My mother claims she hardly remembers the ’60s. Her lapse is nothing like the old joke of the Woodstock generation’s mental fog.
People of my mom’s generation enjoyed an occasional martini back then. But she was paying attention, I assure you. She was otherwise occupied, that’s all. A house, a husband, three kids, a dog, the PTA, all that. Whenever one of us mentions some old ’60s TV show — say, "My Favorite Martian" or "Gidget" — she’s blank, no clue.
"I was busy raising you kids," she’ll say.
What the 1950s and ’60s were to my mother, the 1980s were to me.
A wedding, a house, two babies, diapers, preschool, training wheels, birthday parties, all that. I missed the whole Joan Collins/Alexis Carrington "Dynasty" thing, although I did catch a lot of early MTV during midnight feedings, a lot of Michael Jackson "Thriller" videos.
If I notice something three times, I figure it’s column-worthy. So the ’80s are back, have you noticed?
The phenomenon was fueled by the premiere last week of "That ’80s Show." Don’t ask me about Fox-TV’s spoof of the decade of "E.T." and excess. It airs at 8 p.m. Wednesdays, but I haven’t seen it. House, kids, homework, dishes, all that. Who has time?
I do know the ’80s are out there, lurking, ready to pounce back into our closets and CD players.
On NBC’s "Today" show last week, models sported the latest exercise gear. Remember Reebok aerobics shoes, leg warmers and Jane Fonda workout videos? Ready for a repeat?
Vogue magazine, too, recently devoted several pages to the decade of shoulder pads and big perms, Molly Ringwald and Ronald Reagan.
Reagan, I remember. And Ringwald and the royal wedding, too. I’m a little like my mom, though. I was too busy raising kids in the ’80s ever to manage a Fawn Hall hairdo.
The ’80s are back at my house, not so much in style but in content. I’m reliving the 1980s as my third child approaches preschool age.
It’s deja vu all over again when my 3-year-old and I settle in with the Berenstain Bears at bedtime. I didn’t need to buy titles like "Too Much Junk Food" and "Get the Gimmies." We either had the ’80s books from my older kids’ collection or were given copies by friends whose children outgrew the bears’ little lessons years ago.
The other day I went for a walk with my youngest child. I strolled alongside him while he pedaled the red, tough-as-steel Roadmaster tricycle my 18-year-old got for her 2nd birthday in 1985.
Our journey through Everett’s Grand Avenue Park, past an overgrown evergreen my teen-age son used to call "the dinosaur tree," took nearly two hours. I can walk it in 15 minutes.
My 3-year-old noticed everything. He stubbornly pedaled the whole way, refusing to let me help him up a hill. When he got home, cold and wet, he downed a cup of chocolate milk and slept until dinner.
The ’80s are back, all right. At my house, it never was a decadent decade. It never did mean leg warmers or a "Flashdance" sweatshirt.
At my house, it means I get to do it all again, from the dinosaur tree to preschool to who knows where? The ’80s are back, and I don’t mind a bit.
Contact Julie Muhlstein via e-mail at muhlsteinjulie@heraldnet.com, write to her at The Herald, P.O. Box 930, Everett, WA 98206, or call 425-339-3460.
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