Culture shock
posted in Alaska, Socializing |One of the things I forgot to mention in the "How is Alaska?" post is the prevalence of young moms here.
Small Mountain University Town was, of course, a college town. There were hordes of professorial types, with their professorial spouses, and the median age of the parental units in town were in their 30s or early 40s. So, not only did I fit right in in terms of outlook (liberal) and interests (eclectic), but I also fit when it came to parenting. Half the moms picking up kids at daycare were near my age, and I only got, "Oh, are you OmegaDotter’s grandma?" a time or two. And the norm in terms of how many kids was…two?
Also, I got my info on good daycare/camps/schools/etc. from the moms I worked with–all of whom were in their 30s or early 40s as well.
Hereabouts…well, heck, it seems as if there’s something in the water. Dudes, the landscape is littered with moms in their early to mid-20s with three kids in tow. Or more. So when I see older moms, I glom onto them, like a drowning man would clutch a life preserver.
And hereabouts, I get the "grandma" comment a lot more–because, well, I could be a grandma to most of the kids I see.
Ack! That’s a fearsome thought to me.
Right now, we’re gathering RSVPs to the dotter’s birthday party, to be held next Sunday. She has fully drunk the Kool-Aid by now: the party is going to be mermaid-themed. Am I a bad mom if I say that I really liked the horsie theme better? But I am doing my momly duty, printed out mermaid-themed invites, am going to do the pink and purple and sea-blue stuff with (ack!) mermaids on it, and herd a horde of girls (and a boy or two) for a couple of hours at the local health club, which has a play area for rent.
Let me digress here: Back at preschool, I knew what to do in terms of birthday party invites. I just slipped them to Miss Emmy with a whispered, "Can you slip these into people’s cubbies?" and knew everything would be taken care of. I didn’t know what to do this time; if I handed the invites to the dotter to parcel out, there would be Drama. The dotter would make a production of it. There would be Girls Not Invited pouting and sad. There’s no way on God’s green earth I was going to invite 18 kids, plus the kids the dotter wanted from after-school-care.
So, eyeing the invites with a puzzled look, I stuffed them into the weekly envelope that shepherds homework and school announcements and notes and what-not from school on Fridays, and wrote a note to Miss Shoebox asking her to–essentially–slip them into the kids’ cubbies.
The dotter returned with a downcast face. Miss Shoehorn hadn’t divvied out the invites, according to her.
The same the next day.
The same the next day.
I was panicking. Had I Done Something Wrong? Was it a faux pas to ask Miss Shoetree to do it? Is it different in kindergarden??
But. Slowly I am getting responses. We now have three responses, so I know the party won’t be a bust (whew!).
What does this have to do with young moms, you ask? That’s a good question!
I just got an RSVP from H’s mom. H’s mom talks a lot. H’s mom just moved here last summer, too, from Massachusetts. H’s mom is 40. H’s mom volunteered that omigawd-aren’t-the-moms-here-so-young?! H’s mom had the delightful experience of meeting the parents of some of her new friends…in other words, H’s friends’ grandparents–who had just turned 50.
It was an instant bonding thing.
