Sara and Melissa Talk...To Our Younger Selves

We've been running a column series to get more personal with our readers. We are now getting toward the end of our seventh year!

Going along with our post about aging last month, this month we're giving advice to our younger selves. 

We're always open to topic suggestions, so please don't hesitate to share those in the comments. We'd also love to know if you can relate to anything we've said or hear your own thoughts on the topic. So don't be shy. 😊 We look forward to getting to know you as much as we're letting you get to know us. You can find our previous columns here, in case you missed them.

Melissa Amster:

This topic was inspired by a movie I saw this past summer: My Old A$$. It's about a girl who is out partying with her friends and comes face to face with her older self (played by Aubrey Plaza). Her older self has wisdom to share and it affects how she sees her current circumstances. I don't want to say anything more so as to not spoil it. It's definitely an interesting movie though!

A while back at my personal blog, I wrote a letter to myself to be opened in ten years (which would be 2024). It was funny how accurate some things were, especially the part about the trip to Europe! 

Recently, I read Twenty Something Else (reviewed here), which is about a woman who gets to relive her twenties in any order she wants, but with the mind of her forty-year-old self. There was a part where she was telling her best friend about everything that happens in the future. 

For this post, I wasn't sure how I wanted to talk to my younger self. Like how far back should I go? Twenty years? More? Less? I also don't want to tell myself to make any changes that could affect my present life. (I read too many time travel books and just know better as a result.)

18 years ago

Do I want to tell myself to avoid some relationships that may have had an impact on my life at the time but weren't worth the heartache or aggravation? Neither would have kept me from meeting my husband as they weren't connected to the people who led me to him. One is my second boyfriend in college, with whom I probably would have been friends to this day if we hadn't dated. The other is the friend who ghosted me over twenty years ago, even though I enjoyed the time we were close and told each other everything. However, I did have an impact on the life of the friend as I indirectly connected her to her husband and she wouldn't have had the kids she has now if she had ended up with someone else. So it would be selfish of me to toss that relationship out. 

I would tell myself to stay in touch with one of my close friends when she graduated two years before me, as we lost so many years before we reconnected on Facebook. Thankfully we've made up for that time, but I still wish we had those years. I could also do better with staying in touch with friends I don't see on social media. 

I would also tell myself not to leave a job I was somewhat unhappy at for a job that was much worse. (I didn't realize it would end up being worse at the time, but it did.) I could have dealt with some management I didn't really like that much over having to be stuck with a cell phone 24/7 to deal with stuff that was nearly impossible to manage from a distance in the middle of the night. 

While there are things I regret, they also led to other good things down the road. So I can't stop myself from making those decisions knowing what could happen later on. 

In the book world, knowing what I know now, I wish I had traveled to one of Sophie Kinsella's tour stops when she visited the US because that can no longer happen and she was an author I really wanted to meet. 

I'd tell myself to stock up on masks, cleaning supplies, and toilet paper in the beginning of 2020. 

Finally, I'd tell myself to be more adventurous. I'm still more of a homebody than I should be at my age. There's still so much I haven't done, even in the state I've lived in for seventeen years. 

Ten years ago

Sara Steven:

On my blog, (a space that hasn't seen action in years), I've participated in posts where I address my younger and future self, like the one I'd composed in 2012: https://momarock.wordpress.com/2012/06/14/dear-sara-a-letter-to-my-younger-self.

And then there's the post from 2014, addressing my future self: https://momarock.wordpress.com/2014/03/06/dear-sara-a-letter-to-myself-revisited.

It's funny to me that the date listed in the future post is for the year 2024, just two years ago. My oldest is now 21 years of age. The little guy isn't so little anymore; he turned 16 just two days ago. 

I thought it might be interesting to re-address the blog post I'd written in 2012, considering I was the ripe old age of 33 when I wrote it. At the time, I wanted to give sage advice to my 23 year-old self, convinced I had a lot more insight into life. While a lot of what was important to me back then hasn't changed, time and age and even more living experience has put a different spin on things; less the optimistic, more the realist.  

Dear 23 Year Old Sara: 

Now I'm 48, newly minted this year.

Hi there. It’s me. Or should I say, you.

I’m currently 33 years old. I know, hard to imagine, isn’t it? You used to think that age was OLD. I’m here to tell you, it’s not. 

At 23

Well, if I thought 33 was old, imagine how I feel being 15-years older than that!

Guess what? I’m a runner. I’ve done marathons. I eat healthy, and I actually enjoy it! I know you don’t, right now. And that’s OK. Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy your life. Enjoy being young! Let me worry about keeping us healthy and youthful the rest of our life. Your job is to revel in being 23, because you can’t get that time back, ever. 

Guess what? You're still a runner. You love to run. Pending any health conditions or ailments that might keep us from it, you will continue to run until your last breath on this earth. You've also picked up yoga, a pastime that arrived a few years after the original blog post was created, and you're currently pursuing a yoga certification so you can instruct others into developing a deep love for yoga. Healthy eating habits? Well, that's still there, despite the cravings for Starbucks chai tea lattes and strawberry acai refreshers, and anything sweet in general.

You are most likely going through a very traumatic period. You are dealing with some serious grown up issues. At my current age, I can see why getting married young is a BAD IDEA, but you didn’t know any better. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and you will get through this. Don’t forget how strong you are, and how brave. You’ve been through so much in your young life leading up to this point, don’t let it be what knocks you down. 

I remember that traumatic period. And you'll have others in the coming years, an ebb and flow of peace and serenity, mixed in with chaos. Looking back with even more clarity, there is no regret for me now in getting married young. It is what brought us here, to this point, and it isn't so bad. I can tell you, you will continue to hold onto your strength to get you through some tough times, but you will also allow for help and guidance, something that has never been easy for you. You will lean on your friends more than you ever have, seeking comfort and advice from safe circles.

Don’t put your passions on the back burner. As you’ve gotten older, you’ve had to take care of responsibilities that don’t allow much time for writing a novel, or being in a play. Do it now, because you won’t be able to later, and I should know. Believe me, I know. 

At 33

You will be there as a constant for your children. It will be one of your most appreciated aspects of life, but it has been tough to focus solely on you and your passions. As the kids age, they will become part of your support system, encouraging you to do more and get involved more. Writing isn't happening. You haven't been in a play. But never say never. Right now, you are working part-time and pursuing the two-year yoga certification, taking care of three wily guinea pigs, spending time with your family, tending to your garden, and running. And you were wrong. You WILL be able to do it later. The older you get, the more you realize that you can still continue to pursue your interests. Never. Say. Never.  

You are going to have some amazing friends who stay with you over the next decade. In fact, some of them you currently are holding onto right now, will be like sisters to you. Trust them more, and let them in. They mean well, and they love you a whole lot. Those are the types of friendships you never want to let go of. 

Some of those friendships have remained intact. Some have gotten stronger, while you've had to let go of other relationships--mostly due to self-preservation. Remember how you used to say that you were a people collector? You still are, but you are more selective in who you choose to hold onto. And that's OK.

You are going to do some crazy things over the next ten years or so. I’d love to divulge more information, but if I did, you’d change the course of our life, and I don’t want that to happen. It all has brought us here, and here is a pretty good place. It might be a difficult path to get here, but there is peace. And it is worth it. 

Oh yes, there is craziness. But I agree--it has been totally worth it.

And speaking of crazy… promise me that you get your tattoo. Don’t chicken out. That tattoo is a symbol for you, and it continues to be one. And, she still looks like a good girl.

You still don't have an additional tattoo, and you don't feel any guilt in that! You're allergic to metal, so unless you plan to go with a vegan tattoo that is void of metal, does it really matter if you get one? The one and only tattoo you have still looks good, with a little less color in it as the years have gone by. It's still a symbol for you; a reminder of a time in your life when you rose above the s*** and managed to come out of it with your soul intact. Your tattoos are scars--from your children, from running mountain trails and tripping on large rocks, from the skin cancer that was removed from your right cheek. They are scars from your existence, and they've become coveted and in the end, absolutely worth it.

Now

What would you tell your younger self?

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Sara and Melissa Talk About...Getting Older

We've been running a column series to get more personal with our readers. We are now getting toward the end of our seventh year!

Since we're fifty (or close enough to it), we're talking about aging today.

We're always open to topic suggestions, so please don't hesitate to share those in the comments. We'd also love to know if you can relate to anything we've said or hear your own thoughts on the topic. So don't be shy. 😊 We look forward to getting to know you as much as we're letting you get to know us. You can find our previous columns here, in case you missed them.

Sara Steven:

Lately, I’ve been watching Little House on the Prairie. Not the reboot on Netflix, but the old school TV show from the late seventies/early eighties. It’s a show I loved when I was a kid, and it’s become a bit of a comfort show for me when I have some downtime or need some downtime. 

In season seven, episode twenty ("I Do, Again"), Caroline, the matriarch of the Ingalls family, discovers she’s going through menopause. She assumed she was pregnant, so the news that she isn’t pregnant and very well may never get pregnant again was devastating for her. She felt like her life was over and even said something comparable to that. She didn’t want to tell her husband the news. She didn’t want to face the reality of any of it. 

It made me ponder over my own feelings of getting older, now that I’ve turned forty-eight this year. The changes I’m going through within my own body, new medications I never really thought about (or knew existed) in order to get through this phase in my life. It’s funny because I never knew what an estrogen patch was, but there are so many YouTube videos and articles out there about it. And the women who are applying the patches to their bodies are stunning, helpful, and seem to have no qualms about the patch. 

They certainly don’t seem to be lamenting over this next phase in life. And not that there’s anything wrong with that. I think a lot of us have mixed emotions about becoming middle-aged and feel like Caroline. In some ways I feel just like I did a decade ago, but in other ways, I know I’m not the same. I think there is a lot of deep processing, emotionally, mentally, and physically, to be had when you know you’ve got one foot in the past, and one in the future. It was only yesterday my children were little, and now they’re twenty-one and soon-to-be sixteen. It doesn’t feel like that much time has gone by. 

While I do miss them at those ages and stages, I also appreciate where they are now, and the relationship I have with my kids. They are stepping into their own special phases in life, just like I am. I think one of the reasons Caroline had a tough time was because she didn’t feel like she knew of anyone else going through it, like she was. But I have friends who are open and honest with me with what they’re experiencing. And I do the same for them. There is support. Camaraderie. And above all, I don’t feel like my life is ending. Some days are better than others. I can feel moody and sad. I know this is life-changing. But there can be good in having life changes, too. 

When I was in my thirties, I used to help out at a yoga studio in exchange for free yoga. The owner of the studio was in her late forties, and I remember thinking, “I could do this. I would love to do something like this when I’m older.” I recently realized that I’m there, now. Which prompted me to work on getting my yoga certification, so I can instruct. Who knows, maybe I’ll run my own studio someday. I’m also training for a duathlon in October. I work part-time. I adopted three guinea pigs who take up a lot of my time. I take care of my household, and spend time with my husband and kids. I’ve changed a lot, but I’m still the same. 

Towards the end of the Little House episode, after Caroline’s husband discovers the truth, she discovers that he loves her and supports her, so much so that they decide to re-marry one another and will re-marry every year moving forward. Which some might see as a little excessive, but I thought it was sweet. My plan is to continue to do the things I want to do in life, and find the joy in that, as best as I can, and lean on my support system when I need it, and be a support, too. So many of us are traversing through this period in our lives. It’s at times confusing, and difficult. I don’t have all the answers. But I know with support, we can all get through it. 

Melissa Amster:

I posted a couple months ago that I recently turned fifty. And this past weekend, my oldest child turned twenty-one. Time is just flying! Since Sara and I like talking about perimenopause symptoms and all that goes along with aging, this ended up becoming fair game for a topic. Don't worry, I'm not going to post about perimenopause. 

This past weekend, I was looking at some photos from my past and came across ones where my parents were in their forties or fifties. It was strange because they looked older than I look at the same age. I'm not even saying it to be mean. I know that there are celebrity pictures showing actors who were in their fifties back in the 1980s, but they look like they could be in their seventies. I was so shocked about Alice from The Brady Bunch being in her late forties on the show. 

Courtesy of Thunder Dungeon

Anyway, I feel young at heart, and also embrace being fifty. Yeah, there are physical things that go along with aging, such as aches and pains and the need to wear glasses more often than I used to. Sleeping is definitely a challenge. Even so, I feel like it's easy to stay connected with my kids vs. how challenging I made it for my parents as a teenager. My daughter still wants to spend time with me and doesn't mind being seen with me in public. She was also thrilled when I wore a shirt that said "Awesome Like My Daughter." I won't claim to know or understand their music and slang (especially when I thought "HELP" meant there was an urgent situation instead of not being able to stop laughing about something). However, we can have long conversations and it's really nice! 

I'm also doing things to make myself look and feel younger, like letting my hair grow instead of wearing it short like I used to, and focusing more on weight-loss and getting into better shape. I wear makeup more often than I used to, as well.

Overall, I can't complain about aging too much and every birthday is an affirmation of life. So instead, I'll leave you with some humorous images and memes and call it a day!

Courtesy of @the_80s_90s_guy

Courtesy of @nostalgiafreak

Courtesy of Happier Human

Courtesy of 9GAG

What are your thoughts on aging?

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Sara and Melissa Talk About...Our Favorite Songs

We've been running a column series to get more personal with our readers. We are now into our seventh year!

Since we've shared about our favorite movies, TV shows, and books, we thought it was only fair to talk about our favorite songs today! Maybe you'll want to add some of these to your playlist?

We're always open to topic suggestions, so please don't hesitate to share those in the comments. We'd also love to know if you can relate to anything we've said or hear your own thoughts on the topic. So don't be shy. 😊 We look forward to getting to know you as much as we're letting you get to know us. You can find our previous columns here, in case you missed them.

Melissa Amster:

I can't imagine life without music in it and love so many songs. It was hard to narrow it down, since I'm just sharing ten of them today and also split them between rock/pop music and show tunes. This is just a sampling of songs I love, but they definitely rank high on my favorites list!

Rock/pop:

"If You Leave" by O.M.D.: I don't like Pretty in Pink, but I've always loved this song. It's just so melodic and has a great tune and lyrics. It totally brings back the eighties for me.

"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen: Ever since I heard this song in Wayne's World, I had to go out and get the soundtrack right away to hear it again and also had to memorize it, of course. I still love it 34 years later and will turn up the volume and sing along whenever I hear it.

Courtesy of YouTube

"My Favorite Mistake" by Sheryl Crow: I love the guitar riff and tune, and Sheryl's singing is so good in this one. 

"Right Back Where We Started From" by Maxine Nightingale: It was my theme song a while back. I love the instrumentals, which makes it sound fun and carefree. Like with "Bohemian Rhapsody," this song is also from the year I was born. 

"Torn" by Natalie Imbruglia: No matter how often I hear this one, I never get sick of it. It's just so nineties for me. I know it's a one hit wonder for Natalie, but I love the album this came from too.

Back in 2012, I was challenged to come up with a playlist at my personal blog. Three of the above songs were on it at the time.

Show tunes:

"What Baking Can Do" from Waitress: I can't get enough of this song. It's so enjoyable to listen to and sing along with. Of course, I love baking, so there's that!

"Suddenly Seymour" from Little Shop of Horrors: My favorite song from this musical. It's so sweet and genuine. Especially because Audrey's not feeling like she deserves Seymour and he's totally crushing on her and now is his chance to make a move. It was especially fun hearing my son sing it when he played Seymour this past summer. (I'm sharing the movie version in the link because Ellen Greene is the ultimate Audrey.)

Courtesy of SoundCloud

"It Takes Two" from Into the Woods: Even though I'm burnt out on Into the Woods for the time being, I still love this song. It just speaks so well to marriage and partnership.

"Take Me or Leave Me" from Rent: What, you think I wouldn't include a song from my all-time favorite musical? It's the best song to sing along with. I even used it for my answering machine in college. ("Take me baby, or leave me...a message, thanks.")

"If I Were a Bell" from Guys and Dolls: Such a fun and melodic number about realizing you like someone. I love the rhyme scheme from it too. The lyrics just work together so nicely. 

Sara Steven:

Trying to determine my favorite songs of all time has been an extremely difficult task. I love and appreciate so many songs, so trying to narrow it down was tough. I decided to make a list of twenty songs that have gotten me through the years; the ones that even now when I listen to them, it takes me right back to the place and time when the lyrics resonated with me the most. In no particular order: 

Sia: "Breathe Me" (This one still brings me to tears whenever I hear it. Anyone who is familiar with HBO’s Six Feet Under and saw the series finale will understand.) The link is to the closing of the finale.

Eddie Money: "Take Me Home Tonight" (The first song I ever loved when I was six years old. I’m not sure why.)

Note from Melissa: I used to always think he said "I don't want to let you go till you're civilized." 

Crosby Stills & Nash: "Southern Cross"

Fiona Apple: "Sleep to Dream"

Courtesy of IMDb

Radiohead: "Karma Police"

Yelle: "Que Veux Tu (Madeon Remix)" (My kids used to dance to this song a lot when they were little.)

Massive Attack: "Teardrop"

Duran Duran: "The Chauffeur"

Garbage: "Supervixen"

Fleetwood Mac: "The Chain" (Anything by Fleetwood Mac is usually a go.)

Prince: "Erotic City"

Alanis Morissette: "Perfect"

Billy Joel: "She’s Always a Woman" (My first boyfriend had said that this song reminded him of me when we were teenagers. It’s beautiful.)

Courtesy of Medium

Metric: "Gold Guns Girls"

Mazzy Star: "Fade Into You"

Nirvana: "About A Girl"

Van Morrison: "Into the Mystic"

Pearl Jam: "Black"

Taylor Swift: "The Fate of Ophelia" (I only like a few songs by Taylor, but this one really sticks with me after I hear it.)

Phil Collins: "We Said Hello, Goodbye" (Another song that makes me feel emotional when I hear it. It hits home even more the older I get.) 

What are your favorite songs?

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Sara and Melissa Talk About...Me Days

We've been running a column series to get more personal with our readers. We are now into our seventh year!

Because we both have birthdays in July, we are talking about what we'd do if we took ourselves out on a date. 

We're always open to topic suggestions, so please don't hesitate to share those in the comments. We'd also love to know if you can relate to anything we've said or hear your own thoughts on the topic. So don't be shy. 😊 We look forward to getting to know you as much as we're letting you get to know us. You can find our previous columns here, in case you missed them.

Sara Steven:

If I were to take myself out on a date, it would be a day-long event! I’d start by hiking San Tan Mountain, which is close to my house. I’d pretty much roll out of bed, throw on some hiking gear, and head on out. Given the heat here in Arizona, an early morning hike is the best way to do it. My favorite trails are the Goldmine and Dynamite trails. Both stretch on for miles, allowing me time to reflect and enjoy my time to myself.

Courtesy of MTHikes.com

Afterwards, on the drive home to take a much-needed shower, I’d stop off at my local Starbucks and score a Venti strawberry-acai refresher. I’ve recently discovered how “refreshing” it can be to have a refresher right after a hot hike. Sometimes I get one before I hike–usually when I know it’s a shorter hike and I can carry the drink with me as I go. It is pretty satisfying, like a treat to myself for all that hard work. 

I’m sure I’ll have worked up an appetite after all that walking, so my next outing would be to a breakfast/lunch diner, like a First Watch or Over Easy. I’d be sure to bring my Kindle along, so I can do some reading while I sit in the booth, enjoying an eggs benedict with a side of fruit. I think the last time I had time to myself in a restaurant was a few years ago, while waiting for a doctor’s appointment. I decided to grab some breakfast and it was so nice and peaceful. I’d do some people watching in between the pages I’d read in my Kindle.

The next stop would be to a spa, like the Fairmont Scottsdale Princess. I’ve been there a couple of times with friends, but never alone. It’s a long drive there, considering it’s in Scottsdale and I live in Queen Creek, but I have ulterior motives on the way home–I’ll share that in a bit. I might get a massage and/or pedicure, then spend a few hours enjoying their wellness services that you can enjoy all day, despite what you choose to have done in their spa. They have a rooftop pool, water grotto, hot and cold plunges, aromatherapy room and sauna, which would be nice to utilize before and after my service(s).

On the way home, I will conveniently be by Dragon Palace, my favorite Chinese restaurant. When I lived in Arizona back in the late 90s/early 2000s, I would eat there roughly once a week, and even though I live far enough away now that it’s not as much of a temptation, if there’s ever any reason to be out in the Northern Phoenix area, or for my birthday, Dragon Palace is a must-have. For any Phoenix locals, I recommend the lemon chicken, along with an order (or two) of the crab puffs. And their hot tea is really good, too.

Dragon Palace, courtesy of Yelp

After going on an imaginative date with myself, I have to say, it sounds like a pretty perfect way to spend a lovely day. I mentioned this to my husband, who said it sounded like a pretty great date day with him, too, so maybe at some point, I can put this into fruition. And now, I’m craving crab puffs…  

Melissa Amster:

I turned fifty on Monday (Gasp!) and took myself to Woodhouse Spa for some pampering. Technically, the spa visit was a gift from my parents and sister, but it was still an afternoon to myself with no one to answer to. I took the day off from work too. Overall it was a pleasant visit and I felt rich being there as the spa was so opulent. They even offered champagne, but I don't drink alcohol all that much. (Plus, I had to drive home afterward.) The massage was really nice. So relaxing and it got rid of a lot of tension I'd been carrying. I did an herbal bath too, but had to wait a long time due to a scheduling error, so they comped me for it, which was really nice. Afterward, I went to Barnes & Noble and used my birthday gift card to purchase The Calamity Club, since everyone has been raving about it. Then I went to Starbucks to claim my birthday reward.

Courtesy of Yelp

I love having "me days." I've taken myself to the movies a few times in the past. My first birthday after the pandemic wound down was to see Where the Crawdads Sing at a movie theater. I hadn't been to one in two-and-a-half years prior to that. I think, however, the ultimate "me day" would be going into NYC for a day and seeing a couple Broadway shows. I'd take a train or bus in so I could relax and read for a while. I don't even know which musicals I'd want to see as they keep coming and going, so I'd probably wait until there were some musicals I really, really wanted to see. 

For something more local, I'd spend the day at my favorite thrift store as I just love thrift shopping. I'd also go to this amazing used books store that I recently took my mom to when she came for a visit. I could spend tons of time in there browsing books. I also would be interested in trying out a candlelight concert if it's for music I enjoy (such as showtunes or one of my favorite singers/bands). I'm all for simple pleasures. 

Just for fun, this was my idea of a "me day" back in 2013. Although I would still want to do this too!

What would you do if you could take yourself out on a date?

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Sara and Melissa...Write Short Stories

We've been running a column series to get more personal with our readers. We are now into our seventh year!

This month, we are writing short fiction stories for your entertainment and enjoyment. We used to write short stories in the past at our personal blogs and decided to get back into doing that again. 

We're always open to topic suggestions, so please don't hesitate to share those in the comments. We'd also love to know if you can relate to anything we've said or hear your own thoughts on the topic. So don't be shy. 😊 We look forward to getting to know you as much as we're letting you get to know us. You can find our previous columns here, in case you missed them.

Melissa Amster:

I am semi-phoning it in this month. It's been a busy and hectic few weeks between graduation, family visits, work, a broken dishwasher, and some other things going on. Last month, I participated in a short-story challenge (1000 words or less), where we'd get a prompt every week. This is my favorite of the stories I wrote for the challenge and I wanted to share it here. The prompt was: “I can’t go out there, there’s pollen.” Enjoy!

“Astrid! Time to get your shoes on. We’re leaving for school in five minutes.” I shout up the stairs in hopes of getting my strong-willed four-year-old out the door on time today.

“I can’t go out there, there’s pollen,” Astrid says from the top of the stairs. 

“It’s 30 degrees out in January. There’s no pollen.”

“Mommy. There is pollen outside. Can I stay home today?”

“Astrid, we’re not doing this again. You ask me this every day and the answer is always no. We only stay home if you’re sick or if there’s a snowstorm.”

“But Mom-meeee. I want to stay home! I don’t like pollen.”

“Do you even know what pollen is?”

Astrid stares at the ceiling while thinking it over, clearly adding to her stalling tactics. “No. But Damian said it’s really bad and causes you to sneeze all the time.”

“Pollen comes out in the spring, so you have nothing to worry about. Now get your shoes on so we can go to school. If you’re late, then Mommy will be late for work again. And Mommy will be sad if that happens because she’ll get in trouble.”

Astrid stands firm at the top of the stairs. “No,” she stubbornly says while crossing her arms.

“Come on, Astrid. This isn’t funny anymore. Yesterday it was bees, which don’t come out until spring either. The day before it was Christmas, which already happened a few weeks ago. We need to leave in two minutes.”

Astrid starts taking off the clothes that took her forever to pick out and put on in the first place. 

“Astrid! I am giving you to the count of three to put your clothes back on and get your shoes on. If you don’t listen to me, then no Bluey after school! One….two…”

“No fair! I want Bluey!” Astrid plunks herself down on the top step and stomps on the one below. 

I am about ready to pull out my hair. “Astrid,” I say as calmly as possible, “you can watch Bluey if you listen to me and get ready for school like I’ve asked you to five times already today.” 

“Hmmmph!” Astrid runs back into her room and slams the door shut.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with this kid. In the meantime, I need to have someone cover for me at work this morning because I know I won’t make it in on time again and I’m supposed to set up the morning meeting. I don’t know what I did to my mom when I was Astrid’s age, but clearly I’m experiencing some sort of karmic retribution. I groan when I hear Astrid scream-singing the Bluey theme song at the top of her lungs. I run upstairs and knock on her door.

“Astrid Leigh Mitchell, get out here right now! We have to leave.” The room goes silent. “Astrid?!? What are you doing?” The silence unnerves me and I turn the knob of the door, but it won’t open. Judging from past experience, she put her toy chest in front of it again. At this rate, I might as well call us both in sick today as we’re never getting out of the house. I think of everything I am not going to get done today and try to figure out who can cover even more for me. Then I hear “Mommy?”

“Yes, Astrid.”

“I had an accident again.” 

I take a deep breath before speaking again. “Okay, sweetie. Can you open the door so I can help you get cleaned up?” I hear some shuffling and then the door opens up a crack. 

“Mommy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, but we really do need to hurry up. If you can help by picking out some new pants, it will make Mommy really happy. Can you do that?”

Astrid goes to her pants drawer and pulls out the first pair she sees. Gray sweatpants with ballet slippers. They totally don’t match her yellow Bluey shirt, but I’ll take what I can get.

After I help her clean up, I hand her the pants to put on. 

She throws them back at me, hitting me in the face. “I don’t like these pants. They’re ugly!” 

I count to ten in my head so I don’t scream. “But you picked them out, sweetie.” 

“Mom-meeeee! I don’t like these pants. I want new pants! Let’s go to Target.” 

“You have plenty of pants, Astrid. Tell you what. If you put these pants on and get your shoes on right now, we will go to Target after school and get you a treat.” 

“Really?!?” Astrid’s whole face lights up.

“Yes, but you need to do it in one minute. Starting….now!” 

I breathe a sigh of relief as Astrid puts her pants on, backwards no less, and races down the stairs to get her shoes on. Finally! Who cares if they’re on the wrong feet? 

“Mommy, did I win?” 

“Yes. Let’s get your bag and go to the car.” 

Astrid suddenly comes to a stop in the front hallway. “But Mommy, I didn’t have breakfast.”

I toss a banana and a small container of Cheerios into Astrid’s backpack. “You can eat in the car.”

“But you always say I can’t eat in the car.” Astrid smugly grins at me, thinking she’s won this round.

“I’ll get a mini-vacuum when we go to Target. Just get in the car.”

Astrid seems satisfied by that and we’re on our way, after I bundle her in her Bluey coat with her Bluey hat and Bluey scarf. Bluey mittens too, of course.  And then snow starts coming down and an alert comes onto my phone saying all schools and daycares are closing to prepare for a snow emergency. 

Great. Just great. As I check the phone for updates about work, I hear Astrid chanting “Snow day, snow day, time for everyone to play!” 

It’s going to be a long day.

Sara Steven:

Hub-and-Spoke

The first time I traveled alone was the summer of ‘89, when I flew out on an early morning Alaskan airline flight to see my favorite aunt in California. I’d never been on an airplane before, let alone left my Oregonian suburbs behind to achieve parental freedom, yet there I was, my grandmother chaperoning the drive to the Portland airport, green road signs along Interstate 5 lit up with reflective tape in the darkness. Her Crown Victoria passed large trucks carrying cows and pigs, with trailers towing horses through a thin sheen of rain in the early morning hours.

I was due to meet my aunt Vicky in the San Francisco terminal. We’d been pen pals for years; the glamorous model from Walnut Creek, California, and the soon-to-be sixth grader at Brush College Elementary School, in Salem, Oregon. I could already see the Maybelline eyeshadow rimming her heavy eyelids, with frosty pink lip gloss brimming with anticipation, like it always did when she’d visit during major holidays. But this felt different. A family visit was nothing compared to time spent away from prying mothers and fathers. Or grandmothers, even. 

This felt grown up.

It felt even more grown up when my grandmother pulled into a dimly lit tunnel mazed out from ground floor to sky high, layer by layer, parking by a set of elevators before she reached back and patted my leg, saying,

“It’s time.” 

I grabbed my oversized floral beach bag containing the snacks and goodies my grandmother had helped me pack for my flight; packages of crackers and chips and trail mix kits, and Hubba Bubba bubble gum. Stuffed deep down beneath thick sticks of watermelon and green apple Jolly Rancher candies was the M.A.D. magazine she let me pick out, with Alfred E. Neuman’s gap-toothed grin on the cover, hiding a crossword puzzle booklet pressed silently into folds of canvassed hydrangea and hibiscus.

 She opened the trunk of the car and pulled out a small suitcase with purple glitter fabric tied around the base of it, passing the handle to me.  

We were the only people in the parking garage. The wheels on the suitcase squeaked and moaned, cool dawn air circulating. The bay of elevators and its mechanisms clinked from beyond the two metal doors until the sounds leveled out and the doors opened, allowing us inside.

My stomach dropped with each floor. When we stepped out onto level two, strangers wheeled solid carrying cases with bright orange contraptions that lagged behind their owners, with others pulling thick fabric cases or duffel bags slung over a shoulder.

People roamed the long hallways or stood in front of digital screens, running to catch up with customer service lines that never seemed to end with sections labeled “Hawaiian” and “American” and “Delta” and “Air Canada.” 

I listened to the chatter; the foot traffic that stampeded into green carpet accented by light blue lines and geometric cream-colored patterns; purses zipped or ripped open in search of wallets while bags were confiscated, with employees driving motorized vehicles that said, “Do you need your luggage checked?”

I looked up at the ceiling as my grandmother pulled me along, skylights damp with wet and condensation. We passed ticket counters and barricades and posts, priorities and Sky Miles until we found the Alaskan Airlines queue.

There weren’t many people ahead of us and I didn’t want to let go of my suitcase when it was our turn. When I had to hand it over to the lady waiting to weigh it, she tossed it on the conveyor belt behind her, its purple fabric billowing before it disappeared for good. I didn’t think I’d ever see my suitcase again. 

“Where are you going, honey?” she asked me.

“I’m going to see my aunt Vicky.”

She looked at my grandmother and winked before she turned her attention back to me.

“I mean, where does she live?”

“Walnut Creek,” I said.

“She’s landing in San Fran,” grandmother said on my behalf, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s her first time flying by herself.”

While they talked about unaccompanied minors and direct flights, I scooted a little to the left, eyeing a family in the next row over who wore brightly colored baggy button down shirts with birds of paradise plastered on the front. Even the toddler who sat on an upturned suitcase wore the same shirt, and I watched as he bent over and traced the patterns on the carpet with his fingers, until someone yelled at him to stop touching the floor, it’s so dirty and gross, don’t touch that.

Going through security, my beach bag disappeared within the belly of a large machine, the conveyor belt slowly crawling along until it would stop, inch by inch, and my grandmother held my hand as we walked through the metal detector, letting out a sigh when we made it out on the other side.

“I usually set the dang thing off,” she said.

When we reached our gate, I didn’t want to sit in one of the chairs bolstered to the floor. I wanted to watch the action going on outside. I leaned against a thickly paned window, witnessing suitcases thrown into the underside of a plane while I eagerly searched for my own. There were alerts sent over an intercom, with flight attendants looking for a Jane Doe or a John Smith, that they were needed at the gate counter, that the doors were going to close for a flight headed to Chicago or Sante Fe or Phoenix, and when the last luggage cart had sped away from the airport’s exterior and the heat from the sun felt hot on my face, the gate attendant called the passengers for San Francisco.

I moved quickly, one of the first in line. There were two other children ahead of me; a much younger boy, and a girl who cried for her mother in such a way that I turned around to find my grandmother, who stood off to the side, watching me.

I wasn’t sure if California was such a good idea, after all. I gripped a thick envelope in my hand; the ticket from the ticketing area. I squeezed the bag of snacks and magazines into my hip and could feel the burn of tears. When I reached the gate attendant, and she asked me for my ticket, I swallowed hard before I handed her the entire envelope. 

When she handed it back to me, I took a few steps forward and turned around, staring at my grandmother, who stood lean and tall. I shoved the envelope into my bag, and when I looked at her again, she blew me a kiss.

I rubbed at the wetness in my eyes as I walked towards the entrance of the plane, crossing a threshold that separated metal from bridge, cold air and exhaust mingling with the loud hum of the engine. 

A man stepped toward me and stuck his hand out. 

“Hey there, I’m Jordan. Are you ready to find your seat?”

I eyed his dark blue blazer, a nametag clipped to the left side of his chest, flight wings positioned above that. 

“I think so.”

He led the way up the aisle of the plane while I tried desperately not to bump into the few already seated passengers. Jordan stopped about midway through and pointed at one of the window seats. 

“That’s where you’re sitting. We don’t have a very full flight this morning, so if no one else sits by you, you can spread out and put your bag on the seat next to yours.”

I scooted in and plopped into my seat, immediately buckling the belt around my midsection.

Jordan sat in the aisle seat and reached out to tug on one end of the belt, cinching it. 

“We want to make sure this fits right.”

“Thank you.”

“Is this your first time flying?”

I nodded, unable to speak. 

“It’s going to go by so fast, we’ll land in no time. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

I nodded again, and after he walked off to tend to someone else, I stuck my bag on the middle seat.

There were rules. There were “no smoking” rules and “tray table stays closed during take off and landing” rules. Passengers traveled up the aisles, sticking carry-on luggage into bins overhead, and when the trickle died down to just one or two who made a beeline for the back, where the engine whine was the loudest, I dug into my bag and pulled out one of my magazines, settling it face up on my lap, Alfred E. Neuman staring back at me. 

Jordan had come from out of nowhere, sitting in the aisle seat again.

“We’re going to get ready for take off now. I know it will be a different experience for you, and it might even feel funny, to where you feel like you’re on an elevator, with how your stomach dips.”

“Or like a roller coaster?”

“Yeah, that too. So, if you get to feeling like that, just let me know. I have to sit in a special seat in the front while we take off, but as soon as we’re up in the air, I’ll come back and check on you.”

He smiled at me, then moved on down the aisle again. His head nearly touched the ceiling of the plane as he stopped at first one row, then another, leaning in to say something to a passenger before he continued on his way. 

I felt something loosen beneath my feet, floor shifting, and then I heard Jordan’s voice over the intercom, instructing everyone to fasten seat belts and watch the other flight attendants while they went over the safety rules in case we had to land somewhere other than San Francisco. While Jordan talked, the plane slowly rolled back and out and away from the airport, before it reversed and went into forward motion.

I could barely make out the sounds around me after Jordan’s microphone clicked off, with conversations swirling in from behind and in front, muffled and brief within an engine that had become louder, the plane picking up speed as I closed my eyes and gripped the armrests, squeezing as hard as I could. 

Once I felt the plane lift up and off the ground, hearing the sound of metal and gears and the ding of the seatbelt sign, I looked out the window. Portland had fallen away, had slowly faded into smaller and smaller pieces until it looked like miniature toys that could be manipulated and moved around. The Willamette river grew larger than I’d ever seen it before, with tiny boats infused within its glistening green water. 

We went high enough until I couldn’t see anything but white clouds and blue, and part of one wing on the plane, navigation lights blinking in rhythm. 

Jordan checked on me constantly, bringing small cups of Coke with crushed ice while I worked on one of the crossword puzzles from my bag, using the tray table in front of me as a flat surface. 

“Can I have one?” he asked, when I opened up the Hubba Bubba pack.

I handed over a piece of gum, and he unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, smacking delightfully. 

I never touched the snacks in my bag. I didn’t have the stomach for it. I’d nearly finished the crossword puzzle and I’d read the best parts of the M.A.D magazine when Jordan let me know that it was already time to descend into the San Francisco airport. 

“It’s all in reverse now, kid,” he said. 

My ears popped and filled as the plane hung in mid-air, suspended, my chest heavy while we slunk into dusty cloud matter, slipping down until we broke through the barrier, blue water stretched for miles around the airport. My head felt stiff and tight, pressure mounting as the whine of the engines dropped us closer to earth. 

When we landed, the tires skidded and the plane jilted up and down, bobbing before smoothing out, my stomach bottoming. We taxied before the plane had come to a full stop, and even before that several passengers shot up out of their seats, ready to leave.

I was one of the last ones. The other children who had been on the plane must have had seats closer to the entrance, because I never saw them again. 

“You ready?” Jordan said, while I dragged my bag up onto my shoulder, and he backed up to allow me space to find the aisle. 

I walked to the front, empty seats scattered with used pillows and thin blankets, and when I walked up to the pilot and he said his goodbyes, he pressed flight wings into my open palm, the small silver insignia warm and proud.

The ramp moved up through an overheated tunnel until it flattened out, and I could hear the announcements from the desk attendant, just like I’d heard at the Portland airport, and I could see people standing around, waiting to catch their flights or waiting for loved ones, but it felt different; flourished. My aunt was there, with longer hair, but it was her all the same, in a white t-shirt tucked into a pair of acid wash jeans. 

I broke into a run, the snack bag bouncing into my side until I’d finally, finally leapt into her arms while she hugged me tightly.  I didn’t want her to let go.

“Well, I guess you know her,” Jordan said from behind, and I didn’t look back at him, or at the foot traffic, ignoring the motorized carts and the murmurings and bright lights. I looked over at the large windows of an airport gate I’d never been in before, allowing it to look different. To feel different. 

I let go of my aunt and stood next to her, her equal. The concrete outside was highlighted in bright sunlight, the shine touching every surface until it faded away into a distant grove of alder and redwoods beyond, and when I squeezed the pilot wings in my hand, I knew I was ready.

Have you written any stories recently?

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Sara and Melissa Talk About...Life in the 90s

We've been running a column series to get more personal with our readers. We are now into our seventh year!

This month, we were inspired by those posts where people shared pictures of themselves in the 90s. However, we had done a post similar to that a few years ago, before it was trendy. So instead we are talking about what life was like in the 90s. (And just for fun, we're using our retro pictures in this post.) I'm sure a lot of you can relate to 90s memories, but for those who were toddlers in the late 90s or not born until after 2000, this post is also for you.

We're always open to topic suggestions, so please don't hesitate to share those in the comments. We'd also love to know if you can relate to anything we've said or hear your own thoughts on the topic. So don't be shy. 😊 We look forward to getting to know you as much as we're letting you get to know us. You can find our previous columns here, in case you missed them.

Sara Steven:

I had a lot of fun watching the “What were you like in the 90s” trends that hit social media not so long ago. Most of it was focused on celebrities, but it made me think about the 90s in general and what that decade was like for me.

There was a lot of freedom–the expectation was to rely on myself for mostly everything. I had to walk a mile to get to the closest city bus stop to get to school, then walk another half a mile once I’d been dropped off. The cycle repeated itself when school let out. Since I had a city bus pass, I’d often run around and take various bus routes to visit friends or see family, or I’d hang out in the downtown area and walk around the mall. There were no cell phones to check in with anyone. I’d have to scrounge up a quarter and use a pay phone and that was only for extreme emergencies.  

Wow. Look at that old school computer screen.

When I was fifteen, my grandparents (who I lived with off and on during my teen years) started traveling and going on week-long vacations, leaving me alone to keep an eye on things. Family members would check in on me from time to time, but it was up to me to get myself to school, keep the house clean, feed myself, and during summer breaks, they’d leave their dogs with me, too, so I had to ensure that all of us were alive and well when they’d return. It was scary, but it also made me feel highly independent and capable.

My best friend and I loved ordering free samples of things from magazines; you’d have to call the toll-free number on the bottom of an advertisement or write in to request the item. We received free feminine products, perfume samples, skincare, and makeup. The anticipation of waiting for our samples in the mail was part of the fun of it, too. You never knew what you’d find when you opened the mailbox that day. That same concept pertained to receiving anything in the mail. Correspondence would take days, or weeks, depending. But that sweet feeling when you’d find something with your name on it was well worth the wait.

Me and my best friend at Christmastime circa 1995 - we're still extremely close

I wore baggy, boot cut jeans–I’m so glad they’re available and back in fashion now. I borrowed 70s-style clothing from those who still had corduroy skirts and bell bottom pants from that decade, and when I’d wear dresses, I always paired them with my Converse chucks. It’s so funny to me how the 90s style is making a comeback right now, and when I lived the 90s, we were trying to get back to the 60s and 70s.

I remember listening to Madonna’s Erotica album on the radio when it first came out in 1992. The station we listened to on our boomboxes actually released the music–so, we did what any self-respecting 90s teen would do, and recorded the whole thing on a blank cassette tape. I remember making a lot of mix tapes for myself, for friends, for those I was romantically linked with. Nothing said love like a mix tape. Of course, once CDs entered the scene, burning music onto CDs was the new thing. The same excitement applied to VHS tapes. Once, I pulled an all-nighter recording various music videos from MTV–I still have that VHS tape. 

At a work event

I’ll be honest–I sometimes miss the simplicity of my life and how I grew up in the 90s. Of course, I was enthralled when I first heard the sounds of dial-up internet, and my first cell phone (2000) was a huge turning point in my life. But I liked filling my days with less technology and more outdoor exploring. I don’t recall ever feeling bored with my life. There was always something to do, someone to see, or somewhere to be, a sweet nostalgia that I wouldn’t trade for anything.   

Melissa Amster:

I was recently talking to my son about the stuff I brought with me to college and mentioned how I had a lot of videos and cassette tapes. He made a comment about how much has changed since then. (Way to make me feel old...)

In any case, life in the 90s was definitely a lot more simple. While we had the Internet, it was in early phases and there was no social media. If you wanted to communicate with your friends, you could just email a big group of them. I had a website, thanks to the guy I was dating at the time. He helped me set it up. I think it's long gone now! (I even had a V.C. Andrews club website.) Eventually, I joined these chat groups and became friends with some people with whom I am still in contact today. We also accessed the internet through a dial-up modem. We had to share that with the phone line. So yes, there were some drawbacks. 

I liked going to the mall a lot more in the 90s. The stores were more fun, instead of the tacky and pointless ones I see in malls today. The malls even had bookstores! Obviously my favorite reason for going to the mall. 

Courtesy of WKYC.com

The music was really good in the 90s. I prefer to listen to 90s music now instead of whatever is currently on the radio. That is, when I'm not listening to showtunes. Alanis was just starting out and I listened to her Jagged Little Pill cassette constantly. I also listened to Toad the Wet Sprocket a lot. 

I went to the movies all the time because they were actually reasonably priced. The most I usually paid was four dollars for a ticket. There were a lot of second-run dollar theaters around too, so that made it even easier to see movies more than once in the theater. I also didn't mind spending on candy at the theater because it was a lot less expensive. Maybe a dollar for a box of Raisinets. 

My favorite theater chain in the 90s
(Photo courtesy of YouTube)

There were a lot less options for TV, even with cable. We didn't have all the streaming channels, so it was basically whatever was on any given TV channel on any given day of the week. I had my shows that I watched regularly and sometimes had to record them on the VCR if I was going to be away. I think my first real binge-watch was Party of Five, when Lifetime started showing episodes every night in the late 90s.

Rent was huge for me in the 90s. I still love Rent and it will always be my top favorite musical, but there's something about how it felt to see it in the 90s that just added something extra. (Also, "What You Own" is different when we're 26 years after the end of the millenium. Still one of the best songs though!) My sister, a friend, and I spent all day waiting outside in the cold for $20 front row seats when it came to Chicago. I'm currently listening to Anthony Rapp's memoir, Without You, and it's bringing back all the feels from the early days of Rent.

At the end of an amazing day (March 10, 1998)

If you took photos, you did not receive them automatically. You had to go to a store and have the film developed, which took a few days. Then you'd get a packet with your photos printed out. There were also disposable cameras that you could bring to the store to have developed, but the camera was done after that.

A roll of film. (Courtesy of Wikipedia)

We didn't have cell phones and usually had to use a pay phone to call our parents if we needed a ride home from school. Before cell phones came about, we had phones that connected to the car in order to activate. I had one and of course got in trouble the one day I forgot to call my parents when I got to school. I'm receiving my karma now though! 

With my first car.

Things felt safer back in the 90s. I could just go all over the place on bike rides or drive into the city late at night without feeling like there would be any problems. Nowadays, there have been acts of violence all over the place (just recently a bunch of teens were causing a huge ruckus inside a DC Chipotle and then I heard about a kid being stabbed at a local carnival) and it makes me just want to stay home all the time and constantly worry about my kids, who like to go out a lot. 

I wouldn't mind time traveling back to the 90s, to enjoy when life was easier in some ways, even with the lack of today's technology. I will leave you with this post that I wrote at my personal blog back in 2015, but it still epitomizes how I feel about the 90s.

What were the 90s like for you?

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