The Crab Chronicles

How Boomers Can Reverse Declining Fertility Rates

I always knew I wanted to be a mother, and if you'd told me as a child that one day I would adopt two children over the age of ten I would have been astonished. I feel strongly that God gives us the children we were meant to have, though. I have LOVED being a mom. I wish I could have adopted or given birth to 2-3 more. Unfortunately, according to the CDC, the fertility rate here in the USA is at an all-time low. It has been declining for years but now, despite the heroic efforts of celebs like Nick Cannon and Elon Musk, and many pro basketball players, the sad fact remains: we ain't having enough babies, y'all.

This is the latest data, as of 2023, according to the CDC:

• 2023 birth rates
  • declined for women ages 20–39 years
  • were unchanged for females aged 10–14 and 40–49.
• The birth rate for teenagers aged 15–19 was down 3% in 2023 to 13.2 births per 1,000 women.
• The birth rate for women ages 20–24 (55.4) reached a record low.

According to the Pew Foundation:

"Among the cultural shifts affecting fertility rates, one of the more prominent changes has been Americans delaying or forgoing marriage. Women are marrying later in life, and birth rates for single women are less than half that of those who are married.¹⁹ Women are also delaying having children until later in life—part of the reason why fertility rates have dropped among women in their 20s, which has more than offset increases for women in their late 30s and 40s.²⁰ A recent analysis by the Brookings Institution projected that for young women today, the average number of children they have over their lifetimes would fall compared with the average number for women in prior generations.²¹ A recent Pew Research Center survey found an increasing share of U.S. adults without children reporting they were unlikely to ever have children.^22"

My son is 28 and he cannot afford his own home, much less the expense of getting married and having a family. Many in his age group [20-40] are choosing not to have children because of the expense, and a general fearfulness about the world, including climate change fears. I get it. Student loan debt is crushing. Childcare costs are enormous. Many cannot afford to buy homes. It makes me really sad to think that young people feel like they just cannot afford children, for whatever reason.

Worse, though, is that if we don't make new people, all ages will eventually suffer, as explained in this article from the Pew Charitable Foundation. We need new people to fund the tax base, to do important jobs, to advance science and technology. Speaking as a Baby Boomer, we need the youngsters to take care of us in our old age!

According to ABC News, we need youngsters because:

"They’ll not only staff the hospitals and nursing homes we’ll use in old age but also sustain the economy by funding our pensions when we retire, paying the taxes that finance Social Security, Medicare, and many other government programs we’ll rely on, and buying the homes and stocks we invested in to build our savings."

 

I feel strongly that my generation (Baby Boomers) needs to step up and help our young folks. Let them live at home. Help them with childcare. Loan them funds at no interest. Encourage them to view parenthood as a beautiful experience. My kids greatly benefited from having their Granny in their lives, in the same house, and I think it's part of why she lived to age 86. I would be happy to help if my son had a serious girlfriend or wife and they asked me to help in their parenthood journey. I am SO ready to be a memaw! Boomers, step up and get creative. Let's help our kids embark on the hardest job they'll ever love.

 

 

left, me as a baby, and my older brother

 

right, me and my kids and mother in 2007

Teaching the Children Well

There are so many teachers in my family that I've felt, at times, that I should have followed that path. My mother was a teacher for several years before she had me and my brother. My grandmother Thompson was a teacher. Two of her three sons became teachers. My dad was a banker but he did some teaching in graduate school. I have two close friends who are teachers.

Teaching is one of the most important jobs in the world, if you think about it. If the kids aren't well-taught who will take over when it's time? I am not far from retirement ago, so this is something I ponder daily.

Sadly, I have come to the conclusion that most of our schools are not up to the job. Things need to radically change, but that is not going to happen quickly. Our educational system was designed to make obedient workers, I read recently. It rewards children who are good at sitting still and following directions. It was designed by Prussians, according to this source.

That makes perfect sense.

I was a good kid in school. I behaved myself. I made good grades.

I loved Art, Music, and History classes. I feel so fortunate we actually had Art and Music! I hated Math, and Science was only tolerable.

I was a "good " kid. I didn't bore easily. My brother was not so lucky. I think he might have had some ADHD because he found it very hard to sit still in class and pay attention. Nobody had ever heard of ADHD or ADD in the 1960's and 70's, unfortunately. My brother would have thrived in an unstructured program like Montessori but the tuition was out of reach for my parents.

More and more parents today and choosing to homeschool, and I totally understand that. I homeschooled my daughter for a year, with tutors, since I had to work full time. She was newly adopted and still learning English. It worked well, but then she wanted to go to high school and they agreed to admit her, even though she needed some extra help and an IEP due to some learning issues.

I wish I had been able to stay home and homeschool both my kids, but it just wasn't possible.

Kids like mine who suffered significant trauma often have a hard time in school. Before I adopted my kids they went through a lot. My kids both made good grades and did fine, but they had a Granny at home teaching them, and I got them the help they needed with English.

Even kids from loving and solid homes thrive when homeschooled. I have a cousin who homeschooled both his daughters. They did well. That was years ago, and I thought it was weird at the time but now I totally understand the reasoning behind it. He wanted them taught according to his values, and not exposed to biases, bullying, violence, etc.

I was bullied all through school, until high school. I wouldn't wish that on any child.

Here are a few more thoughts.

I also think children learn best when they learn at their own pace. Being forced to learn just to meet testing standards isn't the best idea, IMHO.

Recess is essential, and I am so thankful I grew up at a time when we got recess breaks daily, right through 8th grade.

I don't think kids should be given smartphones until high school.

I have a friend who adopted 5 children, all with varying degrees of learning issues. Though not a college grad, Cindy quit work and started homeschooling, and did an incredible job. One of her sons owns his own business. One is headed for medical school to be a doctor. You don't have to have a degree in teaching to homeschool your kids.

We need to encourage parents to think outside the box, when it comes to education.

Here endeth the lesson...

Rescuing the Children

I try to avoid political discussions on here and I do not intend for this blog to focus on politics, but I have something to say about JD Vance. I didn't really know who he was until recently. Then he started being mentioned as a possible VP contender and I decided to do some research.

This interview he did 7 years ago with Megan Kelly [LINK] is where I started. She begins the interview in a powerful way, going through a list of adverse childhood consequences that some kids suffer -- being hit, living with alcoholic or drug-addicted parents, being sworn at or humiliated by your parents- and he answers "yep" to every one of the things Megan mentions.

I know a little something about that.

Both of my children are adopted. Both were born to alcoholic mothers, and they lived with their mothers the first 6 years [my daughter] or 8 years [my son] of their lives. Both my kids have struggled with low self-esteem, anxiety, Depression, sleep issues, social awkwardness, stunted growth, and more. 

In 2004 when I adopted my daughter I tried to do as much research as possible into older kids in Russian orphanages. She was 12 then. She had been in the orphanage 6 years. I found out that when the kids aged out of the orphanages they were often denied housing and jobs because of the stigma of being in an orphanage. I learned they often turned to crime, and often had babies who then ended up in an orphanage, and worst of all -- they often didn't make it. One study I read said that most orphans never lived past 30 because they were either killed (a consequence of a criminal life) or they committed suicide.

Now, JD Vance didn't go to an orphanage. His story is similar, though. He was taken away from his drug-addicted mother and sent to live with her parents, his grandparents, and they provided him with love and stability. How lucky for him.

I see so many parallels with his story and the stories of my kids.

I adopted my daughter and brought her home when she was 13 years old. Many people told me I was crazy to adopt her, because she wouldn't do well in a family. Truthfully, we had some issues. I won't lie. However, I do not regret adopting her. Not at all.

My son came from a similar background, but he had spent 8 years with his birthmom and only 2 years in the orphanage. His right hand was amputated due to frostbite, after he was beaten unconscious by some boys when he was 5 years old. His much older brother committed suicide and that was even more traumatic because Michael adored his brother.

Children who are raised in homes that are unstable, who are neglected or abused, etc. -- they suffer because trauma actually changes their brains. This is a fact. They cannot be blamed for what happened to them, but they will live with the consequences for the rest of their lives. I adopted my children in hopes that by loving them and giving them a stable family life that they would have a chance at normal, successful lives. Both of my children are grown now, and both are doing well, but they have struggled with substance abuse issues in the past. They have had a lot to overcome, but none of it was their fault.

I love my kids and I am proud of them. They are not in jail. They aren't in mental institutions. They have stability, and love. In my book, those are wins.

JD Vance's journey began with terrible instability and trauma, but his beloved Mamaw instilled in him the idea that he must make good grades and work hard to make something of himself. She loved him and believed in him, and that love pulled him through. The military also helped him focus, and gave him a way to get a college degree, and then he could attend Yale law school. He also married a loving and supportive partner, also an attorney. So there were many blessings in his life but he also had to work very hard.

My son is a loving and kind man who works hard and has a natural kindness and magnetism.I hope and pray one day my son will find a loving and supportive partner.

JD Vance is shining a light on the plight of kids raised in unstable homes by drug-addicted parents, and his memoir Hillbilly Elegy shows how he made it out of poverty and made something of himself. I applaud him. He is the proof of how a loving parent [or grandparent] can transform a child. JD Vance could easily have ended up in a life of drugs, a life of crime, working some unfulfilling tedious job and struggling. Instead, he is a senator and he may one day be our Vice President, or even our President.

JD's life gives me hope -- not just for my kids, but for all kids in similarly sad childhoods, who are worth rescuing, and who can be transformed.

Best Friends Forever

When my mother died in 2020, I felt like a ship without a rudder, drifting aimlessly in the very choppy sea of life.

I had lost my dad young. I was 33. He was 65 and riddled with cancer. Seeing him in terrible pain, being unable to alleviate it, shook me. God was merciful, however, because my mother lived another 24 years, so I wasn’t fully orphaned until I was in my late 50’s. However, no matter how old one is, losing a mother is a primal pain, unlike any other kind of grief.

Yesterday, I was reminded of that pain, when my friend Debra texted me that her mother had passed away.

Lots of tears. I felt like I had lost my second mother.

For four years, from my infancy to kindergarten, my family lived in an old Victorian home in Augusta Georgia that my mother lovingly restored and my father referred to as “the money pit.”

Next door, a couple lived with their daughter, who was right between me and my brother in age. Mom and Dad became friends with Gwendolyn and Jack. Brother and I became friends with their daughter Debra. [Note: these are not their real names, to protect their privacy.]

Brother, Debra and I were the three fearless musketeers. Some of my happiest childhood memories center around those days. We were busy and active kids, always outside unless it was raining. We climbed the tall trees in the backyard, played in the sprinkler, and slid down the bannister of the grand staircase in the entrance hall.

One of my earliest memories is “going to ride” with Gwendolyn and Debra in Gwendolyn’s new Mustang, zipping around the streets of Augusta listening to the radio. Gwendolyn’s bouffant would be in a scarf, and she wore sporty sunglasses. I admired her beauty.

Debra always wore lovely little dresses and she was always polite and ladylike, unlike me. I was a Hot Mess. (You can learn more in my memoir, Talking Back: Stories from the Big Hair and Pantyhose Years)

Gwendolyn and Jack’s house, next door to ours, impressed me. It was elegant, kept immaculate by Rosa, a tiny housekeeper who didn’t put up with any nonsense. Debra had a lovely, dainty little girl’s beautifully decorated room that I admired. My room had an old chenille bedspread and linoleum on the floor -- but we spent a lot of time playing in there.

Unlike Gwendolyn’s elegant and sedate home, our house was noisy and messy. (Of course, we had a boy and a big mutt dog.) One memorable afternoon all of us kids cleaned out a large old cotton basket that normally held toys and took turns riding it down the stairs. Mom discovered us and was initially upset -- but when she saw that we weren’t getting hurt, she shrugged and just let us play.

The friendship was so close, Debra was like Mom and Dad’s third child. She often ate with us, spent the night, accompanied us on family outings. It worked both ways. We spent time at her house. Gwendolyn was my other mom. I obeyed her just as I obeyed my mother.

When Gwendolyn got divorced and sold her home I felt bad for her, and bad for Debra. I knew nothing about divorce, which was not as common back then. Gwendolyn seemed to come through it well, in my eyes, and my parents took her side although they remained cordial with Jack because they liked him, too.

One of my chief memories of Gwendolyn is her smiling and laughing. We made her laugh. Mom made her laugh. Their conversations were always frequently punctuated by laughter. There was a deep reserve of shared memories and stories.

After we moved to Tennessee, when I was 8 years old, we saw Gwendolyn at least once or twice a year when she and her second husband came to Knoxville to visit his daughter. I would often spend time with Debra at the daughter’s swanky home.

Sometimes our family went back to Augusta for visits with our relatives there, but we always made time to see Gwendolyn and Debra.

I spent a lot of time at Gwendolyn’s home where she lived with her second husband for more than 40 years. It was more familiar to me than any other home but my own. Debra and I loved to play dress up and traipse all over the house pretending to be fairies, carrying “wands” made of drinking straws with paper stars taped to the ends. We played the grand piano in the living room. We played games. One afternoon when we were teenagers and Gwendolyn was gone we made a cake and ate most of it ourselves. [photo below, me and Debra in our best 1970's fashions]

One of my favorite memories is a weekend when Mom and Dad and I met Gwendolyn and Debra in Atlanta for the weekend. We stayed at the new and impressive Omni Hotel, in the summer of 1977. (My brother wasn’t with us – he was in boot camp that summer.)

The hotel was in the same building as a mall with an ice-skating rink in the center. (It’s now the CNN Center) Debra and I were young teens and Mom and Gwendolyn let us walk all over the mall without parental supervision. We all had dinner at a French restaurant there in the building, and Debra and I were allowed to sit at a separate table from the grownups while we ate. I felt so mature. Debra ordered French Onion Soup, which I tasted and ended up ordering. (At that point I never ate onions so it was the first step in my developing a more mature palate.) It became one of my all-time favorite foods.

When I got to college, there were times when I really missed my mother and I couldn’t find her at home, (this was years before anyone had a cell phone) so I would call Gwendolyn. She would always patiently listen to my tales of angst and give me wise counsel. She also encouraged me as a writer.

Gwendolyn went to Northwestern and majored in Writing for the Radio. There was no television then, and radio was considered high-tech.

Gwendolyn was a schoolteacher and a scholar. She knew more about the bible than anyone I’ve ever known. Over the years I would sometimes call her to discuss something I’d learned in Sunday School and get her take on it. Gwendolyn approached the bible as a scholar, with great respect for its historical and cultural underpinnings. She taught Sunday School at First Baptist in Augusta for more than fifty years. After Gwendolyn’s husband passed away and she moved to assisted living she stopped teaching, but the popular class was named after her and still exists.

She didn’t just study the bible though. Gwendolyn lived it. I visited Gwendolyn in Augusta once after Debra had grown up and moved away with her husband. I watched, fascinated, as Gwendolyn made and professionally decorated a multi-tiered wedding cake for a young couple in her church who couldn’t afford to buy such a beautiful cake.

Gwendolyn was much more than simply a friend to Mom. She was like a sister. Debra was (and still is) like a sister to me. There are so many happy memories that involve Mom, Gwen and Debra. So much laughter.

 

When I heard Gwendolyn had passed away yesterday, I burst into tears, even though I was happy that she is free from pain, and undoubtedly with Jesus. It was a good death. Debra and her daughter were holding Gendolyn’s hands. She was with us for 95 years.

I believe when we die, our untethered souls enter a place of great wisdom and peace. We encounter all those we’ve loved, who are there to welcome us home. In the midst of my tears, there is one comforting thought today. Gwendolyn and my mother are reunited in heaven now. If I concentrate, I can hear them both laughing.

Mother Daughter Drama

I don't know why exactly but books with a lot of mother and daughter drama are not appealing to me. They appeal to a lot of women, and I understand that, because the relationship with your mom is a crucial one, and if it's not good you are always going to feel the lack.

I have been very lucky in my life, because my mother and I got along really  well about 95% of the time. She died in 2020. I was a caretaker for her for the last 7 years of her life. We talked about everything.

My mother, Elva Hasty Thompson, was a consummate storyteller and her stories were always really interesting and often funny. I encouraged her to write blogs in her final years, and after she died I compiled them into a sort of memoir, Singing to the Cows. She talked a lot about her childhood and about topics of interest to her, like cooking. When I re-read the book I hear her voice clearly, and it's like she is sitting in the room with me telling the story, which I cherish.

Not all mothers and daughters get along as well, unfortunately.

I had a friend growing up who was constantly fighting with her mother, and I couldn't understand why. I got along great with her mom, and she was always incredibly nice to me. I think she loved her daughter deeply, but she could not figure her out. When I found out the daughter had been diagnosed as bipolar it made perfect sense to me. I always felt sorry for both mother and daughter, and I felt like if they had just gotten some therapy things would have been much better. They were greatly suspicious of any sort of mental health treatment, and one of the hallmarks of being bipolar is a resistance to any sort of therapy.

I digressed. Your mother is your first teacher, your first friend, your confidante, and also your example of what it means to be a woman.

Most of us grow up either emulating our mother or wanting to be the total opposite of our mother. It's always a multi-layered, complex relationship.

I didn't realize until this morning that several of my books prominently feature mother/daughter relationships. Fascinating topic. Below I explain this in more detail.

 

The Garland BellesThis is my newest novel and it centers on the relationship between a mother and a daughter. When Hadley's mother Grace dies, Hadley learns a lot of starting things about her prim and proper mother's life, astonishing things. As a result, Hadley gradually gains a new acceptance of herself, and finds the strength to reassess and reorganize her own life, which looks idyllic on the surface but isn't at all, in reality.

I found when I was writing about Grace that I really liked her, and it was somewhat sad for me to write about the many mistakes she made in her life. She is a bright, dynamic character, who felt constrained by the social etiquette of her small southern hometown.

I don't want to give away the book's ending, but it was deeply satisfying to tie up the loose ends. My mother was a voracious reader and she would get really angry if a book didn't "end up right." There is something emotionally satisfying about resolving conflicts by the end of the book; in fact I think as humans we crave that.

 

Dancing in the WreckageMothers and daughters feature prominently in this novel about a group of characters who all learn new truths about their lives when a freewheeling and somewhat dangerous attorney dies, setting in motion a set of events that change many lives for the better -- eventually.

The main character, Amy, has an awkward and frustrating relationship with her mother because her mother refuses to tell Amy anything about her father, who was never present in her life. There is a distance there that causes Amy a lot of grief, but she is lucky because she has a very close relationship with her aunt who was very prominent in her childhood, in a positive way.

 

Ghosts in the Garden CityThis was my first novel and I started it with the idea that the entire plot would center around the revelations that occur when Leigh inherits an old suitcase that was her grandmother's, and sets out to solve a mystery. As I wrote it I began to realize that I really wanted to make it about Leigh's mother Peggy, too, because she's a very complex woman who tries to lead a very respectable, proper life, but is forced to confront some really awkward truths about herself as her daughter learns more and more about her grandmother.

 

Return to Marietta This book centers around a marriage, but there is a mother/daughter dynamic between the main character, Lillian, and her own mother, Victoria, who feels helpless and frustrated by the Great Depression and its effects on her daughter. Victoria stays awake all night cooking food for her daughter to take on the long car trip that is the centerpiece of the book.

Lillian is based on my grandmother, Wilma Butler Hasty, and Victoria is based on her mother Beulah Butler, a lady I never met but heard a lot about over the years. Below, my grandmother's family around 1921. My grandmother is on the far right, with the big hair. Granny is the older lady with glasses, seated.

 

If you like to read novels that explore the complicated relationships between mothers and daughters, check out these books.

#motherdaughternovels, #storiesofmothersanddaughters, #daughtersandmothers, #dramabetweenmothersanddaughters, #familydrama

The Garland Belles

My new novel The Garland Belles is available today on Amazon in either paper or Kindle formats. It's my seventh novel and I am really proud of it. It's completely different from any book I've done before, for a number of reasons.

It's completely set in South Carolina, the state I am most at home in, other than Georgia. I have a lot of family living in small towns in South Carolina. Several chapters take place in Charleston, probably my favorite city in the world besides Atlanta. You can learn so much about history there, while also being right on the water and being able to eat fabulous food everywhere.

I started thinking about the plot of this one not long after my mother died. The precipitating event in the book is when Hadley's mother dies, and Hadley starts to find out a lot of things she never knew about her mother Grace. In her youth, Grace was a wild child. Hadley is a shy conformist, with none of the beauty and boldness of her mother. Grace falls in love with an entirely unsuitable man and pays a very high price for that relationship. So does Hadley, years later, but in a different way.

My mother was absolutely beautiful, as a young woman. I was not. [right, my gorgeous mom] That got me to thinking, plus my mother fell in love with one of her first cousins, in her late teens. She never told him her feelings and they were never more than friends. That interesting fact was unknown to me until I was grown, after my dad had died.

I began to wonder what it would be like to fall in love with a guy who might or might not be your first cousin. How thrilling and scary. All of my male first cousins are attractive guys but I never felt anything but brotherly love for them... fyi -- but then again I knew them growing up. Hadley doesn't meet her cousin Bo until both are in college.

I am in a Facebook group for folks (mostly ladies) who like to read romance novels. I did a post more than a year ago and asked if anyone would be willing to read a book about a young woman falling in love with her first cousin. All the comments were variations of EEEUW, NO! So I had to write a first chapter that made it clear that Hadley and Bo are not first cousins. Hopefully that doesn't spoil things. There are still questions to be answered throughout the book.

Hadley goes through a transformation in the book which I have never undergone, because I've never been married, but I know a thing or two about controlling guys so it wasn't really hard to write those parts. I giggled a bit while writing those scenes.

The mother/daughter dynamics in the book are a central theme. I adored my mother and I miss her greatly but it was also something of a relief when she passed because I don't have to deal with her judgment any more. My mother and I were great friends but she could also be very critical. Most everyone I know has (or had) that kind of relationship with their mother.

The book is also about sisterhood. I have a number of friends and cousins who have the same sisterhood dynamic; serious, traditional wife/mom older sister and rebellious wild younger sister. It's a fascinating dynamic, especially to gals like me with no sisters.

As in all my books, there is a lot about food. I love to eat and I love to write about food and cooking.

There is a lively old lady, who has a lot of wisdom, because I always have an old lady in each of my books who is an important character. Another old lady is a pivotal character and I liked writing her, too. She is named Augusta, after the city of my birth!

I think The Garland Belles will appeal to most any female of any age. There are characters of all ages, and all socio-economic classes. It's about life in a small town, the value of female relationships, love, marriage, motherhood, and more. You can check it out here and read the first few chapters, see if you like it. Just look under the photo of the cover where it says READ SAMPLE.

#forbiddenlove, #motherdaughterbooks, #smalltownromance, #garlandbellesbackstory, #bookssetinthesouth, #sisterhoodbooks, #bookssetinsouthcarolina

 

My Wonderful Son

When I adopted my son in 2007, almost exactly 17 years ago, many people told me he was a lucky little boy. They were wrong. I was the lucky one, and still am. We have had a lot of ups and downs over the years. His wild teenage years, the party years, lasted well into his 20's, but those are over. He is healthy and happy now. I wouldn't trade him for all the tea in China (quoting my mama).

Some people told me around 2006-07 that I was crazy to adopt a ten year old boy missing his right hand. I already had an adopted daughter, they said, and I should just stop there. They were wrong. 

Michael Thompson is brilliant, hilariously funny, and a true original. He draws people to him because of the incredible light from his beautiful heart.

He will be 28 years old this summer. He is still figuring out his life. He may or may not return to college. He may or may not stick with the cooking. He will figure it out, in his own time.

In case you were wondering, no, his missing hand isn't really a handicap. It barely slows him down. He does more with one hand [climbs mountains, is a professional cook, lifts weights, plays baseball] than many people do with two hands. He earned his lifeguard certification years ago. He has worked as a chef in a high-end restaurant on a busy Saturday night and given stellar service even after ten hours on his feet. He helped me take care of his grandmother for years, without complaint, and their relationship was a mutual adoration that was truly beautiful.

I couldn't love him more or be prouder if he had come from my body. The fact he didn't makes no difference to me whatsoever. When people ask me what I am most proud of in my life I don't say being a paralegal, or being a caretaker for my mother, or writing and publishing a dozen books. I say one word: Michael. (I take no credit for his beautiful heart, just for having the good sense to adopt him.)

below, the first photo of him I ever saw, made when he was 8, in the orphanage and below right, me visiting him in the orphanage in 2007

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#adoptionhandicappedchild, #adoptolderchildren, #limbdifferencekids, #chooseadoption, #adoptionisthebestchoice

Love Your Changing Face

I just found myself looking in the bathroom mirror as I washed my hands and thinking, my eyes look green today. Then I immediately felt sad, because my mother used to say things like that to me. (FYI, my eyes are blue/green and sometimes they look blue, sometimes green, depending on the light and what I'm wearing -- see photo at right.)

Mom died in 2020, after 15 years of living with me and my children. Elva Hasty Thompson loved her children fiercely.

Nobody else in my life, even my own children, have ever studied my face the way Mom used to, on a daily basis. I guess it's understandable, since she created that face.

If she said "Did you get enough sleep last night?" that meant either I had dark circles under my eyes or I was being grumpy. (I now regret every time I was grumpy with her.)

If she said "You need some lipstick" that meant I looked tired and/or I was going somewhere. Like any lady who was young in the 1950's, my mother absolutely believed in the power of lipstick, not only to look more attractive but to brighten one's mood. 

My maternal grandmother, Memaw Hasty, never appeared at breakfast until she was fully dressed for the day, including full makeup, which meant lipstick, of course. I never once saw her without makeup until I was 14 and she had a massive stroke. Seeing her pale face and lips scared me profoundly.

I study my kids' faces, too, especially my son's face because he lives with me. (I rarely see my daughter, who lives in South Carolina.)

When my son is tired, or doesn't feel well, or is sad, grumpy, etc. I notice it. If he doesn't look chipper and happy I always wonder what I can do or say to brighten his mood. This is part of being a mama.

Sometimes people have made unkind remarks to me because my son is adopted and they think I am not his "real" mama. I assure you, I love my adopted kids as much as if they came from my body. Biology makes no difference when it comes to mama love.

I am not trying to make any profound points here with this little blog. Only this: study your kids' faces. Below is one of my favorite poems.

When You Are Old

by W. B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

 

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

 

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Letting Kids Explore

A video popped up in my Facebook feed this morning showing some young parents giving their three children permission to do whatever they wanted for one hour, every day. The parents explained how they decided to not supervise the kids for one hour a day. ONE HOUR a day. Now these were not babies or toddlers. The youngest looked to be about 5?

I had to laugh because my parents didn’t supervise me or my brother ever, unless it was to tell us to clean our rooms or do some household chore. Even then, we did it 98% on our own, knowing they would review our efforts when we were through. I was told things like “vacuum the stairs” and “clean the bathtub” and “load the dishwasher” when I was 8 years old. Nobody supervised but I knew if I did a bad job I would get yelled at and/or punished so I figured it out!

The young parents [both teachers, fyi] were amazed by how much their kids liked learning stuff on their own. Well, DUH.

Kids LIKE to explore the world. Why don’t parents give them the chance to do that nowadays?!?

Before I was ten years old I knew a lot of things, for instance:

• The taste of dirt
• How to catch and clean a fish [for frying, which involved beheading, scooping out the guts, and scaling it, which Dad taught me when I was 5 years old]
• What it felt like to climb a tree
• How to run really fast because I was barefoot and it was 100 degrees outside and I wanted to get into the grocery store
• The sensation of a caterpillar crawling on my arm
• How to water ski, alone, wearing just a ski belt [a thick rubbery belt that fastened at the waist and was far more comfortable that a jacket or vest]
• How to swim out of an undertow in the ocean
• How to make my own toast, scrambled eggs, soup, etc. – and we had no microwave
• How to comfortably and happily sleep in bed with my cat and/or the dog
• The terrifying wrath of Mom and Dad if I spoke to them disrespectfully, or bothered people in public by being too loud
• How to put braids or ponytails in my own hair
• The pain of scraping my knee to bloody bits because I fell off my bike
• The agony of a bad sunburn [though, to be fair, Mom always put Sea & Ski on us; we just didn’t always reapply it when we should have]
• How to paint a wall, put down vinyl tile, hammer in a nail or screw in a screw – Dad believed in teaching me the same stuff he taught my brother
• How to sew on a button
• how to iron my own clothes
• How to address, stamp, and mail a letter [when we moved away from my BFF I was 8 years old and we started writing to each other and kept corresponding for many years]
• How to plant and weed a garden, and pick the produce

Now, my parents supervised my learning of most of these things, but then we were free to do as we pleased.

Like most of the moms we knew, my mother didn't work outside the home -- but she worked her tail off inside it.

After my older brother and I got home from school and had a snack, we always chatted with her for a few minutes [which she insisted on] and then we were free to do as we liked until dinner. We knew we were supposed to do our homework, on our own, and not bother Mom unless we didn’t understand something. We knew after dinner we had to do the dishes. We knew if we went to a friend’s house to play that we had to tell Mom where we were going and be home before dark. How we got there was our business. We either walked or rode our bikes.

In the summer, Mom was not the Activities Director. We felt really lucky if she agreed to drive us to the swimming pool or pick us up from the pool. If she gave us money to buy a Coke or Sprite we felt very blessed. Most of the time we were told to drink out of the water fountain.

We had enough sense not to play in traffic, bring home snakes, destroy the furniture, etc. Punishment was unpleasant, far more than a simple “time out.” (Mom quit spanking when I was 8, but Dad never quit. I didn’t spank my kids because I didn’t want them to feel powerless and humiliated, which is how I always felt after a spanking.)

My own parenting experience was a bit different because I adopted a 13-year-old and a ten-year-old. My kids were not supervised every waking hour, though. Most of their free time was spent doing what they wanted to do. I didn’t allow them to just stare at the TV or computer screen for hours. They played a lot – inside and out. They had the same rule about not leaving the yard without parental permission.

Parents today face different challenges, of course. Too much screen time, for instance. My mother worried about me watching too much TV. When not in school I usually spent the early mornings watching The Andy Griffeth Show, The Dick Van Dyke Show, Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, etc. We only had 2 channels. When the reruns ended around mid-morning and the soaps and game shows took over, Mom turned off the TV and told me to go play. I didn’t argue about it.

Were there mishaps? Of course. I liked to eat Styrofoam. My brother liked to eat dirt. I once played in mud all afternoon and my clothes had to be thrown away. We fell out of trees sometimes and got the wind knocked out of us. My brother stepped on a nail once and had to go to the ER and get stitched up, and a tetanus shot. He threw a spear at me once and hit me between the eyes, giving me a concussion and blindness for a couple of days.

We often played so hard we destroyed our clothes and shoes. Stuff around the house got scratched up or broken. We were normal!

The world in 2024 is a far more complex place. I understand that all too well. I just think parents should not hover over the kids ALL the time. Give them a chance to explore and understand the world. Let them get dirty. Nothing is a better teacher than experience.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Check out my latest novel, Talking Back: Stories from the Big Hair and Pantyhose Years

Stopping a Child's Tantrum

Not long before she died my mother and I had a very illuminating talk and she reminded me of something she did when I was a small child that had lasting repercussions in my life. I was telling her about something I'd read about the best way to deal with a child who was having a meltdown, putting them into "time in" instead of "time out" and she listened very thoughtfully. "I did that with you," she remarked.

"What? I don't remember that." Then she reminded me of her tantrum strategy.

I was the baby of the entire family. All my Thompson cousins were 5-10 years older. All my Hasty cousins were 2-12 years older. Often I was the youngest child in the neighborhood.

When we lived at our wonderful old house on Heard Avenue in Augusta I was 1-5 years old. It's the first house I remember. It was built in the early 20th century and had a big front porch, with a swing. Sitting out there, watching the bees and butterflies in the flowers, was peaceful and lovely.

I always wanted to play with the bigger kids, play on an equal basis with them. My two best playmates were my brother Bruce, 2 1/2 years older than me, and my BFF and next door neighbor Joanne, about 18 months older. So often, though, I couldn't keep up with them intellectually or physically.

I would get frustrated and have screaming temper tantrums. I could throw quite a tantrum. I've always had a BIG voice, even as a little kid, not to mention a flare for the dramatic.

Mom developed a strategy born of desperation, I'm sure. She did what would now be called a "therapeutic hold" - a controversial technique but one that works.

When I launched into a tantrum, she would pick me up and go out to the front porch, getting me away from the older kids, and sit down on the porch swing. There, she would quietly hold me and swing, while rubbing my back. I can remember that very well.

I was a fighter. I always wanted to fight, and beat my enemies. [Good preparation for spending decades as a litigation paralegal, now that I think of it!] The older kids became "enemies" when they excluded me, intentionally or unintentionally. Bruce and Joanne loved me but I know at times they viewed me as a nuisance.

Anyway, when I threw a fit Mom got me away from the other kids and that was a blessing. I thought of her as a huge, strong person, and I was astonished to grow up and see she was petite [5'4] and not very strong, actually.

Once we were seated on the porch swing, I could not get down, off of her lap, until I went through several steps.

1. I had to un-clench my entire body and stop crying.
2. I had to get my breathing back to normal. Sometimes I had to endure Mom wiping off my face with a cold wet washcloth.
3. I had to listen to Mom telling me not to let the other kids bother me -- or her explanation of why the tantrum was the wrong response to whatever was bothering me.
4. I had to just sit quietly for at least 5 minutes, while Mom rocked. Sometimes we would sing, or she would sing to me.
5. I had to laugh. Mom made a sort of puppet with her hand, sticking her thumb between her index and middle finger, and did the funny voice of Thumb-bum. I had to listen to Thumb-bum tease me or say funny things until I laughed.
6. Finally, I had to promise to behave myself before I was allowed to get off her lap and go back to playing.

Now, I didn't know as a small child that my mother was unusual. I didn't know she had taken many classes in psychology, including child psychology. I didn't know that she found her two children endlessly fascinating and she studied how to help us to have as happy and stress-free a childhood as possible. I'm sure there was fierce protectiveness because she knew there would never be more children. She had wanted four kids but fibroid tumors in her ovaries made it really difficult for her to get pregnant and led to a hysterectomy when I was still small.

She was a brilliant person and I know at times she found it really difficult to be a stay at home mom, stuck in a house all day with two small children. Dad was very tight with money so there was little extra for fun activities. I feel very lucky that she was able to be at home with us, though. She essentially taught me how to calm myself down, and not let the bigger kids destroy my peace of mind.

To all you young parents out there, God Bless You. If you find yourself dealing with tantrums, try a loving "time in" plus therapeutic hold, and see how that works. It will eventually get better. If you're lucky, you might wind up with a child who can calm themselves down effectively even when you aren't with them.

#thebestwaytocalmachild, #dealingwithchildhoodtantrums, #therapeuticholds, #timeinforkids