FOMO, FONE, And Things That Never Change

 

"Hey Mom! What are you chewing?!" My 10-year-old grandson shouted the length of the resort pool to my daughter-in-law who sat in the shade of an umbrella next to me. 

"Gum." She replied. I laughed. We had crashed their beach vacation and were watching the kids play in the pool while we rested from the heat.

"Did you bring me any food?!" He wasn't finished yet. Nor was he moving any closer to where we lounged. She just shook her head as I laughed.

I remember those days so vividly. I recall sitting in the driver's seat with my children in the third row of a mini van. "What are you eating, Mom? I heard a wrapper! I want some."

"It's a cough drop." I eyed three children in the rearview mirror.

"I smell chocolate." That was the daughter, who I have to tell you, grew up to have children who have repaid her ten-fold.

We lived in a large house at the time. Over 4000 square feet. Two story. The kitchen was downstairs in the back corner, the kids did homeschooling upstairs in the opposite end of the house. I do not lie when I tell you those kids could hear me open a cupboard door and make it down the stairs before I opened a box of crackers. 

"What are you eating? Can we have some? Is it snack time?" 

Kids today have FOMO. That's Fear of Missing Out, in case you didn't know.

My kids had FONE. Fear of Not Eating. Now mind you, they never went hungry. The cabinets were never bare. We always had plenty of food. I think, though, that it is genetic. We have family members who do not leave the house without stuffing pockets, purses and backpacks with snacks. And that is just to go to the grocery store. Or church. Heaven forbid we try to get through a sermon without a granola bar.

I will admit, though, that I must shoulder at least part of the genetic burden. When I was a child, I had FOMM. Fear of Missing Meals. I must have been taught very early in life that normal people eat three meals a day. So, it was imperative that we eat three meals a day. No matter whether you were hungry or not. Three meals were the requirement.

One time that I specifically remember, we didn't have supper. Now in our home, in our family, you had breakfast, lunch and supper. Everyone has their own vernacular, but there are generally three of them. On this particular day, a Saturday as I recall, we had slept especially late. 'Breakfast' had been unusually late. Close to noon. Then at some point in the late afternoon we ate again. Let's go off script and call it 'dinner'. Later on in the evening, my mom told us it was time to brush our teeth and head for bed.

"We haven't had supper. Are we gong to bed without supper?" I was incredulous. Although at the age of eight, it was more of a panic. How could they send me to bed without supper? I would likely starve. What cruelty was this my mother was inflicting upon our little souls?

"You just ate a few hours ago. That was supper." 

"But then, we didn't have lunch." See where this is going? I had FOMM. I'm pretty sure, if my memory serves me right, my mom gave me something bizarre to eat and told me that was my third meal, now get my hind end in bed.

What does any of this have to do with any of the other? 

As I sat at the side of the pool and watched those children, remembered my own children, then reflected on my own childhood, I realized something. We rename things. We call things by new names, we dress them differently and maybe even treat them in new ways. But when you stand back and look at it, not much really changes. 

My three adult children and their spouses parent their children differently than my husband and I did them. Oh, they have the same values, the same end goals, the same blueprint if you will. But the specs look a little different. The codes have changed. (Can you detect that I've been married to a contractor for most of my life?) 

But when I spend extended time with my children's families, I notice inevitable truths. Some things will never change. Let the next thousand generations say, "It's not the same as when you were raising kids," and I will concur. There are differences for sure. Many times have I said I am grateful that I am not having to be raising kids today. But that could also be because I am not thirty. Oh, boy. Does that ever make a difference.

The framers of the Constitution understood that some truths are self evident, and that applies here as well. Boys are going to be hungry all of the time. Little girls will be little mommies. Chocolate can be smelled from fifty yards. And every toddler in the world will at one point pry your mouth open to see what you are eating and if they want some.

Moms these days have it so easy. I pass cars every day where kids are wearing headphones as they stare at a tablet. We had to cough to cover the sound of crinkling wrappers. But not much you can do when some kid rips his headphones off and says, "I smell chocolate!"