A few weeks ago we were at Vaughan Mills and in true Austrians-in-the-mall fashion, we got separated and Hubby was nowhere to be found. So I browsed the Swatch kiosk - it would be hard to miss me if you were emerging from the Nike outlet and sought permission or advice on a pair of new kicks. Their stuff is still neat as ever.

Oh man, there was a time when my life was all about a Swatch watch. It just so happens that the birth order of us first four kids parallels the order of our birthdays on the calendar. So Big Sis 1 and Big Sis 2 (who share the same birthday) got Swatches for their big day - they were so cool, so cool. And then 8 days later, Big Sis 3 joined their club. A month of agony followed, as I wondered if Mom would consider me old enough, worthy enough to get one too. I had to be only ten or eleven that year, and a $50 watch today would be a stretch for my own kids, let alone a fourth in the mid-to-late eighties.

And then I got one.

I can still remember snapping open the long and thin, frosted plastic case (because only losers get Timex watches that are rolled and fastened in a plain old box. j/k I had a Timex watch later in life), the red and green and yellow - oooh there was nothing cooler.

And then....I scratched the face playing Red A** during recess. Don't tell her I told you.

All these years I thought about the whole fancy watch thing as a kid, but this weekend Big Sis 2 talked about how determined Mom was to get us those watches. And I appreciated the natural urge that we parents, my own included, have in wanting to indulge our children, treat them to the world, give them things that we didn't have.

This summer I took a course in controlling said urge. It was called Soccer Mom.