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My children grew up to become happy, productive adults without an arrest record or implanted horns and they still talk to me, so I’m qualified to offer some advice to new parents of healthy children. Here are a few easy suggestions that are all legal:

Your children should:

1. Explore and get dirty.
2. Climb and fall out of trees.
3. Go on scavenger hunts.
4. Make play dough.
5. Strike out and lose a few games.
6. Read books.
7. Wonder.
8. Be kind to others.
9. See you laugh, love, and cry.
10. Need your touch.

Your children should not:

1. Wear designer baby clothes.
2. Watch TV or play video games more than an hour a day.
3. Refuse to try healthy foods.
4. Swear, hit, bite, or worship the devil.
5. Be afraid of you.
6. Cry alone.
7. Expect you to solve every problem.
8. Doubt your love.
9. Scream in a restaurant, unless it’s on fire.
10. Reject your touch.

(Caveat: Of course, these suggestions will be adapted for children with special needs.)

I used to feed my little ones with a spoon shaped like an airplane. Now they open their mouths every time they hear a plane.

But we had great fun during mealtime. I’d strap their wiggly body into the highchair and begin the mommy dance of getting most of the food into their body. The airplane spoon worked best, and we had great travel adventures right there in the kitchen. “Here it comes, (airplane noises), open up for a magical delivery!”

The animation worked until I tried to sneak in blended peas or stewed prunes. Then even the most daring and high-diving airplane spoon couldn’t open the steel mouth of refusal. (Really, can you blame them?) But this pilot was no dummy. Sprinkle a few berries on top of the concoction, and that fortress opened faster than the mouse ran up the clock.

But I have a problem with the modern way of feeding the cherubs. What’s up with wee toddlers sucking food out of pouches? Now clever marketers and busy parents have discovered food pouches that offer quick and easy ways to feed babies. Slap on an “organic” label, and you can dash out the door guilt-free. Just don’t forget to take the baby. I’ll admit the convenience is nice, and I’ve used the pouches with my grandchildren, but sparingly.

Experts with long titles now question the overuse of food pouches. They point to complications with tooth decay, proper oral development, and socialization issues. I don’t need a professional title to see the biggest problem. A special experience is lost when a toddler is strapped into a back car seat sucking food from a bag while Mommy is swearing as she maneuvers through traffic. I say bring back the airplane spoon, sit down face to face, and have some fun. Delightful toddlers have a way of turning into aloof teenagers, so enjoy a captive audience while you can.

Because I’m older, experienced, and cheerfully sarcastic, I chuckle at all the necessary contraptions for young parents. They can choose from a vast assortment of baby monitors with live-streaming videos, DVDs that instruct clueless parents how to introduce their children to colors and numbers, strollers bigger than a Volkswagen, and the ever-popular meditation music that encourages babies to get in touch with inner feelings. I always assumed a smiling baby was happy and a crying baby was hungry, tired, or needed to be changed. Silly me.

When my children were babies, disposable diapers were too expensive, so the only choice was the one-size-fits-all cloth. And pinning them on a wiggly baby often resulted in accidental stabbings, but only to my clumsy thumbs. I developed the skills of an intricate, highly-skilled technician as I made goo-goo faces to distract the little cherub and secured the bulky diaper. Soiled diapers were dunked in the toilet and stored in a hamper until washed and reused. There was no alternative other than to allow the brood to run around naked in a pen that could be washed with a high-pressure hose. That option did cross my mind a few times. Now with disposables, it’s just strap on a synthetic polymer and fibrous pad made from wood pulp and absorbent chemicals and toss the used ones in the garbage to fester for 500 years.

I’m also humored by the zealous endorsement of making homemade baby food as new parents seriously learn how to take regular food and smash it into mush to make it easier to feed their babies. I suspect this technique was used by all the generations that survived before 1927 when Mrs. Dan Gerber, the wife of a Michigan canning company owner, asked her husband for help in straining peas for their infant daughter. Now Gerber sells 190 products in eighty countries. In 2007, Gerber was sold to Nestlé for $5.5 billion. Well played, Mrs. Gerber.

My last tidbit of advice to new parents is to close the books, turn off the tutorials, ignore parents who claim to have perfect children, and take your bundle of joy into your arms. Sing some songs, gently touch those sweet cheeks, and profess your unconditional love. That’s all they need. Well, they also need food, clothing, and shelter for 18 years, but you already knew that. Oh, there are two more things. They need to laugh and be silly. Every day.

http://www.kboi2.com/idaholiving/Midlife-Cabernet-Life-begins-at-50-274106741.html

Copy or click on the link above to view my interview on Idaho Living. I discuss serious topics such as middle-age angst, growing hair on toes, and why wine is a good preservative.

I recently attended a garden party with a dozen feisty middle-aged women. We all once worked for Boise Cascade Corporation, and as our lives have evolved, most of us are still jumping in and out of hot water when we should be lolling around at a fancy resort sipping fine wine and receiving a massage from a bodybuilder named Thor.

We pulled out a 20-year-old photograph of our group. I’m shown in the middle row during my “argyle phase.” Since the photo was taken, we’ve shared and endured numerous parties, divorce stories, weddings, anniversaries, excursions, empty nests, the births of grandchildren, and the deaths of parents. We often go years without seeing each other, but when we get together, merriment ensues as we provide the necessary updates about our vintage lives.

Linda was widowed after her husband died unexpectedly. Determined to take care of herself, she closed up their winter Arizona home and drove by herself back to Idaho. She arrived at 1:30 in the morning, only to discover she didn’t have the key to open the door.

“It was always his job to do that!” she explained.

Exhausted after the thirteen-hour drive, she did what any resourceful woman would do. She took a hammer from the tool box in her car and broke down the door.

“It felt great!” she said. “I got rid of a lot of pain.”

Another friend, Sue, described how she was petitioning the court for guardianship of her teenage granddaughter because of the mother’s chronic drug abuse problems. “We were all set to enjoy our retirement,” she said. “Now we have a teenager in the house. But, we’ll make it work.”

One of my oldest friends, and I mean old by the number of years we’ve been acquainted, is Carol. She announced that she has developed heart disease, the number-one cause of death for women. We immediately shared hugs and started to wait on her every need. She remarked that she should have mentioned the disease years earlier. She’s doing fine, but her health alarm is a reminder that life is fragile and getting older is a privilege denied to many others.

“Stop having heart disease,” I said. “I don’t want to feel guilty about all the wild times we’ve had together. We left the corporate rat race, and now we deserve to sit by the pool wearing colorful outfits and floppy hats while we whistle for more drinks.”

She nodded in agreement. “I’ll meet you poolside anytime. But, we’ll alternate libations with lemon water.”

Another friend told us about being diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. We encouraged her to take care of herself, and then we arm-wrestled her to remove the cookies from her reach.

“If we aren’t allowed to enjoy an abundance of sweets, why do cookies come by the dozen?” she lamented. We shook our heads and muttered in communal sympathy.

I tried to lighten the mood by describing how my elderly mother burned up her microwave by using it as a timer and then unknowingly gave my daughter a toy that spewed recorded obscenities. We weren’t making fun of her because we knew we’ll probably be doing the same things in twenty years.

A few women described the challenges of caring for a sick parent. Instead of sharing details about the latest shoe sale or coming concert, we traded suggestions, anecdotes, and recommendations for eldercare facilities. Most of us had lost at least one parent, and the surviving spouse was alone. Except for Sue’s mother who is known as the incurable flirt at her retirement center. We decided to copy that example.

After listening to each other’s circumstances, we agreed that we would make the most out of the last third of our lives. Molly announced that she was resigning from her job after working for 30 years and was planning her retirement. We toasted her with Pinot Gris and poppy seed cake. One woman was eagerly anticipating the birth of her first grandchild. The other grandmothers in the group all chimed in on the wonders of being a grandmother. Of course, we all pulled out photographs and declared that the world would be a better place because of our perfect progeny.

For over twenty years, we’ve shared the highs and lows of our interesting and varied lives. And because wine is an excellent preservative, we hope to continue the reunions for several more decades. As we left the party, we all vowed to carry a hammer, just in case we had to bust down a door.

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Excerpt adapted from my book, Midlife Cabernet.