I Hate Garbage Day.

It’s garbage day. Like most American families we produce more than our share of garbage – diapers, juice boxes and the like. On garbage day the trash disappears from my life (which I like) to become just another contribution to the world’s environmental concerns (which bothers me a little). Like most of my lofty aspirations, I figure – “hey, someday, when I have a little more time, maybe then I will do my part to decrease our contribution to the wastefulness.”

But I don’t have time. Especially on garbage day. My children get up 45 minutes to one hour earlier on garbage day. Garbage trucks and garbage truck drivers are loud. Their loudness is amplified in comparison to the relative quietness of the homes on my street at the ungodly hour at which they take my garbage.

This hour to 45 minutes is my time. You know – to do things like drink my coffee and read magazines. Or post on this blog. Or catch up on my pop culture news. When I don’t get this time our whole entire life-balance is off. This happens every Thursday.

Maybe if the garbage truck would come one hour later I could spend that time saving the environment. Probably, though, I would just drink another cup of coffee. At least today I didn’t go to Starbucks and get it in a paper cup.

Posted in Ranting and Whining |

Guilty Verdict for Rodriguez

Alfonso Rodriguez was found guilty for the murder of Dru Sjodin. The death penalty phase of the trial begins next week. Everyone has an opinion on that, and I should probably shy away from discussing it in a blog that purports in its description to be ‘fun’.

More than the verdict, and more in line with our developing purported blogging purposes here at Mommy Tracks, I was interested in this correspondent article about mothers leaning on mothers. It may be one of the saddest stories I’ve read in awhile.

Kiss your babies, ladies.

Posted in Serious Side |

The Class of 2010

I love it when things work out like this. Just Monday I was posting about how we used to have to write letters to communicate with our good friends afar. Those kinds of things… the things that will make my kids think I am old.. are a constant source of interest to me. If they are to you, too, check out this fascinating list of interesting factoids about the cultural context of the kids entering their freshman year of college. http://www.beloit.edu/~pubaff/mindset/2010.htm

Or, if you are interested in other things that make me feel old - there’s this post.

Posted in Anecdotes on Aging |

We Became Our Mothers and Fathers Without A Sound.

When I went to college (which really wasn’t all that long ago) my favorite thing to do was check my mail. Not my e-mail. My real, go to the post office, put in the key, pull out the letters mailbox. In it I would almost always find a lovely well-decorated letter from Fabulous or a dark and brooding letter from the non- committal musician boyfriend. Sometimes there would be a package slip, and I would wait in line for a care package full of Scotch Tape and Ho-Hos from Sam’s Club. (Yes, people - Bulk loads of Scotch Tape and Ho-Ho’s; my mom rocks). On occasion Fabulous, or the brooder, or some other friend would send me a - (drum roll) mixed tape.

I would take the mail back to my dorm room, pile it up on the table without opening it. Sometimes I would leave it until after the day’s classes, or take it by myself to the student union to read over lunch – so I could savor the mail, the connection, the time with friends.

During the past decade I endured law school and the partnership track, got married, bore and nursed three children, and tried to become the poster child for the alternative work arrangement. And if you add in there a more-than-healthy dose of family crisis, well you could say I’ve been kind of busy. So that’s my excuse for not actually realizing about all the blogging. I just didn’t know.

That’s how it happens I think. How we become our parents. It’s incremental until one day we just notice that we’re the worried, reminiscent, behind-the-times grown-ups. One day we realize that we don’t know about the hip music, that we aren’t on myspace, that we aren’t podcasting. One day we’re in touch and the next we’re pondering the days when making someone a playlist required time-planning, heavy equipment, and lots of CD’s.

One day we’re rolling our eyes at our parents while we explain that heavy metal music is not for devil worshipers. Then out of nowhere we’re the worried parents … worrying that the emails and the blogging and the itunes will leave nothing for our children to touch, build and savor. Worrying that instead of getting well-decorated letters from the friends they have, our kids will be blogging with ones they’ve not yet met. And I admit it, I know it makes me sound old, but I am really worried about these things.

Posted in Anecdotes on Aging |