Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Buying a car

The family took a road trip yesterday. We're searching for the new family car. This isn't easy since the kiddo is attached to our 8 year old Camry. I can't say that she started the day with an open mind.

Once on the car lot, one caught our attention. I liked it because it's a hybrid. It claims incredible gas mileage. She liked it because of the color. Clear sky blue metallic. My husband scratched his head and looked at both of us. This is nothing like what we'd set out to find.

"I remember when cars were only red, blue, white or black," I said without thinking.

"Did they have cars when you were a kid like me?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Except Uncle Tim had a metallic purple one that looked like a grape."

She didn't ask more questions. I think I threw her with that metallic purple reference to my brother's mid-70s VW Bug.

I really dread trying to explain the 70s to her. A lot of other moms of kids her age were born in the 70s. They don't remember much. I was 36 when we had the kiddo. I was around for all of the 70s. I remember watching news coverage of George Wallace being shot. Not the comedian, but the Alabama governor. I remember Watergate and the second wave of feminism that was responsible for the girls at Malvern High School getting to wear pants.

Wow. I really am starting to feel like a dinosaur!

Monday, March 15, 2010

Where do I fit in the world's evolution?

I've always been perplexed by where I fit in the history of this big ol' world. As a kid, it was hard to put things into perspective. Silent movies and an era without a telephone seemed as distant as the ages when cavemen discovered fire. Lucky for me, my 6 year old daughter put my place in history into perspective for me.


That's the time before bath scrunchees and liquid soap.

Let me explain.

Things are always crazy at my house. I am a freelance writer so I work from home. Which means I feel like I should always be writing something. One morning I took a shower curtain down to clean, then decided I'd get back to writing as it soaked in bleach. I never thought about it again until time for the kiddo's bath that night.

So, she got bathed in the master bathroom. I could have gotten her bath pouff from her bathroom, but instead I grabbed a wash cloth. Her brown eyes widened with concern.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm washing your face."

"With THAT?"

"Yes. It's a wash cloth. That's what you do with them. You wash."

"Have you ever used a wash cloth?"

"Yes. We used these back before bath scrunchees."

I reached down and grabbed the bar of soap and rubbed it on the wash cloth. She started asking questions again. I heard panic in her voice.

"What's that stuff?"

"THIS?" I asked, holding up the bar of soap.

"Yeah. What is that?"

"It's soap. Just not the squirt kind."

"Did you use that before scrunchees too?"

"Yes. We didn't always have liquid soap, you know."

Her eyes widened again. This time her voice expressed something else. Wonderment.

"Mama, will you tell me another story about the olden times? Back before scrunchees and liquid soap?"

Yep. That's when I knew my place in this world.