Parenting

1974: GenX turns 9

~ MaryG ~ 2 Comments

Born in the summer of 1965, I am part of the oldest GenX cohort (1965-80) and I’m discovering through my photo digitizing project, that I’m quite well documented.

My parents took a lot of pictures. Many of them were bad (“delete” was not an option back then) but there’s at least a few photos from every single year of my life through college graduation. (Whereas, we probably have five pictures in all of my father as a kid.)

It looks like the summer of 1974 was the peak of my gymnastics prowess. I remember that I worked very hard and mastered a “front walkover” as a kid and here’s the proof:

This appears to be a class performance

I don’t think I ever progressed to handsprings (too hard). And I certainly never did a walkover on a balance beam (too scary).

Two years prior, in 1972, a tiny Soviet gymnast named Olga Korbut did a backflip off the uneven bars in the Munich Summer Olympics, won three gold medals, and inspired a lot of little American girls to try some new tricks. I was one of them.

And so, for my 60th birthday this summer, I pledge to work hard to reenact this photo and perform a front walkover in front of an audience.

KIDDING!! Can you even imagine? I’ll stick to Downward Dogs.

My 9th birthday party on my parents’ porch in the summer of ‘74. My sister and I and my neighborhood friends Candy, Kim, Carolyn and Bethanne had a good time.

The Original Guinea Pig

~ MaryG ~ 23 Comments

My photo digitizing project continues…

Thanks to blogger Dwight Roth (a wonderful poet), I’ve learned that sometimes an iPhone photo of an old print is just as good or better than a “scan.”

Today’s discovery is Rainbow—the original guinea pig.

Rainbow was the first in a series of guinea pigs that my sister and I had as pets in the 70s. My main memories of the little fellows involve the absolute anguish we felt when they inevitably got sick and died. I can’t believe my mother spent good money taking them to see veterinarians when they stopped eating. (Maybe she lied about that and just drove around the block a few times.) I remember praying to God to save my guinea pigs. He never did.

In any case, I’ve learned that Rainbow was my class pet in kindergarten and I took him home for the summer.

I was happy to discover some good guinea pig memories in one of the old photo albums.

Good times in Kindergarten with two boys whose first and last names I still remember. (Yet, I can’t recall the name of a new person I met in church last week.)
I love how Rainbow got his own square in the class photo.
I was a wary little kindergartener. Thank goodness Rainbow didn’t die on my watch.
We hosted a neighborhood party for our guinea pig “Cookie” and another guinea pig in the summer of 1973. It looks like they had a nice little feast.
A happy memory of “Candy” roaming free in our backyard in the summer of 1974. I remember the guinea pigs loved nibbling clover and were very cute doing so. 🐹

Matching Sisters

~ MaryG ~ 13 Comments

In continuing my California wildfires-inspired photo scanning project, I’m seeing another theme emerge: matching sisters.

I have just one sibling, a younger sister, and my mother loved to put us in matching outfits, many of which she sewed herself.

I’m giving my mother an A++ for the extraordinary effort it took to not only make some of our clothing, but to have the two outfits clean on the same day and get us both to agree to wear them. You must admit, we looked very cute and were a big hit when out in public.

Unless you had hippie parents, this was a common thing for girls in the late 60s and early 70s. Sisters matched. I don’t remember boys being put in matching outfits, but maybe some were.

To be honest, my sister and I are not close and have not been for many years. We are extremely different people. I don’t know if being seen as a “set” of girls from a young age had a negative impact or not. I know there was a certain expectation that I would set an example for her. And as you may have heard, oldest daughters tend towards perfectionism, which probably isn’t fun for the ones who come after.

But darn it, we were cute.

Christmas 1969
June 1971 (these may have been dance recital costumes)
November 1972 (sometimes our outfits were similar, but not identical)
Here we are with our close family friends who happened to have boys. They were never in matching outfits.

Peter Pan Syndrome

~ MaryG ~ 12 Comments

Below is a ChatGPT description of “Peter Pan Syndrome.”

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Peter Pan Syndrome refers to individuals who struggle with accepting adult responsibilities, often exhibiting emotional immaturity. While it’s not an official psychological diagnosis, the concept identifies key behavioral traits. The six main signs often associated with Peter Pan Syndrome are:

1. Avoidance of Responsibility

Difficulty committing to long-term goals, careers, or relationships, and a tendency to avoid adult obligations such as financial independence or household management.

2. Emotional Immaturity

Difficulty handling criticism, conflict, or stress, often reacting in a childlike or overly defensive manner.

3. Fear of Commitment

Reluctance to commit to relationships, work, or life plans, often prioritizing short-term pleasure over stability.

4. Dependency

Relying heavily on parents, partners, or others for financial or emotional support instead of fostering independence.

5. Escapism

Seeking constant distraction or entertainment, such as video games, social media, or partying, to avoid facing responsibilities.

6. Narcissistic Tendencies

A self-centered outlook, prioritizing personal desires over the needs of others, with difficulty showing empathy or maintaining healthy relationships.

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Do you have an adult in your life who acts like they never grew up? It may be Peter Pan Syndrome. My advice is to set boundaries early and stick to them.

And parents: don’t raise a Peter Pan. It can (and most likely will) damage your relationship with your other children.

New Year’s feelings

~ MaryG ~ 15 Comments

This New Year’s is getting me down. I had so hoped that 2025, the year I turn 60, would be the year we’d finally stop seeing his ridiculous orange face and hearing his racist, lying voice forever. I had thought if we could just get through the November election, he’d fade from our consciousness. I worked hard to try to make that happen.

Instead, the shitshow continues. All the anger, fear and bitterness of the past nine years is back. I’m suspicious of old friends who seem to blame all their problems on immigrants. I’m worried that racism or god forbid—gun violence—is going to affect my family. I’m so sad for the planet. I’m scared that our new leaders are truly just self-dealers.

I used to want to try to make the world a better place for all our children and grandchildren. Now I just want to try to protect my own children and grandchild in whatever way I can.

All the expansive positivity, American pride, and hopefulness for all women I felt watching Kamala Harris accept her nomination for president is gone.

I am taking solace in the unparalleled personal, private, internal joy of becoming a grandmother. Maybe my love for this one child will save me.

The first time I got to hold my granddaughter was magical. I loved her immediately. (Photo taken by my daughter 9.24.24)

My 80s friend

~ MaryG ~ 11 Comments

At Christmas dinner yesterday, my father told me he had run into my old friend Debbie at the fish market. They recognized each other and exchanged some quick pleasantries.

Debbie and I were neighborhood friends who ended up becoming close friends for many years. She knew my parents well and I knew her family too. Her dad was a great guy. We took several trips to California and Florida in our late teens and twenties. We did a fair number of edgy things together including lots of underage drinking, shoplifting, dine-n-dashing, and at least one crazy 80s Spring Break trip to Fort Lauderdale. (Wet t-shirt contest anyone?) Debbie was 18 months older than me (a year ahead of me in high school) and liked to party and dance. I’m sure my first nightclub experience was with her. Even though she was a true redhead, she loved the sun like I did and we went to the beach as often as possible. We went skiing a few times too and once spun out in my mother’s car driving in a snowstorm. We did a 180 and hit the guardrail. (Debbie was driving at the time and we were fine.) In fact, we wanted to carry on with our ski trip with one headlight dangling, but when we called my parents from a gas station, they made us come home.

Debbie and I stayed friends for many years through a variety of life experiences including her being severely burned in a freak accident. (I remember visiting her in Shriner’s Burn Center where I saw the most horrifically scarred young children.) We knew each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. We attended each other’s weddings and then drifted apart as we became mothers and got busy raising kids. Still, we sent Christmas cards and occasionally saw each other in person.

Then, at some point during the second Obama administration her right-leaning political posts on Facebook caused a tiff between us. We unfriended each other and that was that. Some years later, I felt badly about it, but figured she had probably morphed into a Trump supporter, so what would be the purpose of reaching out. We were too different by then.

You know that expression about some friends being for a reason, some for a season, and some for a lifetime? Well, at one point I might’ve thought we’d be friends for a lifetime, but it turns out we were friends for a season. And our season was the 1980s. Big time.

Christmas 1989 (towards the end of our close friendship)

If I had to pick one song that tends to trigger a Debbie memory, it would be Kool & the Gang’s Celebration. I picture us dancing around in front of a mirror, sipping some alcohol, while we made our hair as big & fluffy as possible for whatever came next.

A Milestone Christmas

~ MaryG ~ 14 Comments

This year is a milestone Christmas for us—our first one as grandparents.

We know our sweet little baby granddaughter won’t remember this Christmas, but we hope to have many more where we’ll make memories she can remember.

Christmas already feels so exciting again just having this perfect little girl in the world.

Twenty years ago we were a family of four. We stuck together through good times and some not-so-good times and now we have a whole new person to love. A whole new person. Imagine that.

Merry Christmas 🎄

XOXO

Mary

Elfie

~ MaryG ~ 4 Comments

I was recently complaining that I’m no longer able to answer the WordPress “Daily Prompt” because I’ve completed a full year of them and apparently, that’s all you get! Several smart people (including my daughter) said why don’t you just write your own prompts. Good idea.

Even easier, why don’t I choose one of the many daily prompts readily available to me through the Apple iPhone Journal feature, in which I’ve been dutifully logging my yoga workouts, manicures, and doctors appointments for almost a full year.

Prompt from iPhone Journal

This is Elfie.

He was given to me in the mid 1960s by a babysitter. I was a tiny toddler at the time and apparently I really loved Elfie. He’s not only cute, but he has a gentle bell in his tummy that makes a pleasant kerplunkety sound when you rock him. My parents made sure he never got lost and eventually passed him on to me when I was settled in my first home.

Each year, I take him out of the attic, where he lives with my other Christmas decorations, and sit him on the piano. Don’t you just love his little red nose and skinny legs?

At this point, I think I cherish him because he’s SO old. He’s old enough now to move to a 55+ living community. Maybe I’ll bring him with me if I ever move to one of those places. Also, Elfie reminds me of the pure magic of Christmas I felt as a little child…that gasp of delight when I descended the stairs on Christmas morning.

Whacky Mom Confession

~ MaryG ~ 9 Comments

For those of you who successfully raised kids who are now independent young adults in their 20s and 30s, well done. It’s a heavy lift. From sleepless nights to FAFSAs, it’s not easy. I mean just keeping them fed, clean and alive for 18 years is a major undertaking.

People are understandably proud of their adult kids. They worked so hard to get them to that point!

I think it’s that primal, arduous journey of parenthood that makes becoming a grandparent the most incredible blessing imaginable, and I am not someone who typically uses the word blessing. But having a beautiful, healthy baby grandchild in your arms, smiling up at you, is like walking through a field of flowers on a sunny day with a double rainbow overhead. It’s pure joy. Pure love.

OK, here’s the whacky confession. After spending the day with my perfect baby granddaughter (and her lovely mommy) yesterday, I missed the baby the second I got home. So I requested that my 6-foot 180-pound 23-year old son—MY baby— briefly sit in my lap like when he was small. He obliged. He knows it’s easier to just humor me than to argue.