiled rotten," that need not be the case.  The author suggested that it was imperative to "frustrate your child occasionally,"  to not indulge their every desire no matter how much you'd like to do so, or how much easier it would be.  I'm know I'm not much of  a disciplinarian, but even I can accept the efficacy of age appropriate frustration in teaching children how to cope with life's inevitable losses.

While the pendulum seems to have swung in the opposite direction from the 1950's and 1960's when Dad was King of the Castle and the kids were little more than aggravating peons, it would benefit everyone if a little balance could be achieved in the opposite direction.

Perhaps it's time for families in general to call out a collective "Pipptydoo!" and bring everyone into line.

You Say Goodbye...

It's been a week of convergent endings, in life in general and my own in particular.  My last week of work coincided with both Oprah Winfrey's and Mary Hart's (who retired after 30 years hosting Entertainment Tonight).   Although I didn't have quite the sendoff these gals had, Tuesday marked a definite shift in my lifestyle and my prospects for the future, one I'm eagerly anticipating. This was also the last week for two of my favorite competition/reality shows - Dancing With the Stars and American Idol.  We follow these shows from the beginning, and I can't help but get involved in the lives of the competitors and I miss them when the shows come to an end.  I'm just a sucker for watching people develop a talent into individual greatness, particularly when you see someone like Hines Ward (a football player for Pete's sake!) turn into a joyful, elegant ballroom dancer.

It makes you believe you can do anything if you set your mind to it.

Also this week, we're in Florida, making the first moves towards putting our house on the market to sell.  This is bittersweet for us. We've had some wonderful times here, and we put the house together totally from scratch.  At the desk where I'm sitting is a collection of photographs my son took as the house was being built 10 years ago.  Once it was finished, we had the delightful task of furnishing it from top to bottom - that was the most fun as a "homemaker" I've ever had, and it's doubtful whether I'll ever have another experience that comes close to resembling that.  As my husband says, this is probably the best house we'll ever own, so there's no surprise we have some mixed feelings about giving it up.  Realistically, it's the sensible thing to do- with a new grandbaby living in Dallas, how much time will we be spending in Florida?

Of course, no one ever said it's fun to be sensible.

Topping of a week of goodbyes was another one to my friend, C., who made the trip back from China only weeks after moving there, due to her mother's death.  Although the circumstances were sad, it was an unexpected gift to spend some more time with her, and reminded me again just how much I will miss her in the months/years ahead.

Last week I started rehearsing with my middle school chorus kids, preparing for their big spring concert.  One of their selections is a Beatles medley, which includes this song:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBZ8ulc5NTg]

It got stuck in my head after rehearsal the other day..."You say yes, I say no, you say stop, I say go, you say goodbye and I say hello...hello, hello.  I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello."  It reminds me that with every goodbye comes the opportunity to say hello - to new careers, new homes, new relationships - even new TV shows (can anyone say So You Think You Can Dance?)

So as I say goodbye to some very important places, people, and experiences in my life, I also say hello to what the future might hold.  Life in general is full of surprises, and I'm looking forward to whatever comes next!

How about you?  Have you said goodbye to anything in your life recently?  And then said hello to something new and exciting?

Did You Just Call Me Grandma?

My son and daughter in law are surely busy pondering all those things that new parents-to be ponder, among them what name to choose for their baby.  With my daughter in law's Asian heritage, an entire new world of possible names opens up to them.  In Thailand, the custom is to give children easy to pronounce nicknames, since their given names are often long and complicated.  For instance, my daughter in law's nickname is Apple (yes, like Gwyneth Paltrow's daughter), or even just Ple. She has a sister nicknamed Cherry, and a little niece who answers to Idea. Meanwhile, here at home, we've been giving a little thought to what we'd like the child to call us.  I've never really liked "Grandma" or even "Grandmother," and it's rarely been used in our family.  My own grandmother referred to herself as "Mammy," a good old southern name that originated in slave days - perhaps that's what she felt like sometimes, because she did a lot of cooking and cleaning up.  I called my grandfather Granddad, which fit well because he performed lots of dad-like functions for me all through my childhood.  When Brian was born, I started out calling my mother Grammy, but sometime around the age of 3 or 4, he began calling her Mamoo.  I never knew where that came from, but it stuck, and that's what he calls her to this day.  My dad was always Papa, although I can't recall how that originated either.  Jim's parents were Grandma and Grandpa to Brian, and these traditional monikers seemed to fit their function in his life quite well.

I was intrigued by this article in the New York Times last week. Apparently, the issue of how to name ourselves as grandparents is a big one on baby boomer's minds.  "Resistant to being called anything that makes them sound old, baby-boomer grandparents have taken to accepting toddlers’ neologisms and ethnic variations or, better yet, naming themselves."  There are actually books about it. “The New Grandparents Name Book, a Lighthearted Guide to Picking the Perfect Grandparent Name” (ArtStone Press), offers 700 (yes, 700!) unstodgy alternatives to "Gram" and "Gramps."

So what are some of these new grandparent names?  G-Mom, DooDad, BuyaBuya (I certainly get that!), Nonna, Mimi, Popsi, PawPaw, Papa John (or Jim in our case).  For the sophisticated wine tasting set, there's Sonoma and Napa.  (I'm not making this up.)  Goldie Hawn's grandchildren call her GlamMa.  Blythe Danner requested Woof (!) but accepted Lalo as the children's choice.

I suspect that our final choices might end up being a bit more pedestrian.  Luckily, we're spared the need to come up with two sets of names, because of course the child can call his/her Thai grandparents by whatever Thai variations they choose.

Of course, it's entirely possible that the child will eschew whatever  names we pick and come up with something totally original.  That wouldn't surprise me in the least, given the independent and creative streaks brewing in those genes.

I just hope it's not Woof.  I'll happily surrender that one to Ms. Danner.

The One and Only

When I was growing up in the 1960's, there weren't many only children in the neighborhood.  In fact, I was the "only" one on the block.  I was also the "only" one in my classroom for the first five years of school, at which point another "only" entered the scene  - a young man with whom I fell promptly in love. It seems I was fated to be attracted to only children, for my next two boyfriends were also the centerpiece of their triangular families. As was the one who ultimately became my husband, thirty five years ago this month.  In the early days of our courtship, people half heartedly teased us about the havoc this was likely to wreak on our relationship.  "You're both so used to getting your own way," one of my aunts said.  "You're both so independent," my best friend told me.  "You're both so spoiled!" my dad said.

Later, as it appeared that nothing would hold us back from pledging our futures together, friends and relatives pointed out that  someday we would  each have the sole responsibility of caring for elderly parents. "You'll have no one to help you," they warned.  And still later, when it became apparent that we would have an only child ourselves, the warnings became even more dire.  "Your poor son will have such a lonely life!  He won't even have aunts and uncles and cousins!"

Only children have historically been the subject of pity, and have been looked upon as inherently selfish and inordinately spoiled. The myth of the only child dates back to the late 1800s when G. Stanley Hall, known as the founder of child psychology, called being an only child "a disease in itself."

I'm sorry to inform Mr. Hall that modern research can't come up with a shred of evidence suggesting only children are more prone to psychological disorders.  In fact, these studies indicate that only children are more intelligent and more highly educated, which isn't surprising when you consider that an only child is the sole beneficiary of her parents resources in time and money.

A recent poll (reported by ABC News) suggests that only 3% of people think it's "ideal" to have only one child.  There was a time when I would have placed myself squarely among that 3% - but maybe not so much anymore. I have to admit that it gets lonely here at the apex of the triangle. Until I got older, I didn't realize how alone I really was. No siblings to share special occasions or tragedies. No extended family to call on for help with moving or garage sales or trips to the airport.

And most obviously, there will be no one to share memories with when my parents are gone. When those two important sides of the triangle are removed, only I will be left teetering precariously on the tip of what was once our solid little family.

Of course, I have my own family now, triangular as it is.  But now that it's about to grow by one, I feel a stirring of excitement.  I wonder, will the only child syndrome come to an end with this generation?

Only time will tell.

I know several of my regular readers and friends are only children, or have only children.  How about you? What do you think?  Is being an only child "ideal"?  Or is it lonely at the tip of the triangle?

Habit Forming

A journal can get you in the habit of writing regularly, of finding a time and a place to write. You're not just jotting things down at random on little pieces of paper (though this can also be a good idea): you have a notebook and you write in it everyday. Five minutes, an hour. It doesn't matter. You're starting a habit. And while you may think you need great rushes of adrenaline and creative highs to write, the fact is that very little gets written unless writing becomes a habit. Courage and Craft, by Barbara Abercrombie.

Within the past year, I've formed the habit of exercising every morning for at least 20 minutes.  It wasn't easy to form this habit, because it interfered with my morning coffee/reading hour , which is quite sacred.  But now that I have, I find my day is a little bit off kilter if I miss.

I've read it takes 20 repetitions to form a habit.  Would you join me in a writing challenge?  For the next 20 days, we'll spend 10 or 15 minutes writing.  It doesn't matter when, or where, or even what you write about.  It could be something silly your friend said, a new song you heard on the radio, something noteworthy in the news, or a favorite memory from childhood.

Just write everyday.  Who knows, we might just form a writing habit!