BUILT TONKA TOUGH

Back in the early 1960’s, Tonka was the standard of metal toy trucks that bulldozed their way into every little boy’s home.   These same boys dreamed that some sort of miniature shiny, red or yellow truck, that replicated construction vehicles often found on actual building sites, would find its way under their Christmas tree.    Having three younger brothers who hoped for trucks and not lumps of coal meant we had an entire fleet motoring around our home Christmas morning.  I vividly remember watching the Tonka commercials as a child that claimed their trucks were not only built Tonka tough, but were also indestructible.  I can attest to this as true having witnessed them endure dirt mounds, sand storms, winter abandonment to the outdoor elements and even childhood sibling wars.   Unlike my dolls, which were subjected to every form of brotherly disfigurement, no amount of retaliation by me could inflict any real damage to their trucks.

Case in point was the year Santa left me the fashion doll, Midge with her trendy hairstyle of the day—the 1960’s Flip.  She was Barbie’s best friend and I was sure she was going to be mine, too.  Earning the number one spot on my Christmas list that year, I was ecstatic to find her under the tree and looked forward to all the wardrobe changes she and I would create together.  But Christmas magic instantly became The Nightmare After Christmas when my brother, Jimbo, becoming bored after disassembling his brand-new airplane into a million pieces decided that Midge would look better with a new haircut.  With one fell snip, her Flip suddenly flopped right along with my Christmas morning cheer.   I vividly remember wanting to pummel the bejesus out of him but opted for retaliation instead.  Instantly, I saw it—the Tonka Truck!   With gusto, I jumped up and down on it with an “I am SO going to get even with you” fury.   But that sucker never budged.  Not a broken axle, smashed windshield or flat tire.   Sadly, for me there would be no revenge that day as they really were built Tonka tough.  But having three younger brothers and no sidekick sister to even up the sides would only bring new opportunities to learn how to stand my ground in life. 

While Paul, the youngest of my 3 brothers and just a toddler, was more often than not just hanging around in his playpen positioned safely and squarely in the center of our family room, Jimbo and Harry were up to their usual chicanery inventing new and creative ways to grate on their older sister’s nerves.   When they weren’t wrestling around or calling each other the R-word (because back then it was just an innocuous thing you called your sibling and meant no harm to disabled people) they looked for ways to annoy me.  They loved to spy on my girlfriends and I on a regular basis all the while making irritating, girly-voice mocking sounds of us playing which would send my friends and I into a screaming frenzy like a gaggle of mad geese.  Another time they beheaded and dismembered two of my dolls then sending them soaring off the front porch landing one flight down onto the concrete driveway.   To my advantage, I was older, faster and stronger and retaliation now came in the form of sitting on them and tickling them until they peed their pants or they hollered Mother.  But the next few years would tilt the scales as they grew inches above me and Paul added into the mix. 

I laugh now to myself as I remember our childhood give and takes and realize our battles were always fought in mischievous fun as we really did love each other and were truly the best of friends.  And these little skirmishes really did help us down the long-road as it taught us many lessons about people.    Our parents rarely intervened and usually made us take all of our childish drama outside where they didn’t have to listen to it.  In the rare cases they felt the need to step in, they seldom took sides and we usually all got punished equally together so we rarely told on each other.   At a young age, we were already learning how to problem solve social issues but mostly through the lens of male eyes which put me at a complete disadvantage.

Now, all siblings wrangle from time to time when they are young, but my youthful observation was that boys and girls do it drastically different.  Having had only the experience of living with brothers, I was extremely deprived when it came to understanding girls but was quickly brought up to speed watching some of the neighborhood sisterly squabbles take place.

Although I’d always wished for a sister, sometimes I was glad it was just me and the bros.   What I learned growing up with all male siblings was that when boys get mad at each other, they have a quick throw down type of wrestling match and then it’s over just like that.  Like a fast-moving storm,  it blows in quickly, stirs up a lot of wind, rolls out fast and then the sun comes right back out.   This was how my brother’s and I rolled when there was a disagreement about whether one of us was questionably tagged out on 2^nd   base in kickball or if we touched each other while riding in the car on a long trip.   You know the line.  He’s touching my … arm … leg … foot … just fill in the blank.   I can’t tell you how many times this probably put our lives in God’s hands as our dad, while driving up front, swatted backward and blindly across the back seat hoping to make contact with one of us. 

Now girls, on the other hand, are a completely different weather pattern.   Like a slow-moving hurricane that steadily moves towards the coast, it gradually builds momentum all the while gathering energy by sucking in the other girls  wind from around it.  And by the time it finally hits shore, it leaves a cataclysmic wake of damage that takes days, weeks or even years to repair. Every girl who survived junior high knows just what I’m talking about-- girls can be the worst and nastiest.   My personal wake-up call was in 7^th grade.  All dorky and insecure like everyone is at that age, I was faced with my first peer situation. 

I remember her name as Sue and even now I clearly see in my mind’s eye her large buck teeth as she spoke to me and how her lips never quite closed over them.  It’s funny the little details you remember, but the words kind of sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher—all wha, wha, wha and wha, wha, wha.   Perhaps it was my mortification and not wanting to really hear it, but the gist of it was Sue thought I was REALLY ugly—ugly as a dog, ugly-- and she decided it was her duty to make sure I was continually made aware of it.   So each and every day at 10:30, as a good reminder, I would hear her barking as she walked by my 3^rd period classroom door.   Day after day I knew when class was almost over, not by the bell, but by the barks.  Weeks went by and with the recruitment of her chick clique, it sounded like a pack of hounds walking by the door as they barked and howled in unison.   One day, I decided to honestly evaluate myself and really examined my face in the mirror.  Yes, indeed, sort of gangly, slightly oily hair, a few zits and loads of freckles.  But I didn’t appear anymore hound-like than most of my other 7^th grade friends and decided it had to stop.

At a disadvantage because I had no idea what to do and clearly wanting to thump the daylights out of her like my brother’s taught me, I decided to do nothing.  I knew by this age that girls didn’t act like tomboys any longer and decided to just ignore her.  I obviously made the right decision as it eventually just stopped. No worse for the wear but left a little bit smarter, I tucked away the lesson that there would always be a Sue in life and it's important to like that person I see the mirror-- gangly, gawky, zitted and all-- and leave the finger pointers to Karma.

Most of us can relate to similar childhood experiences and have come away a little smarter, wiser and kinder for having lived through humiliation.   Unlike today, my generation experienced life with minimal interference from our parents who calmly allowed us to learn through trial and error.  We didn’t have therapy or the Internet to help solve our problems and yet we survived.  Yes, we had our share of hurt feelings, youthful dramas and the likes, but it was implied we were capable of working things out.  And we did.  Our parents never really knew the half of it and part of me thinks we were the wiser for it.  To them we were just a bunch of squirrely kids and would eventually grow up despite them.  And survive we did-- because just like Tonka, we were built Tonka tough!

WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT ALFIE?

No one really tells you that motherhood is 84% cleaning things on repeat with short breaks to eat spoonfuls of grape jelly directly from the jar. ~ new mommy of Baby A 

No one really tells you that motherhood is 84% cleaning things on repeat with short breaks to eat spoonfuls of grape jelly directly from the jar. ~ new mommy of Baby A

While perusing over FB the other day, I couldn’t help but smile after reading the above status update of an amazing, new mom well into her forth month of motherhood with years and years still ahead of her.  Like all new moms, months of reading, prepping and preparing leaves you with a sense of ease thinking you are ready-- and then they place that real live baby in your arms and you can just throw all that prep out the window.  Parents of all generations have been asking this same time-honored question, " Why didn't anyone tell me this!"

After reading her post, I wondered to myself did I smile because I vividly remember feeling the same way long ago and sympathized with her new revelations of life with a child or was it because finally, after years of sacrifice and dedication to my little dears, validation had come in the form of appreciation and understanding from the next generation of the tedious, hard work and time consuming dedication it takes to be a mom.  Knee deep into parenthood and singing, “What’s It All About Alfie”, Generation X is embarking onto the most thrilling and yet challenging ride of their lives.  Parenthood.

Countless books have been published with just as many theories on raising babies, children and teens, but nowhere on those pages does it accurately portray real life situations. And even if it did, would anyone really believe it?  It seems there are some things that no older parent or book can tell you-- things that you can only understand through personal experience.  Take for instance, the dreaded stomach flu.

Oh, it may be casually covered in some baby book chapter with standard antidotes such as keep coke syrup on hand and feed them the BRAT diet when stomach is settled.  But nowhere does it inform you that they never get sick during the day when everyone is well rested.   Vomiting inevitably begins after a long day of child nurturing, just as your head hits the pillow and you slip into those first ever-so-needed hours of sleep and then continues through the night until the break of dawn.  Reality really sets in if you have more than one child and they are just waking up, oblivious to what transpired all night and are ready for breakfast, a full day of fun and they are yet 12 hours from a contagious encore performance of the night before. Yawn.

Nowhere in print does it prepare you for the day a sick toddler will puke chunks of food mixed in slime down your back.   Or that little “caw-caw” gagging noise you hear from your child’s bedroom will wake you from the dead of sleep and turn you into an Olympic sprinter knowing just seconds can be the difference of having to clean up vomit that covers your child, their bed,  comforter,  pillow, and  carpeting OR a wipe-able bathroom floor and maybe if you’re lucky, the toilet.  Still worse, 8 more rounds are sure to follow ending with the dry heaves so plan on sleeping on the floor beside their bed with a large bowl.  One experience is all that’s needed to keep you sleeping on the edge of your dreams for years.

Long ago I was a new mom—39 years to be exact and there wasn’t anyone or anything that could have fully prepared me for life with children.   And in reality, how could it?  Each child is different, family dynamics are ever changing and society has vastly changed from when I was a child.   So here are some things that no one ever tells you about kids and maybe it’s a good thing or you may never have them. 

Children can make mincemeat of your esteem.   Very young children can close their eyes and poof—you simply vanish.  This means that if they want something badly enough, by averting their eyes they can make you disappear.   Their rational is that if they can't see you, you can’t see them.   So this makes it easy for them to  sneak something they really want.  And once they have it grasped into their little toddler paws, they seemingly have the strength of Sampson and will of Abe Lincoln as you try and pry it from their fingers.

Perplexedly, these situations rarely happen in the privacy of your child-proofed home where everything you don’t want them to have is stored safely out of sight along with a little time out corner.  Instead, these monumental meltdowns take place in full view of an audience, like the grocery store, Target or restaurants where you suddenly seem gifted with clairvoyance and think you are able to read everyone’s thoughts as you deal with the situation.  You imagine their thought bubbles read things like:  Brat.  My child would never act like that.  Why don’t they take that child outside—can’t they see we are eating?  That kid needs a good whack to the bottom. And soon humiliation sets in as you realize the child flopping and screaming on the floor appears to be able to marathon this moment forever.   But in reality, those thought bubbles in all probability actually look like:  That poor mom.  I remember those days.  I wonder what my grandkids are doing right now, I sure miss them.  I remember that happened to me once and I was so embarrassed.  I think I will give her a big smile.   I hope she learns it’s OK to lose a few battles as long as you end up winning the war.  Next.

The same child who loves you will tell you to your face they hate you and not blink an eye.  Sigh.  The first time they say it, you think your heart will break in half.  Literally.  I mean, don’t they remember the years we wiped everything from butts to tears or how we walked the floors at night soothing teething pain, ear aches and bad dreams?  Surely, they appreciated all the books we read over and over and over again and the endless hours spent building Legos or blocks or coloring and playing dolls.  How about pretending to never see them when playing Hide and Seek or trying ever so hard to never beat them after 100 games of Candyland or Snakes and Ladders.  Don’t they know, we ask ourselves, how our hearts ached watching them get that first shot, skinned knee or seeing them drive away on their first bus ride to school?  How about all the birthday parties, play-dates and visions of Christmas gifts that danced in their heads.  Like smoke, all our good deeds went up the chimney with Santa as we suddenly became in their minds like the Grinch.  But I vividly remember thinking around 11 that my parents knew nothing and were the lamest people in the world, and so life goes on. 

Parenting is not for the weak of stomach.  Snot, barf, poop, more poop, blood, broken bones, broken hearts, and other slithery, slimy things—it’s all part of the game.  If anyone has ever lived to see a crib finger-painted in poop and cleaned it up, you will make it through any and everything.  But the truth about poop is you just don’t realize how much is becomes a part of your life.  From that initial disgusting tarry, sticky BM in their diaper just after birth when both you and your spouse take turns gagging through that first change, to the OMG-diarrhea running down the legs, into the socks and shoes of a sort-of potty trained toddler, and finally holding the head and hands of your child  who is so sick it’s coming out both ends and they don’t want anyone but you.  And it’s probably for the best as your spouse would end up throwing up right with them.

Next only to poop, comes snot.  Toddlers and small children are notorious for booger picking their noses and after digging one out, haven’t a clue as to what to do with it.  Raise your hand if you’ve ever been used as a human tissue.  Yes, I’ve had them run their noses across my shirt, been handed a booger, and even wiped 5-inch hanging snot running down the face after an unexpected childhood head-cold sneeze.  You know the type.  They sneeze and just sit there looking at you with it just dangling from the tip of the nose to the bottom of the chin while you run for a tissue.  This is not talked about in the head cold section of Dr. Spock.  In fact, there is nothing about poop, snot or barf that is helpful at all.  Suddenly it is all just flung at you, literally.

Peas are stuffed up noses.  Play Do, a few bugs and dirt are secretly eaten.  Elmer’s glue is tasted.  Chalk and crayons are chewed.  But the worst of all is blood.  Nobody ever wants to see blood.  Not because the blood is scary, but it may mean a trip to the doctor which they all hate because they all associate it with getting a shot.  And with lots of blood, it can mean stitches which again means needles.  Some children take to getting a shot with reserve.  Others go ballistic needing restraints.  Yes, blood is never a good thing.

Now all that physical stuff is easily fixed with tissues, buckets and bandages.  But the real stomach twisters are when their hearts are broken and there isn’t anything to mend it but your love and hugs and even that isn’t a guarantee.  Now here’s the real truth.  Every parent in the world thinks their child is the smartest, nicest, kindest, best looking, athletic—lets face it—God’s gift to humanity.  So, why would any kid want to hit, tease, be mean, call names, or break their heart?  All I know is that I’ll take blood and poop over a broken heart any day because when their hearts break, yours does right along with it.  And the tears you wipe away aren't always just theirs. 

A child is a curly, dimpled lunatic. (Emerson) These are just a few of the things that aren’t written about in books and gross subject matter that nobody really wants to talk about.   We all found them out just like  Generation X will —living through it.  And I will say this with certainty.  You. Will. Survive.  We did.   And you just can’t take things too seriously as a parent -- there are just too many highs and lows.  From laughing until you are almost crying and making great memories you know you’ll hold in your heart forever to the moments when you think to yourself that you have absolutely no idea what you are doing.   Sometime you are your children’s best friend, other times you become a mysterious stranger and you have no idea what’s going on inside their heads.  But no matter where you are on the parenting roller coaster, feel comforted that some of the greatest thinkers of all time were exactly in your shoes once.

And to the wonderful, new mommy of adorable 4-month old Baby A, the baby boomer generation is thoroughly enjoying all of your transparent new-parenting posts. We are all rooting for you and know that you've got this!  Be sure to savor each and every second of that unused 16% and stock up on lots of grape jelly (and maybe even some grape wine) because crawling, walking, and talking are just ahead….  and in a blink, 13 year old drama and eye rolling is just around the corner!