Category Archives: Children

DON’T BAT AN EYELASH!

Age Beholds BeautySeveral times in recent weeks, perfect strangers, when seeing me with my youngest daughter have said, “Gosh.  You look just alike!”  or, “Well I can sure tell that she’s your daughter!”  Funny thing is, until I saw this picture tonight, I almost believed them!  But a picture IS worth a thousand words. . . and as you can see for yourself:  we look NOTHING alike and that’s Okay.  She is lovely for 16 and I am lovely for one who parks in the, “For Seniors Only,” space.

Oh, I could nip and tuck this or that, slap on some makeup, color my hair; all things my girlfriends have sweetly suggested over the years.  But what person in their right mind would put fresh paint on a crumbling wall?  Just today, a woman 10 years younger than me said that she botoxes “like crazy,” and that, “along with Zoloft,” keeps her from being depressed.  But I’m not one whit depressed when I look in the mirror.  Not just because my eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be.  Frankly, I don’t really ‘look’ in that mirror the way I used to.  Instead of scrutinizing the shape of my eyebrows or how lush my lips look with that new lipstick, I now use it as a general assessment of, ‘Is there spinach in my teeth?” or, “I think it’s about time I trimmed my bangs.’

Youth hands you beauty without having to bat an eyelash.  Problem is, too many of us spend the rest of our lives trying to improve on it.  The money-mad, media, once found only in print or TV ads, now gnaws for our young girl’s attention from the intimacy of their cell phones!  Sadly, they pay attention.  But no cream, beauty product or laser treatment will ever make you any more beautiful over time.  That happens on the inside, where the real fountain of youth exists.  It’s that reservoir of love, memory,  acceptance, forgiveness, humility and humor which has poured into you slowly over the years.  

So a reminder to young, beautiful girls everywhere:  spend as much time doing good as looking good.  It’s cheaper than mascara and lasts forever  Meanwhile, I’ve decided to go out, “Just the way the Good Lord made me.”  Those were words my grandmother managed to use for almost every occasion.  Now there was a truly, beautiful woman.  Sorry, Lady Clairol.  You just can’t hold a candle to that! 

Hudson’s 2nd book, “Kissing Tomatoes,” will soon be out in print.  The Kindle edition is available on Amazon.

DON’T WORRY

Do you know that they’ve done studies which PROVE over 90% of what we worry about NEVER happens!  I’ve even READ the studies, so I ask you, why did I wake up at 5 AM this morning worried about my teenagers?  Because I figure, MY worries are in that 10%.  Go figure.

Now, I admit, I have a rather uncanny ability to find everyone else’s flaws and weak points.  Seriously, my head is like a magnifying glass. It can fix on the most minute crack in someone’s façade and enlarge it to earthquakian proportions.  Give me ten minutes with anyone and I assure you that I could tell you where they’re going wrong, what they’re doing right and if so inspired, even offer my advice to let them know both of the above. 

Plus, it does not take a GPS to find my mouth.  Just walk by and it locates.  If only that inner guide steered me as well raising kids, I might have a whole lot less worry and a heck of a lot more sleep.  In hindsight, I spent the first 10 years loving, nurturing, teaching, and helping them find their way.  Frankly, they have spent the last 10 undoing all my good work.  

Children learn by example.  (At least they used to before the computer opened it’s top and swallowed them whole).  In prehistoric times, kids had no choice.  When Mom said, “Run!” they ran.  Otherwise, they’d have been flattened by a buffalo.  But they’re extinct like “Thank You” notes, long distance phone calls and helping little, old ladies across the street.  When’s the last time you laid eyes on a Boy Scout?  Or held the door for someone older? 

Fortunately, my oldest, has had a part-time job the last two years.  She knows what’s it’s like to do something that involves mindless repetition, receives no praise and garners little money.  It has prepared her for parenting.  Of course, by the time she has kids, you can probably just download an App.  It’ll save you the hassle AND the worry. On that note, I think I’ll hit the sack.

HELEN HUDSON HERE: GET REAL

Remember the days when you had to get your courage up to tell that special person how you felt?  Or had to break off a relationship in PERSON?  Not anymore.  Now you just type what’s on your mind, click “SEND,” and you never even have to look them in the eye.  Communication these days is more simulation than sensation.  You see and hear it but you don’t really feel it.

Back in the day, gossip took weeks to get around.  You either had to witness the dirty deed yourself or hear about it through the grapevine.  Now, in mere seconds, you can send/receive pictures, live videos or access heretofore ‘private’ stuff from thousands of folks without moving from your chair.  And while such supersonic speed saves lives, it also destroys them. 

Now I’m not suggesting a return to the days when the stagecoach brought the mail.  (Although I do imagine the thrill of hearing the approach of pounding hoof beats stirred the heart more than a mere cell phone ‘ding.’)  But our generation of kids operates in a sea of instant gratification.  If they make a mistake, they hit, “DELETE.”  With impulse at the helm, there’s no steering clear of the rocks. Disaster is always imminent.  Just ask the survivors from the Costa Concordia.   

Last year, I spoke at a parent’s meeting at my daughter’s school.  Afterwards, I drove straight home.  It’s a five-minute trip.  The second I walked in, my daughter yelled:  “Hey.  I just heard what you said in the meeting.”  How?  Some Mom told her kid what I said, who then texted my daughter.  So much for a ‘Parent’s’ meeting. 

I do wish my kids knew what it was like to have to wait weeks just to get a letter from someone special; something they could hold, cherish and rediscover years later in some forgotten box.  But there’s no going back.  Like an Olympian, I have to focus on the challenge ahead, not the guy behind me.

Right now, mine is teaching my teen how to drive.  She has mastered acceleration.  If I hold my breath just right, she can even park between two cars without removing their side mirrors.  Frankly, I’d like to put an egg between her foot and the brake.  What’s her REAL challenge besides scouring the road ahead for bicyclists, bolting dogs or bumpy potholes?  Anticipating the impending light change. . . then watching for the car that might run it.  You can’t simulate that.  It’s real. 

IT TAKES A LOT OF NERVE

It takes a lot of nerve to steal from someone but it takes even more to give what you’ve stolen back. Both scenarios occurred to an 83 year-old friend of mine yesterday.  She arrived at the pool as she has, “for the last 40 years,” with her purse stuffed inside of her gym bag.   She put them in her locker and headed out to swim. When she returned her purse was gone.

Inside, besides $60 in cash, were two gift cards from her grandchildren totaling $200, along with her ID and all of her credit cards.  Bereft, she drove straight home to cancel everything. When she finished, she walked out to her mailbox and found her purse sitting inside. The cash and gift cards were gone, but everything else was just as she had left it.

I thought about the girl who returned it in broad daylight. Someone could have seen her, including my friend. It took nerve but it also meant that she had a conscience. Nowadays you don’t see much of that. Just read the news. Not much conscience around.  Some of our politicians and PEOPLE idols could have used a grandmother like mine.

When I was five, I stole a piece of Bazooka bubblegum from the open jar at the checkout stand as Grandmother paid for our groceries. I unwrapped it, stuffed the pink sweetness into my mouth and began to chew. However, as we approached the car, Granny looked hard at me and asked, “What are you chewing?” “Gum,” I answered guiltily. “Did you pay for it?” she asked. “Um. No,” I replied, “but it only cost three cents.” “That is stealing,” she said. “The amount doesn’t matter.”

She reached into her handbag, took out a Kleenex and had me put my gum inside of it. “Now take this back and tell the clerk that you are sorry for stealing it.” Then she took three pennies from her purse and pressed them into my hand. “And here is the money to pay for it.” “But Grandma,” I protested, “You mean I have to give the gum back AND I have to pay for it, too?” “Yes,” she replied. “But why?” “Because you won’t enjoy it anymore. Your conscience won’t let you.” I’m kind of hoping that girl has that same feeling with the stuff she buys on my friend’s cards.

Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” an Alzheimer’s memoir.

TIME CHANGES EVERYTHING

Everywhere you go nowadays you see ‘kids’ taking care of their elderly parents.  That wasn’t the case when I wrote, “Kissing Tomatoes,” 10 years ago.  At the time, publishers said, “Love the writing but no one will buy it.  Who cares about Alzheimer’s?”  Well, time changes everything. 

Just today, the woman in front of me at the pharmacy counter was waiting for her mother to write a check.  Dowager-humped and small, her shaky hand extended from a wrinkled, arthritic arm.  The wait for all of us was almost interminable.

Every few seconds, the daughter looked around nervously, then straightened her shoulders as if to keep herself from getting the hump her mother has.  She was so embarrassed holding up our line that I made small talk.

“Well, looks like you get to do all the shopping while Mom pays the bills.” 

She brightened slightly.  “Yes, we’ve always loved shopping together.  Just takes longer now.”

“No worries,” I replied.  “We’ll be there ourselves one day.” 

An hour later I dashed back to the same store for something I had forgotten.  The man ahead of me was turning his pockets inside out for change and holding a single bottle of water.

“I just need twelve more cents, right?” he asked in a nervous voice.  He was sweating and his face so flushed, that I feared he might be having a heart attack.

“Goodness,” I said to the clerk, “I’ll pay for his water.”     

“Oh no.  Can’t let you do that,” the man said.  “I have it here somewhere.”  He began searching his back pockets.  “I’m taking care of my mom,” he suddenly blurted.  “Never thought it would be this hard.  She’s driving me crazy.”

“How wonderful,” I replied.  “After all of those years she raised you, now you are caring for her.”

“Yeah, but the only problem is I can’t spank HER!” he laughed.

His car was parked next to mine.  As he jumped behind the wheel, I waved at the old gal next to him.  “Mom!” he yelled, “This lady just paid for my water.”  “How nice,” she said.  “And how nice that your son is looking after you,” I added.  “Oh, not for long,” she confided.  “The doctor said this thing I have will be over very soon.”  I glanced at the man.  He shook his head.  Yeah, time changes everything—especially us.

CLEAN YOUR ROOM!

A friend came by to see our new house last week  Nothing really ‘new’ about this 50’s ranch but I welcomed the chance to show it off.  She marveled at the view from all the windows of the grand trees which surround us and we giggled at the constant creaking of the floors.

As she opened the door to my daughter’s room, my heart sank.  Clothes were heaped everywhere, dresses flung on the floor, dirty Kleenex, candy wrappers, a half-eaten apple, and an unmade bed.  Her bathroom, however, made the bedroom look like the Sistine chapel.   

Her room has looked like this for so long that I didn’t even cringe when my friend said, ‘Gosh, she’s as messy as my son!’  And while I have asked her to clean it hundreds of times, it still looks as if the person who lives there is careless and uncaring.

Now experts on the subject say that kids’ rooms are messy because they, “have too much” or because they are “exerting their independence.”  And while both points of view have value, my take is this:  Your room reflects who you are. 

As a teenager, my own room had a posters of Led Zepplin and the Doors on the walls.  An incense burner sat on my dresser, love beads hung from my desk lamp and my stuffed animals snuggled on the paisley bedspread.  Granny even let me tape peace symbols across the windows.  Those were my statements of independence. 

So truth is, I don’t really want my daughter to just ‘clean her room’.  I want her to value her clothes like her friends and not just dump them on the floor when she is through with them.  I want her to realize that not capping the toothpaste or nail polish is like hanging up on someone without saying, “Good-bye.”  I want her to understand that leaving gooey trash on a strand of pearls or a white, silk blouse, is like cussing in the middle of a Keats poem. 

When my daughter walks into this room of her own, I want her to own it as the full expression of who she IS.  So that anyone who crosses her threshold in the future will see her best self not the one on view at present.  Before I post this, though, better be sure that I made my bed this morning.  I have to lie in it.


GET A LIFE!!!

When my oldest first said these three words to me I really was speechless.  Then I laughed.  After I wiped the incredulous look off my face I just stared into her then 16 year-old eyes and said:  “I have one but unfortunately for you, you’re a BIG part of it.”  Now if you have teenagers and haven’t heard this yet—trust me—you will.  And, if you are a parent of ANY sort you know one thing for sure:  Your life hasn’t been YOURS since that first cry.

Some parents simply cannot handle the reality of that.  It’s just too all-consuming.  Casey Anthony comes to mind.  But most of us adapted piece by piece, year by year as our offspring grew.  Then one day we realized that even our simplest thoughts almost always include our children.

Teenagers aren’t cool with that.  They so desperately want to be free and on their own that sometimes just looking at them sends them into a frenzy.  This afternoon, while driving my youngest, I was warned, “Don’t talk to me!”  So, I didn’t point out the cool clouds that were stretching across the purple sky ahead of the oncoming storm or the funny, looking dog being walked by the funnier looking woman.  Just drove in silence.

 I remember being her age.  When my grandmother drove me places I even hunkered down in the seat if I saw anyone I knew.  Just couldn’t wait to be ON MY OWN.  It didn’t help that hers was always the slowest car on the road.  The worst thing, of course, was running into a friend when she was with me.  If it were a boy, I fairly died inside.

Somewhere along the line, though, I grew up and thanked her for all those rides.  Had lots of adventures.  Saw some of the world.   Graduated from college.  Had a career—then another career.  Fell in love.  Married.  You know the rest.

I have 40 years of memories BEFORE my kids were born.  Way I figure it, they have a LOT of catching up to do to REALLY get ‘A LIFE.’  Yup, (and it makes me smile just thinkin’ about it) I had a life.  Still do.  Only it isn’t just MINE anymore.

 http://www.helen-hudson.com 

SHHH!! DON’T TELL!!

 While rinsing the chlorine off this morning in the YMCA shower, a gaggle of giggling little girls squeezed altogether in the open stall next to me.  Although several others were open, they chose to rinse off together.  Like spies on a secret mission, they peeked out from behind their vinyl curtain as if to be sure the coast was clear.  Then the giggling stopped and the whispering began. 

“My aunt is visiting us,” confided the first.  “She’s the one with the gray hair.  She is very, very old.. . .but don’t tell anyone!”

“Why not?” asked the smallest in a whisper.

“It’s a secret.”

“Oh,” they all seemed to understand at once.

Then one broke the silence:  “How old is she?”

“Oh, pretty old, I think,” the first replied.  “Like my dad’s age.”

“That’s not old,” piped the third.  “My dad isn’t old but his mother is REALLY, REALLY old.  She’s my grandmother.”

“All grandmothers are old,” added the fourth. 

“How come?” asked another.

“They have to be cuz if they weren’t we wouldn’t be here.”

At that moment, I turned off the water and pulled back my shower curtain.  As I stepped out, four pairs of very wide eyes looked up at me.

“You’re so right,” I told them.  “Without grandmothers we wouldn’t be here—and don’t worry I won’t tell anyone how very, very old your aunt is.”

“Okay,” said the girl, “Cause she would really kill me.”

“No worries,” I said, “Considering there are about 400 people out there today, I will never even know who she is.”

“Phew,” said her friend as I left.  “That was close.”

 

 

 

 

THE TOP TEN REASONS MOTHERS NEED DOGS BEFORE KIDS

Only one person wished me Happy Mother’s Day this morning:  the dog.  (Granted, no one else was up yet, but isn’t that how it is?)  Actually, she greets me EVERY day as if I am the most wonderful creature on the planet.  My kids used to be like that.  They’re teenagers now.  So on this happy occasion let me share a few things this little mutt has taught me that I wish I had known BEFORE I gave birth. 

1.  “No” is very effective about the zillionth time you say it.  If you cave before that they just don’t get the point.

2.  If you don’t want them to do something, like chew the buttons off your blouse, whatever you do, DO NOT TRY TO GET THE BLOUSE!  Give them a nice, dirty sock instead.  Otherwise you’ll end up with a ripped blouse.

3.  If they want to play, play with them.  Otherwise they will hound you until you simply cannot do whatever it is that might be more important than playing with them at that exact moment. 

4.  When they get too wound up, pick them up and hold them.  They’ll calm down eventually.

5.  If they bark at strangers you aren’t sure of—let ‘em bark.  Otherwise, get yourself a nice, pair of earplugs cause they’re gonna bark. 

6.  If you have to give them a nasty-tasting pill, don’t tell them, “It’s yummy” and insist they eat it.  Play ‘Keep Away,”  and don’t let them have it.  When they finally get it they’ll pretend to like it even if they don’t.

7.  Don’t pick up after them.  That chewed up, muddy shoe is on their bed for a reason.

8.  They’ll eat when they’re hungry.  Just put the food out.

9.  If they suddenly bark at you or nip you on the leg for absolutely NO reason at all, don’t try to figure out why.  They don’t know either. 

10.  Leash them up at night or you never know WHERE they’ll end up in the morning.

When my grandmother was raising me, she had already owned a dog.  This stuff was second nature to her.  I had to learn the hard way.  So, to all you new mothers out there this morning:  before your little ones grow up, GET A DOG!!!

(Helen Hudson is the author of “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of caring for her grandmother who had Alzheimer’s.  http://helen-hudson.com. )


NEVER SAY NEVER

‘We’ just got a puppy for Christmas.  In the last two days I have bent over with a paper towel and wiped or picked up at least 12 different ‘gifts.’  According to my research, I will be doing this for the next 3 months—if I’m lucky.

Now I am not particularly wild about dogs, never have been.  Like ‘em from a distance.  Up until yesterday, I have never owned a dog AND NEVER BEEN TEMPTED.  Nope.  Never.  Never walked a dog.  Never picked up after one.  Never took care of a friend’s dog.  Over the years, I have actually plugged my ears in the presence of a barking dog, even when the sound was coming from a movie screen.

I was bit by a dog once.  Still have the scar.  Did I mention that besides their bark, I also loathe their smell, particularly when they are wet?  Oh, and I REALLY can’t stand it when they jump up on me and sniff everywhere.  Not my idea of a good time.

Broke up with a guy once because I couldn’t stand his dog.  Walked away from several apartments over the years because they allowed dogs.  Won’t stay in hotels that allow pets.  Have moved twice because a neighbor’s dog would not stop barking.  Had to sit next to a dog on a plane once and asked to be moved.

Not long ago, I pulled up to a friend’s house and was greeted by their very, loudly barking, BIG dog.  I did not get out of the car.  Too terrified.  So, rolled up the windows. . .and waited. Finally, my friend heard the racket and came to rescue me.

You get the gist.  But, did I mention how my daughter’s face lights up whenever she sees this (as of yet unnamed) pup?  Or how she rushes to play with it and doesn’t seem to mind cleaning up the messes?  Right now I can hear her saying to her little mutt, “Wanna go on an adventure?’  She has put it on a teeny, tiny leash and they are, ‘Going for a walk.’

Granny always told me to, “Never say ‘never.’”  That was 40 years ago.  If she could see me now running after this four-legged rascal with yet another paper towel in hand, she would just smile that knowing smile.  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of her grandmother’s descent into Alzheimer’s.   http://www.helen-hudson.com).