Socialization

In the early steps on this trail of tears (2019), the social workers, et al, used that word quite allot, primarily in the discussion of whether 2 old geezers had the resources to socialize young children. Hubs and I did not have those resources and the discussions were centered on how we could develop those resources across the generational divide. Enter the "Playdate," a term which still triggers me to vicious flashbacks from the kiddie whorehouses where the euphamism was fairly standard. Still plying therapy tools. . . Note to self: 1959 is long gone.

"Socialization" was a newly sprouting theory set from my first parenting career in the 80's and 90's. It tied in neatly with the intensive psychotherapy I was working at the time, so I scarcely noticed those theories weaving into the parenting classes as solidly as they were weaving into my strictly personal therapy sessions. In those early steps, the professional use of the term, "Socialization" seemed to be falling a bit flat for casual conversation with the current generation of parents. I was still quite far from deciphering the current vernacular when Corona crowned and even the court appointed caseworkers quit using the term, all together, as they went masked and virtual.

That convoluted snot knot seems to be rising to the surface as the elder children are stabilizing into their second year of elementary school and Baby Sis is increasingly restless in her long, lonely days on the farm with no one but two senior citizens to interact with. The maskites are still grumbling loudly enough that I can easily use their thunder to justify our continued isolation, but? ? ? Should I? The echoes from my pre-corona puppet show are opposed to the very notion.

Sorting. . .

This morning I leave the mood icon squarely on "Okay." I believe I am holding steady through the covidic storms. Confusion is a valid response to the confusing times in which we live. So I tell myself. Prayers ongoing.