Month: January 2023

When Did Communication Etiquette Get So Complicated?

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Deep Thoughts, Family, TIPS3 Comments

(10 minute read)

Good manners are important to me. I taught my children to say “please” and “thank you” before they took their first steps. I have been told the complement every parent loves to hear, “Your kids are so polite.” Recently it was brought to my attention from my well-mannered children that my communication etiquette was in need of improvement. They were specifically referring to my text messaging. 

WTF? IMHO IDK what they mean B/C I try to understand the texting world. #confusing BTW IMHO texting instead of picking up the phone and calling seems to be the problem. LOL 

When did communication get so complicated with inconsistent rules? Always, no never, use a period at the end of a texted phrase. It is rude. Better to use an exclamation point, it expresses excitement! In school I learned that it meant shouting or angry. And I thought a response of “sure” meant I was being agreeable, not that I was showing I did not care. You can imagine my surprise when my son asked me if I was mad when my texted response to his question of “Let’s watch a movie tonight?” was “sure.” Urban Dictionary says “sure” is the worst response to a yes or no question. What? Here I was smiling and feeling happy about the idea, “sure” meaning “sounds fun, super idea.” My daughter recommended I at least put a happy face emoji after my “sure” to communicate my gleeful response more clearly.

Communication has gone through changes over my lifetime, as have the appropriate guidelines when using the communication devices. Growing up in a household with three sisters, I remember our family phone etiquette. The telephone would ring loudly from the kitchen. We would race to answer it. If the call was for me or my sisters we would drag the heavy rotary phone as far away as the cord connecting it to the wall would stretch. Around the corner, into the powder room, or even into the closet. Anything for some privacy, before being interrupted and told by a sister to “Hang up, I am waiting for a call!” There were marks on the wall from our heels and fingerprints on the powder room mirror as we chit chatted away with friends (or boyfriends). If the call was not for us, we followed instructions for telephone etiquette.

“Hello? May I ask who is calling? Just a moment, please.” Place hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, “Mom, telephone for you. It’s Mrs. Peterson.” Only on rare occasions did we lapse in manners and shout, “Mom, mom, maaaa-ummm, it’s for you!” In the event that the person was not home we also took messages on the pink pads of “While You Were Out”squares. We were polite telephone answerers, as well as callers. “Hello Mrs. Weinstein, this is Carolyn Papini, may I please speak with Emily?”

Several changes impacted telephone communication: cordless phones, call waiting, and voice message machines (or voicemail). The first one is obvious, cordless phones were amazing because you could take the phone almost anywhere within range. No more dragging the telephone outside when we were sunbathing to be the first caller on KFRC to win the contest. Returning the cordless phone to its base was an important rule. Call waiting meant you never missed a call, and on the flip-side you could always call someone without hearing a busy signal. However, the ringing phone that never gets answered could sometimes be frustrating for the caller. Then the wonderful invention of the voice message machine. I remember recording, “You have reached the Papini house, please leave a message after the beep,” or something more clever. What is more clear in my memory is walking into the house and seeing the blinking light. “You have 8 messages. Messages played back…” then one after the other the callers’ recordings would play.

Here is where etiquette gets tricky. When do you call them back? How long before it appears you are being rude? If you have left a message on a recorder, is it ok to leave additional messages? We have all been on both ends. Then at some point emailing became popular outside of business, so then what was the polite thing to do? Emily Post said that you must always respond, even if means a rapid fire response to give more time. The exception to this rule is if you are in an emotional state; write the draft, save it and read the next morning before deciding to send. She says voicemails should be returned within a timely manor (24 hours max), and if leaving a voicemail she says to keep it brief. In general, I have adhered to these guidelines for good manners. Perhaps the lapse in response time to emails may be my downfall. My rationale is that I want the time to give a more thoughtful response. Emily Post would probably suggest a quick, “Got it, Mom. Will respond in more depth later. Love you!”

For the record, I am referencing Emily Post, but I realize she died in 1960 at the age of 86. She wrote the definitive guide to manners. Her family, through multiple generations, has continued to advise on social, business and wedding etiquette. In fact they just celebrated one hundred years of providing guidance on treating others with respect and kindness. The tips and information on building good relationships has changed with the times. I love that I can still Google an etiquette question and be directed to emilypost.com. In order to tackle the topic of texting manners I thought it would be smart to consult two of my other wise bloggers: lifehack.com and grammarly.com. 

Rather than list out all of the rules of text messaging “politely” (which feels like an oxymoron), I am going to specifically list the ones that I apparently needed to be reminded of.

FIVE SIMPLE GUIDELINES FOR TEXTING (IMHO BTW LOL)

  1. Slow response time to a text can be impolite, so can sending multiple texts when someone has not yet responded to your text. The exception is a text that needs no reply (ie. On my way).
  2. Use emojis to convey your emotion clearly, at the END of the text, and punctuate with intention (a period can come across as rude, whereas an exclamation point shows excitement).
  3. Respond proportionally and appropriately. Meaning not too long, and the right GIF, meme, or emoji for your audience.
  4. Be careful to check that you are sending to the right person or group, and reread your message before hitting send (autocorrect and dictation can come up with some crazy wording).
  5. While liking a text with a heart or a thumbs up might be you expressing gratitude, love or happiness, do not get in the habit of this “reaction” texting. It is equivalent to a head nod in person. Imagine how weird it would be if after someone says “I really liked having lunch with you, today” you simply nod your head. 

Those are the reminders I came up with for myself so that I can communicate clearly, respectfully and kindly. If I was going to add any other texting infractions I see people out there doing, it would be these: Do not text while you are face to face with someone, don’t text or read texts while you are at the movies, don’t bury your head in your phone texting while walking, and DO NOT text or read texts while driving.

This blog topic came up from a recent exchange with my daughter. She texted me that she would like to get dinner together one night this week. I “heart” liked her text. That was it. I thought nothing of it. If I had texted a message it is very likely it would have been, “sure.” So basically my daughter expressing to me that she was wanting to spend time with me got responded to with a head nod. If you know me, as GrizzlyBearMa, smothering-with-love-and-attention kind of mom, you would understand the disheartening disconnect I am having with communication through text messaging. I am working to understand the nuances of word choice and punctuation. The more I read about the variations of interpretation of punctuation or acronym usage, the more confused I am. It seems that text messaging etiquette varies between age groups, gender, in the personal or business settings, and is always changing. Bottom line: Intended messages can be misinterpreted.

I wish I could be more helpful to you, my blog followers. It is my goal to impart useful information along with my stories of family and farm life. Clear communication with good manners is what we want. When in doubt throw some emojis at the end of your text message. Better yet, use the microphone to record an audio message; there is no chance your “sure” will be mistaken for ambivalence.

When Is the Last Time You Left Your Comfort Zone?

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Uncategorized2 Comments

Get comfortable under a warm blanket on the sofa with a cup of tea, then take the next 12 minutes to read about how important it is for you to get out of your comfort zone. I am no authority on this topic, and yet I am very familiar with it. I crave my soft safe spot on the sofa with my iPad. When plans outside of my house get cancelled, I get a rush of “cancel pleasure.” It is that unexpected gift of time and immediate release of the pressure to engage. If I sound like a recluse or hermit, I am not. I love spending time with people, most especially my family and close friends. It is just that I draw my energy from my solitary space, as most introverts do. The Covid isolation gave me permission to socially distance without guilt or FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). Somehow knowing if nobody can go out for lunches or parties or tennis, then me not seeing people (or being invisible) was perfectly acceptable. 

This gravitational pull to just stay in my cozy spot is not great. For starters, connecting with others is important for mental health. If we learned anything from Covid it is how much we missed things like hugs, smiles, and being in the physical space with other human beings. Luckily, technology helped us connect in positive ways we never imagined screen time would. Zooms, group texting, social media platforms all aided in maintaining and even building connections with others. However, it could not fully replace getting out there experiencing the world together. 

Perhaps while sheltering in place you were doing the following: mastering a new language, planting a new garden, crafting, puzzle solving, learning to cook elaborate recipes, or even writing a book. Not me. Oddly, I did not blog or do much writing at all. I read and binge watched different series. The most significant change for me in 2020 was relocating from the suburbs to the country. Try moving during an epidemic; no neighbors stopping by unannounced to welcome us with pies and chit chat (no complaints here). I moved from one cozy comfort spot to another, with even more space to distance myself from others (unless you count two kids home from college, 2 dogs, 2 cats, 1 horse, and my fellow empty nester). Then things opened up and we all started coming out of our houses like insects and birds on a clear morning after a heavy rain. Schools, tennis, restaurants, gatherings, traveling, visiting with others. As much as I was content in my cocoon, returning to activities with people was a surprising delight. I did not realize how much I missed laughing with friends or eating a meal inside a restaurant. 

I am reminded of two books that planted seeds of this idea in me over the last few years. Reading the books two years apart from each other reinforced the idea. It is like when someone tells you that you look great in bright pink, but you buy one pink shirt, wear it a couple times and then go back to buying solid black or gray clothes. Then time goes by and you hear a different voice telling you pink is your color. You pause and consider the message you are hearing (again) from a different source. So maybe you add in a little more pink to your wardrobe (among all the black and gray). The interesting thing is that when you were a young kid, you loved pink. And purple and green…you took more chances, and did not safely stay in a comfort zone of black or gray jumpers. What is it about growing older that makes some people withdraw to their safe space of comfort? Not all people, just some. So if you fall into this group or know someone who does, this message is for you. “Get out of your comfort zone.”

Two compelling points moved me off the sofa: 1. Being happy, and 2. Having a healthy brain. Whether it is a message coming from a respected physician who has studied how the brain works extensively or a journalist who tries all sorts of things in pursuit of happiness in life, their work intersected on this one point: try something out of your comfort zone. Or as my dad used to say, “Go for it!”

One was a book written by Dr. Sanjay Gupta, CNN Chief Medical Correspondent, titled “Keep Sharp: Build A Better Brain at Any Age.” The other book was called “The Happiness Project” by Gretchen Rubin.  I read Dr. Gupta’s book while in isolation. I had heard him interviewed and got curious about things I could do to “keep sharp.” The book had so many great take-aways. What made the most impact on me was Chapter 5, The Power of Purpose, Learning, and Discovery. I read about brain resiliency, and how we can prevent cognitive decline by participating in stimulating activities and enriched life experiences to build our cognitive reserve.

“It can simply be about learning new skills, such as speaking a foreign language, learning how to cook or paint, or taking up a new musical instrument…Use your mind in a manner that gets you out of your comfort zone.”

I read this book in the latter part of 2020. I kicked myself for not learning to play the piano or speak Italian. It got me thinking though. In early 2021 I decided it was time to stop watching Gilmore Girls or Bridgerton, and use my mind that might nudge me out of my comfort zone. Around that same time I was looking through the books on my shelf and came across the thick little square book about Gretchen Rubin’s yearlong pursuit of happiness. I had read it three years before. I pulled it off the shelf and thumbed through it.

The title is actually “The Happiness Project, Or Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun.” Quite a long title for such a little book (would be great in the game of charades). It sold over two million copies, and the Tenth Anniversary Edition came out in 2018. I read it in January 2018, the “Getting Started” introduction hooked me. Month after month she embarked on finding happiness in a different facet of her life (i.e January was Energy, February was love, March was work…). Her thorough research, her sense of humor, and her willingness to try almost anything made it fun to read and even inspiring to try to implement some things myself.

When I read what she wrote about in March, I was surprised that it resonated with me. The focus was work. As a former teacher and a stay at home mom, I mistakenly assumed that the chapter on “work” would be one I would skim through, not applicable to my life. I am so glad I did not skip it. This blog would not exist. It was in that chapter that my fire was lit. She wrote that her search revealed that challenge and novelty are key to happiness. Do new things. Launch a blog. 

The very next month my husband and I decided to look for an aussiedoodle puppy. Our friends had the cutest aussiedoodle. So after some extensive searching we found a breeder. My husband really wanted two puppies. I said that if we were embarking on a two aussiedoodle journey, then I was going to have to write about it. Gretchen Ruben’s book came to mind. Why not blog? Why not me? June of 2018 the GrizzlyBearMa blog site was created. I challenged myself to post every day for one whole year. Not only did raising two adorable puppies make me happy, but writing on my blog site made me happy and kicked me way out of the ballpark of my comfort zone. Putting myself out there was a bit scary, but with some positive feedback, and finding my groove, I grew to love it. Dr Sanjay Gupta had also said that is was important to find things that put you in the “flow”. Writing is that for me.

Fast forward to today. After the blog had a long hiatus, with a couple update posts, it is back. I turned a corner last summer and got a new burst of energy and enthusiasm for writing again. In the August post I shared that I am writing a book. Who is this person? As I think about the two books I referenced, I am trying to recall times in my life when I stepped out of my comfort zone (even when things did not pan out). 

Acted in after school drama class then chased a dream of making it on the big stage by going into San Francisco for musical theater classes at ACT (fun while the dream lasted…)

Tried out for cheerleader again and again (never made it).

Ran for student government (did not get elected).

Moved across the country (again and again)

Signed up for a Team in Training triathlon when I could not even run a mile and did not own a road bike. Then asked people for money to support the Leukemia Lymphoma Society. (Finished it! Toughest day of my life).

Took horseback riding lessons in Texas to help overcome my fear of horses (it helped).

I hadn’t picked up a racquet in years, was new to town, and joined a tennis team of complete strangers (still playing and loving it)

Enrolled in a creative writing class 15 years ago (still writing and loving it)

Built a chicken coop for 16 chickens, rescued a horse, and learned to drive a Bad Boy Zero turn mower (see the Heart Pasture picture)

So think, what have you done to stick your toe outside your comfort zone? It may help to think back to your childhood years…did you try out for the school talent show? Did you take Karate? Did you join a club in high school that did things you had not learned before? When is the last time you “actively pursued new knowledge?”

That is precisely the question I heard Kelly Corrigan mention the other day on her podcast Kelly Corrigan Wonders.  She and her guest Dr. Natalie Nixon, author of Strategic Design Thinking and The Creativity Leap discussed the importance of taking on new forms of play. She said, “Be a clumsy student of something.” She gave an example that she, the writer, was taking a portrait drawing class. Their conversation was full of so much great stuff, go listen to it on your next walk or drive. The episode is called “Inspiration for the Creative Life.”

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/kelly-corrigan-wonders/id1532951390?i=1000594894241

I love when life collides beautifully like this. I wrote most of this piece before I got the chance to listen to this episode. And just look at that, Kelly is also saying to get out of your comfort zone.

Have you heard about The Herd?

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Blog Writing, Children, Family, farm life3 Comments

(8 minute read)

A group of giraffes is called a tower. A gathering of zebras is a dazzle. A loveliness of ladybugs. A snuggle of sloths. A smack of jellyfish. A mob of Kangaroos. A conspiracy of lemurs.

The collective nouns for penguins are raft, waddle, rookery, colony, and huddle; But flamingos in a group are referred to as flamboyance. Then the usually solitary, but sometimes together in a small family is a prickle of porcupines. Most of us know: school of fish, whale pod, lion pride, barrel of monkeys, wolf pack, elephant parade, gaggle of geese, bevy of swans, and a murder of crows. 

What do you call a group of chickens?

 (This sounds like a riddle) 

A group of chickens is a flock, but a group of chicks that hatch together are called a brood, and a group of chicken eggs is called a clutch.

So the big question of the day is what do you call two Aussiedoodles, one tabby cat, one maine coone, one morgan (horse), and fifteen chickens? 

The Herd.

Recently, one of my blog followers asked me to write about “the herd” that was mentioned and pictured on my New Years day post. We affectionately refer to our animals as “the herd.” As in, “Did you feed the herd yet?” Or “Who is watching the herd while we are out of town?” The herd encompasses all of the twenty animals we have, but more often we refer to the main four that live, eat, sleep, and migrate (around the house) together. As different as they are from one another they indeed travel and live as a pack, or a dazzle, or a gaggle, or a parade, or a herd.  Koda, Summer, Sansa, Ruger, Kip, Smoke (RIP), chicken #1, chicken #2, chicken #3, chicken #4, chicken #5, chicken #6, chicken #7, chicken #8, chicken #9, chicken #10, chicken #11, chicken #12, chicken #13, chicken #14, chicken #15, and chicken #16 (RIP).  For the record, I had some really creative names picked out for the chickens (Miss Texas, Miss Arkansas, Miss California, etc) but they arrived in a box at the post office all looking like the same tiny peeping black downy chicks, identical, absolutely no way to tell them apart. So they have always identified as a group. The only exception is one scrawny less pretty chicken who is most attracted to me, jumping up on my lap; we call her Ugly Duckling. There is also a chicken who insists being the final one ushered (or chased into the coop), her name is Karen. 

So what is the story behind this herd? Who? And why?

Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was our bustling herd of animals. Back in 1993 we first became parents, we thought life with one baby was busy. After a year or so, once we figured the parenting thing out, we added another baby. Then our capacity to love grew with each additional child. By 1999 we had four children in the house. Then a few years later, more space in our hearts and we added a kitten named Liberty (aka Kitty), then a year later along came Dot, an Australian shepherd. Fast forward a dozen or so years, our human children started leaving for college and careers. Sadly Dot and Kitty lived out their final days. And a big void widened that we decided to fill with two aussiedoodle puppies, Koda and Summer. Around that same time we were preparing for our last child to leave for college, we rescued a tabby cat, Sansa. I truly believe the puppies and kitten helped us transition into the “empty nest.” I shared the day by day details about the rollercoaster of life raising two aussiedoodle puppies at the  beginning of my blog in June of 2018. I laugh now about how busy I thought life was.

Then in 2020 the herd migrated to the country. We took on the care of Kip, an old morgan who had been rescued by the previous owner, and then conveyed with the house and barn we bought. He needed some company, so that first winter we added another old rescue named Smoke. Kip and Smoke became fast friends. Then in spring of 2021 we added 16 baby chicks, raised them from two days old, and built a coop and a run that they moved into at around 3 months old. They started laying eggs that October. The herd was in full swing.

Why? Life around children and animals surely requires time and energy. The demands are ever present to feed, clean, ensure good health care, nurture with attention, plan and adapt as they grow. Discipline, flexibility, patience, and a good sense of humor are all needed. The rewards make it worth every penny and aggravating moment when things go haywire (and they do). But for me, it is all about the little pleasures: Kip seeing you walking towards the barn and trotting or galloping in from the pasture eager to beat you there. Opening the chicken run door and all 15 girls come clucking out around your feet excitedly, following you as you go over to clean waters, and check for eggs. Opening the nesting box and lifting up warm freshly laid eggs, all in the same box making you smile that they chose to wait to take turns to use the same box instead of another free nesting box. Little instinctive behaviors of animals make me wonder, how did they know to all get inside the coop (house) after sunset, before dark? They just do. We love peaking inside their door at night and seeing them all lined up side by side, legs tucked under their plump feathered bodies resting on the roosting bar. They look over at us and make the cutest little cooing sounds. Time out at the barn and coop can be freezing cold in winter and blasting hot in summer, but more often than not, my mood is noticeably better (lighter) on my return back to the house, basket of eggs in hand and the rest of the herd awaiting my arrival.

If you have dogs or cats, you know this scene. They are at the window watching and/or waiting right inside the door you enter. Sansa, Ruger, Koda and Summer follow us throughout the house. If I am up in the office writing, all four are positioned in spots around the small room. If I go into my room to change or brush my hair, the parade follows. They do the same with my husband. The herd gets along most all of the time. Ruger, the giant Maine Coone was last to join the herd, but is the cool king. He talks (maine coons chirp) and everyone listens. Summer keeps Koda and Sansa in line, and is indifferent to Ruger (mutual respect). Sansa is the moody, picked on runt of the herd; she is always looking for protected refuge curled up on our laps. If it feels like I am going on and on about my animals, I am. I could write or talk for hours about them. That’s what proud and loving parents do, right?

For Christmas I commissioned an artist (www.petcreationsart.com) to paint a canvas showing the herd. All Sophia, the artist, needed was for me to send some pictures of each of the animals. That was not hard for me, I snap pictures all of the time of the dogs, cats, horses and chickens. They are never all together in the same picture (I cannot even imagine the chaos of that kind of photo shoot). So the artist takes the pictures of peoples pets and can paint them together, using their images to create a likeness to each animal. She captured their coloring, coats of fur and feathers so well. The only correction on the proof she sent to me was Sansa (the tabby) and Ruger (the maine coone). She had them the same size and I had to tell her that Ruger was three times the size of Sansa. So she made Sansa smaller. The final product was amazing! In addition to the canvas for my husband, I had a blanket made (for our son to take back to college). I made the decision to include Smoke (who we lost last summer) because he was part of the original Herd. I also spared her the task of fitting in fifteen chickens so only two are there representing the flock in the painting of the herd. It was not a mural after all. The canvas of the herd is hanging in the mudroom on the wall above the cat litter box across the room from where we feed the dogs and the cats. It is the first thing I see when I walk into the house coming from the barn, and it makes me smile. We love our Herd.

If things go as planned, our Herd will be expanding come April or May. Any day now the kids will be dropping. We are excitedly awaiting news of the four baby Nigerian Dwarf goats. Stay tuned!

Picture of The Herd on a blanket that went back to college with our youngest son.

*Grizzlybearma and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Blog Writing, Children, Deep Thoughts4 Comments

(4 minute read)

It has been a while since I have been struck by writers block. Most days I can noodle around on plenty of topics or continue working on my book. But yesterday I was empty: of energy to flip my mood, of words to articulate my frustrations, and optimism to find a silver lining in a rough couple of days. This blog has not been my place to vent complaints or air my dirty laundry. Nobody wants to read about someone having a bad day. I could not even post about my cancelled COVID Christmas without turning it into a cute rhyming poem. It is not that I do not complain, I definitely do (ask my husband). But usually I can muster up some resilience and bounce back quickly. Not yesterday.

Perhaps a blog about motherhood is the most fitting place I should be honestly sharing when times are tough. So much of social media presents pictures of us on our best days. Smiling. With family or friends or cute animals. Traveling to amazing places. Proud moments when our kids do great things. Gourmet meals. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Happy times. The latest “challenge” going around is to post “10 Days of Life is Good,” where the person posts one picture of something that brings them joy for ten days (no explanation). And then they tag a friend to join in on the challenge.

I am not trying to be cynical, but let’s say we do a challenge called “10 Days When Things Kind of Suck.” Day 1: a picture of a positive Covid stick, Day 2: a bad haircut, Day 3: a broken crown, Day 4: mud tracked through the house by dogs, Day 5: ran out of firewood on a freezing cold winter day, Day 6: bags under my eyes from lack of sleep worrying, Day 7: unidentified pet vomit on the area rug in the living room, Day 8: flight cancelled and stuck in the airport, Day 9: a suspicious looking mole, Day 10: an unhappy kid.

Fortunately not all of those things happened to me. But can you imagine? By day 10 of those posts I would be really concerned about that person’s mental state of mind. And yet…stuff does happen. We just don’t share most of those moments on social media. The exception being the loss of a loved one. I, myself, read every obituary a friend shares. I feel honored to read the legacy left and summarized in a few words. I also take a moment to send up a prayer for those grieving. 

Let’s face it, most of the posts on social media are all the positively filtered good days. And most of my blog posts have highlighted happy times with family and the farm animals. Today I am coming clean that my days are not always full of joyful levity. In fact, I can get in quite a funk. It usually has to do with parenting. It is the old saying, “you are only as happy as your least happy child.” As moms, we feel most stretched thin and depleted in energy when our efforts do not help solve the problems. It is even more challenging when multiple fires flame up. I used to feel like I was constantly putting out fires with four kids, but it was more like Whack-a-mole. The older the children grow the more difficult it is to step in and fix things. Not intervening is tough for this mama bear. So some days just kind of suck.

There is a new app that just crossed my radar. It is called BeReal. It was developed by a woman in France during the socially challenging times of 2020. The app is similar to others where you post a photo, but this picture is not planned or filtered. It actually is not even taken at a time of your choosing. At the exact same (random) time, you and your BeReal friends receive a notification to take your BeReal photo. So maybe you are without make up, hair in a bun, in reading glasses, watching tv, you take that picture. It shows what you are looking at and what you look like at that moment. Seems like an interesting idea. Social media at it’s most unfiltered raw state. 

The picture of me that would have gone out yesterday would have been red eyes, wrinkled brows, and no smile. It is not that anything horrible had happened, just a challenging mom day. I knew from experience that it, too, would pass. All we needed was a good night’s sleep and a new day. 

*One of my favorite books I read to my children and to my 2nd grade students was “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day,” by Judith Viorst.

Happy New Years (through the years and today from the Herd)

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Children, Family1 Comment

(A 12 minute read)

The 70s

You are still riding the high of Christmas and enjoying your vacation from school. It feels like it’s been ages since you were sitting at your desk in the classroom taking spelling tests and solving long division problems. It is an exciting night because unlike any other night of the year (aside from slumber parties) you get to stay up really late, way past your bedtime. Your family goes over to your parents’ friends house and they have kids close to your age. It’s awkward at first since you hardly know the kids. But with all the parents in the living room, laughing, and doing whatever grownups do, you kids in the den quickly become fast friends over board games, foosball, spoons, murder in the dark, and hide ‘n seek. The night stretches out long. You eat more snacks of junk food than you are ever allowed to at home, especially so late at night. The laughing from the living room grows louder. Then you hear someone shout, “It’s almost time!” All the kids drop everything and run into the room with the grown ups, just as a television set in the corner shows a countdown of giant numbers that take up the whole screen. The crowd inside the room hollers out the numbers, and you join in. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Years!” All the moms and dads give kisses and dance around. Some have wooden spoons and pots they start banging. Then one of the older kids runs out the sliding glass door and shouts at the top of his lungs, “Happy New Year!” You squeal with delight and run outside to the cool air under the starry sky of midnight and skip in a circle with the other kids yelling with gusto, without a care in the world or concern about waking the neighborhood. Dogs in the distance answer your calls with barks and howls.

The 80s

Journey is blasting from giant stereo speakers in the corner of the dark living room. The furniture is pushed aside and everyone is dancing. The tv screen has the Dick Clark New Year’s Eve countdown show on. You cannot hear it but you see the time showing only 6 minutes before the stroke of midnight. You run to the hallway bathroom and there is a line. So instead you go into the dining room and check yourself out in the mirror on the wall. You smooth out your monogram sweater, turn and check out your butt in your ditto jeans, then lean in close to the mirror and flash a toothy smile (to make sure nothing is in your braces). You hear a girl from the other room call out, “It’s almost midnight everyone!” You give one last look, twist the front curls of your hair back in the way you’d set them hours earlier with your curling iron. You cup your hand over your mouth and check your breath, then apply some cherry Lip Smacker lip gloss. The room is crowded and loud. You cannot find him as you scan the sea of bobbing heads. Someone cuts off the music and the tv volume is turned up. Dick Clark tells you all that you have two minutes to get near your sweethearts. Where did he go? You find your way over to your friends huddled near the tv. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Years!” Couples around you start making out. You hug your best friend. And your other best friend. Then you look around the room, a bit too eagerly. You are relieved to see that he is not in this dark room full of teenagers kissing another girl for New Years, he is not even here. The knot of nerves and anticipation that had tangled up all night long suddenly unravelled. There is no time to wrestle with the disappointment or solving the mystery of where he disappeared to. You and your friends have to leave now, you don’t want to be late for curfew. 

The 90s

You can hardly keep your eyes open. You are sober, not drinking because you are pregnant. Very pregnant. You love munching on all of the delicious food around the buffet at the party. Spinach dip with bread chunks, seven layered taco dip and chips, pinwheels, meatballs, platters of meat and cheese, dessert trays of cookies and cupcakes. You eat until you are stuffed and your heartburn starts acting up. Your husband is outside by the makeshift bar having a grand old time, feeling festive and loudly telling stories and laughing. You find a comfy spot on the sofa, to slip off your tight ballet flats since your feet are swelling like the rest of your body. You watch Carson Daily on the MTV New Years Eve special. Another pregnant friend sits nearby and you two swap stories. Tipsy non pregnant friends, with drinks in their hands, listen with fascination and fear about the discomforts of carrying a baby for months. An older guest at the party comes stumbling over and regales you with her delivery stories with more details than you needed. You yawn and glance at your swatch. “Only ten o’clock?” Somehow you survive the next two hours of MC Hammer, Milli Vanilli, and Madonna blaring on the surround sound. The non-pregnant, non-driving partiers celebrate the end of another year. Horns and hats are handed out. Your husband finds you, pulls you up onto your feet and holds you close while the room cheers in unison, “ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Years!” You kiss the man you love, your husband of four years, and soon to be father. Then you grab your coat and his arm, “We are ready to go home now,” you say as you place your hand on your protruding belly.

1999-2000

“Party like it’s 1999,” were lyrics to the Prince song you listened to in high school, which seemed like so distant. And here you are partying and it is 1999 about to move into 2000, the New Millennium. Every newspaper, magazine and tv news channel has been fixated on this upcoming New Years event, referring to it as the Y2K, and all the anxiety it is causing. Some people worry it is the end of the world. What will happen with the clocks, the computers, the banks, and the airlines? Most people are concerned about how their lives will change from 1999 to 2000. You are optimistic. You just gave birth a few months ago to your fourth child. Life is good. Busy, exhausting, but good. This New Years Eve you are at home with the family. Your husband decorated the house with streamers, and bought hats and horns. The two older kids are excited about the party atmosphere and love the idea of counting backwards like a missile launch. The toddler mimics his older siblings with spastic energy. The baby just sleeps and eats. You are in your stretchy maternity pants, a sweatshirt and slippers. The tv is on with England’s New Year’s Eve countdown (5 hours ahead of New York). The kids are jumping up and down, counting “ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Years!” They blow horns and dance around the room. Then it is their bedtime. After tucking them in, you and your husband come downstairs and watch Dick Clark in New York Times Square. You both can hardly believe it is the turn of the century. The idea that you will be writing “2000” on your checks is surreal. Or that your baby will be graduating college around 2020. Isn’t that the future time period that Marty McFly travels to? Experts fear that the switch from the two-digit year ’99 to ’00 will wreak havoc on computer systems. Since part of the world has already changed over to 2000 and nothing bad has happened, you are relaxed. Comfortable on the sofa next to your husband, you watch the craziness of the crowded New York streets on tv.  Then the ball drops and the east coast crowd counts down, “ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Years! Happy 2000!” You toast with champagne as you enter into the New Millennium.  Your husband turns off the tv and you both go off to bed. You are up fours hours later to feed the baby.

The 2010s

The house is decorated with gold streamers. Music thumps from the bluetooth speaker, the bar is fully stocked, and the kitchen is crowded with people. The adults, including your kids, their cousins, and other families are wearing party hats and beaded necklaces. A spread of potluck appetizers covers the kitchen island. Bottles of champagne and Martinelli’s are chilling on ice. Everyone is in festive moods, the college kids teaching the parents beer pong with red solo cups and ping pong balls, then the parents artfully bouncing quarters into glasses from their college days. No time during this celebration do you ponder the upcoming slate-cleaning of December 31. You did that earlier in the day. You thought of new year’s resolutions (dieting or joining a gym). The year before it was Oprah’s Gratitude Journal. The year before you reorganized your whole house with Marie Condo. Maybe it will be to use the Bullet Journal. Or the new gym membership. Those things begin in the morning (or maybe a few days later since you still have all of the football bowl games to watch and football snacks that accompany those games). Those resolutions will start in a few days, and with any luck, continue past February. For now, it’s time to turn up Ryan Seacrest and Dick Clark, “ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Years!”  Nobody goes to bed, the music turns back up.

The 2020s

It is New Years Eve and you are content to have no plans of hosting or going anywhere. Just a couple of empty-nesters relaxing in a quiet house that remains littered with gift wrapping and ribbons underneath a lit up Christmas tree . Your kids are off celebrating (with husband, fiancé, girlfriend, and college friends). You two are eating a nice prime rib dinner at home. Football bowl games are rolling one after the other on the big screen tv. The dogs are sprawled out on the sofa after a long New Years Eve two mile walk. The cats are sleeping like every other day of their lives. You look outside the window as the darkness moves in on the last day of the year, and you reflect on the last twelve months. Some memories are so fantastic that no amount of time passing will remove their luster (weddings, vacations, time with family and friends, farm animals, writing conference, etc), while others you are ready to kick out the back door and leave in the dust (COVID, politics, senseless crimes, losses of life). You take stock in the balance of things and feel grateful for your blessings. Are you making New Year’s Resolutions this year? You think about what you learned in a workshop you took over the summer called “A Spark for Compassionate Change.”  Something inside of you did change in that zoom workshop led by two enthusiastic life coach trained millennials. A tiny spark, which led to more change. They referenced the book by James Clear, “Atomic Habits” and you read it the next week. You learned that change starts with micro habits, then habit stacking and all with granting yourself grace and compassion that change can be messy and is not always easy. (There was a whole lot more in that highly recommended popular book). So on this New Year’s Eve you are not choosing to tackle big resolutions, you are thinking of some small tweaks in your life that will lead to bigger changes that will bring you more happiness and better health. Cheers to that. Grab your glass, it is almost time, “ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Years!” 

*You actually did not watch Ryan Seacrest or any other countdown. You were on the edge of your seat in the final seconds of a close playoff football game. Instead of a ball dropping in Times Square, it was a ball being snapped and then a kicker missing the field goal. One team wins, another loses, down to one small thing. As you brush your teeth before bed you think again, “It is about the little things.” 

Happy New Years! May you find the little things to alter to make the most of each day of your life in 2023!