Fridays at Happy Donuts

I think I'm okay with never getting comments. I can just assume that no one is reading what I write, so I'm writing for myself, in my highly opinionated, don't-let-facts-get-in-your-way manner - just like journal writing - and thus can say any old thing that crosses my mind as unartfully as I please. Otherwise, I might have to pay attention to all those other mean little thoughts that nibble away at my precious small stash of self-confidence.
I'm not imagining this. I talked to my Friday coffee friends about declining confidence levels. My Coffee friends are women (well, coffee. Please.) It was one of their birthdays, though we forgot (or had the good taste not to) ask how old she is. She has recently started a new job where she is appreciated, consulted and included in decision making. She glows, these days.
Another friend is a brand new grandmother, just back from first sighting of her 10 day old grandson. As a veteran of this ongoing struggle to stay current (if not cutting edge), I warned her she should, at least, have a car at her disposal, so she could escape for a bit when the family togetherness began to pall. Of course her daughter knows everything about babies because she's not exactly a spring chicken and she has prepared by Reading Books. She is an educated woman and that's what we do: Read Books, probably since the Stone Age.
I was interested but not surprised to learn that the new right way to cope with babies is to feed them every two hours and waken them to feed if they are silly enough to have gone to sleep. In my parenting days (Dark Ages) we felt very smart for understanding that babies could regulate themselves if allowed to feed on demand. Sometimes this was exhausting, but much about parenting is. Needless to say, my Coffee Friend knew nothing about babies that was of the slightest use but was able to escape in the car periodically, if only for a Baby Wipes run. (We didn't have baby wipes and the disposable diapers gave both my babies horrible rashes so we gave up on them in favor of diaper service)
And my point is that whatever you think you know seems to become as obsolete as last year's Dell by the time your children need information. It doesn't just take a village to raise a kid, it takes Experts. Of which you, the aging parent, are not one. All of our grandchildren will survive childhood, no doubt, just as our own children did. All of our children will reluctantly relinquish control over their offspring, just as we did. Had to do. Well, tried to do. Continue to not do, due to worry and overactive imaginations.
And then there's the process of forgetting what you though you had thoroughly absorbed. Such as nutrition. My mother was a pretty good, no-frills cook. We had a summer garden that my grandfather tended, growing lots of beans, not enough corn, some tasy kinds of lettuce and a few berries. And tomatoes, of course, which Grandpa ate sliced, with sugar. Vegetables were part of each meal. I do remember sitting in front of a couple stalks of ice-cold broccoli once, long after the table had been cleared, trying (unsuccessfully) to supress my gag mechanism and eat the damn stuff. I also couldn't swallow canned asparagus.
Feeding children myself, after we got past the stage of yoghurt and scrambled eggs and pureed peaches, I got them to eat most vegetables (my son couldn't deal with potatoes unless they were French fried), usually by mixing them in something - salad, stew, chili. I gave my mother credit for her steadfastness in getting those family meals on the table and making sure they included the basic food groups.
Just before my mother decided - at 87 - that she should not drive anymore, which meant shouldn't live alone, we discovered that she often made dinner of crackers and peanut butter. And dessert, always something for dessert. As she settled into assisted living, her attention to food focussed more and more on whatever was sweet on the menu. Vegetables, even salad, were pushed to the side of her plate. Any meal with her, in the last few years of her life, was about waiting for dessert. She and my sister spent a lot of time at Ben & Jerry's.
Recently, I've started making sure there is ice cream in the freezer and chocolate in the fridge. Will I soon forget the name of that funny vegetable with the green florets? Slippage abounds.