The Lingering Earworms of Motherhood

Photo by Vlad Bagacian on

A friend of mine recently asked on Facebook, “What’s the longest you’ve ever had a song stuck in your head?”

Sister, my brain has been leasing out space to Baby Beluga for nearly a quarter century, ever since my now 27-year-old fell in love with it and wanted to hear it several times every day, often insisting we both sing along. The song isn’t there non-stop, but it has consistently popped in to say hello at least once a week for all these years. Raffi has some catchy tunes, I’ll give him that. At this point, I assume that if I reach a stage in aging where my memory loses information like my own address or the names of my children, I’ll still have a “little white whale on the go” to think about.

Also, I read the book Madeline aloud so many times that I can to this day recite *several pages* of it from memory. I could really use that headspace for things like staying current with technology changes or keeping track of my to-do list, but nope — “an old house in Paris covered in vines” it is. And let’s not even get into “One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.”

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t dislike these songs and stories. In fact, I adore Madeline. But I don’t know what use they are to me now, echoing around in my mind, so irrelevant to my current life. Unless…I could analyze them to figure what I can do in my own writing to make it so memorable? Or… if I become a grandmother some day?

Mostly, I take it as a sign that my brain has a mind of its own that’s not entirely within my control, and that it was shaped in some permanent way by the experience of motherhood. Thoughts come and go as they want. You might even say “Waves roll in and the waves roll out.” Maybe I shouldn’t overanalyze and just accept it as the rhythm of my internal life. After all, there are worse things that could be going on in my head…

“You are the dancing queen.”

Oh lord.


Candy for the Teens

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on

I gave candy to my 15-year-old next door neighbor last night and also his friend. No, they weren’t wearing costumes. I did not mind. They joked that they were dressed as normal people, which constituted disguises for them. I laughed. They weren’t the only teens to come to our door. As the evening wore on, the ages of our candy seekers inched upward.

I’ve heard a number of folks state that teens shouldn’t trick-or-treat, and if they do they should dazzle you with their creativity. I’m sure everyone’s dying to know what I think about this, so I’ll share. Do you know what teenagers could be getting up to that’s so much worse than trick-or-treating? A lot.

We live in a society where kids are pushed to grow up fast. High school students are under pressure to excel at everything, to pack that resume so they can have a shot at the American dream. Some are stepping into the role of adults in households with dysfunctional parents, perhaps working at night to help pay the grocery bills, maybe taking care of younger siblings. Previous generations have messed up the planet they’re inheriting. Drugs are everywhere (except in Halloween treats — that’s a debunked urban legend.) Conflicting messages and expectations are everywhere. It’s not easy being teen.

But it’s too easy, as an adult, to react with fear based on the worst news stories or rumors we’ve heard. Too easy to make assumptions that adolescents are necessarily bent on mischief. In my observation, it’s really not the case the vast majority of the time.

And if any teen wants to hold onto an altogether wholesome vestige of their childhood for one more Halloween, I’m there for it. Come to my house. I’ll give you candy.