Memories

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Trends and Fads and Their Enduring Allure

If you have a middle schooler, you are probably well aware that dumpling squishies are the toy trend du jour. I cannot stand squishies; I do not enjoy squishing them, not to mention they strike me as portable petri dishes. But my kid loves squishies and had some spending money in her pocket last week… just as I happened to have an errand at a business right next door to a toy store. The store only had “knock off” dumplings, according to Carla. But she did find a mini ice cube that she liked. (Needoh ice cubes are also So Hot Right Now.) Shall we take bets on how quickly a totally clear cube of goo disappears among the chaos of her bedroom or backpack?

Carla had some money left over, so we went to Five Below after school Friday, just to check out their squishy selection. (By the way, Five Below is now a wild misnomer; it seemed like most things in the store were seven dollars and up.) Carla assessed the situation and determined there were no good squishies. The store was planning a “dumpling drop” for Saturday morning, and already had signage indicating where people should line up on the sidewalk. I recall some news stories from my own childhood about parents stampeding stores on Black Friday to get the latest It Toy, but… now we are lining up for squishies? I am not judging, I am just observing with mild bafflement.

We did not leave empty handed. Carla found a (seven-dollar) hamster-in-a-ball toy that she insisted Lenny would love. He does love it.

You know what else is apparently a big thing among the seventh grade set? Hacky sacks. (Carla informed me yesterday that they are actually called footbags, and that Hacky Sack is a brand name.) (FOOTBAGS? No wonder “hacky sack” became a proprietary eponym for that kind of toy. “Footbag” sounds like an old-timey insult.) Kids in my middle school and high school played hacky sack, and that was back in the 1900s! And by the time my classmates got to them, they’d been around for decades! I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that they are experiencing a renaissance; I saw a bunch of Lisa Frank paraphernalia in Five Below, and hoo boy did I love Lisa Frank in the 80s. I wish it had been this prevalent back when I did Carla’s rainbow leopard birthday party, but I guess we were ahead of the trend.

Anyway, hacky sacks. They’re back. Did you play hacky sack in school? I did not. There was a particular category of kids who played hacky sack, and I was not one of them. I did date one of them though. He was not a good guy, although that had nothing to do with his hacky sack appreciation or his social group.

My parents, though generous and thoughtful gift givers, were not the type to run out and buy the latest toy just because we were foaming at the mouth for it. Not that it was anywhere near as easy to access trends back in the twentieth century, especially in a small, rural town. Some kids managed it, though. One trend I really remember wanting was jelly sandals. Everyone had jelly sandals except me. I wanted them so fervidly.

One friend – one of those who seemed to always be on top of the current trends, and whose parents seemed happy to ensure that she was always on the cutting edge when it came to fashion and toys; did you have That Kid in your class? – grudgingly allowed me to borrow a pair of her jellies. They were not comfortable. My toes got stuck in the holes. The backs of the shoes pinched my heels. Pebbles and grass got trapped between my feet and the soles of the shoes. How could anyone walk around in those things?! Why were they so popular?!

I also remember longing for a Slip ‘N Slide. My friend J’s parents would set up the Slip ‘N Slide at birthday parties and sleepovers, and it was so fun. I have vivid memories of standing in a giggly line of swimsuit-clad girls, digging our toes into J’s lush green lawn, waiting for our turn to slide on the yellow runway amid a spray of cool water.

My family lived out in the country with no access to city water, and the well water was bad for the grass. (My dad literally pumped water out of the river to water our lawn and trees.) So my parents put the kibosh on a Slip ‘N Slide, dashing my childhood dreams to bits. Obviously, the instant Carla was old enough to understand how a Slip ‘N Slide works, I got one for her. I was so excited to be able to provide this childhood joy that I had been so painfully denied to my own child. She… did not like it. I tried it and also did not like it. It kind of… hurt. It wasn’t as slippery as it should have been, and the material kind of stuck to my skin. After a few experiments – more water? more speed? – the thing ripped and that was that.

This is all to say that I am not immune to the siren song of The It Thing. The desire to be part of something is powerful, even now. (So far I have resisted weighted vests and vibration plates, but I am as susceptible to the pull of viral trends as much as the next guy.) I also understand the simple need to know what all the hype is about.

On the other side of the scale sits the haunting image of my high school friend’s mom, who amassed a massive number of Beanie Babies because she was sure – sure – that their value would skyrocket. Was her plan to fund her retirement with their eventual sale? I’m not sure. But I see her Beanie Babies display in my nightmares, a soft-bodied glassy-eyed red-labeled expenditure of hundreds and hundreds of dollars.

Even though Five Below was a miss, squishy-wise, Carla is still positive. We have another toy store to visit, and in the car she was cheerfully imagining that this third establishment would have a whole selection of dumplings and ice cubes for her to choose from.

Carefully, gently, not trying to burst her happy anticipatory bubble, I asked her if she remembered how popular Stanley tumblers were a couple of years ago. Does anyone still use a Stanley? (Carla doesn’t. She uses an Owala that is spillproof, unlike the Stanley.) (I see that Stanley now makes a spillproof tumbler, but that wasn’t the trend when Carla got hers.)

What about the Lululemon belt bag that she had to have? When was the last time she used that?

“This is different, Mom,” she told me. “Everyone loves squishies.”

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Ants on a Log

Once in a while, my kid goes through an “ants on a log” kick. In our house, “ants on a log” refers to a banana slathered with peanut butter and liberally sprinkled with chocolate chips.

I am willing to overlook the sugar in the chocolate chips in favor the protein and fat in the peanut butter and whatever nutrients a banana has; all I’m coming up with is potassium. (A deficiency in potassium, so I’ve heard all my life from potentially questionable sources, is the reason I sometimes get leg cramps. Let me tell you, I would rather wake up screaming in pain than eat a banana. My husband may feel differently, but so far he’s never smashed a banana into my shriek hole, so I think we’re okay.)

The hardest part of making my version of ants on a log is getting the peanut butter to adhere to the banana. That’s the main reason I switched from cutting the banana lengthwise down the center (which is also difficult; bananas tend to snap around their waistline) to cutting them into disks. Much easier to dollop peanut butter than to spread it, when you’re dealing with a sticky paste and a slippery fruit surface.

It’s also difficult to determine how many chocolate chips is The Right Amount. My daughter and I have wildly differing views on chocolate chip quantity. I would like to say that one chip per disk is enough; Carla would disagree. Did you know that there are approximately 2.5 million ants per human on the earth? That fact makes it sound like a couple million ants are born every time a human appears in a delivery room, but you get the idea. Anyway, my daughter would appreciate that kind of ant-to-human ratio for her ants on a log. Whether we’re talking about insects or chocolate chips, that’s way too many ants.

When I was a kid, “ants on a log” was a horrific combination of celery, peanut butter, and raisins. I do like celery, but I don’t like peanut butter and I abhor raisins, nearly as much as I abhor bananas. Also, if I stop to think about it for more than two seconds, it’s pretty gross to offer children “ants on a log” as a snack. Who wants to eat a log, whether or not it has delicious ants crawling all over it? I mean, xylophages, but as far as I know humans are not xylophagous.

Other important ants-on-a-log questions: What in nature is the peanut butter supposed to represent in this scenario? Who decided this would be a great name for a snack? Whether or not it’s appealing or depicts nature in an accurate way, it’s sure managed to insert itself into American culture.

Now I’m curious about my non-American friends, and whether ants on a log is a thing in your neck of the woods. If not, is there a similar snack food? And, if so, what is it called?

If I’m eating celery – and I do enjoy a celery snack – I’m eating it with ranch dressing or cottage cheese. NOT peanut butter. My mom likes to make “rabbit food” every afternoon around three, which is some combination of celery, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, cucumber, and bell peppers with a little ranch on the side. I don’t know that rabbits eat celery in the wild, but I do delight in envisioning myself as a little bunny nibbling my way through a garden, rather than as a middle-aged human using sliced veggies as a conveyance for absurd quantities of ranch dressing.

While I enjoy the rabbit food, and have tried with middling success to incorporate it into my own home routine, I have fond memories of an altogether different pre-dinner snack when I was growing up. My mother would melt cubes of Velveeta together with some salsa until it was a creamy, spicy puddle, and then we’d use tortilla chips to scrape up every last molten morsel. She called this “chips and dip.” Occasionally since reaching adulthood, I have tried to recreate this snack. I have found that Velveeta is its creamy, delicious best in my memory.

Some snacks are so delicious that they transcend time. Some even appear, fully formed, in the mind of a child without her mother ever mentioning them to her. Specifically, my teenage obsession with microwaved pepperoni. There was nothing like crispy pepperoni, still sizzling in a sheen of its own fat, dipped into yellow mustard. My own child discovered this delicacy on her own – sans mustard – and only my husband’s dismay at a microwave and kitchen smelling like fried pepperoni keeps her from eating this snack on the regular.

She does, once in a while, crisp up some pepperoni and add it to her scrambled eggs. In which case, I overlook all the concerning aspects of delicious, delicious pepperoni and focus only on the high protein goodness of scrambled eggs and the joy of a child who can make herself food.

If ants are going to make a log more delicious, let’s add some ants.

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Random Reminiscences, or Some Things That Have Improved Since the 1980s

Carla and I have had such an exciting week (no). Yesterday, for instance, we went to the dentist and the library AND the thrift store (to drop off donations, not to look for anything fun), and then we waited for someone from the security company to arrive (he came an hour early) and for someone from the roofing company to arrive (he came an hour and twenty minutes late). 

But the dentist visit and the library visit, at least, gave me a chance to indulge in a little nostalgia. 

Carla, by the way, is so much better about the dentist than she used to be. It was once a source of tremendous anxiety. I can empathize with this, because I too get extremely anxious when I go to the dentist. (Sidebar: I recently was having some tooth pain that was severe enough I was afraid I would need another root canal. And my biggest fear about seeking treatment was not the root canal itself, but the fear of enduring the cold test that they use to diagnose the issue. That was the worst pain I have ever endured, and I was shaking and teary just thinking about the possibility of facing it again. I wondered if I could just… get a root canal without the diagnostic test [probably not]. Anyway, the happy but also deeply disturbing outcome was that I somehow had a piece of aluminum foil stuck in between my teeth that was causing the pain. Once I figured that out, the pain miraculously evaporated. I can figure out how to avoid the cold test another time, huzzah.) The hygienist used to have to wheedle and finagle Carla into doing anything. Brushing her teeth with the weird gritty polish was always A Process that involved lots of negotiation and Mean Mommy Voice. She actively and vehemently resisted the fluoride application, thrashing around and refusing to open her mouth. Our hygienist really got a workout, back in those days.

But! Now Carla is very nonchalant about the whole thing. I asked her in the car if she wanted me to walk her through what to expect, and she said yes. Then she decided in advance which kind of tooth polish she would prefer (grape, or mint) (she ended up choosing cookie dough; gag me). Then I told her that if fluoride was an option, we were going to do it. She still hates the fluoride. 

The thing is, fluoride treatment is so infinitely better than it used to be! She has it so easy! The hygienist gets out a teeny little tub of fluoride (seriously, there must be 1/2 teaspoon in there IF THAT) (and each tiny tub costs $40 out of pocket; our dental insurance – which we are extremely lucky to have, I know! – only covers one fluoride treatment a year, even though our dentist recommends it every six months) and paints it on her teeth and she’s good to go! The only restriction is she can’t drink hot liquids for an hour. That’s it!

When I was a kid, the fluoride treatment was a nightmare. The hygienist gave me a teeny cup full of caustic red liquid and I had to put ALL of it into my mouth and swish it around for a full minute. A full minute is like a million years when you are six or ten or however old I was! And the hygienist always cautioned me to not swallow any. I am a rule follower and also a catastrophizer, so I imagined that swallowing even a teeny amount would kill me. I hated it so much! 

Image from Reddit. Apparently some schools offered fluoride to students??? Did this happen in your school? I only ever got fluoride at the dentist.

There was a fluoride innovation at some point in my youth. Instead of the swishing liquid, my hygienist started carrying a fluoride foam. She would put the foam into the channels of a two-sided flimsy foam U, and I had to bite down on the U so that my teeth would be submerged in foam. Then I had to hold it there, not swallowing for a full minute. This was slightly better because the foam was sweet instead of caustic. But the foam would get all over my face, and by the end of the minute it would be dripping down my chin. Plus, once again I was afraid that even swallowing a teeny amount would result in my immediate death. 

Image once again from Reddit. I can practically taste the fake cherry flavor.

Fluoride treatments were the worst! And my parents had no sympathy for me, just as I have no sympathy for Carla. Because I know how it used to be.

(I mean, I have a little sympathy for her. I know it’s bitter and sticky and annoying. But I’m not going to let her skip it, as she pleads for me to do every six months.)

After the dentist, we went to the library. There was a mesh box on a desk in the kids’ section with three monarch caterpillars in various stages of development in it, and another mesh box on a separate table with a real-live chrysalis in it. Next to the second box was a display of books about bugs and butterflies. 

Libraries are AWESOME. I just love that the librarians, or someone high up in the library admin, think about how to engage young minds and make learning fun and interesting. 

Libraries, in my experience, are a whole lot better than they used to be. And to be fair, my library was the only one in my entire hometown, and my hometown was at least half an hour away from any other town. Where I live now, we have dozens of libraries that are nearby and easy to access. I patronize three regularly. (We are going to have a NEW library and NEW library system when we move, and my husband and I took Carla to check out the library early on in our house hunt to make sure that it was acceptable. Also, we looked into whether we could keep our existing library cards – yes – because we adore our library system.) 

There are special displays set up by the librarians – book club picks, books on rotating themes (gardening, DIY, cooking international recipes), books about whatever holiday is coming up, books by famous authors who have recently celebrated a birthday, received an award, or passed away. There are rows and rows of computers. There are glass-walled rooms furnished with tables and computer hookups that you can reserve online for your homework session or writing group. There are innumerable classes you can take and activities you can attend – all for free. The librarians are friendly and knowledgeable and you (Carla) can ask them for recommendations fitting very specific criteria and they will walk you through the stacks and pull out multiple options and reserve several more for you online. You can pre-order books and come inside to pick them up or get them through the drive-up window. There are always crafts you can take home and reading contests you can participate in. 

When I was kid, you had to whisper in the library. If you didn’t, you would suffer the wrath of the librarian. The librarian was also deeply disapproving of the number of books I checked out each week – although perhaps, in hindsight, my lack of proper book transportation device may have been the subject of her disapproval. I tended to leave with a teetering stack of books in my bare hands. 

My local library took up both floors of a two-story building. It had stacks of books. It had a space for reading periodicals. It had an elevator. You could look things up in the card catalog, and you could research old periodicals on the microfiche machine. There may have been a computer or three. It had a lot to offer. But I don’t remember special displays or targeted groupings of books, or librarians who smiled and told you about monarchs. I do remember that if you read a certain number of books, you could win a free pizza from Pizza Hut… but I think that was a program run through my elementary school, and not the library. (Ah, yes. It was called Book It! and it is still active today!)

Image from @LibbyApp on whatever it is we’re calling Twitter these days.

(Another sidebar: I wonder if my love for things like pizza and tacos originated with school reward systems? In addition to Book It!, there were frequently pizza parties we could win for various things that have escaped my memory. The pizza party part was the important part, not whatever it was we had to do to earn it. In high school, people on the honor roll got to go to lunch early, and on Fridays we had Pizza Hut pizza. I loved being one of the very first kids in line to get the pizza while it was hot and the cheese was melty. YUM. But even better than pizza: We could get a free taco for every A on our report card. Is there any better incentive? NOT FOR ME THERE ISN’T. My mom saved all my report cards in my baby book and it tickles me to see the little stamps from the taco place on each A to indicate I’d collected my free tacos.)

I’m not saying that Today’s World is perfect; I know it has deep and terrifying flaws. But in lots of ways, big and tiny, important and inconsequential, my kid has it really, really good. I try not to “back in my day” her very often, but some things are much better these days. Although I do feel bad that she doesn’t get free pizza and tacos in exchange for her grades.

Do you remember fluoride treatments from when you were a kid? Did you have any food-based rewards systems when you were growing up? What is something that makes you think kids these days have it a lot easier than you did?