Some Pig

I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up

Well, I was meaning to post a couple more entries this week, but events kinda got away from me - and by "events" I mean, "disasters," and by "got away from me" I mean, "occurred to me."  But!  The blog must go on!

On Wednesday, I made a concerted effort to be double-super-extra efficient.  There was a shitton of work to be done chez Pig; errands to run, food to procure, rooms to tidy, laundry to fold.  So I hustled my muscles out of school at the earliest possible moment, picked up the youngest from pre-K, zipped over to the elementary school to nab the elder child, threw everyone in the car, and ferried my happy threesome hither and yon to get! stuff! done!!!!  With the brutal efficiency of a CIA hit man, I executed all the necessary tasks until the only thing left was a visit to the local grocery.   I was especially glad my appointed rounds were almost complete because an unexpected rainstorm left us all a little damp and cold.  As I walked into the store, I looked forward to a quick whip-round the aisles before hustling home to my sweatpants and tshirt. 

I set my left foot inside the door, no problem.  Then I set my right foot down on what must have been a gross of ball bearings, because my right leg went flying out at a tangential angle to my body, leaving me windmilling in the air a la Wile E. Coyote right after he strolls off a cliff into thin air.  Unlike Wile E., unfortunately, I did not pancake into a neat accordion shape when I hit bottom and bounce back up.  All I know is that one second, I was on my feet, asking Celeste if she wanted yogurt pops with her lunch, and then the next there was a lump of a person lying on the floor crying in pain, and that person happened to be me.  Lovely.  Better yet, I managed to fall just inside the sweep of the automatic door, so someone had to hold it open lest it keep trying to shut on my head over...and over....and over...while potential customers had to step over and around me to get inside.  Hey, when I humiliate myself, I do it ALL THE WAY, BAYBEE. 

Letter From A Broad, Parental (Over) Concern Edition

Dear Parents,

I just want to warn you that I have a major assignment due next Wednesday.  In the world I live in, that means that sometime between the hours of 7:30 and 2:10, many of you will be getting frantic phone calls from your offspring asking you to please, please, please bring in the project that they left on the kitchen table/on the printer/ in their bedroom/ up on the computer/ on the thumb drive they left in their friend's mom's car, and if you can't make it in, could you please just open it up and email it to school and make sure Mrs. S. gets it?

My students learn a lot from the work I assign.  Some of it is the stuff I intend for them to learn, such as the three branches of government, the events that led to the Revolutionary War, and the impact of slavery on our economy.  However, a lot of it is stuff that you teach them, whether you realize it or not - lessons such as, Your Mom Will Always Dig You Out of a Jam.  Deadlines Do Not Apply to You.  You Deserve Preferential Treatment No Matter What You Do.  Now, before you get all in a twist about how dare I say such things about your amazing Malyssah and your genius Jaxon, hear me out.  One of the things we're supposed to be doing here in the public education system is teaching your child some life lessons, in addition to academic lessons.  Unfortunately, it becomes extremely difficult to do that when the adults keep inserting themselves between the actions and the consequences.  Think back on your own school days:  Do you remember the assignments that you completed thoroughly and handed in on time?  No?  Now what about the time you really, really screwed up, and had to pull an all-nighter/ face the wrath of your teacher/ take a zero and redo the assignment anyway?  I bet you learned at least one thing, that being, "I'll never do that again."  And chances are likely you didn't, or at least, you didn't for a good, long while after that.

So let's apply this to your own precious offspring.  Guess what?  They need to learn those life lessons just as much as, if not more than, they need to learn about the science or math or English or history or what-have-you.   I ask you, would you rather have them learn about the need to be on time, take care of their things, and get their work done in middle school, when the worst thing that can happen is they lose credit on an assignment, or would you rather have them learn it when they flunk out of college because they can't manage their courseload?  Or they lose their job because they don't understand how to plan for deadlines?  Or fail in their marriages because they're self-centered little egotists who think that everything should revolve around them and their convenience???  Okay, that's a little extreme, but only a little.  And don't bother trotting out the arguments about how the teachers are arbitrary, the assignments are inscrutable, and the grading system is unfair, because as anyone who has any powers of observation knows, LIFE is arbitrary, inscrutable, and unfair, and the sooner your kid learns how to handle that, the better off they will be in the long run.

I leave you with this final thought:  Every time you rush to the rescue, you are infantilizing your child and ensuring that he or she will never learn the skills s/he needs to be a fully functioning member of society.  If I proposed that I would take your child from you and refuse to teach him or her how to function, you'd claim it was child abuse.  So why is it any better when you do it? 

Think about that.

Love,

Mrs. S.

P.S. If you need help, practice saying the following phrases in the mirror to yourself so you'll be ready for the onslaught on Wednesday:

"You forgot your assignment?  Wow, honey, that's really too bad.  I guess you're going to have to tell Mrs. S. she's not getting it today."

"I'm sorry, honey, but I didn't plan to drive over to the school today, and I have a lot to do.  I'll see you when you get home."

"Wow, that's a bummer.  It's too bad you're not going to get full credit for that work.  Well, we'll talk about it later.  I have to go now."

And, if all else fails, there's always that old stand-by:

"I told you so."

After all, that phrase is a parental favorite for a reason.

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.

(Don't) Shop Til You Drop

Today, I did some early Christmas shopping for the Pig circle at a local craft fair. While I was there, I ran into a number of friends and acquaintances, including two women I know who were there with their toddlers.  As their mothers were shopping, one toddler sat peaceably in his stroller, gumming some crackers, while the other gazed happily about from her perch in her mother's arms. 

What.  The.  Funk?????

When my rug monkeys were that age, I would no more have brought them to a craft fair than I would have brought a bull into a china shop, and for much the same reasons.  In fact, after I started thinking about it, I realized I could list a lot of the behaviors they would have displayed.  To wit,

Behaviors My Children Would Have Demonstrated At A Craft Fair:

screaming

crying

screaming AND crying

begging to be picked up

begging to be put down

clutching at tables loaded with precariously balanced craftware

yanking on displays of expensive fabric handicrafts

running away

experiencing inconveniently-timed diaper containment failures

developing unhealthy obsessions with expensive/hideous/not-child-appropriate objects

demanding snacks

demanding drinks

demanding to leave

Shoot, with only a few exceptions to that list, they still act that way when we're out.  Just taking my kids to the grocery store sucks out loud, never mind shopping for big-ticket items.  This is not to say that I blame them for this; thanks to the twin miracles of internet shopping and consignment stores, I don't ever have to take these kids shopping and so I choose not to.  When I first had girls, I had this mental image of us together on leisurely mommy-daughter outings to pick out darling ensembles with lunch and a stroll in between.  Then I got a high-strung, easily overwhelmed kiddo who has a meltdown if her blood sugar dips more than 1% below normal, and suddenly that image was replaced with the reality of us dashing frantically through whatever store was most likely to have what we needed before her limited patience and good will wore out.   The next kid probably has the patience and temperament to enjoy shopping excursions, but since she's inundated with hand-me-downs already, there's no need to take her shopping.  The first kid can't stand clothes that are itchy, binding, stiff, or uncomfortable, and the second kid has no problem wearing florals, prints, and plaids all in one go, so all I have to do is make sure we have a steady supply of yoga pants and t-shirts and we are all set.  But that is not my point.  My point (and I do have one) is that everyone else's kids are far easier than mine and I deserve a lot of sympathy and support you have absolutely no way of knowing what your kids come hard-wired to tolerate and what they won't.  It's all a toss-up...kinda like everything else about child raising. 

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?

The Kids Aren't The Only Needy Ones

Individualized Education Plan

2011-2012 School Year

Name:  Caroline Some Pig

Age:  Nunna yer beeswax

Years in the system: Also nunna yer beeswax    

Diagnosis:  The subject shows elements of ADD, ODD, XYZ PDQ, LMNOP, and a bad case of the shoveits.

Narrative Description of Function:  Upon first glance, Caroline Some Pig is a reasonably grown-up professional capable of adult-level functioning in the work world.  However, upon closer observation, it quickly becomes clear that she is, in fact,  barely hanging on to the last scrap of her sanity by the skin of her teeth.

Observable Behaviors:  When presented with multiple, conflicting priorities that must be completed within a limited amount of time  (cf. attending meetings, preparing the classroom for the coming year, planning lessons, and performing paperwork), Mrs. Some Pig  clearly is not able to use executive function to determine which tasks truly are more urgent and worthy of her focus.  As a result, she begins ALL the tasks listed above and performs none of them well, ping-ponging among them more and more rapidly until she is hopelessly confused.  When overwhelmed, she will reach a point of overload, generally recognizable by the fixed stare on her face and the accompanying smell of burned hair.   Mrs. Some Pig shows a tendency to "zone out" during group work by reading emails, forwarding Natalie Dee comics, and mentally composing blog posts.  In addition, Mrs. Some Pig demonstrates dysfunctional coping mechanisms, such as perseverating on unimportant tasks ("I have to get new borders for my bulletin board!  Now!  How can I get anything else done until my bulletin board is ready?!?") and obsessing over minor inconveniences (WHAT?!?  I have to wait for the photocopier??  But there are, like, ten people between me and the copier!  What is wrong with these people??  DON'T THEY KNOW I NEED THE COPIER???).  She uses these  concerns to distract her from the work at hand that really does need to get done until she is completely unable to figure out her gluteus maximus from her elbow. 

Action Plan:  The following strategies will be implemented in accordance with the IEP:

• Break large, multi-step tasks into simpler steps, e.g., shutting up, sitting down, etc.
• Offer frequent praise once each step is completed. 
• Use simple rewards (a cup of coffee, mani/pedi, or gin and tonic) to reinforce success.
• Encourage focus during longer, more difficult tasks by dangling the threat of a pink slip in front of her face.
• Sympathize with the co-workers who have to work with this mess.  Condolences are welcome. 

 

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.

 

Letter From A Broad, The Worm Has Turned Edition

Dear kids,

As I've mentioned before, your conversational skills rely heavily on grilling me mercilessly with an endless chain of questions.  Since turnabout is fair play, I figured I'd make a list of allllll the question's I'D like to ask YOU for a change!

1.  What is up with the rocks?  Every time I clean out my car, there is a rock in the car.  I don't remember you picking up the rocks.  I don't remember you bringing the rocks in the car.  But it never fails - whenever I go through the car to throw out old granola bar wrappers, mysterious bits of paper, and stale snack puffs, I find a rock!  Last week, I decided to vacuum out the car before the mess made me go insane.  I picked up the big pieces of trash, found the requisite rock, chucked it to the side of the car wash lot, and vacuumed the car.  Later that day - that same day, mind you - Celeste, who was riding in the back seat, chirped merrily, "Look, Mommy!  This rock looks like a shoe!"  I almost swerved off the road.  I just cleaned out the car!  I just threw out a rock!  Where the hell did this new rock come from???  Are they spontaneously generating out of the sand on the floor of the car??  Are they springing fully-formed from your foreheads, a la Athena from the forehead of Zeus???  What????

2.  Why can't you guys ever keep your pie holes shut?  As it so happens, I have had a number of opportunities this summer to have one-on-one time with one little angel while the other one goes on a solo day camp/playdate/birthday party excursion.  I like to take these opportunities to do something a little more fun than the usual round of chores-errands-schlepping, especially if the absent sibling is riding a pony while bouncing in a bounce house after the ice-cream and pizza buffet.  So the sibiling riding shotgun with me gets a little extra sumpin'-sumpin', like lunch out with Mommy or a trip to the thrift store to buy new stuffed toys.  And every time this happens, I tell the sibling with me, "You know, you don't even have to tell your sister we did this!  This can be just between you and Mommy!"  So what do you do?  No sooner have we finished this conversation when you run up to your sister and yell, "GUESS WHAT MOMMY AND I DID?!?!  WE WENT TO THE LIBRARY!  AND I GOT A VIDEO! AND THEN WE WENT TO THE THRIFT STORE AND THEY HAD THE CUTEST STUFFED AMINALS EVER MADE AND YOU MISSED OUT AND I GOT THEM ALL!!  AND THEN WE GOT ICE CREAM!  AND YOU MISSED IT!"  And you do this every. single.  time.  Then I have to make the unpleasant choice between listening to the party girl rage at me for missing out on something fun, or listening to the girl who was left out rage because it's not fair that her sister got to ride on a zip line AND get an ice cream.  If the girl who spent the day with me would just keep her trap shut the way I asked her to in the first place, none of this would happen!  Everyone would be happy because she'd be secretly convinced she got the better deal and there would be peace and quiet in our loving home - the way I like it. 

3.  On a related note, why do you get so wound up about crappy little trinkets?  Seriously, you two will cry bitter tears over losing out on a chance to bring home a piece of plastic junk from Oriental Trading, worth all of about nine cents, that is guaranteed to snap in two/get lost/not work as planned within five minutes of its procurement.  Half the reason why the girl left at home cries and carries on so much when the other one's at a birthday party is because someone's NOT getting  a goodie bag full of stupid crap made by child labor in questionable working conditions.  Meanwhile, you flat-out ignore all the carefully-crafted, high-quality, developmentally appropriate toys that stuff your rooms and the playroom.  Why???

4.  For Celeste only:  How on earth does that gray matter in between your ears function?  I have tried to follow your train of thought for lo these past three years now, and the best I can tell is that it derailed somewhere.  Honestly, your questions go off on 90-degree tangents from one thought to the next.  I'd like to quote some of your more memorable leaps of logic here, but they are so convoluted, they make my brain hurt.  I'm afraid at this rate, you're going to become an economist and revive the study of supply-side economics and trickle-down prosperity.  That made my brain hurt, too.

5.  For India only:  How can you possibly claim that it is easier to find things in your room when it's messy than when it's clean?  How many times have I asked you to get something out of your room and you've claimed it's nowhere to be found?  And how many of those times have I come into your room, kicked around the detritus on the floor, and found whatever said item was wedged almost under the bed?  Of course, there is a silver lining to the cloud of possessions all over the place; to wit, if I want to get rid of a couple extraneous stuffed animals or a bunch of plastic gimme toys, I just chuck 'em out and claim, "Well, honey, they must be somewhere.  You know, if you picked up your things and put them away, you'd know where they are." 

6.  How is it that when you're not here, even though the house is calmer AND quieter AND cleaner AND less chaotic, somehow I really miss you?

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.