I Miss the Good Ol' Days

The utterance of these words automatically puts me in the "If it's too loud, you're too old" group, but I don't care. I have recently come to grips with the fact that I am no longer 18. This was triggered in part by the fact that my baby is turning nine this weekend. For quite some time now, I've told myself, "We need to lose our baby weight." At some point, I had to accept that when your kiddo is no longer a baby, it's not baby weight, it's just weight. And it's time for it to disappear. Unfortunately, my metabolism is not what is was when I was 18. I used to be able to just think about losing 5 pounds, and it'd be gone. Now, I think about losing 5 pounds and I gain 10. So yes, I miss those days.

Having decided I need to start working out, I took the first step-finding the right music to rock my workout. Yes, this is the most important part. Do not skip it. So, I went in search of jamz. Not jams, which you spread on toast, but Jamz. I was happily cruising iTunes, remembering such greats as Tone Loc (always good), Young MC, Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock and countless others, when I found Da Dip by Freak Nasty. Yes, I know...

Anyway, I read a review some little 15 year old had written about Da Dip, and I nearly cried. Keep in mind, this song was released in 1997. This little thing wrote, "I know this is an oldie..." An oldie?!?!?! Seriously? Oh, I am getting old! Apparently, songs I considered to be good for working up a sweat are oldies. It's a sad day. Almost as sad as the day I got my first "Ma'm" instead of "Miss". Oh that was a dark day in history.

Add this to my utterance of "Back when I was a kid..." and you've got yourself an old lady. My daughter had some math homework the other night that nearly did me in. She's a third grader, and they're working on subtracting large numbers. Some of these require the old borrow and carry method. You know, when the top number is smaller than the bottom, you borrow from the tens column and subtract... Well, that's how I was taught, and it's served me well all these long years. Until the other night. She was trying to teach me the "Counting Up Method" and by the end, I was sitting in the corner, sucking my thumb, rocking back and forth and mumbling incoherently. Let me see if I can try to explain. Rather than subtracting the small number from the big number, you start with the small number, and add to it incrementally until you reach the big number. Once you've done that, you find the sum of all your increments, and that is the difference between the big number and the small number. Whew. Clear as mud, right? Okay, say it's 940-368. Start with 368, add 2. Now you have 370. Add 30. Now you have 400. Add 500. Now you have 900. Add 40. Now you have 940. Now add 2+30+500+40=572. There you have it, 940-368=572. Sooo simple. Who needs the old style? Not me, this is faster and takes less paper and pencil lead, right?

I tried to bite my tongue, I really did. In the end, I lost. "Back when I was a kid, we learned the simple way. I don't know why someone decided to complicate something that has worked just fine for generations! I was taught the same way my parents were taught, and their parents and grandparents...!!!!" When I realized this might sound like a criticism of my daughter, I shut up. I told her I wasn't trying to criticize her, and that if the new way was easier for her, that was totally okay with me. I also told her that her momma was too old to learn new math, so she was going to have to be patient with me. There is something wrong when I don't understand third grade math. I felt better when I talked to my good friend, who said she spent the evening in the fetal position while her baby did his homework. Last night, I felt even better when another mother came up to me at our daughters' soccer game and said, "Did you have a hard time with G's homework the other night?" To which I responded, "Oh My Lord, yes!!!" She said she was glad she's married to a teacher, because he was able to help their daughter. She couldn't make sense of it either. So apparently, I am not the only parent who misses the good ol' days.

One more reason I miss the days when electricity was brand new, and indoor plumbing hadn't been thought of yet? Picture Day. Again, when I was a kid, everyone sat down in front of the blue cloth, said cheese, got their little black comb, and went on their way. Then we'd all sit together, along with our teacher, and they'd put the black felt board in front of us with the year and grade stuck on there with white plastic letters. Two months later, we'd get our packages of 8x10s, 5x7s, wallet sized pics, and exchanges, along with a class picture. Everyone would trade pics, and life was good. You'd scribble some little sentiment on the back of your exchanges, hand them out by the dozens, and collect all your friends' pics like trading cards. Good times. I have since learned that it's just not that simple. First of all, they've done away with the exchange-sized pics. Gone. No longer available. Wallet is as small as they get. Fine, that I can deal with. The ever-more complicated order form I cannot. The sky's the limit. Different poses, different colors, 5 million packages to choose from. I need a PhD in Photography Form Decoding just to order my daughter's school pictures! This year, they added the option of ordering online, where you could find even more options. Not happening. I will stick to the form, thank you very much. After poring over the order form for a good 10 hours, calling friends and family to see if they knew what I was supposed to do, and consulting with my daughter, I chose the standard blue background. That's right. The good old head shot with the blue backdrop. My hands were shaking as I wrote in my selections and signed the check. Hopefully I did it right, but I really have no idea. I'm not alone in this one either. Even the principal was bemoaning the new system at the PTO meeting last night. He said, "It used to be just one pose, now they want you to do two!" I tell you, newer isn't always better.

So yes, I miss the Good Ol' Days. I used to be hip, now I know that some day I'm going to need a new hip. But until then, I'm going to jam my headphones in my ears, step on that elliptical and sweat to Bust a Move and Wild Thing and Da Dip.