It was the early 1970s and we were late-blooming hippies, or at least we dressed like them on the weekends in Oklahoma City.

He wore bell-bottoms, a colorful paisley shirt and red, white and blue boots on weekends. On Monday, he was back to his white starched shirt, suit and tie.

His business-man haircut turned into a mop-top look with the flip of a comb, and his usual mustache completed a weekend Sonny Bono/Beatles look.

My beehive hairdo, topped with a wiglet, stayed the same 24/7, but I made up for it with my hippie clothes.

I exchanged high heels for weekend moccasins, and pencil skirts for bell-bottom jeans edged in colorful material, courtesy of Mom’s sewing talents. A fringed vest usually went over one of my usual tops, but a beaded peace sign necklace from a craft show completed my weekend getup with our kids.

Combined, we had five children.

He had four who lived with their mother.

I had a one.

Usually we had all of them on the weekends.

They ranged in ages from six to sixteen, and even in the moments of passion we had the good sense to know that five was enough.

Our tight budget meant we played cards and board games with the kids during the winter, and spent good weather weekends at free festivals, museums, arts and air shows, and throwing a frisbee at Stars and Stripes Park.

We went to Will Rogers Airport and watched the planes take off and land. It only took a dime for all of us to go up to the observatory deck.

We played workup baseball in the empty lot next to our house, shopped at C.R. Anthony’s and model train stores, celebrated birthdays with homemade cakes and each kiddo got to pick where we’d eat to celebrate their special day. They knew it had to be McDonald’s, Taco Bell, or the neighborhood Mexican buffet where kids could eat for 89-cents, and it never failed that we had a spare kid or two join us.

Our teenagers wore long hair. The girls parted their straight hair down the middle and wore halter tops and low-rise jeans. I can’t remember if they wore bell-bottoms too, but I do know we made sure their belly buttons were covered.

Nowadays teenage girls

wear expensive jeans with machine-made holes in the legs, or they cut up jeans and make their own ripped designs. Boys wear baggy shorts, even when it’s cold, and high-dollar tennis shoes that have more rubber on them than truck tires.

All generations have their styles.

Fads.

Trends.

Gone are the ‘70s and hippie days of peace-sign necklaces and moccasins for this old grandma.

My current fashion craze includes jogging pants, sweatshirts, compression socks and slip-on sneakers. Then at nighttime all I have to do is take off my tennies and I’m warm and comfy for another sleep.

But not the Big Sleep, yet.

I still have too many stories to share about the olden days.