My So Called Life

Image from: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/04/07/my-so-called-life-to-air-sundance-channel_n_846240.html

I am probably not the only one who broke out the old High School yearbooks lately. As cliche as it sounds, those truly were the "good ol' days." I remember them so very clearly; every feeling, every smell, the great times had and the not so great times conquered. It was an experience. "We had a time." As for Elementary School, I admittedly kind of hated it. Those days were hard, what with bullying, name-calling and the general prepubescent torture from many of the other students aimed at myself and closest friends. We made it through together but it was not easy. Junior High was a little bit better. We felt a little more at home and started to realize that it didn't matter what the other kids thought about us. We gained some confidence together and grew by leaps and bounds and I am not just talking about our physical size. By the time we walked into the front door of the High School on that first day, we were ready to own that s#!t. And we did. Now, as I sit here in my living room, six and a half month old twins in their swings, three year old daughter down for a nap, one son at the Middle School and the other one at the High School, I wonder, how the hell did I get here? Where oh where have the years gone? I sure do not feel thirty five...not even close.

I recently started watching an old show again called My So Called Life starring Claire Danes. (I love her.) It originally aired in August of 1994, just weeks before my junior year began. I remember loving the show and that it only ran for one season, which was disappointing at the time. Everything was represented spot-on in my eyes. I related to Claire's character, Angela Chase, easily. The soundtrack was great, the clothes consisted of flannel shirts, leggings and torn jeans, her red hair dye, the heart-encompassing feeling of a new crush, the old friends vs. new friends drama, personally and mentally evolving rapidly while trying to find out who I was, with and without my parents, in ways they did and did not understand. Keeping fairly harmless secrets from my parents, not because I was doing anything bad, just because I figured they wouldn't understand. Never straight up lying to them but periodically answering in half-truths in order to spare a lecture or detailed conversation that I felt wouldn't accomplish anything. Loving my younger siblings one moment, then finding them annoying and pestersome the next. There were definitely some differences between the character and myself but the parallels were much more significant. The writer had a really good grasp on what it was like to be a teen aged girl in the early 90's. Bravo, Winnie Holzman, wherever you are.

One night, a couple of months ago, I was lazily trolling through the Netflix menu and came across My So Called Life. I found nothing better to watch so I decided to take a stroll down memory lane. The show impacted me in a completely different way this time around. I had to sit back after the first episode and contemplate. I still remembered all of the feelings from my youth, I still understand Angela very well. She feels so real to me. And now, at the exact same time, I also relate to her mother, Patty Chase, played by Bess Armstrong. I didn't give her character a second thought as a teen, but now...what the hell? I was just looking for a little junk food to feed my brain and now all I can think about is how completely ridiculous it seems that I am thirty five years old already, that I have travelled so far ahead into the future that I have five kids and a husband and a mortgage and all the other baskets of goodies that go along with responsibility. An unexpected large dose of reality. I had to watch another episode. And another.

The matriarchal character, Patty, has a moment where she vocalizes that she feels like Angela loves her father more than herself and that she feels bad because she is the parent that always has to be the "bad guy." There is another scene where she is lying awake in bed while starring up at the ceiling, worrying about her kids while politely avoiding sexual advances from her loving husband, too exhausted mentally and physically to give anything back. And there is yet another scene where Patty is asking Angela an arsenal of questions regarding the logistics of a sleepover at a new girlfriends house, not really appreciating the answers or the attitude she receives in return, all the while her younger daughter is jabbering on and on about who knows what, trying to get the mother's attention in the background. What an insanely typical day. What a great, and barely dramatized, representation of what it is like to be a mom. Constant worry, constant noise. Responsibility getting in the way of intimacy and trying to find the balance. Wow.

There are also a few moments where Patty completely overreacts or comes across as quite negative over silly little things, like hair color or a wardrobe disagreement. I hope I do not do this; I try not to. I'm also sure I fail miserably sometimes. Isn't that the struggle, though? Remembering all of those things your parents did that you loved or that you hated, promising yourself you'll do things the same way or differently when you have your own children and then being constantly at war within yourself to remain true, slipping up periodically and then getting back on track. It can be like a battlefield in my brain.

In the show, Patty comes across as if she does not really remember what it is like to be a teenager, unless it just seems that way because she only remembers what it is like to be a specific teenager: prom-queen-valedictorian-cheerleader-girl. Not that there is anything wrong with that girl, but she is just not the "average" girl. I was an average girl. I remember what it was like to be one. If I remember, than maybe my parents did too and I didn't need to be so secretive at times. Maybe I could have told my Mom about my first real kiss the same night that it happened...then again, maybe I would have been grounded for hanging out with a boy she did not know. This was one of those times where I would have told a half-truth. My girlfriends and I were all hanging out after school and walking around the Palmer Lake Trails, as usual, be home by dark, blah blah blah. I just happened to leave out the part about my boyfriend tagging along. Again, not because I was planning on doing anything bad, I just thought they would not understand, say no, or worry for no good reason. I was thirteen years old then and I still feel like that was a normal age to go kiss a boy for the first time. I will never know how my parents would have reacted.

Now, I am the mom and I have the teenager. I know that if one of my sons came home and told me that he had his first kiss, I would not be upset. I would be happy for him. I am 99% sure that my two oldest children understand this of me because we are very open and have had many age appropriate talks over the years. This is one place in my parenting style that I have made an effort to do things a little differently. My parents and I did not talk much about the "sex" stuff. It is possible that I could have brought it up to them myself, but that just wasn't me. I do not want my kids to wonder someday so I have made it a point to raise them knowing that they can. I do not fault my parents at all for my wondering. These talks can be hard and weird and awkward. I turned out just fine without the talks; I have just chosen to do it differently for myself and my children. My own long term experiment that I really hope works out.

In my mind I am still only twenty five years old or so, the teen aged me not yet slumbering. My body is trying to prove my age otherwise with what I am certain to be the early stages of arthritis, not to mention a pretty nice skunk stripe of gray hair. These things do not bother me. I am not ashamed of my age; I know that I have earned it, proudly. If someone asks, I will tell them. I am glad I still remember my youth so well because I feel it makes me a more conscientious mother. I hope I never loose this because I still have a very long way to go when it comes to parenting. Thanks to the television show, I had a few things put into perspective for me and the memories that I had were brought to the front of my mind at a very opportune time. I hope I never loose my connection with the character Angela and I also hope I remain aware of my words and actions enough to choose how similar I am to her mother, Patty. All I can do is try.

Image from: http://startledthewitch.com/2012/05/my-so-called-life/

Talking Heads - Once in a Lifetime

You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack 
You may find yourself in another part of the world 
You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile 
You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife 
You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down 
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again after the money's gone 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

You may ask yourself, how do I work this? 
You may ask yourself, where is that large automobile? 
You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house 
You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful wife

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down 
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, after the money's gone 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground 
Same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was  

Water dissolving and water removing 
There is water at the bottom of the ocean 
Remove the water, carry the water 
Remove the water from the bottom of the ocean

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down 
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, after the money's gone 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, into silent water 
Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground 
Letting the days go by, into silent water 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

You may ask yourself, what is that beautiful house? 
You may ask yourself, where does that highway lead to? 
You may ask yourself, am I right, am I wrong? 
You may say to yourself, my god, what have I done?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down 
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, after the money's gone 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, into silent water 
Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground 
Letting the days go by, into silent water 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground 
Same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was 

Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us 
Time isn't holding us, time doesn't hold you back 
Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us 
Time isn't holding us... 
Letting the days go by, letting the days go by, letting the days go by, once in a lifetime 

Nature vs. Nurture

I have heard this comparison for as long as I can remember. It has always made perfect sense to me.  There are naturally occurring parts of our personalities and our physical traits and then there are the things in and about us that change over time due to our all encompassing environment. Not only have I lived through it myself in my own upbringing, but I have it in my mind while I parent my own children. I am a firm believer that all children are born with their very specific personality. It is up to us, as parents, to recognize all the complicated parts of their individual personality. Our job is to nurture them, guide them and help them grow with their personality and be able to function with them during their lives, not to change them.

I grew up with two mothers. In order to keep this less confusing for you while I write, I will call one Mother and one Mom. My Mother gave birth to me and raised me until I was three years old. My Mom married my Father when I was three years old and they had custody of and raised me and my brothers. My Mom had two sons who were older than me. I also have two little brothers from my Mother and Father. Later, my Mom and Father gave me one more little brother. Five brother in all. The six of us all had very distinct and different personalities, most of which have stayed true to present day. Reflecting on our growing up years and raising three children of my own has given me an even deeper respect for my parents. Sometimes it boggles my mind to think of how they did it all. I was very lucky.

I am like my Mother. I physically look like her. I have her legs and feet, her closed mouth smile. I chew like her, laugh like her and move my pursed lips side to side like her while I am thinking hard. I was blessed with her beautiful singing voice and creative and crafty skills. Sometimes, when I talk, I even sound like her, especially if I slip into a little southern drawl. I love being a mother and would do almost anything for my children. My pure, raw thoughts and emotions are very similar to hers. I can not explain this one very well, but knowing her as long as I did and reading some of her letters and journals, I know I am right on. I even remember one time when I was around eighteen years old we decided to arm wrestle. We actually ended it at a deadlock, neither of us could budge the other. Similar strength.

I was not raised by my Mother. When I was three I went to live with my Father and Mom. After this, I saw my Mother during the summer breaks while in school and over a holiday here and there. She lived thirteen hundred miles away and we were still so much alike. Nature.

I am also like my Mom. I am confident and strong, opinionated and thoughtful. I have a very strong pull towards my family and keeping all of us together. I am extremely organized and have a very strong work ethic. I know what I want and I will usually go for it, as long as it is fairly reasonable. I love music, it can move me very deeply. I physically carry myself the same way and we are often complimented on how much we look alike. We have learned to just nod, smile and say "Thank you." When I am in pain, physically, mentally or any other way it comes, you may not even know it unless you ask the right questions. I try not to burden others with my own issues, although, I am learning to try. I absolutely adore being a mother and would do anything for my children.

My Mom did not give birth to me yet our similarities rival those between my Mother and I. I was able to see my Mom nearly everyday and it shows in my everyday life, even now. I am grateful to have had her raise me. I would not be the same person I am now if she had not been my Mom from such a young age. I love my Mother dearly, but I do know there were some weaknesses in her personality that I would have absorbed too deeply into myself. I mean no disrespect to my Mother, please do not misunderstand. All I mean is that if she had raised me we would have been exactly alike. I will not get into all of the details of her life but I can say that she had many very meaningful struggles for so many different reasons throughout her life and my similar personality tendencies would have brought me in the same directions. Being raised by my Mom allowed me to keep some of my Mother's traits while being slightly overpowered by some stronger traits. I am forever grateful. Nurture.

Living through all of this personally has made me a better mother to my own children, in my opinion. I was blessed with two sons who could not be more opposite than the other. I have called them my salt and pepper babies. My oldest has brown hair and eyes and naturally tan skin that he inherited from his father. My eleven year old has red hair and hazel eyes along with my very fair skin and a few freckles. One got my crooked teeth and one got their father's straight teeth. One got my poor vision and the other got 20/20. The personalities they were born with are completely opposite, too. One is athletic, eager to please, sensitive, temperamental, lovingly kind and not afraid of a little hard work. The other is creative and imaginative, very sharing, argumentative, stubborn, walks to his own beat and is a little afraid of hard work. They are both amazing individuals and I am proud to know them. I am lucky to be a part of their lives and guide them every day.

How do I do this? Carefully. The athlete is allowed to be one as long as his grades stay up and the sport remains fun. The imaginative one is encouraged and complimented when he creates something new. The temperamental one is made to take a step back, take a deep breath and think about the current situation. The argumentative one is made to pause, maybe apologize and be a bit more respectful. I am actually encouraging him to try out for the debate team when he gets to a grade level that offers it. There is a time and place for arguing and it is not always a bad thing, it just needs to be channelled in the proper direction. There are so many pieces to each of them. I do not want to stifle or change them. My goal is to teach them to grow with, accept and use the natural talents they were each born with. I have to be extremely patient. I think I am. None of this is something I feel you can be taught. I worry at times that I may be doing some of these things wrong.  I honestly make a lot of this up as I go. I use my instincts, my gut feelings. I have to do things a little bit different for each of them while still trying to remain fair. I can only try to do the best I can and stay true to myself.