Some Pig

Pride Goeth

Well, I just got back from the orthopedic doctor.  He diagnosed my injury as a gluteal strain.

In other words, I sprained my butt.

OF COURSE I couldn't have some kind of INTERESTING injury, like a hamstring pull or a bum knee, that I could blame on my hard-core athleticism.  Ho no, not me - I have to fall on my @ss in public....and then break it.  On top of THAT, I have to go to physical therapy twice a week for four weeks.  TWICE. A. WEEK.  Dear Buddha, I don't have time to do ANYTHING twice a week unless it's laundry or cooking!  So when are they adding the extra couple hours to the day?  Because that's what it's going to take.

That Went On About 49 Shades Too Many, If You Ask Me

So have you heard about 5o Shades of Grey?  Or is it Gray?  E-grey or A-gray?  Whatevs.  Anyway, in case you're NOT a middle-aged wife and mother, 5o Shades of Grey is an e-book that started as Twilight fanfic and then became a huge best-seller in its own right among the aforementioned mommy crowd.  It's gained a ton of notoriety because in addition to being a capital-R Romance, it's also about The Sex.  And not just sex-sex, but naughty sex.  Go Google "BDSM" if you want to know more about that element of it. Anyway, 50 SOG caught the attention of the New York Times (the business news part, not the Review of Books part, so that tells you something right there.  "I think you should read this," Warren told me, handing me the article and leering suggestively.  "I do not want to read that book," I snapped back, "it sounds stupid." Then one of my fellow book club members, the investigative reporter who interviews murderers for fun, suggested it for our next meeting.  What the hell, I figured, who am I to argue with the murderer-interviewing lady?  So, much to Warren's initial delight, we read the damned thing. 

So what is wrong with 50 Shades of Grey?  It doesn't just require "willing suspension of disbelief," (which is a VERY FAMOUS QUOTE by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who is a SUPER FAMOUS PERSON, for any of you haters who think I make up my famous quotes that EVERYONE'S heard of).  No, 50 Shades of Grey requires that you deck disbelief in the nutsack, hog-tie it while it's still doubled over in pain, truss it up with a few of those plastic zip-ties the male protagonist seems to like so much, and then stuff it in the hall closet for the duration.  The disbelief starts with said male protagonist, who is a supposed genius multizillionaire money financial business-type person, and who is also an arrogant, cold, withholding @sshole (a la Edward in the Twilight series, hence the fanfic connection) AND is also drop-dead gorgeous AND is all of about twenty-seven years old.  See what I mean?  ONE of those elements I could take, but all FOUR?  I mean, yeah, I made a cottage industry out of dating unsuitable jerks when I was in my 20's, so I know those are out there by the truckload, but the rest of it gets to be so unlikely as to be laughable.  I believe there are arrogant richy-rich business tycoons out there, but in my (admittedly limited) experience, most of them are fifty-four and look like frogs, even if they think they're the handsome prince.  Then there's the fact that Grey blatantly rips off the Bella Swan character for the female protagonist, and then makes her even more passively annoying than the original. Seriously, how whiny can one character get?  "Oh, I'm so useless, I don't do anything, all I do is study and think about how to turn down all the unwelcome advances from every guy I meet."  I wanted to slap her across the face (although it turns out she liked that kinda action a little too much), buy her the collected works of Germaine Greer, and force her to join something already - Camp Fire Girls, the Rotary, anything that would get her out of her freaking house!  In addition to being basically housebound, Whiny makes it to senior year of college without having ever kissed a boy or gone on a bender.  Hey, I know the latest research (which I can't be arsed to go find) claims that college students are actually far less libidinous and licentious than generally imagined, but really, nothing?  By age twenty-one???  Not one unfortunate encounter with grain alcohol punch during freshman orientation, not a single regrettable incident with a Sig Ep at a Heaven and Hell party, nothing???  I call shenanigans on that, I say, SHENANIGANS ON THAT.

Then there's The Sex.  This book became notorious for the author's heavy reliance on, um, purple prose to describe the process of making the double-backed beast than for anything else.  But even with The Sex, the book is just...bad.  Shouldn't erotica have the effect of actually making the reader want to have The Sex?  If so, this book is a great argument for abstinence, the ultimate form of birth control.  There's one bedroom scene where whatsisface richy-rich guy fills his mouth with cold white wine and then spits it into Whiny's mouth while they're Doing It and it's supposed to be terribly erotic, but meanwhile, all I can think is, "EEEEWWWWW, BACKWASH!"  Because eight thousand years ago, when I was attending Podunky Region High School, we had a Big Thing about backwash.  If you asked a friend for a sip of the Hi-C Fruit Punch or Diet Pepsi that she got from the vending machines (which were right there in the cafeteria, another sign of bygone days), chances are the first statement out of her mouth would be, "Okay, but no backwash."  This meant that after you took your sip, you were supposed to slurp on the can to get that last little bit of drink that gets caught in the rim and has TOUCHED YOUR MOUTH OH GROSS.  Of course, we could have just not shared drinks, but that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Okay, that's ancient history, I know, but the point is, that scene evoked someone drinking a big gulp of too-warm white wine diluted with someone else's loogies, which makes me gag a little just writing about it.  It's hard to get a warm glow in the pants when there's a churning sensation in the gut, know what I mean?  Take it from me, it's a bad sign when you're reading an erotic novel and you deliberately start skipping the sex scenes because they're repetitive and dull.  Even the main character getting a riding crop to the saucebox wasn't enough to redeem this book.   

The worst part about this whole phenomenon is that it proves no one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public (oh look!  Another famous saying!!!).  There are thousands of women out there who are actually reading it for reals.  And they're saying it's saved their marriages!  Apparently, reading about two highly unlikely characters doing redonculous things is enough to bring the bloom back to the rose and make the ole ball'n'chain look like the Handsome Prince once again.  To which I say, what is wrong with people?!?  There's not even a good subplot in this book!  There's not one single character who's even reasonably believable, no Team Jacob equivalent to keep the reader engaged!  Honestly, it's a sad, sad state of affairs when this is what America needs to keep the sanctity of marriage intact. 

P.S. If you want the TL;DR version of this post, my friend Natalie announced at book club, "I couldn't finish reading it.  It was written in crayon."  Or you can just do what everyone else is doing and watch Ellen DeGeneris recording the audiobook.  Enjoy!

 

 

Occasionally, The Good Guys Prevail

I know I share a lot of stories of heartbreak and woe on these virtual pages, or at least, I gripe a lot about what pisses me off, but once in a while, I hear a heartwarming story that makes me want to stand up and cheer. In the spirit of the new year, I thought I'd share: Over the holidays, I got to spend some time with a good friend. She told me a story about her nephews, who are high school- and middle school-aged. Younger Brother has Asperger's Syndrome, including the problems with social skills and peer relations. Older Brother, being a good sibling, has made a point of looking out for Younger Brother through the years. However, once Older Brother went to the high school, he could no longer be the eyes and ears he had been.

Well, Nature abhors a vacuum, so you can imagine that once Older Brother was out of sight, someone else stepped in to fill the gap - cue the entrance of one Juvenile Delinquent, newly returned to the community and, of course, assigned to the same bus as Younger Brother. You can fill in the rest - the harassment, the intimidation, the lack of effective intervention from authority figures, all of which continued until Little Brother had to be driven to school every day.  Older Brother was, needless to say, beside himself, but being at a different school, there was nothing he could do about it. Then school started in September, and - guess what! - Juvenile Delinquent was now in 9th grade. At the first opportunity, Older Brother sought out Juvenile Delinquent. He tapped on JD's shoulder. "Hi!" he said, "You don't know me, but I'm Younger's brother!" Then, without waiting for a reply, he pulled back, cocked his fist, and clocked the @sshole right in the jaw. The kid went down like a ton of bricks.

My first reaction to this story was surprise - surprise because this story made me realize just how ordinary scenarios like this used to be, and how comparatively rare they are now.  The fact that one kid administered some sorely deserved schoolyard justice to another kid used to be much more commonplace. 

Second, this story brought home just how much we have infantilized and disempowered our children in the name of making schools and other institutions safe, welcoming environments for everyone.  The fact is, school shouldn't be a safe and welcoming environment for everyone; it should be a safe and welcoming environment ONLY for those people who are willing to reciprocate in making it safe and welcoming for others.  The kid who makes homophobic, racist, or sexist comments should NOT find school a warm and cozy place to be.  The kid who picks on littler or weaker or less able kids should NOT think s/he is going to get away with it.  The kid who thinks it's funny to be mean to the kid who's different SHOULD be looking over his or her shoulder and wondering when it's going to catch up to them.  In reality, all the security cameras and no-tolerance policies and such have had a paradoxical effect in giving the jerks more power instead of less, because the good kids who used to stand up to these kids are actually concerned about their reputations and records, while the jerks don't give a sh!t.  Furthermore, we have managed to eliminate or subvert all the opportunities the good kids used to have to learn how to handle the jerks.  This is scarcely an original sentiment, but it's true - thanks to scheduled playdates, supervised sports, structured enrichment activities, and hyperinvolved parents, we have managed to raise a generation of kids who don't know what to do when life spits in their eye. 

[A lengthy aside is necessary here, lest a certain element of my readership try to claim that this is the fault of FDR, the nanny state, and/or Great Society programs.  Let me state for the record that the forces that have created the atmosphere of enablement and entitlement know no color, creed, or political persuasion.  I am definitely in the "knee-jerk liberal" camp, but I firmly believe that my girls have to experience at least their fair share of hard knocks and deal with them without benefit of parental intervention; by the same token, many a enabled little princeling or entitled junior diva pulls up to school in a vehicle plastered with Tea Party bumper stickers.  So let's not make it a political issue, mmmkay?]

The fact is, kids are pack animals (to a greater or lesser extent), and they do act as a corrective force on one another.  If you were lucky enough to grow up in the 70's, think about it:  How many times did your parents get on you to wear clean clothes, take a shower, and comb your damn hair once in awhile?  Did that change your behavior?  Now when your peers started saying, "dang, man, you smell," - what happened then?  I'm willing to bet that far more kids got turned on to the benefits of personal hygiene by fear of their peers' disapproval than by their parents' efforts.  Looking back at the story that started this post, is Juvenile Delinquent likely to see the error of his ways?  Maybe, but probably not.  Is he likely to think twice before picking on Little Brother or any other atypical kid again?  I bet he is.

I need to be clear here that I am not advocating for allowing unchecked vigilantism or wishing for a return to the law of the jungle.  We can't have kids walking around decking one another over every social infraction, real or perceived, or we'll never get anything done at school.  But let's face it, peer influence is a form of power, and like all forms of power, we need to teach kids how and when to use it appropriately.  To return to the example above, kids aren't born knowing that it's okay to call someone out for behaviors they can change or control, but it's not fair to do so if they can't.  But nowadays, we don't even try to teach kids to discern between using peer pressure the right way or the wrong way.  Instead, we treat peer influence like a pair of extra sharp scissors that has to be kept far away from the curious toddler.  We lock the scissors away and then wonder why, when it comes time to send the little dears to college, none of them has any idea how to cut a piece of paper. 

In Which Several First-World Problems Collide

Okay, first, a disclaimer:  Every single thing I am about to share with you?  Is a first-world problem.  I know, I am thankful for all the many, many blessings I have of hearth, home, and health.  So lest you read this and think, sheesh, what a self-absorbed, shallow whiner, keep in mind:  I am a self-absorbed, shallow whiner with perspective!

The back story:  Several weeks ago, I happened to mention to Warren that I would like my own iPad because there are lots of cool educational apps out there I could use and it would be nice to have connectivity without having to lug my school laptop thither and yon (because another first world problem I have is that the school buys the cheap laptops, which are lunky and heavy).  

The back-back story:  Warren just bought himself a car.  It was a used car, and he got it for a good price, but the point is, this man LOVES buying cars and will buy one at the least provocation.  In the ten years we've been married, he has bought and sold six cars, many of which were purchased with what I consider to be marginal justification.  However, he loves the whole process.  He loves the hunt, he loves the wheeling-dealing, he loves fixing them up.  Since he is careful with our money and is a good husband and provider, my attitude has been, knock yourself out.  That means I have to endure participate in more discussions about torque and horsepower relative to frame size and differential slip than I ordinarily would (which is none), but if it makes him happy, then it makes me happy.

Meanwhile, I've discussed here before that what *I* like is small and sparkly and comes in carat weight. However, since my husband is relentlessly practical, and since jewelry admittedly has very little application in daily life unless you're using it as portable wealth, he has steadfastly ignored my subtle hints and oblique comments (e.g., "I'd love a diamond ring for our tenth anniversary!"). In his view, he had to get me a diamond in order to get engaged, and now that the necessity for diamond procurement is gone, so he is off the hook.  Whenever I point out that at least three of the car purchases we've made have been superfluous, at least technically, he gives lengthy justification for his actions that somehow manages to portray my acquiescence to this frequent car procurement as active participation in the process, and acceptance for the necessity thereof.  Which is a nice bit of barracks lawyering, as far as I'm concerned. 

Fast-forward back to the present moment.  A couple of days ago, I was tidying up way too late at night when Warren came in the kitchen.  "What color iPad do you want?" he asked, in the same tone of exasperation in which he'd say, "where is the checkbook," or "what do we need at the store?"

"Way to ruin the gift-giving experience," I replied. 

"Look, it's like ripping off a band-aid," he continued.  "Let's just get this over with."

!!!!!

?????

Um, exsqueeze me?????????  Let's just get this over with???????????  That's what he thinks about giving his loving wife a present - that it's an onerous chore to be disposed of as handily as possible? Isn't the point of giving a present that you WANT the other person to have something that they will like and appreciate, to show that you like and appreciate THEM?  If it's about the color of the iPad cover, after ten years of marriage, could he not make SOME kind of educated guess about what color I'd like?  For the love of Steve Jobs, when Warren got HIS iPad, he asked me to order him a cover and warned me sternly not to order a pink one, which you think would be a PRETTY SOLID CLUE which color I'd like, but even that is BESIDES THE POINT.  The point is, if he's going to get me an iPad as a GIFT, then how about choosing it for me based on the fact that he'd like me to have it instead of acting like it's some kind of obligation he can't get out of?  And now that I KNOW about it, it doesn't seem very GIFT-LIKE - would it have been all that hard to, oh, I don't know, buy it and wrap it and put it under the tree?  Now I don't even WANT the stupid iPad anyway, SO THERE.

[NB:  This is the point in the story where my ever-quotable coworker looked at me and said, "I hate you."  Then he took out a piece of paper and made a list:  "First-world problems - my husband got me an iPad."  Another coworker chimed in and said, "No - it's 'I don't want the iPad my husband got me.'"  And yeah, I deserve that, a little bit.]

So here's my argument:  Warren seems to feel perfectly justified in going out and procuring 'new" cars because it makes him happy.  Let's say that over the course of buying and selling all these cars, he's shelled out maybe $5k out of pocket that didn't get any kind of return on investment other than his increased happiness and satisfaction.  I consider that $5 grand well spent, in that case.  So if that's the case, and if the above scenario is indicative of his approach to gift-giving (which it is), then why the hell don't I just go out and buy myself the big-ticket item I'd like that he clearly is never going to get me?  $5,000 would buy a very nice ring, I do believe, and I wouldn't turn around and sell it in three years, either.

Sure Makes Me Scream

I have a confession to make. 

A deep, dark, scary confession.

I hate Halloween.

I know!  Me, hating a holiday based on consumption of sugary treats???  What's next, cats sleeping with dogs?  Water making you dry?  Rain falling up? But it's true - I really, really, really would be just as happy if October 30th led straight into November 1st with no intervening pass through Samhain, All Hallow's Eve, Night of the Dead, or whatever you care to call it.

You might ask why I dislike this holiday so much.  There's a lot of reasons.  First, this holiday is hell on wheels for the working-mom set.  This is not meant as a slam on the SAHMs - for all I know, it's hell on wheels for them as well; it's just that I've been a SAHM for Halloween only once, on maternity leave with Celeste, and she was all of two weeks old at the time so it all went past in one big sleep-deprived blur anyway.  But those were the good old days, in retrospect, when I could cram the kids into whatever costume-ish thingamabobber I happened to have lying around and lie to them about where all that candy went, anyway.  Now the girls spend hours - and I'm not exaggerating, HOURS - contemplating what they're going to be for Halloween.  And allll of their ideas necessitate my making a Hobson's choice between either going to three separate party and sewing goods stores to procure redonculous (and redonculously expensive) costume materials or having the here's-your-costume-like-it-or-lump-it fight and subsequent meltdown.  On top of that, I have to figure out a costume that's cool enough to pass muster but not so cool or trendy that my little girls look like hookers.  Doing all those things is a full eight-hour day in itself, and somewhere in there I have a job to do and a house to run. Second, I am morally and philosophically opposed to any event that forces me to put on regular clothes and go out of the house after I've gotten home; that goes double for events that occur when it's dark and cold outside and I have school the next day.  Third, this is what the next five days look like chez Pig:

Thursday: Celeste has costume day at school; Warren's office hosts a huge family-oriented trick-or-treat bash at his office (which always culminates in two sugar-crazed, hopped up fiends refusing to go to bed at a normal hour and screaming into the wee hours of the night).

Friday:  India has costume day at school, which includes a parade around the school AND a Halloween Poetry Party (for this I have to take a half a personal day); after school the town has its town-wide Halloween parade (which we skipped because it's cold and the kids are exhausted after their sugar buzz from last night); after THAT one of the girls' friends and her mom are hosting a kids' Halloween party (which actually will be the most bearable part of the day, as I KNOW the mom will take pity on us and have wine for the parents).

Saturday:  The girls' babysitter has invited them to go trick-or-treating at the supermarket where she works a part-time job.

Sunday:  The girls are invited to wear their costumes to Sunday school, followed (finally!) by actual Trick-or-Treating in the evening.

Monday:  India's after-school program at the Y is hosting a friends and family Halloween party, with pumpkin bowling and games and - OF COURSE - trick-or-treating for MORE candy, because Type II diabetes be damned, you can't just feed these kids straight sugar for five days and expect them to go cold turkey, can you?!?

So here's my question:  When the hell (ha! fear pun!) did this holiday go from one evening's worth of entertainment to a week-long Halloween-industrial complex?  When I was a kid, Halloween required  ONE (1) night to celebrate, and now it goes on longer than a Kim Kardashian wedding!  Back in the day, once I was old enough to assemble my own costumes, my parents' expenditure of effort was reduced to keeping a bowl of candy by the door and telling me to stay off lower Main Street and not to do anything stupid while they watched Huntley-Brinkley and consumed their pre-dinner cocktails in peace. I, on the other hand, have to drag my kids thither and yon for the better part of five days while they yell badly-scanned rhymes about feet and treats  and eat too much junk when I'm not looking. 

Aside from preventing the retailers from putting up the Christmas decorations right after Labor Day, we don't really need a full week to celebrate Halloween, do we? Tell you what, let's find some middle ground we all can agree upon.  Halloween festivities will be limited to one day and one night, preferably consecutively, although they can be nonsequential if need be. Costume-oriented celebrations will be limited to one daytime and one nighttime event, in addition to the regular round of trick-or-treating.  Parental involvement for those children over nine will be limited once again to telling their kids what time to be home and what parts of town the kids need to stay away from or they'll be sorry.  Watching It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, will be encouraged but not mandatory. Then we can all catch our breaths before the Halloween-to-holidays death spiral begins.  Whaddya say???

This Pisses Me Off

Look, folks, I don't go hunting around for this stuff - really, I don't.  For whatever reason, stupid things that piss me off just seem to FIND me wherever I go.  I can't walk around the corner without something totally irritating leaping out at me:  Misused apostrophes!  Bureaucratic ignorance!  Every Day Math Home Links!!!  But this latest one?  This one got me but GOOD.

After a week of slaving in the salt mines, I came home and found myself with an unexpectedly kid-free half hour.  So, being the loving mother and helpmeet and responsible adult that I am not, I made a beeline for the computer and logged onto Wastebook to fritter away my time laughing at memes and posting snarky comments.  A friend of mine, who is dear and sweet and one of the kindest, nicest people I've ever met, posted this:

Yyyyyeaaaahhhhhh. 

So much for my half hour of frivolous fun.

This sign pisses me off on soooooooo many levels, it's hard to know where to begin.  Oh, I know!  We'll start with the presumption that only those people who believe in God can be:

a) patriotic

b) loyal to their country

c) allowed to express their views

d) allowed to live in this country.

Congratulations, those of you who "liked" this sentiment.  You have now definitively proven that YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE PHILOSOPHY UPON WHICH THIS COUNTRY WAS FOUNDED.  To wit, that individuals should have the right to freedom in matters of conscience, INCLUDING religion.  There's this whole STATEMENT to that effect; it's called the FIRST AMENDMENT, and it goes something like this:

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

I put the relevant part in bold for you, and if you still don't get the message, let me make it clear:  Our founders specifically did NOT want to create a religious litmus test for civic participation. They did NOT intend for us conflate loyalty to our country with a specific belief in God.  They did NOT want the government telling its citizens what to believe, or how to express their belief; and they CERTAINLY did NOT want us imposing our religious views on ONE ANOTHER!!!  And whether those of you who do believe in God like it or not, you just have to accept that NOT believing in God does not ipso facto disqualify those of us who don't from being "truly" American.  The founders understood, even if we don't, that it is only a very small step from being a religious state to having a state religion.  The founders understood, even if we don't, that they could only be secure in their right to be Quakers or Methodists or Presbyterians or deists or agnostics (or by extension, Muslims or Buddhists or Baha'i or atheists) if the government protected EVERYONE'S right to be Quakers or Buddhists or atheists.  [For those of you who want to trot out the tired old argument that the founders were Christians, please, go do even the most rudimentary research on our founders.  A lot of them held beliefs that would send any garden-variety evangelical Protestant screaming for the hills.  And if you're going to go down the original-intent path, well, then, you'd better revive some of those old prejudices about Catholics and Jews and women voting in elections, because you don't get to cherry pick just the parts of history that fit your argument, mmmkay?]

This sign pisses me off on a personal level as well.  Who died and left these people in charge of deciding who qualified for citizenship?  I do not spend my professional career trying to drum some understanding and appreciation of our government and its history into kids' heads so I can come home and be told that I am not really a true American.  I do not pay taxes, vote in elections, and contribute my time and energy to civic pursuits so that I can be considered less deserving of full citizenship since I happen to have a different personal belief system.  It was not so long ago that Franklin Delano Roosevelt justified American nonintervention in World War II by the fact that "only" Jews and Catholics were affected.  It was not so long ago that John F. Kennedy had to defend his candidacy for President against charges that, as a Catholic, he would be more loyal to the Pope than the Constitution.  And it was definitely not so long ago that a practicing Muslim who happened to be elected to Congress ignited a firestorm of controversy because he wanted to take the oath of office on a Koran and not the Bible (you'd think the religious right would be sympathetic to his wanting to recognize his faith, but no). 

In the final analysis, here's what really burns my cheese about this sign and others of its ilk:  As a card-carrying believer in rule of law, the Constitution, and the American way, I would be absolutely incensed if the adherents of any one religion were told they were not somehow "fully" American because of their faith.  However, it seems to be perfectly socially acceptable - even praiseworthy, in some circles - for certain religious adherents to imply such things about ME because of my absence of faith.  Tell you what, why don't YOU bite MY ass and just leave?  There are any number of places you can go where practicing religion has been not just expected, but strictly enforced - such as Saudi Arabia.  Or Jonestown.  Then you can come up with a new clever saying for Maxine to entertain us all with.  I can't wait to see it.

The Very Late Summer of My Discontent

Every once in a while, I read a blog post like this one that comes along and saves my sanity at a critical juncture like tonight.  It's nice to know that I am not the only mother who, a) is not naturally overflowing with patience; and, b) who occasionally feels like going out to sit in the dirt and eat worms since her ingrate family clearly does not appreciate her.  It's been that kind of a week with the chez Piggies, which isn't made any better by the fact that this is the second week in a row where I've had to go to outside meetings two or more nights out of the week, plus another two nights next week, so of course when the Pig spouse asked if he could go away on a boys' weekend dirt biking (don't ask) with his BFF on THIS weekend, I airily replied, hey, why not, it really didn't make much difference which weekend so he might as well go on this one.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What I failed (mightily) to take into account was the fact that Cici was invited to a birthday party and India was not, which is a situation guaranteed to come to no good end.  I've talked before about the sibling jealousy issue here, so I will spare you the details except to say that, as expected, India was completely put out by the fact that Celeste got a goody bag and she did not.  Aside from the fact that I loathe and despise goody bags on principle, I also hate goody bags because they are just one of many, many causes of household sturm und drang, and it would be like a small slice of heaven here on earth if I could go get someone from a birthday party and not have someone else dissolve in tears because they didn't get twelve cents' worth of garbage too.  I saw this one coming, so I tried to nip it in the bud with lots of communication!  and special time together!  and a bonding activity with just the two of us!  And I could have spared the breath, because as soon as the little packets of favors came out, all the previous two hours of bonding and sharing and dining together and so on was as nothing in the face of a little plastic horsie figurine with a combable mane.  Never mind that it's ALMOST EXACTLY LIKE the five OTHER plastic horsie figurines with combable manes we have DOWNSTAIRS IN THE PLAYROOM, *this* was the ONLY figurine worth having, and of course there was only one of them.  Oh, the humanity.

*sigh*

Of course the aggrieved party was India, because this picture perfectly captures India's view of the world and her life in general.  She has a tendency to be anxious and uptight to begin with, and I swear she perceives herself as moving through life clad in tatters like the Little Match Girl while all around her the quality swan by in their minks and diamonds, never sparing a glance for the poor downtrodden child in the gutter.  I know her well enough by now to tell that the dialogue running between her ears sounds like LOOK AT THE LOVELY STUFF EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD HAS EXCEPT ME I NEVER GET ANY NICE STUFF AND I WILL NEVER GET NICE STUFF AGAIN IN THE FUTURE EVER AND IF SOMEONE *ELSE* GETS NICE STUFF THAT MEANS THERE IS LESS NICE STUFF TO GO AROUND AND  I WILL NEVER EVER EVER IN MY LIFE GET MY FAIR SHAIR OF NICE STUFF EVER.  And when I sit back with my Mature Grown-Up hat on, I can say, Wow, that seems like a really stressful and sucky attitude to have to carry through your life, especially when you're only seven; and if that's what your emotions are telling you, then it's no wonder you're having a hard time handling this.  At the same time, the part of me that has to deal with four hours of calming down a sobbing mass of self-pity is all, GEEZ, kid, for the love of Buddha, I just took you out for TWO HOURS of special mommy-daughter time, one on one, and I even let you pick the restaurant even though I knew it was going to be FRIENDLYS, and THIS is what I get?!?  Honestly, when it comes to one sibling getting more than the other, India definitely has the upper hand in this family.  She gets all the clothes first.  She got to go to special weekends at Nonni-Poppi's house when she was little, because there was only one of her.  She got a fish over the summer.   If she shows interest and at least a modicum of dedication to a pursuit, we are fortunate enough that we can send her to lessons.  I can tell her all this til I'm blue in the face, and it does absolutely no good whatsoever.  Sometimes I think the best thing for India would be for all of us to move to the backwoods someplace where we could throw out all their toys and force them to make do with a couple pairs of old socks and a bit of string.  I'm sure they'd still find something to fight about:  Mooo-ooom!  Her string is a quarter of a centimeter longer than mine! 

So anywhat, now that I've vented, here are some questions for you:

First, how do I explain to India why she can't ask for goody bags when we go to pick up Celeste from parties?  I just barely stopped her tonight from walking up to the birthday girl's mom to ask for one, which would have been hugely embarrassing all the way around.  The same thing applies to birthday parties.  As soon as India hears someone's having a birthday or a birthday party, her automatic reaction is to ask, Can I come?  I have tried to explain that it's rude to invite yourself before you get invited, or to ask for gifts or favors other than refills of food and drink, but we wind up with her saying, "I don't get it," while I just keep repeating, "Because, honey, it's rude.  I know, but it is.  Because it is.  Believe me on this one, okay?"

Second, what can I do about the anxiety/covetousness link? India has the mind of a Swiss banker when it comes to tallying up all the things she's ever gotten, versus all the things her sister has ever gotten, and weighing the balance.  I do not believe in trying to smooth away all of life's little bumps, but the killer is, India is just not understanding that she and her sister are not always going to get the same things.  I was hoping that by now she'd get the point that time usually winds up balancing these things out, but India will remember something absolutely trivial that her sister got weeks and weeks ago, like getting a stupid cupcake for a classmate's birthday, when she can't remember that I took her out and got her a little trinket YESTERDAY.  I was convinced that by now, she'd at least be making some progess toward this, but no.  Any ideas?

Letter From A Broad, It's All A Blur Edition

Dear kid,

As I just mentioned, this marks my fifteenth year as an educational professional.  So far, you've learned my name, my class rules, my contact information, my behavioral expectations, where I keep the tissue box, and when you get to leave my room to go to lunch continue your educational efforts. 

So far, I have learned -- nothing about you yet. 

Let me explain:  It's not that I don't WANT to know who you are, including your strengths and weaknesses and hopes and dreams and seat assignments, it's just that there are so gosh-darn many of you and you all come in at once.  Sheesh, I just nailed down the names of the LAST group of scholars who came through here; now I have to go and learn a whole NOTHER round of names and faces?!  It's just... whew.  Look at it this way:  At a (very conservative) estimate, I've learned the names of 100 new students every year for the past 14 years.  That's 1400 names in the name bank already and now I have 115 or more to add for this year.  Add to that the frenzy of the first week of school, the disruptions for picture taking and assemblies and the first fire drill and all that foofaraw, on top of the usual background hum of chronic mother-of-young-children sleep deprivation and panic over whether or not there's anything in the house for dinner, and the ole memory bank, it ain't the steel trap it used to be.  It might still be steel in some form, but "sieve" is the object that comes to mind most frequently.  So please, don't take it personally if I say your name and look at someone else, or have to gesticulate wildly to get your attention, or wind up calling you, "Hey, you, you with the face."  I swear, your name will make its way into the memory bank sooner rather than later, I promise.  Just don't ask me to swear that on your full name yet, mmmkay?

Signed,

Your Mentally Exhausted Teacher

Dear Parents-to-Be,

Lemme give you a little advice that is going to make a LOT of people's lives easier five and six years down the road.  Let's say you're mulling over what to name the little being busily engaged in the Miracle of Gestation.  You've come up with what you think is a really cool name, which you've decided to spell in an offbeat way so it stands out.  Then you go on a tour of your future day care or get together with your mothers-to-be group or tell all your Wastebook friends your choice, and, guess what!  Uhmahgahd, you wouldn't believe it, but YOUR little Jaxon is going to be in playgroup with Jacksyn, Jacson, Jackson, Jaxxson, Jakson, AND Gackson!  Isn't that AMAZING?!?!

My advice at this point?  Run, don't walk, to the nearest bookstore purveying whatever variation of "100,000 Best Baby Names EVER" you prefer, and pick out a different freaking name, please AND thank you.  Why?  Because no matter how cleverly you spell it, that name dooms your kid to being one of the gaggle of Kids With The Trendy Moniker who are going to move through the school system together like a pig in a python.  Rome had the Year of Four Emperors; I had the Year of Five Nic(h)ol(l)es.  (On a related note, don't think that means you should go making up a name out of the blue, or turning another word into a name.  When I was preggers with the first rugrat, I got in an internet spat with a moron fellow mom-to-be who asked the general public whether or not they liked the name Cadence.  When I pointed out, correctly, that cadence refers to the tempo of a piece of music and not a human being, she got all Snippy McSnipperson on my @ss and told me that she LIKED the name and thought it was BEAUTIFUL and EVERYONE thought it was the PERFECT name for her dear son-to-be.  Are you ready for the punch line?  She posted this screed on Baby's Named A Bad, Bad Thing.  Yeah, this woman was too dumb to realize she was supplying the website with fodder.)

So what should you name your as-yet-unborn progeny, you ask, if trendy names are verboten and you can't just make that sh!t up?  Find out what your great-grandparents were named.  Look up names that reflect your ethnic heritage, and no, 'redneck' is not an ethnicity.  Nor can you name your kid after your favorite NASCAR driver, rapper, brand of alcohol, make of car, or color.  And if all else fails, I can tell you that I haven't had a whole lot of Johns in my career, and almost no Marys.  Seeing those names on my roster would be a novelty, and whaddya know - I can pronounce them AND spell them both, right off the bat.  Give your kid a name like that, and his or her teachers will be eternally grateful. 

Keepin' it simple, stupid,

Some Pig.

Letter From A Broad: By The People, For The People Edition

Dear elected representatives in Congress,

Being an eighth-grade US History teacher, I have been appointed as an emissary from the American people to help you refocus your energies on the significant task at hand.  In other words, get your collective thumbs out of your hindquarters and do your job, which right now is to prevent our country's economy from going into the tank.  Back in the good ole days of June, I thought there was no way we'd be in this fix at this point, but it is and we are and now we have to get down to business.  Or rather, we elected YOU to get down to business, so if you don't mind terribly much, we'd all like to see you stop the whinefest and get on with it.

I think a brief civics lesson is in order here.  Our founders wanted to ensure that passing legislation would require deliberation, reflection, negotiation, and debate.  Why?  Because they were concerned about two potential problems:  First, they wanted to ensure that a majority could not rush popular but poorly-conceived legislation through to become law, and second, that a minority could not band together to prevent passage of legislation that reflected the will of the majority.  As we can see from recent events, their concerns were prescient.  This brings me back to the major point, which is that the process requires, even demands, give-and-take among differing factions.  Regardless of ideology or party affiliation, then, that is what you have been elected to do:  Come together to mold legislation that works in the interest of the nation as a whole.  That means you can't issue ultimatums, dictate terms, or otherwise subvert the process before the process has had a chance to work. 

Let me explain a few simple realities to you:  Reality #1:  We owe a buttload of money to a lot of other countries. This is called "debt" or "deficits".   Reality #2:  We do not have a buttload of money.  Reality #3:  There are a lot of people - a lot of the ordinary, middle-class Americans you so love to praise - who rely upon the government to function in order for their daily lives to run smoothly.  And in (gulp) three days that government is going to run off the rails unless you WORK TOGETHER TO FIX IT.  Here's the other reality you need to come to grips with:  There are no sacred cows in this discussion.  Everything has to be on the table.  Stating at the outset that you won't agree to raise taxes, or cut entitlements, or make any other compromises, simply dooms the process at the start.  Back when I was young, dumb, and chewin' gum, I made the typical mistake of living beyond my means.  After running up a bunch of credit card debt, I realized I was digging myself into a hole.  You know what the first rule of getting out of a hole is, don't you?  When you realize you're digging yourself into a hole - STOP DIGGING.  So I stopped going out to eat and going shopping for entertainment.  However, I still had rent and student loans and credit cards and car loans to pay.  So I went out and got a second job, and sometimes a third and fourth job, to raise my income.  We are going to need all the tools at our disposal to fix our financial situation.  Refusing to consider any solution that includes a specific tool because of an ideological stance borders on criminal negligence, if you ask me.

What's at stake here is more than just a balanced budget or a stable economy.  We are on the brink of becoming a second-rate nation.  I've made no secret of my concern that other nations are outpacing us.  In the past, our government structure allowed us to respond to these challenges.  Lately, though, the legislative branch seems to have calcified into a rigid structure that doesn't allow anyone to step outside their self-drawn boundaries.  Do you want to be known as the Congressional session that allowed partisan self-interest to trump the national good?  Or do you want to be remembered as the visionary group that lived up to the ideal of government by the people, for the people? 

So here's what you do:  Raise the debt limit, with no preconditions and no threats.  Just raise it.  Set a deadline of six or nine or twelve months, whatever length of time you need.   Then, appoint a bipartisan commission of legislators from the full range of the political spectrum to sit down and negotiate a budget proposal that includes serious deficit reduction and budget reform.  There will be no sacred cows in this discussion.  Everything, from cutting farm subsidies to reinstating the estate tax, will be up for consideration.  Bring this budget proposal to the American people and let them have a look at it.  After a full and vigorous review process, vote on it.   I guarantee you that such a budget would have the support of the majority of the American people, even if it includes proposals that certain groups dislike.  We, the people, are smart enough to know that getting out of this budget mess is not going to be easy or painless.  We realize that sacrifices will have to be made, but if we all share in that sacrifice, we are willing to bear them.  What we can't bear is the continuation of this three-ring circus you are passing off as running the country.  As Abba Eben once said,  “History teaches us that men and nations behave wisely once they have exhausted all other alternatives.”  Well, guess what?  You have exhausted all the other alternatives.

Now get to work.

Sincerely,

A concerned citizen

P.S.  I can't resist a little history lesson along the way:  The Boston Tea Party was a response to the Tea Act of 1773.  It has popularly been understood as a reaction against higher taxes.  In fact, the Tea Act lowered the taxes on tea.  What irked the colonists was that the British government simultaneously gave the British East India Tea Company, a quasi-governmental entity, a monopoly on the sale of tea to the colonies so that the government's significant investments in the shaky tea trade would not be lost.  The colonists didn't object to paying a tax on tea; what made them irate was the fact that the British government thought the colonists would be so distracted by the reduced tax on tea that they wouldn't realize or care that colonial trade was being manipulated.  The colonists felt that the government's actions showed they were considered second-class citizens, without the full rights and privileges of British citizenship.  So next time someone starts spouting foofaraw about this country needing "a new tea party" because taxes are too high, call shenanigans on 'em and point them toward the nearest eighth grade US history teacher.  So there.

 

Booking It

If you live anywhere east of the Rockies and anywhere other than under a rock, you've probably heard that it's been a touch warm around these parts lately.  Actually, now that I mention it, I bet it's nice and cool under that rock, and if the heat doesn't break soon, I may be looking into that option.  Anyway, this week of record heat just happened to coincide with one of our "off" weeks this summer, "off" meaning that I didn't have anything planned for the girls, other than a few hours of day camp for Celeste.  I foresaw many happy hours spent picking blueberries, taking walks, going to the park, swimming, basically taking in all the pleasures of summer.  What I got was 98 degrees with a heat index of 103, and that was on the cooler days.  So much for those plans.  Furthermore, as I mentioned, I'm flying mostly solo during the week, so allllll the child care, transportation, meal preparation, cleanup, bedtime duty, and so forth and so on is allllll mine, alllll day long, four or more days per week.  Needless to say,  I look forward to Warren's return to the familial fold the way a convict looks forward to parole:  Eagerly, and with more than a little desperation.  So you can imagine I was more than a wee bit miffed when my dearest love announced that he needed to run an errand today with MY car, the one that happens to have a trailer hitch, and he would be away for, oh, maybe an hour.   Or two.  He didn't really know.  Well, all right, I can pull up my big girl pants and deal.  So I came up with a Plan B, and a very clever one I thought, but for reasons that don't bear going into right now, I realized I was stuck with no transportation.  At home.  With the girls.  In the heat.  AGAIN.  I was sulking about this digesting this news with great maturity and grace when Warren opened his mouth and helped himself to a big ole serving of foot sandwich:  "I know!" he said cheerily, "why don't you take them to the library?"

Yeah.  Because it's not like we haven't been there EVERY SINGLE DAY THIS WEEK.  OMG, what does he THINK  I've been doing with these kids in the 98-, 99-, and 100-degree heat???  Where the hell else do we have to go that's air conditioned and free???  Look, as a certified bibliophile I am all for public institutions that focus on the love of books, but do you know what there is to do in the childrens' room of the library? NOTHING, THAT'S WHAT. I have to sit there, bored out of my everloving mind, while the kids beg me to read them the same five Berenstain Bears books we read LAST time we were there, which by the way was LESS THAN 24 HOURS AGO. There are NO grownup books to borrow in the kids' section and it's against the rules to leave kids under the age of 11 by themselves, so it's not like I can go get a book and bring it to the kids' room.  What do they have for grownups?  They have one magazine rack that has back issues of Parenting magazine,  the local paper, and Us.  Parenting magazine is full of 'helpful' articles about 'easy' crafts that aren't, enriching activities I could never be arsed to do with my kids, and 'advice' about kids who clearly are Stepford children, since they actually respond to the experts' advice.  The local paper is full of enthralling articles about zoning ordinances and the U-12 softball league.  That leaves Us, and as much as I loves me some trashtastic talk about Brad'n'Angie'n'Jen'n'Kim, it's a half-hour's worth of entertainment one day per week at most, even when punctuated regularly by breaks to read Berenstain Bears books.  Which brings me to ANOTHER thing I hate about going to the childrens' room.  CAN'T THEY LOSE THOSE DAMN BOOK S ABOUT THOSE DAMN BEARS ALREADY?!?!?  Seriously, if I have to read one more pompously moralizing tale about how Mama taught everyone in the family to appreciate what they have, be generous, use their manners, and use the potty correctly I am going to find that bitch and punch her in the throat.  How can that family take anything she says seriously, given that she wears a nightcap and nightdress ALL DAY LONG?  If I were Papa, I'd be divorcing her blue-polka-dot-clad @ss in a hot second, except that Papa's so inept at everything he needs Mama to help him figure out which end he takes a dump out of and which one he puts a hat on. And the girls LOVE THOSE DAMN STORIES NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES THEY'VE HEARD THEM ALREADY.  Seriously, I patrol the stacks of that library, suggesting all kinds of interesting-looking young-reader books to the girls, books with Caldecott award stamps and beautiful illustrations, and do they take so much as a second glance?  NO, because they want me to re-re-re-read The Berenstain Bears Go To the Dentist.  WHY??  Both girls have BEEN to the dentist!  They're not AFRAID to go to the dentist!!  They are FULLY AWARE of what happens at the dentist!!!  So why the hell do I have to read them this boring, mind-numbing, soul-sucking, trite, asinine book about what happens at the dentist's office and why you shouldn't be scared FOR THE FIFTIETH TIME???

I did not tell Warren this.  Instead, I shot a glare at him seasoned with equal parts withering scorn and burning disdain, before I flounced back in the house, where we did NOT go to the childrens' room.  SO THERE.