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Category: Generation Gap

Get that Mosh Pit Away from Me

I, like a lot of people who love music, used to go out to hear bands play all the time. I’ve been to big concerts in huge arenas to little shows in tiny dives. I’ve heard punk bands in basements and bands that called themselves punk before a major record label offered them a deal in stadiums. I’ve heard music that’s hardcore, folk, independent, country, bluegrass, goth, ska (you do remember ska, don’t you?) electronic, acoustic, rock. You get the idea. And then, as it always happens when you start procreating, our money and time got funneled into other, more child- and home-centric activities. Porches got built, and babies got diapered. Our wake up call came at 6:30 a.m. no matter if it was a weekend morning or not. David and I would go out for an occasional dinner-and-a-movie date and end up forgoing the  movie because it’d mean we’d be up too late.   For the first year after each of our girls was born, I was breastfeeding, and really, if there was any way I could avoid using that…

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies

It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor, because if I didn’t I’d be in therapy right now.  No, not really, but still.  We’ve been laughing a lot around here these past few days.  We have to.  Saoirse’s entered what I’ll call the honesty phase of childhood (how long does this last?  Till she turns 13 and starts sneaking out of the house?), otherwise known as the call-it-like-I-see-it phase, or the world-in-black-and-white phase.   Some might say it’s the phase that strikes fear and embarrassment in the heart of any parent.  Want some proof? Exhibit A:  at the table, at lunch this weekend.  We were getting ready to leave the house.  Saoirse had watched me stick a bunch of hot rollers in my hair (yes, I’m one of the two people in this country between the ages of 15-40 who still actually use them) because I was too lazy to actually blow it out properly (I grow my hair out solely to be able to put it in ponytails, by the way.  All…

Sign of the Times

I routinely crack up (as in laugh, not have a nervous breakdown. I save those for the special occasions, like when a tick fell onto my arm the other day while I was sitting at this desk and I acted like a SWAT team had just broken into my house) when I hear Saoirse speak. So many of the phrases she uses on a daily basis–her normal, everyday vernacular–is so, so different from anything you would’ve heard me or my brother, or anyone we knew, for that matter, say when we were growing up. What, you want some examples? Why, I’m happy to oblige: 1.  At least three times a week at lunchtime, SK asks for hummus. Hummus and pita, to be exact, “but no coo-cumber in it. No. No coo-cumber. Tomorrow. You can give me coo-cumber tomorrow. I don’t like it.” My brother and I grew up in a small town in south-central Pennsylvania, Dave and his brother, in Baltimore city. We knew nothing of this stuff called hummus. We ate bologna on white bread, with Utz potato chips, silly, just like everybody…