Apr 26 77 comments

Our Kids Deserve Better

The topic at hand today is Bratz dolls. Well, no. It really isn’t Bratz dolls so much. It’s more about how our society has become so numb to the constant sexualization of girls that it’s hard for some to even recognize it anymore. And it’s about one small thing we can do to stem the proverbial tide.

So what am I carrying on about now? Well, for starters, I was recently vindicated by the American Psychological Association who ALSO sees a problem with society projecting sexuality onto younger and younger girls. While many insist that it’s all in good fun and that people like me are perverts for thinking otherwise, all I can say is “Ha! My instincts were spot on!” Padded bras for six year olds and toddler dolls in thongs and dolls dressed like hookers being marketed to little girls are NOT harmless.

See, the thing is, Bratz dolls are not going to make your daughters become prostitutes. But they are one very visible component of a culture of which the resultant cumulative effect is a loud and clear message that a girl’s worth lies with her sexuality. The dolls, simply put, are just a small part of something much larger; a general but very perceptible shift in how women are regarded in the world at large and it’s starting with our preschool age daughters.

So what do I want? I want something better. I want to change the world from place where a young girl’s worth is in her willingness to shed her clothes or trade basic human dignity for a few minutes of fleeting fame or infamy; a culture where girls don’t seem to mind trading themselves for things that are worthless.

I’m not talking about adults here. Adults can make as many stupid decisions on how to live their lives as they want. I’m talking about children and self-worth and I just can’t figure out where the disconnect is. I can’t find that corner we turned where respecting yourself stopped being as important as flashing for a free Girls Gone Wild hat, or giving a blowjob because it’s just oral sex and it makes you popular; or being “hot” completely displaced being accomplished or intelligent.

When did self-respect become so uncool? I’m not even sure I can effectively articulate what I mean to say here but if one single person considers leaving a comment lecturing me about how I can’t stop progress or the world is the way it is and I should just “educate” my child to be better or whatever, don’t bother. I refuse to accept that.

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Filed Under: Blog, Commentary
Apr 10 38 comments

On Being a Holiday Poseur…

Picture 1.pngThis past Saturday night I realized two things. I hadn’t gotten any Easter basket stuff for the kids and I had not a single acceptable thing to wear to dinner on Easter Sunday with my in-laws.

If jeans and t-shirts were a viable option or wearing black on Easter Sunday wasn’t generally frowned upon, I’d have been all set but alas, Easter is the holiday of pastels and nice, lady-like attire, which are things that my wardrobe is sorely lacking. Not that I mind, though, because I just feel like a big fraud when I’m wearing such things anyway.

It actually reminds me of going home for the holidays during college and well into my twenties and feeling like such a misfit with my regular wardrobe that I would actually shop before my trip for something bland and suburban that would make me blend in a little better because being the thrift store-clad black sheep at those large family gathering? Is not fun.

Clearly, I still feel compelled to perform the same ritual before attending gatherings with my in-laws because I actually went to the evil empire (Wal-mart) on Saturday night (because Target was about to close) and not only procured Easter candy and related tchotchkes but also a few shirts in bright, peppy Easter egg-like colors with the intention that I could pair them with some bright, peppy capri pants that I secured for some other “Yes, I’m a total fraud” event. I even bought myself a pair of spring-friendly sandals since all my other sandals have seen better days.

So yes. I spent my Saturday night at Wal-Mart buying candy and clothes which is only slight less humiliating than the following Sunday morning conversation with my six year old daughter wherein we are discussing what I am going to wear to Easter since I’d said the night before that I didn’t have diddly squat –

TQ: Mommy, you can wear this shirt for Easter *holds up my new sky blue top* It’s perfect for Easter and it doesn’t even matter that it’s a maternity shirt.

Me: Wha??? Why do you think it’s a maternity shirt?

TQ: Because it’s GIGAAAAANTIC!!! *runs off laughing*

Kids say the darnedest things, don’t they?

And yes, I did don my “gigaaaantic” shirt for Easter and would you believe that for the first time ever everyone was dressed casually in jeans? Yes. Due to cool weather they dressed in jeans while I’m wearing this hideously bright blue shirt and coordinating plaid pastel capri pants and looking like a dorky Easter egg.

The moral of this story is?

Um… Be yourself?

Buy better clothes?

Be better prepared so you don’t have to settle for the rather limited selection at Wal-Mart?

Don’t be embarrassed about looking like a schlub in front of your in-laws because one day they will all surprise you and wear jeans to Easter dinner?

Select tighter shirts so your daughter doesn’t think you bought maternity clothes?

I need to go on “What Not to Wear”?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Bueller?

Filed Under: Blog, Family & Parenting, Incessant Whining, LOL
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Mar 27 OFF comments

The Public Library Never Disappoints

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I don’t know what it is but a trip to the public library never fails to produce some story or anecdote and our most recent visit was no exception.

I had taken P, now 21 months old, to story time at our local branch library. At first he wasn’t really into it, much preferring to wander around and turn doorknobs, climb chairs and generally check out the room.

But finally, after several false starts, he made his way up to the group of other children and sat down — until he spotted the fabric draped over the Story Lady’s table. See, she brings a colorful fabric that she drapes over the table next to her like a floor-length table cloth and she displays a bunch of books on top it.

P immediately approached and then crawled under the cloth. And then poked his head out out. And then went back under and then came out again, grinning like he was the star of a show doing an encore instead of an incredibly cute toddler disrupting story time.

I bounded out of my seat and tried as discreetly as possible to go under the table from behind and coax P out but he was wily and hard to catch. On my hands and knees, I stuck my head out the front to see about 20 pairs of eye staring back at me.

After much under-the-table wrangling to grab a giggly and very wiggly P, I finally managed to get a hold of him and as I tried to hold onto him and stand up at the same time, my postpartum stress-incontinence reared it’s ugly little head and I peed my fricken pants a teeny bit. Crap.

As I stood up with P in my arms and smiled sheepishly at the crowd, I decided that my bucking and squealing toddler and I should go to the bathroom and survey the state of my jeans and let the Story Lady finish up. Fortunately, as it were, my jeans were spared. YESSSSSSS!

We went back in the room as story time was wrapping up so I could collect our stuff and the nice Story Lady told me that in all the years she had been doing this, no child has ever crawled under the fabric before (which I find incredibly hard to believe.) I apologized to the Story Lady, who actually is very sweet & understanding, particularly of toddlers, and we left.

Rest assured that I was sufficiently embarrassed by my son’s shenanigans. Not, however, because I felt like he was misbehaving but rather because of people looking at me the way they did. Not a single smile of understanding in the bunch except from one lone daddy. Thank you, kind sir.

You want to know what I have to say to that?

Lighten UP, people! He’s not even two years old and it’s toddler story time at the library; not dinner with the Queen of England.

I peed my pants for all you people and your perfect spawn. Isn’t that punishment enough? Geez!

(I have no idea what happened to all the comments on this post. They’re just…gone ???)

Filed Under: Blog, Family & Parenting, Incessant Whining, LOL, Personal
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Mar 05 48 comments

Remember My Ball Gag? Ann Coulter Needs to Borrow It.

I’ve never cared for this woman. I find her to be incredibly obnoxious and once again, she totally justifies my opinion. She’s like the Howard Stern of the political world, saying anything to get a rise out of people and generate some press for herself.

If you haven’t seen this video of her calling presidential hopeful John Edwards a faggot, take a look. She’s so smug and full of herself. And it’s really unbelieveable to hear the audience tittering at her remarks and clapping. Who ARE these people?

Where DID I put that ball gag?

Filed Under: Blog, Commentary
Feb 06 40 comments

You Say Vagina, I Say Shut Up

I’ve read several posts this past week referencing “the big talk”. You know, the talk about the facts-of-life stuff that most parents are dreading because of the sheer awkwardness of it all.

Hell, I still haven’t told my daughter the right names for her female body parts. Well, no. That’s not entirely true. I did tell her. Once. But I don’t refer to them by their proper names in everyday conversation. Because? It’s just…ewww.

Mature, aren’t I?

And anyway, most people call the outer part of the female crotch area a vagina and that’s actually not anatomically accurate. So that brings us to “labia.” Do people actually call it a labia? Not so much. So what do I do? Tell her the not-as-correct name? Or the one nobody uses? Or do I have to use both??? Cripey! Is it any wonder I don’t want to deal with this stuff?

I also have a son which presents a whole other host of things we will need to address and for some reason, it almost seems like it will be easier but seriously, I hope to never find myself in this position (see video).

Poor Ricky…

Filed Under: Blog, Family & Parenting, LOL, Personal
Jan 20 71 comments

Crying it Out…Family Style

I haven’t said much about this because babies not sleeping? So normal, so common, right? What about toddlers who abandon their formerly stable and predictable sleeping routines? Still not abnormal and certainly attributable to any number of things. And God knows I’m not alone here, right? 

Unfortunately, we’re not dealing with a little bit of sleeplessness or the occasional night waking. No. P has decided recently that sleeping and napping? It’s for suckas. And I honestly believe that in my quest to be a good mom, I may have created a proverbial monster.

How on earth did I do that? By always answering every cry or whimper. By never letting him cry for longer than it takes to appear cribside with a ready hug or cuddle or…the wrecker of all sleep habits…the “let’s snuggle for a minute on the big bed while you settle back down”. I know that last one is the culprit because now whenever I go to see what’s wrong, P leans his entire body, safety be damned, towards our bed, pointing and speaking in that mysterious language he prefers over English.

I just want to clarify that the waking isn’t just waking. It’s also the flat refusal to sleep in some cases. Either way, he goes from being perfectly fine to basically standing up in crib screaming like he’s being with poked with an electric cattle prod.

The first thirty or so times, the huz or I would go running in, convinced that he was, in fact, dying. But after innumerable diaper checks, itchy checks (he has a touch of eczema on his arm and sometimes it flares up and itches), considering the possibility of teething (and thus administering some pain relief) and countless bottles of milk (Yes, I said bottles. Shut up), we have concluded that there is actually nothing wrong with him other than his newly developed sense of autonomy, which we’ve decided we pretty much hate (and so does his sister because she can hear him through the walls.)

This means we have to do it. The evil three letter acronym…

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Filed Under: Blog, Family & Parenting, Personal
Jan 12 59 comments

Be Careful What You Wish For

Be careful what you wish for because when you’re finally about to get it, you might find that it’s actually a very scary proposition and that maybe you’re not really up to it even though you’ve bitched and whined and complained and argued for it endlessly for almost a year and you know that you really do want it but when you think about it, your nervous stomach kicks in and you have to run to the bathroom and for a minute or two you are distracted by thoughts about your typically lazy colon and how great it would be if you were this anxious all the time because then you’d never have that uncomfortable feeling that prompts you to add Benefiber to everything you eat and drink (which doesn’t work worth a crap, by the way and no pun intended) and why the hell are you talking to the internet about constipation when what you really wanted to unload on them (again, no pun intended) were your fears about moving to the other side of the country (because if you were to move, that’s the only place your husband will go) and it’s still hard to think about leaving what little you have in the way of family, even though they’re all step-relatives, because you know they’d never waste a plane ticket to come see you so you know you might never see any of them again except maybe for a funeral or something and God, who wants to think about that as a reason NOT to move???

*deep cleansing breaths, deep cleansing breaths*

Yes. Husband has finally decided he’s ready to consider moving from here. What prompted this change of heart? Well, we just got our new homeowners insurance bill and it’s almost doubled even though we’ve never filed a claim and have not, in recent history, even HAD a hurricane in this part of Florida. Basically, we’re subsidizing all the dummies who live on the water, lose their homes in a hurricane and then choose to rebuild in the same place.

In addition to that, we just found out our health insurance is going up AGAIN and that for a family of four we’re paying almost $1000 a month now with a group plan. That figure could pay for a second story addition on this small house but no…we get to shell out all this extra money and we’re getting exactly NOTHING in return. It’s bullsh*t.

My husband makes good money. By definition we’re not poor. It’s our outrageous car insurance, homeowners insurance and health insurance that are eating us alive and we just came to the conclusion that we wouldn’t mind sacrificing that money if we were happier with where we lived but we’re not and it just doesn’t make any sense to shell out insane amounts of money so you can live somewhere in which you’re not happy. And then when you hear on the news that the summer of 2007 is going to be the hottest one ever, living this far south seems even less appealing.

So…I don’t know what happens next as I sit here and ruminate, half thrilled and half terrified, but I do know that the day before yesterday I was thinking about how if you really want something (like moving somewhere better), you have to focus more positive energy on it rather than thinking about all the negative stuff (everything I hate about Florida). It was just a passing thought but sort of epiphanous (is that a word?) in it’s simplicity.

Yesterday, Husband called me and told me about our health insurance premiums increasing and after a semi-long discussion, he said that he was ready to “do it”, meaning getting out of here. Wow…that positive thinking stuff works fast!

Yayyy!

Now what?!

Filed Under: Blog, Incessant Whining, Personal