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Bygone blog — Parental stupidity index

29 Nov

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I’m re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 14 years. This one was originally published on October 8, 2008.

Parental Stupidity Index

WARNING! Mathematics ahead!
(But stay with me, because you might find this interesting.)

My husband and I have a 14-year old. She thinks we’re stupid.

Now this phenomenon — which I’ll call “Perceived Parental Intelligence,” or PPI — is not unusual. Matter of fact, it’s so commonplace I’m surprised there hasn’t been any serious quantitative research on the subject. So of course, I’ve decided to give it a shot.

As I see it, the PPI phenomenon proceeds something like this: from birth to pre-teen, children think their parents are the smartest people in the world. At about 9 or 10 years old, that perception begins to sag. Then, at around 11 years old, the PPI takes a precipitous drop and continues to drop (i.e. parents continue to get stupider) until children’s mid to late-teen years.

It’s at this time, roughly coinciding with the college years, that Perceived Parental Intelligence begins a slow and steady crawl back up. Not surprisingly, the index takes an abrupt upswing in the late 20s, when children start having children of their own, and they wonder how on earth their parents managed to raise a family without going psycho.

For visual learners, below you’ll see how the PPI phenomenon looks when graphed.

Point A, a child’s early years, are when parents are percieved to be really smart and know everything.

Point B, when a child enters the pre-teen years, parents begin their quick descent into stupidity.

At Point C, when grandchildren are born, parents all of a sudden look like Einstein.

I’m curious to see if other families are seeing the same phenomenon. I also encourage replication of this study. I wonder, for example, if Point B — where the PPI begins to decline — is a constant.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 11/28/2022)

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Remembering Pat Copeland

2 Nov

I heard some sad news the other day. Pat Copeland, one of the Village of Webster’s bright spots, has passed away.

I didn’t know Pat very well, but I did get to meet her a few years ago when her daughter Molly organized a surprise car and truck parade for her 90th birthday. I heard about it on Facebook and made very sure I was there for the festivities.

Precisely at noon on April 28, 2020, dozens of cars, truck and jeeps covered in banners and balloons, led by emergency vehicles all sounding their sirens and air horns, streamed past Pat’s East Main St. home as she watched with a huge grin on her face. The parade even included a drum majorette, Webster’s own Denise Baller of Dancing With Denise.

Denise still remembers the day well.

I met (Pat) after seeing a post from Molly saying she wanted to have a parade for her mom for her birthday, and wanted to have a majorette in the parade. Well, my days at Bishop Kearney were filled with high kicking as a majorette in the BK Marching Kings, so I located an old uniform and boots and coordinated with Molly to be part of the parade!

As my mom had just passed away, I knew how important it was to fulfill the desires of her elderly mom. So I was so happy to be a part of such a special day and create such a nice memory for both of them.

Another very special moment that day, Molly remembers, is when an opera singer, who had once sung the National Anthem at a Florida Marlins game, sang it and “God Bless America” for Pat. Molly wrote, “Finding such a needle in a haystack was the Lord at work giving me a hand in creating such a day!”

The community came out in droves to drive by, honk their horns and lean out their windows yelling “happy birthday!” Many others stood along the sidewalk to watch the festivities. (Click here for the blog I wrote that day.)

Pat was rather blown away by it all. In a television interview she sat for after the parade was over, she told the reporter, “I don’t know where they all came from. (Molly) certainly went out of her way to create a birthday I will remember forever.”

“I’m overwhelmed. I just couldn’t breathe,” she added. “It’s a wonderful gift, a marvelous gift.”

Pat passed away on Saturday Oct. 15, at the age of 92. Her daughter Molly writes that she was not afraid to pass, that she was looking forward to seeing her brother, sisters, husband and friends.

Molly wrote, “The entire family, immediate and extended, will miss her dearly as she never left anyone with anything less than a smile.” It’s fitting, then, that in her later days, the Village of Webster community was able to bring a smile to her face.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 11/2/2022)

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My magnet collection is growing

4 Oct

Late last night, my husband and I returned from a week-long holiday in Copenhagen. It wasn’t a country we’d every thought would be on our traveling bucket list. But when he saw an conference scheduled for at Roskilde University that dovetailed with his research agenda, he jumped at the excuse to spend some time in Denmark.

And of course I joined him.

Through the wonders of the internet, before I even left town I was able to schedule a half dozen blogs to post throughout the week ahead, so you probably didn’t even notice any glitches. Of course, if you were up in the wee hours of the morning and saw one of my blogs post at 1 a.m., you might have wondered.

We were hoping that the typical cool, rainy weather that Denmark’s known for in October would also take a holiday, but that wasn’t to be the case. Still, umbrellas in hand, we explored about as much of Copenhagen that could be explored, and one day even took a train north to small-town Elsinore to check out that charming old seaside community. And of course, since we were literally so close to Sweden that we could see it across the Øresund strait, we had to spend some time there.

I took a ton of photos, of course, and those are great, but I’ve decided I’m going to chronicle my adventures with a fridge magnet purchased from each of the countries I visit in our travels. So this morning I added two new magnets to my fridge, one from Copenhagen — specifically, the beautiful Nyhavn neighborhood — and one from Sweden. They joined the one I got from Barcelona on a cruise we took over the summer.

We’re not planning any more world traveling for a while, but I’m hoping next spring I’ll be adding a few more magnets from Ireland, England, and maybe even Wales. In the meantime, it’s good to be home and get my blogging feet back under me again.

I think my husband is glad I’ve decided to collect magnets from every country we visit, instead of my original plan: hoodies. I understand where he’s coming from; hoodies are harder to hang on the fridge.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 10/4/2022)

The marching band has followed me to the village

17 Aug

For years, when we were still living in North Penfield just off of Hatch Rd., we would occasionally hear the Webster Marching Band practicing in the Webster Schroeder parking lot. The school was more than a mile away, but every once in a while the prevailing winds would carry the music all the way to our house, and we could clearly hear snippets of the tunes they were working on.

Hearing the music drifting in on the warm breezes was one of the little things I always enjoyed about summer. Since we moved to the village three years ago, I’ve missed that simple pleasure.

But I got it back this summer.

Thanks to some set of circumstances, the Webster Marching Band has been displaced from their usual stomping grounds at Schroeder, and this summer are holding their practices at Spry Middle School, basically right across the street from my village home.

It’s like I’m getting a preview of this year’s program. And if it’s anything like last year’s — when the band took top State honors — it will be an award winner.

That’s just one more great thing about living in the village: music at the pubs, music at the gazebo, music in the streets … and now music across the street from me.

At least for a few more weeks.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 8/18/2022)

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Bygone blog — a letter to my son

14 Aug

My husband and I spent Saturday moving my son Sean to the Bronx, where he’ll soon begin a new teaching job. It took us more than six hours to get there, and the rest of the day to unpack the U-Haul before turning around to drive three more hours to crash at my sister’s house overnight.

So basically, it was a nonstop day which didn’t allow me much time to think about what the move will mean to all of our lives. You see, for the last month, Sean has been living with us, having had to vacate his Webster apartment at the end of June. His comings and goings, culinary eccentricities and unkempt room were reminiscent of his college days.

It was wonderful.

But now he’s gone, and since he’ll probably love his new job and living in the Big City, I expect it’ll be for good this time. As I sat on my porch in the much quieter, much emptier house, I was thinking about that, and remembered this blog I posted in June, 2011. I’ve reposted it once before, but it seems especially appropos today.

A letter to my son at camp

(originally posted June 20, 2011)

Lenore Skenazy had a funny column in Sunday morning’s newspaper. Maybe you saw it; she had come across a website which actually gave instructions to parents on how to write a letter to their child at camp. Now, I didn’t go so far as to try to find that website, but I suspect the advice is aimed at parents whose young children are at a sleep-away camp, perhaps for the first time.

My daughter showed me the column yesterday.  She suggested I follow the website’s instructions and send a letter to my son, who left for camp Friday morning.  I thought that was a terrific idea.

But since my son is 21 years old and will be spending his entire summer as a counselor at the YMCA’s Camp Gorham in the Adirondacks, mine reads a bit differently:

Dear Sean,

I hope you had a safe trip to camp on Friday morning. Actually, I know you did; your dad took you there personally since we won’t let you have your own car until you can pay collision costs yourself for a change.

I miss you already. I was just remarking on that as I gathered your laundry from the floor in your room and rediscovered the color of your carpet.  I will miss all the charming peculiarities that make you unique and that bring us such joy at home.

Like your superhuman ability to eat an entire box of cereal in just two bowlfuls. And an entire 29-ounce can of peaches in one sitting.

I will miss seeing what new musical instrument you have decided to befriend this week. I will miss the way you can see music in everything. Like when you “conduct” the directional signal in my car as it makes its steady blinky noise, and how you can turn any surface in the house into an impromptu drum when we least expect it. I will miss having to high-step through my office so as to not step on a cymbal or flute or tambourine.

I will miss hearing the “SLAM!  THUNK!” when you come in from teaching in the evening, slamming the door behind you and dropping everything you carry within a one-foot radius. I will miss having to kick you out of the lounge chair because Dad and I want to use the TV ourselves for a change.  I will miss worrying if you’ll be up in time for your appointments because you stayed up all night playing video games.

Yes, I will miss all of these things, because as aggravating as they all are, they all mean you’re home and you’re safe. And that’s all a mom needs to know.

So have fun at camp this summer, Sean. I’ll miss you. But I’ll try to remember that I get you nine months of the year, so it’s only fair those kids at Camp Gorham get you the other three months.

They have no idea how lucky they are.

Love, Mom

I could have written pretty much this same letter today, with just a few changes towards the end:

So have a great life in the Bronx, Sean. I’ll miss you. But I’ll try to remember that you will come back to visit sometimes on long weekends and holiday vacations (emphasis on “WILL“), and it’s only fair that those kids at Horace Mann School will get you the rest of the time.

They have no idea how lucky they are.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 8/14/2022)

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Bygone blog — my diaper bag theory of motherhood

7 Aug

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I am re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 14 years.

I was reminded of this particular blog when I happened across a new mother at a park recently. It was originally published on March 29, 2009.

Diaper bag theory of motherhood

Have you ever noticed how you can tell how many babies a mother has had by the size of her diaper bag?
Here’s my theory:

First baby:

Diaper bag rivals the suitcase you would pack for a week’s trip to Europe. It contains:

  • changing pad
  • at least a half dozen diapers
  • baby wipes
  • baby oil
  • baby powder
  • four extra Binkies (in case the one currently in use falls to the ground, a second in case the first backup falls to the ground, and two more … just in case)
  • two bottles of formula
  • three burp cloths
  • two changes of clothes
  • at least three rattles or other kind of highly educational and stimulating toys
  • blanket
  • band-aids
  • Neosporin
  • Children’s Tylenol

(And if you’re planning to be out for more than an hour, double everything.)

Second baby:

Diaper bag is about the size of an insulated lunch box. Inside is stuffed:

  • a couple of diapers
  • diaper wipes
  • burp cloth
  • spare Onesie
  • one extra Binkie (if you remember)
  • a bottle of formula or water
  • rattle

Third baby:

No bag necesary. You stuff a diaper into your back pocket and you’re all set.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 8/7/2022)

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A little bit of Santa’s magic to brighten your day

6 Jul

I think we need to be reminded every once in a while that even during difficult times — and we’ve had a lot of difficult times recently — simple, magical moments can still happen to brighten our lives.

Such is the case with the following story, which I picked up from Facebook. It was recalled by my friend Jim Lockwood, “Webster’s Santa.” You’ve no doubt seen Jim in the village’s annual Parade of Lights at White Christmas, or maybe your kids visited him at the gazebo last year before the parade.

If you’ve ever had the good fortune to meet Jim, you know as I do that he actually is the real Santa Claus. There’s just something … magical about him and the effect he has on everyone he meets. I think this story which he shared a few days ago illustrates that.

He titled his story “Never Too Old.”

A few years ago I did a Christmas in July gig in one of the small towns in our area. It was a local Farmer’s Market set up in a large municipal parking lot.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon in July, not too busy, moms magically juggling bags of fruits and vegetables, going from stand to stand with children in tow, checking everything out. Children were asking, “Where are your reindeer?”, “How many elves do you have?” and “Why are you here in the middle of summer?” All good questions needing carefully-worded answers.

A young woman waited until the line dwindled, then came over to my chair and whispered that her elderly grandmother had never seen or talked with Santa. She asked if I would talk with her, if I had the time. Of course Santa has the time. I told her, I would love to talk with her grandmother. During a lull of a thousand questions she brought her beautiful grandmother over to visit with Santa. I think they were vendors at the market.

This young woman gave me one of the most memorable moments I’ve had portraying Santa Claus by bringing this wonderful soul to visit with Santa.

They say Santa is the spirt of Christmas, that he brings happiness and hope. I think they got it right!

Yes, she did tell me her Christmas wishes…

When I asked Jim if I could share his story in my blog, he wrote, “I was so humbled and honored to be the first Santa that she had ever visited.”

“She brought the joy and happiness that day. She was the Spirit of Christmas! I think her face tells the whole story.”

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 7/6/2022)

Bygone blog — The psychology of dinner dishes

1 Jul

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I am re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last eight years. This one was originally published on December 18, 2011.

The psychology of dinner dishes

As we were clearing the table after dinner last night, my husband, son and I got into a discussion about loading the dishwasher. (All families talk about stuff like this, right?) It wasn’t one of our more in-depth discussions like we’ve had about things like the proper way to hang the toilet paper, or why there are grease spots on the kitchen ceiling. No, this was simply an exploratory discussion about why on earth my husband chooses to stack the glasses on the inside rows of the upper rack rather than filling the outside rows first. That’s just weird.

From that discussion, we came up with an interesting idea: how a person loads a dishwasher can tell you a lot about their personality.

Let’s say, for example, that you always insist on loading the dishwasher yourself, and when someone else does it, you go back to correct their work when no one’s looking. That means you have control issues.

Do you make sure all the knives, spoons and forks are separated into their own individual compartments? You’re OCD.

Do you put your knives in point-up? That’s sadistic.

Do you methodically fill every square inch of the top racks with cups, glasses and serving utensils; stack bowls, dinner plates and pots and pans two layers deep in the bottom rack; shoe-horn in six more cake plates, and THEN turn it on and expect the appliance to deal with it? Totally passive-aggressive.

Think about that when you’re hanging around in the kitchen with your extended family this holiday season. You never know what you might discover.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 7/1/2022)

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The kindness of strangers

10 Jun

If you don’t subscribe to the Webster Herald, then you missed a really touching letter to the editor in this week’s edition. As soon as I read it, I knew I wanted to share it with a wider audience.

In this day and age when the news is filled with stories about the awful ways people are treating one another, this letter shows there’s still good in our world. And it illustrates what a caring community Webster is.

Dear Editor,

Last Friday my husband Don and I, both in our 80s, were on our way to Mr. T’s for lunch when he lost his balance and fell hard, face down onto the parking lot pavement. In less than a minute, a young woman pushing a stroller came up and asked, “What can I do?” She called 911. Then, another young woman came. “I am a nurse. How can I help?” She got down on her hands and knees and spoke to my husband, who was bleeding from his face. Two more women arrived with paper towls and Kleenex. Another nurse arived, and together the two nurses agreed they shouldn’t try to turn my husband over onto his back. So they went to work, one on his face and the other on his knees to try to stop the bleeding.

Two more people came with umbrellas, opened them up over my husband to protect him from the noonday sun. A gentleman from a nearby store arrived with a chair for me to sit on, and an offer of a glass of water. Another gentleman came with a blanket to put under my husband’s legs. When I said, “It will get bloody,” his response was, “No problem.” The nurse lifted Don’s leg and wedged the blanket underneath his knees to make it more comfortable for him until the ambulance arrived.

After Don was safely in the ambulance and I was on my way back to our car, one of the nurses said to me, “Are you all right? Would you like me to follow you home?” (I wasn’t able to go in the ambulance with Don because of COVID.) When I reassured her that I was OK, she gently closed the driver’s door next to me and said, “I’ll pray for you.”

To say Don and I were blessed was an understatement. No one would wish such an accident would occur, but once it did, nobody would imagine how kind eight strangers could be.

Don is home now and recovering. We’re both “over the moon” with gratitude. We don’t know any of these people’s names, but I doubt we will ever forget their kindness.

— Carole Young

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 6/10/2022)

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The tale of the Wandering Box Spring

15 May

I bring you a short modern fairy tale today about loss, but ultimate redemption.

Our story begins last summer, when a lone box spring appeared in the wooded area along the pleasantly shady and tree-lined path known to local residents as the Trail of Bike. It rested comfortably along the north side of the Trail, only several feet from where cyclists and walkers would pass. It probably would have found its way deeper into the brush had a metal chain-link obstruction not halted its progress.

Clearly, the poor box spring had lost its way ‘twixt the small brick village nearby and Ye Olde Dumpstre.

One day, as I took a stroll along the Trail of Bike, I noticed that someone (a Box Spring Fairy?) had taken pity and extracted the wayward box from the wooded area, placing it on the grassy yard near the small village’s courts of tennis. Surely someone would notice it lying there and return it to its home — or at least help it finally find ye olde dumpstre.

Alas, the poor box lay there through the rest of the summer, through the cold winds of autumn and blustery snows of winter, still lost and alone. And three weeks ago, as the spring flowers returned to the trees, it lay there still, filled with water from the melting snows.

One day, the Box Spring Fairy apparently took note, pushing it closer yet to the the courts of tennis. Perhaps finally some administrator from the small village would see it and take pity.

Huzzah! It did get moved one day! The laborers assigned to trim the grassy yard moved it aside … then moved it back.

Last week, the Box Spring Fairy tried once again, flipping the box head over heels several times until it came to rest standing against the fence surrounding the courts of tennis.

Today, it is gone. A happy ending.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

You can also get email notifications every time I post a new blog by using the “Follow Me” link on the right side of this page.

(posted 5/15/2022)

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