Do as I say, not as I YouTube

Sometimes it occurs to me that M and I are raising our children in the most fucked up way possible. For example, we often say sentences that end in phrases like "the most fucked up way possible." Not only is that ruining their sense of grammar, but it's a little vulgar.


Also, while M and I have cultivated our wry, dangerously dry, and completely jaded senses of humour over the last thirty years, our children seem to be immersed in daily ennui therapy and are in a DeVry crash course on sarcasm and vulgar comebacks so they will be properly void of any wonder and sweetness by the age of eight.


Additionally, M (and while I usually assume responsibility for these things jointly, this is squarely on his shoulders) feels obligated to allow our children to watch WILDLY inappropriate things on YouTube. So, in addition to wasting the lives of millions of teenagers across the world, YouTube is now sucking the sweetness right out of my little babies. For example, my kids LOVE the Gilly bit from SNL. They also like snippets from a TV show on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim called Robot Chicken. I don't know what the show is usually like, but my kids are hooked on a spoof of Star Wars as acted by stop-action animated Ken dolls, and voiced by supremely pissed off comedians. For example, the Emperor, deplaning his shuttle on to the Death Star starts complaining to Vader: "lemme tell you about my flight. It was a total nightmare. The tray table collapsed and spilled burning hot coffee all over my groin. Seriously. It was like dipping my wang in burning hot lava. But you know something about that, right?" Vader: (sadly, sagging his head) "yes." And, being children, the boys can instantly memorize every last syllable of the damn show, so that randomly, and often in front of people who are judging me (I am not paranoid), they regurgitate this filth leaving me with only nervous laughter and blather about how kids can learn ANYTHING on the Internet these days.


After watching that, though, no wonder my kids no longer have any room in their soul for Max and Ruby or Diego. They just can't watch those shows with unironic eyes anymore. Is that a tragic capitation of their childhood or just good sense? I am not sure. A friend of M's once told the story of his nieces and nephews who would respond out loud when a TV character asked a question and how he was so disappointed in them: "Come ON. I know you kids are smarter than to answer that completely OBVIOUS question." Well, my kids stopped doing that at around 3. "Why is Diego asking us questions, Mom? He can't even tell that we're ignoring him."


Sigh.


I, on the other hand, am completely responsible for another parenting failure. My kids are now totally obsessed with bad, one-hit wonder bands from the 90s. I realize that I have no musical taste whatsoever. (See: Coldplay collection on my ipod). I realize that occasionally I find myself singing along to the worst theme music ever (but Jimmy Buffett is on the radio ALL the time here.) Since my kids spend a huge amount of time with me in the car, driving all over creation to take their spoiled selves to activities to enrich the mind and body, they have adopted some of my musical pitfalls. So that when M asks them what kind of music they want to hear on YouTube, they never answer The Beatles or Van Morrison. They answer like S did today, with "Drops of Jupiter" (That band was called Train in case you blinked) or "Shattered: Turn the Car Around" (OAR). And little musical S, who remembers every syllable of everything, sweetly sings the pablum that is Train as though it were the most gentle of lullabies. Of course, this he does without a HINT of irony, which sends M through the roof. It also begs the question of why I bother to take them to music class at all, if I am going to make them listen to/appreciate schlock on the way to the class.


But there it is. Which explains why S has been singing "Around Midnight" from a soon to be forgotten band with the douchy pretentious name of Airborne Toxic Event. And why last night, as he was playing with his Star Wars figures, he reenacted the Robot Chicken coffee break scene: "Get your hands off me, asshole. I was hired to kill wookees."


Stand back--Parent of the Year coming through.

The Rhymes With Bucket List

Every night (evening. I generally try to be in bed between 8:45 and 9:15.)when my brain is finally quiet (not functioning, mind you, I literally mean quiet. Without children shouting, dogs barking, music blaring) I begin to think about the next morning's Cinnamon. Sometimes, I just go through the incidents, accidents, and funnies from the day. Sometimes, I think about something that makes me wildly angry or annoyed. Occasionally, I get nothing.
Last night was one of those nights. Yesterday was completely uneventful: I think I'm getting sick, so I took a nap, rested, did laundry, rested and did nothing. The things that really outraged me are political in nature, and I try to avoid politics here. And, so...
I am brought back to my untimely ageing.
This time, though, I was thinking about my TV crush and his wife, who just had a baby together. To quote Carrie Fischer's character from When Harry Met Sally, "He's never going to leave her." Sad, but true. I mean TV Crush MIGHT leave his ex-Playmate wife, but that certainly doesn't mean he's going to take up with me. Sadly. Then there is the whole coming to terms with the fact that my TV crush is married to an ex-Playmate. In my fantasy life, in addition to being handsome, he is thoughtful, and deep, and funny, and charming, and not at all self-absorbed. How to reconcile THIS with the fact that he's married to a woman whose film credits include "Buxom Blonde #1" and "Bombshell #1" and "BJ Cummings"? I am pained. Really, couldn't he be married to a slightly overweight woman with a really interesting face and a compelling daily blog?
Though, while I complain about this woman's ALLEGED shallowness, (We don't want to get sued or anything.) I am going to reveal a deep, dark secret of my marriage.
We each have a List. A list of people (must be reasonably considered celebrities. Putting your hubby's best friend or your next door neighbor would be cheating. Not to mention highly suspect.) with whom, given the opportunity, we would each be allowed to fool around with. It's a free pass. Because, hey, who wants a pesky thing like your marriage to get in the way of a once in a lifetime opportunity to fool around with a B list TV star?
So. Now that I have shared the concept of the list, and I highly encourage you to make one, I will share the contents of my list with you. No snickering. Seriously. Stop it. My list is in no order, because of course, opportunity arises when you least expect it.
1. John Cusack (nostalgic romp)
2. Johnny Depp (intellectual, French romp)
3. David Boreanaz (every week in my living room via TV romp)
4. George Clooney (goes without saying romp)
5. Matt Damon (how do you like them apples romp)
6. John Mayer (just to confirm the rumors romp)
7. Daniel Craig(British Bond romp)
8. Hugh Grant (yah, I said it. I like floppy hair. And accents. Oh, just shut up.)
9. Jon Stewart (smart, well-informed newsy Jewish romp)
10. Depends on what Oscar Party I get invited to....

So, the list lacks a certain degree of diversity. But this reflects no personal bias, but rather a lack of completely hot roles for minorities in Hollywood movies. Also, as some one once pointed out to me, my list has no women on it. Thanks for that observation.
So. If you, gentle readers, know any of these handsome gentlemen, and one night y'all are hanging out, and he happens to remark that he'd really like to hook up with a middle aged housewife, don't fail to give him my name just because I'm married. Thanks.

Man Lives My Fantasy

Why, in all of my dreams, does it go so much more smoothly? And so much less embarrassingly? And end so differently? And, why, in my fantasy does my body look, um, better?

NEW! NEW! NEW! Parenting Made Easy!

I have another parenting tool that is impossible to live without! YOU will wonder how you ever survived without The Difficult Discussion System: Discs 1 through 100.
My discs cover difficult conversations for every age, every situation. They are all labeled with keywords to help you identify the conversation you need to have quickly and easily. Each conversation is customizable, easy to use, and reusable for siblings. Also available for download on itunes.
A sample disc would be #27. "Going to the Grocery Store."
Soothing female CD voice: "OK, kids. Mom needs to go grocery shopping. Everyone needs to get in the car."
(Moaning and groaning in background.)
SFCDV: "If everyone behaves, keeps their hands/feet/bodies to themselves, uses kind and respectful tones of voices, listens to me, follows directions, does not nag/complain/whine/kvetch/throw any fits of any kind, doesn't touch anything, uses his/her inside voice, and cooperates fully, there might be a special treat at the end. (Bakugan, Pokemon cards, Barbie outfit, piece of made in China crap that is currently all the rage among children your demographic.)
(Slight hmms of interest in the background)
SFCDV: "If children cooperate at this juncture, select track 6. If children continue to complain, select track 8"
Track 6: "I am so glad you guys decided to have a positive attitude and join me on this chore. I know it is not fun to run errands, but this family requires work as well as fun, and I am glad you are helping with the work so that we all may have some fun." (Cheerful kiddie music plays now.)
Track 8: "It is so disappointing to me that you kids have decided to have a negative attitude. I don't think that we will be able to pick out a treat at the end of our shopping errand. I know that it is not fun to run errands, but this family requires work as well as fun, and you have made a choice that takes away some of our fun together. Now, we are still going to the grocery store, but if you continue to complain, I will have to take away other privileges, and we will all be able to have even less fun. So, you have a chance now to turn your attitudes around before you have further punishments." (Soothing new age music plays)

I think this sample demonstrates the universality of certain conversations every parent has OVER AND OVER. It simply makes no sense for every parent to repeat him/herself every time the grocery store errand, for example, arises. The calm voice, scripted by child development professionals, prevents frustrated parents from cursing, swearing, idly threatening, or losing their tempers. Thus, children are raised with consistent discipline, and do not have to be yelled at by enraged parents. Frustration on all sides is eased. Additionally, the new age music for the negative reaction tracks is scientifically proven to soothe, relax, and enhance compliance in children. Parents no longer have to sigh exasperatedly, freak out, claw at their hair, or in any way endure the stress of parenting! Simply get into the car, fasten your child's seat belts, and play the track appropriate to your situation. The Difficult Discussions CD System will handle everything from there! It's that easy.
Other conversations addressed with the DDCD System include:
"It's Time for Bed"
"Have you done your homework?"
"Pet responsibilities, parts I and II"
"Respecting our siblings--physical behaviours"
"Respecting our siblings--verbal behaviours"
"Candy is not a snack"
"Chores help the house go 'round"
"He did it--personal accountability"
And the bonus tracks:
"Dinner is its own reward: negotiating how many bites before dessert"
"Because I said so: No means no."
So, save yourself from rehashing the same conversations over and OVER. Buy the Difficult Discussions CD System now. Have better behaving children tomorrow! Only 10 payments of $59.95! A bargain at twice the price! Do peace of mind and stress free parenting really have a cost?

*Manufacturer assumes no responsibility for children who firecracker live animals or play with fire. DDCD Systems makes no guarantee for your child's behaviour. Use only as directed. Parental supervision required.

Concrete Thinking

So, S has had a big couple of weeks. First, he started 4K and has learned to write his name and be a big boy. He also got the chance to play soccer with the 5 year olds because his coach thought he was a little bit above the 4 year old level. (Which of course, S had to confirm by spending the entire soccer game on Saturday looking at the clouds.) Then, his music teacher asked to move him to the next level class in her sequence.
She approaches me, "I don't think S is really into imagining and playing with us. And the class for his level is really all about imaginary play. Today, for example, I asked the class if the crickets in my pocket made a staccato sound or a legato sound. And his response was, 'c'mon. We know there are no crickets in your pocket!' I think he might be a little too concrete for that class, and possibly, mature enough for the next level. And while I am happy to move him up, I think you really need to spend time at home cultivating an imagination. Where would we all be after all, if Thomas Edison didn't IMAGINE the light bulb? Sure, we need people to build the light bulb, but children are truly losing the capacity to imagine."
OK. Go ahead, and move my child up. And I don't want to be contrary, because I know my child is imaginative. (Actually both of them, are) And, furthermore, I know that I am not simply a parent in denial who cannot handle a constructive suggestion from the music teacher. But...
People wonder all the time about their children's propensity for success; they wonder how successful, imaginative, creative, brilliant, their children are. I hear things like, "MY child can read at the fourth grade level and he's only 5." or "My child is fluent in six languages. Children pick them up so readily when they are 3." or "MY child can hit the ball out of the park in the t-ball league and he just started last week." I understand why parents brag, I probably brag about my children, too. I understand that sharing your child's success affirms your success as a parent. I KNOW everyone needs that affirmation. But, I have to say that when it comes to imagination, my S is not coming up short.
Here's what I got for you, music lady: S doesn't lack imagination--he just lacks the time and patience for your small scale, rinky dink insect in the pocket gag. He has Dr. No, Bond Nemesis, Take Over The Planet With A Death Ray Imagination. He hasn't got time for shadow puppets, he is cultivating big plans for an underwater lair and minions. He's seen it all, done it all, and is on to The Next Big Thing. S is going to be controlling a corporate empire of newspapers, diamond mines, and water farms which will only be shared with those hoodlums willing to part with one hundred million dollars.
How do I know this? HOW do I know that S's plans are on such a grandiose scale and so damn evil?
Allow me to share:
S has had a messy day. Not a particularly accident-filled day, just a lot of reckless behaviour that has resulted in my cleaning up several doozies. First off, he spilled an entire bowl of cereal this morning on the floor. So, I got out the mop and cleaned it up. The mop and bucket were still out, S was playing in the bucket's bubbles (disobeying instructions), and tipped over the bucket. I decided that he could clean the mess of sudsy water. I was very clear, "get out one towel and dry up the floor." I came back to find one WEEK'S worth of bath towels, just folded from the dryer, still warm in fact, spread all over the floor. In addition to the entire family's bath towels, every single rag from the rag cupboard was out. TWO LOADS FULL OF TOWELS WERE SPREAD OUT ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR.
I flipped.
But, you see, in his evil genius imagination, that is exactly what he had planned. A child with no imagination might have thrown a temper tantrum, or even used my best towel or favorite shirt to mop it up. But only a child with BIG PLANS in mind could execute such hostility with such flair, such panache as to completely send me over the edge.
Me, laying there on the table, with the laser about to fry me in half: "Do you expect me to punish you?" Sam, laughing maniacally: "MWHAHAHA. No, Mama Bond, I expect you to go insane."
Imagine that.

Live Long and Prosper?

I had to go to the Dr. to get the girlie bits checked out today. Ugh. Worst. Exams. EVER. But, I survived. I also had ample time to check out all the women who came through the waiting room. There were the super skinny, perfectly coifed Spring Hill Moms. There were some former SHM's turned grannies. There were some women clearly having a harder time of it: raggedy clothes, and damaged teeth. There was a woman in front of me who said she couldn't fill out the registration form--could she not read or write? Had a muscle condition? She was having a rough day, regardless, when they told her she wasn't on the books for today, she began to cry. And I felt fortunate.
And I was trying hard not to touch anything. And reading the brochure on the physician's OTHER partnership--a weight loss clinic. That's gotta be a lucrative market. Then, I was reading Prevention (while trying not to touch it), or some other magazine sitting on the faux Louis XV coffee table, and I was reading about health and humor and longevity and blah blah.
First, I started to wonder if decorator for the doctor's office just Googled "women art" and hung posters of everything that turned up. Then, I wondered if a positive attitude really does affect your health. Then, humor: "laughter heals" the magazine says. A good attitude and sense of humor help you age, cope with disease, and to some extent improve your health. That's great, I think. I'm funny. I should live to be 90!
Then, I realize, that my humor is not positive. It's really a way of living with everything negative and ugly and dumb in the world around me (and in myself, of course). My humor might really be a symptom of a very crappy life outlook. Well, that's not good.
So, I thought about my morning. And how I was a little bit foul with my friend, MT. I made fun of the clerk at the fitness center who was trying to explain her billing policy with bank transfer. First off, there was no way I was going to give this mental giant my bank information. Second, her nose hair was very distracting. Third, she did this REALLY ANNOYING thing that people do: she pointed to a brochure and read it aloud to me. People do this with Powerpoint, displays, presentations, seminars, and informational sessions all the time. I CAN READ. Tell me something that is not on the freaking sheet/screen. She blathered on and on and ON about when I would have to transfer the money for my monthly bill to be paid on time. The sign reads: Transfer on the 25th of each month for bill to be paid by the 5th of the next month's deadline.
Self Explanatory?
NO. Agony ensues. She proceeds to explain thus, "So, let's say on the 25th of August, you needed to pay your monthly dues. So you would have to transfer the money on that day, for it to be paid by..."
Let me guess--the 5th of September? By the time she finished explaining her bank transfer brochure (which was ONE PAGE), MT's three year old looked as bored as I felt. "So," I interrupt. "Do you take credit card?"
Just stop talking.
She asks if we want a tour of the facility (which is one, big, round room.) We promise not to touch and to check it out on our own. At which time, she points to every compass point of the room and tells us what's there. Thanks.
In the end, I decided not to join, not just because of the permanently befuddled front desk nose hair, but because I'd feel guilty paying to use a cardio room when I have a treadmill and the weather's cooling off, and because I'd only go to one class per week.
Long story, short. I was laughing at this woman, which is humor. But being mean, which is NOT a positive outlook. So am I gonna enjoy great health and longevity or not?
Dammit. I'd like to know so I can plan for imminent death. Or make a hair appointment.

Keep On Rockin' Me

I don't know when it happened, but sometime along the way, I got old. I mean REALLY old. As OLD as my mom was when I was a kid. I know I've talked about this before, but it was a vivid experience this time.
Yesterday, as I was drinking water (only OLD people drink water on purpose. "It's good for you.") in my family vehicle, wearing something that can only be described as borderline mom jeans and a tunic style shirt to cover my slightly overweight midsection, I found my toe tapping to the EASY LISTENING STATION on the radio.
Just shoot me. Clearly, my life is over. Nothing good happens to you once you start listening and (enjoying!?!) easy listening. Nobody has ever had rockin' sex to easy listening, nobody has ever written a fantastic novel while listening to James Taylor, nobody has EVER accomplished ANYTHING while easy listening music was on the radio--except maybe a nap.
Easy listening exists, as I see it, for two reasons and two reasons only: to have music to play in nursing homes and dentist offices that offends nobody; and two, to keep people from panicking in elevators. Except for maybe the music of the Carpenters--their music is still played to remind us to eat a sandwich every now and then.
(Too soon?) I can't even be funny ABOUT easy listening.
So, there I was. At a stoplight. With my mom 'do. My mom outfit. Not rockin' my mom mojo. Listening to schlock music. With my new mom manicure. Holy crap. Where did the reality of my life skid off the road of my perception? Why am I no longer 26? Why am I no longer listening to edgy, "cool," "obscure" bands? Why does the volume in my mom-mobile not go up to "vibrate?"
What the hell happened to my hip? By this, I mean my hip-ness, not my actual hip which is fine, because I'm in my 30s, not my 70s, thank you very much. Yet.
Next week, I'll be watching 60 minutes. And carrying my purse around the house for safe keeping. And saying things like, "when I was your age, we had to walk to school. Uphill. In the snow. Both ways."
Crap. I'm feeling old and creaky this morning. Maybe I should get some Metamucil. Might make me feel better.