I don't know if I've ever had a point in my life when I wasn't obsessed with losing weight or making my body better. I remember in first grade, at the height of 80's aerobics mania, I had a pair of leg warmers and a ballet barre attached to my closet door and I would pretend 'work out' when playing house. I didn't think I was fat, it was just what everyone on TV, etc. was doing. Later, in 4th grade, I actually did start to get chubby and people started to comment on it so I decided to do something about it. That's when I came up with my first ingenious diet plan. Not only would I walk the track every day at recess, but I filled a baggie full of my mom's powdered Slimfast mix and I planned on mixing it with my milk every day at lunch, if anyone asked I would just say I was making "chocolate milk." Yummy. This plan was quickly abandoned when I discovered that Slimfast tasted like dirty ditch water and the swings were much more fun than walking that boring old track. We all know that the story for girls doesn't get better from there. In middle school I made the Cheerleading team and I wanted nothing more to be a "flyer" rather than my sturdy self as a "base." I tried to give up anything that wasn't low-fat and often snacked on tablespoons full of honey. Nobody explained calories to me apparently. High School was a dream (i.e. nightmare) in which I would only eat salad for lunch, but I would skip lunch entirely if the salad was made of shredded lettuce or they didn't serve the right kind of dressing, mostly because I enjoyed being a total pain in the ass. In college I was actually kinda skinny for the first time in my life, only because I couldn't afford to eat. When I got my first real job I finally had enough money to join a gym and I spent a ridiculous amount of money on a personal trainer. Of course sitting at a desk for 8 hours a day with all the free soda and high stress and abundant snacks that I could handle took its toll on me and I steadily gained 10 lbs a year for the entire 5 years I was there. Then I got pregnant. I am pretty sure that the McDonald's corporation still owes me dividends from my first pregnancy because I single-handedly kept them afloat during that 'great recession' as their plain cheeseburgers were the only thing I wanted to eat. There was one day when I went through the drive through at breakfast and then the same one at lunch and the same guy was at the window and we both knew I had a problem. Of course after having the baby breastfeeding sort of helps you lose weight but not as much as you would think. I still had a significant amount of weight to lose when I got pregnant again and that leads me to now. It's spring, my doctor says it's cool to exercise and I can't pass a MickyDee's without a grimace and feeling like I'm going to vomit. So now I'm committing myself to getting into shape and actually eating right, and I hope that I am at time and place in my life that I'm not a total idiot about it. I'm less than a week into my latest 'plan' and I can't help but feel like the universe is conspiring against me.
Eating right.
One thing that I am trying to focus on is eating healthy grains and proteins so the other day I decided to whip up a batch of homemade granola. I was already feeling healthier as I mixed up a cocktail of nuts and fruits and oats and flax seeds that would make Doctor Oz weep with joy. Everything was going pretty well until it was time to take the tray out of the oven, and I forgot just how giant my belly still is and pulled the red hot pan right into my stomach resulting in what I am sure is a second degree burn. Thanks oven, you win this round. At least the scar will blend in with my stretch marks.
Strength Training.
Two c-sections in two years have left my abdominal muscles in a state that resembles over-cooked spaghetti so part of my plan is a daily ab workout. I figured I could do this while my newborn slept and my toddler was quietly playing in his play kitchen. My workout included using an exercise ball which I immediately realized was a mistake with a two-year-old in the room. Once mommy starts playing with a 'big bubble' then it becomes the most interesting toy in the world. After he took it away from me several times I decided to do an exercise where I was physically sitting on the ball so that he couldn't get to it. This just incited a tantrum that I was not in the mood to handle so ended up moving the ball to another room. If we can't share the ball, nobody can play with it. I was then relegated to floor-only exercises and I got about 10 crunches in when kiddo decided to make me 'coffee' and came over and dropped his toy coffee maker directly on my face. It hurt but I was determined to keep going while my left eye teared up and started to swell, then my concerned dog came over to fix my injury and started to lick my face. I was no longer feeling patient and shouted at her to go away, which of course woke up the baby who woke up realizing she was REALLY hungry so I had to stop what I was doing to feed her and by the time I was done it was time to make dinner and the workout was abandoned.
Cardi...oh...
I know that the best way to burn calories and excess fat is to get running and I've always been sort of ok at running, mostly because I was always in trouble during my cheerleading years and running was always the punishment, and for some reason it stuck with me. Notably, I am a perpetual tortoise and I will always get my butt kicked by all the long-legged hares out there in any test of speed, but once I get going I can run and run for miles. Or so I thought. I used to be able to do a pretty decent mile in under ten minutes and I figured that with the excess weight, the lack of muscles and training that I would be around 12 minutes a mile, which I was ok with. I downloaded a running app on my iPhone, woke up before my kids and put on my running shoes, which were now way too small but I wasn't deterred, and I hit the road. I was out, the air was fresh, and even though I was jiggly in a way that I didn't know was possible, I felt great. About 2 minutes into my run I was huffing and puffing but I came up on a group of middle schoolers waiting for the bus and I didn't want to look stupid in front of them so I ran faster. Now my lungs felt like they were going to explode but I was going to keep going! I looked at my phone, 5 minutes into the run, it was ok to slow my pace. Only 7 more minutes til I hit a mile! I passed an old guy and tried to smile at him, and he yelled at me to put on a jacket. I was now wheezing, my face was red and covered in sweat and I started to run with weird gait because my shoes were too small and my feet were killing me. It became pretty apparent that every car that passed thought I was a psycho who needed a jacket and I'm surprised nobody called the police (or an ambulance.) But I kept going. Finally, finally I hit the first mile. Triumphant, I looked at my phone and was dismayed to see that it took me 15 minutes to run that first mile. 15 minutes. I'm sure my grandma can run faster than that. I could have walked a mile faster than that. I decided to turn around and run home, making it a solid two mile run. I got about a quarter into that second mile and my legs said 'no more' and I had to walk. So now I was crazy-sweaty-red-faced-jacketless walker lady. It's one thing to look crazy running, quite another to look the same walking, now I looked like a serial killer. I went home, and did pretty much the same thing the next day, and I'm getting a little better everyday.
So here I am, tired, sore and trying to get both my kids down for a nap at the same time so I can get an ab workout in, but if it doesn't happen there is always tomorrow and eventually I'll invest in a jacket/bigger shoes.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Got Milk?
Today as I was watching my daily dose of Anderson Cooper (love that silver fox!) I saw this Luvs diaper commercial. It opens on a "first time mom" sheepishly breastfeeding her child hiding behind a plant with a blanket over his head then it fast forwards to her being a "second time mom" sitting in a restaurant, boob out, feeding her baby like it's nothing, when a shocked looking waiter comes over the mom says "eyes up here." And I laughed and laughed and laughed. Although I don't buy Luvs diapers because I don't like them, as a recent "second time mom" who is currently breastfeeding my kiddo, it really struck a chord in me. I immediately googled the commercial because I thought it was brilliant and I needed to make sure that the rest of the world thought it was brilliant, and I came upon a site called commercialsihate.com. If you haven't guessed, this is a site where people get together and talk about commercials that they really, really hate. And looking at the amount of posts that some of the users have, they spend a HUGE amount of their lives just hating on commercials. Anyway, I get that you can't really expect anyone to behave on an internet forum, but holy crap these people are nuts! The sad thing is that I think that they reflect the outrageous opinions that many people have on breastfeeding. Here are some choice quotes and ideas I'd just like to clear up here.
I would love to wipe that smirk off of her face with the back of a red hot shovel!
I really want to smack her.
What a delusional bitch.
She was probably looking for a reason to get the innocent waiter fired to excert (sic) her control over others.
Wow, how dare this woman feed her child in public. Clearly the only solution is to violently assault her. She must be a radical feminist, with that breastfeeding and all, and by default it is her life's goal to ruin the lives of men (particularly waiters) everywhere. What is really funny about these comments is that the posters seem to think that this actress in a commercial is somehow a real person. Do they really think all those people live in their TVs? Do they expect the guys from General Hospital to perform save lives when they go home for the day?
Baby doesn't care if it's covered, being fed out in the open, in a restroom, etc.
Maybe the baby doesn't care, but I care. Public restrooms are disgusting, filthy places where people think they can anonymously get away with doing anything, much like internet forums. It's ridiculous to expect anyone to eat in a restroom, especially a child with a yet-to-be developed immune system. You wouldn't expect a woman to bottle feed a baby in a restroom for this very reason, so don't expect a woman to breastfeed either.
On the one hand, she doesn't want you to look. But on the other hand, she demands you notice what she's doing.
Hell, if public breastfeeding is supposed to go unnoticed, and the guy's simply admiring a cute baby, what can Mom say?
It's really hard to not look at a woman breastfeeding. It's like trying to not look at a woman's cleavage.
NO. NO. NO. Breastfeeding women are not exhibitionists, they are not trying to turn you on with their milk ducts, again the emphasis on feeding. Surprisingly, women, and their body parts, do not exist solely male sexual pleasure. Jeeeesus. We are in the twenty-first century you'd think we'd get it by now. And nobody is asking you not to notice a breastfeeding mother, just don't turn it into a sex thing and sit there oggling her like you are at a strip club. You wouldn't stare at, or be offended by a mother spoon-feeding a child applesauce in a restaurant would you?
*Let me note I am a breastfeeding advocate for myself but I don't have an opinion on how other women feed their kids. Whatever, do what is best for you and I'll do what is best for me and we can just stay out of each other's business, mmmmm'kay?
I would love to wipe that smirk off of her face with the back of a red hot shovel!
I really want to smack her.
What a delusional bitch.
She was probably looking for a reason to get the innocent waiter fired to excert (sic) her control over others.
Wow, how dare this woman feed her child in public. Clearly the only solution is to violently assault her. She must be a radical feminist, with that breastfeeding and all, and by default it is her life's goal to ruin the lives of men (particularly waiters) everywhere. What is really funny about these comments is that the posters seem to think that this actress in a commercial is somehow a real person. Do they really think all those people live in their TVs? Do they expect the guys from General Hospital to perform save lives when they go home for the day?
Baby doesn't care if it's covered, being fed out in the open, in a restroom, etc.
Maybe the baby doesn't care, but I care. Public restrooms are disgusting, filthy places where people think they can anonymously get away with doing anything, much like internet forums. It's ridiculous to expect anyone to eat in a restroom, especially a child with a yet-to-be developed immune system. You wouldn't expect a woman to bottle feed a baby in a restroom for this very reason, so don't expect a woman to breastfeed either.
On the one hand, she doesn't want you to look. But on the other hand, she demands you notice what she's doing.
Hell, if public breastfeeding is supposed to go unnoticed, and the guy's simply admiring a cute baby, what can Mom say?
It's really hard to not look at a woman breastfeeding. It's like trying to not look at a woman's cleavage.
NO. NO. NO. Breastfeeding women are not exhibitionists, they are not trying to turn you on with their milk ducts, again the emphasis on feeding. Surprisingly, women, and their body parts, do not exist solely male sexual pleasure. Jeeeesus. We are in the twenty-first century you'd think we'd get it by now. And nobody is asking you not to notice a breastfeeding mother, just don't turn it into a sex thing and sit there oggling her like you are at a strip club. You wouldn't stare at, or be offended by a mother spoon-feeding a child applesauce in a restaurant would you?
Anyway people just need to get over themselves. We are MAMMALS. Deal with it, it's natural. This is how we have always fed our young and will continue to do so. But hey, if you're really that offended by it, next time you have a glass of cow's milk, why don't you just enjoy it in a bathroom stall?
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Five Idiotic Things the Internet Thinks you Should do When Having a Baby
For those of you who have not been subjected to my most recent instagramific narcissism, LOOK WHAT I DID: I just had my second kid. Last April I quit my job mainly because I wanted to start trying to have another baby and I thought it would be a good idea to spend some quality time with my pre-existing child before another vessel of my genetic blueprints entered the world. Apparently I am one of those people who can get pregnant just by walking down the diaper aisle at Target and I was knocked up by May 1st. And I got SIIICK. Nothing helped, not even a prescription for Zofran which is a pretty powerful anti-nausea med, and I pretty much spent the entire summer in bed, passing my toddler off on whoever would take him, and reading about babies on the internet between trips to the toilet to vomit. My conclusion is that the internet has ever had a baby because some of the things that it thinks you should do when you have a kid are downright outrageous. For example:
Apparently modern technology has the mentality of a fifties housewife. The logic behind this tip is that it will give you a distraction so that you don't end up going to the hospital too early while getting the baby in the perfect position to be born, as an added bonus you will come home from the hospital to nice, clean floors. How fun is that? After sharing your body with another human for 9 months, just top it off by doing grueling housework while trying ignore the contractions that indicate in just a few short hours you are going to be ripped to pieces by something that wont stop demanding things from you for the next 18 years. Personally, I think a better distraction would be pour yourself a glass of wine, turn on some trash TV and make your husband clean the damn floors.
When you go into labor, get on your hands and knees and scrub the floors before you go to the hospital.
Apparently modern technology has the mentality of a fifties housewife. The logic behind this tip is that it will give you a distraction so that you don't end up going to the hospital too early while getting the baby in the perfect position to be born, as an added bonus you will come home from the hospital to nice, clean floors. How fun is that? After sharing your body with another human for 9 months, just top it off by doing grueling housework while trying ignore the contractions that indicate in just a few short hours you are going to be ripped to pieces by something that wont stop demanding things from you for the next 18 years. Personally, I think a better distraction would be pour yourself a glass of wine, turn on some trash TV and make your husband clean the damn floors.
Before you go to the hospital, bake the nurses some cookies.
Again, the idea here is to distract you but this you win bonus points with the tired overworked nurses. And I kind of get it, nurses work their asses off and they definitely don't get the respect that they deserve. However, I don't believe that you should spend your last moments of peace, possibly for the rest of your life baking cookies for somebody else. Plus, logistically which nurses are you baking cookies for? The L&D nurses or the recovery nurses? Also, if most nurses are like me, I don't eat food from strangers, I have seen one too many "normal looking" people on Hoarders to trust somebody else's kitchen, so there is the distinct possibility that the cookies get thrown out. It's a hospital, not a bake sale. I will note that this particular tip gave me major anxiety in the hospital, "DO THE NURSES HATE ME BECAUSE I DIDN'T BRING THEM COOKIES?" Well, if they did they were very, very nice about it.Bring your doctor a gift basket at your 6 week postpartum appointment.
Don't get me wrong, I loved my OB/GYN, she was a very sweet considerate lady and she did an outstanding bringing my baby girl into the world. That said, If I was standing next to her at Trader Joe's and my water broke, she would have no idea who the hell I was. This really isn't her fault because she probably sees about 100+ patients and come on, newborns and their mothers all kinda look the same. I just don't feel a ton of loyalty to her and the feeling is mutual. Considering that between my insurance and myself we're paying the hospital over twenty grand for this latest little miracle and I think that will go a long way towards paying off my doctor's BMW. I brought her a birth announcement and she really wants some Pepperidge Farm I don't think it will break the bank if she stops by the mall on her way home from work.
Don't forget to pack your makeup bag to bring to the hospital so you can look pretty in your first pictures with the baby.
I understand where this one comes from because I see pictures of women who just gave birth holding their little bundles of joy looking like they just won Miss America. I just don't know why this keeps happening. After having my kids I just wanted to sleep and eat sushi and take painkillers. I couldn't fathom putting on a full face of makeup just to wash it off again, because that required energy. And if you don't wash it off right away, gross. 9 months of water retention plus hormones plus laying in a bed all day leads to major sweating, meaning any makeup job would melt into a puddle in your nursing bra within an hour. For this reason every picture of me and my hours-old kiddos are bloated-face-pony-tail-dirty-glasses-eyes-half-opened disasters. And they are beautiful. Save the makeup for a family photo session when everyone is a little bit more recovered.
Bring along several copies of your 'birth plan' so that everyone is on the same page.
Uh... so I actually did this with my first and I am embarrassed, thankfully things got chaotic and the plan never left my hospital bag. If you really want to show some respect to your nurses instead of baking them cookies why don't you treat them with dignity and don't assume that you are the first person ever to ever have a baby, ever, and that there is no way these peons know how to deliver your baby. I can't imagine what a slap in the face it would to a medical PROFESSIONAL to be handed your dinky Microsoft Word document telling them how to do their job after the years of education and experience they have gone through. If you want daddy to cut the cord, fine, if grandma isn't allowed in the delivery room, fine, if you don't want an epidural, fine (and good luck with that by the way). Just speak up. These are for the most part good good people who will do what is best for you and your baby (even if it is not exactly what you want).
Monday, October 15, 2012
Brought to you by the letters W, T & F
Since officially becoming a stay at home mom, I have had the pleasure of being exposed to the joy that is children's television. FYI, for those of you who grew up in the 80's like me, kid's TV doesn't just happen on Saturday mornings anymore. It is a multiple channel, all day, every day, onslaught of cartoons, puppets and out-of-work amphetamine-pumped actors who just need to pay the rent. I usually limit Luke to one hour of brain rot per day, but every single day I find myself just a little more perplexed by the babble that is preschool programming.
For example:
Mr. Noodle
Somehow, in the 25 years or so since I watched Sesame Street, Elmo has staged a coup and taken over the block and now the entire show is pretty much dedicated to him. Elmo, being his friendly, furry self, can't ever say no to a new friend and I'm pretty sure that's how the greasy Mr. Noodle drifted into Elmo's life and took up residence in his closet. This dude clearly drinks mouthwash for breakfast, hasn't had a shower in weeks and has no problem asking Elmo to bum a 20 every now and then, for like food and stuff. He is totally incompetent. Elmo can ask him to do the simplest task and Mr. Noodle screws it up. Mr. Noodle, can you wash your hands? Guy ends up washing his hair. Mr. Noodle, can you ride a bike? Guy ends up making a pizza. Mr. Noodle, can you name a magazine? Ha, ha, gotcha! The good news is that the Sesame Street Homeowners Association must have also been just as perturbed by Mr. Noodle as I am and kicked him out (God knows Elmo didn't have the balls to do it.) He no longer appears in the newer episodes, as he has been replaced by a segment called "Elmo the Musical." Either that or the guy went to rehab.
Yo Gabba Gabba
I took a wonderful class in college called "60's in America" and my well-respected professor once spent the better part of one class telling us about the one time he dropped acid being one of the most profound experiences in his entire life. I spent the rest of the semester lamenting the fact I didn't live through the 60's and wondering if I would ever have the guts to try acid myself, because in college you want everything to be profound. To be clear, the answer is no, I do not have the guts to try acid - JUST SAY NO! The good news is that even though I'll never find myself sucking on a smiley face emblazoned tab of paper, I don't feel like I've missed out on the whole tripping experience thanks to the mind-bender that is Yo Gabba Gabba. The premise of the show is that this one guy has a suitcase full of toys that he sets up on a hotel banquet table and then they somehow come to life and then chaos ensues. It is a solid half hour of strobe lights, shapes, strange animals and loud noises.There are entire sequences that are nothing more than a hypnotic animated screensaver. And then the animal-monster guys do some sort of chant and a dance that draws you in so that the rest of the day you just keep thinking "Eggs in my tummy, yummy yummy." Actually, come to think of it, maybe they're just trying to draw kids into a cult.
The Cat in the Hat
This show really should be every mother's worst nightmare. The same thing happens every day: two kids are playing outside when the Cat in the Hat shows up and offers to take them on an adventure. They diligently run inside and ask their mother if they can go, and mom, being absorbed in some mundane motherly task, doesn't really listen to to kids and chuckles and says "sure." Then the Cat loads the kids up into his rickety old car and they go to like, Brazil or something. Ok, now re-read the above section and replace "Cat" with
"Creepo" and you'll see what I mean. This is a classic abduction story and somebody needs to put out an Amber Alert for these kids ASAP. Did we suddenly forget about stranger danger? Mom never gets up to check on her kids, and really is only visible for 5 seconds each episode. Also, the kicker is that the Cat is voiced by Martin Short, who I cannot verify isn't a criminal himself. I just know that on the final episode of the show the kids aren't going to come back and mom is going to feel terrible for spending the whole darn day playing Angry Birds and not paying enough attention to her kids.
Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood
I find myself offended by this abomination on a deep, personal level. Daniel Tiger is the little jerk that they put in charge of Mister Roger's Neighborhood, because apparently you can just leave a legacy alone. When I was little Mister Roger's Neighborhood was the absolute best part of my day. How cool was this guy? He changed his shoes just to go into his house! AND THERE WAS A TROLLEY IN HIS LIVING ROOM! I lived for this show, and the puppets and everything about it. Now we have Daniel Tiger, who is animated btw, so good bye really awesome live action trolley, and he just goes around doing normal cartoony things, all the while singing the "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood" with the super annoying sing-songy addition of "Ride along" tagged to the end of the verse. And that's all they do. There is no magic, I guess they try to teach kids to share or something but they don't go to the crayon factory or have to deal with Elaine Fairchild and the whole thing falls short of anything that is remotely fun. As my husband puts it, he'd "Rather spend 30 minutes at Fred Roger's grave, paying his respects, than have to watch that crap."
Of course, my opinions and those of my 1.5 year-old vary dramatically. He eats up every single moment of these shows, clapping and dancing and singing and it makes me question the sanity of children everywhere. With the next kid on the way, I figure I've got about 5 more years of this stuff before I can move on to what's next? The Disney Channel? Maybe we'll just become one of those progressive hippie families that doesn't watch T.V.
For example:
Mr. Noodle
Somehow, in the 25 years or so since I watched Sesame Street, Elmo has staged a coup and taken over the block and now the entire show is pretty much dedicated to him. Elmo, being his friendly, furry self, can't ever say no to a new friend and I'm pretty sure that's how the greasy Mr. Noodle drifted into Elmo's life and took up residence in his closet. This dude clearly drinks mouthwash for breakfast, hasn't had a shower in weeks and has no problem asking Elmo to bum a 20 every now and then, for like food and stuff. He is totally incompetent. Elmo can ask him to do the simplest task and Mr. Noodle screws it up. Mr. Noodle, can you wash your hands? Guy ends up washing his hair. Mr. Noodle, can you ride a bike? Guy ends up making a pizza. Mr. Noodle, can you name a magazine? Ha, ha, gotcha! The good news is that the Sesame Street Homeowners Association must have also been just as perturbed by Mr. Noodle as I am and kicked him out (God knows Elmo didn't have the balls to do it.) He no longer appears in the newer episodes, as he has been replaced by a segment called "Elmo the Musical." Either that or the guy went to rehab.
Yo Gabba Gabba
I took a wonderful class in college called "60's in America" and my well-respected professor once spent the better part of one class telling us about the one time he dropped acid being one of the most profound experiences in his entire life. I spent the rest of the semester lamenting the fact I didn't live through the 60's and wondering if I would ever have the guts to try acid myself, because in college you want everything to be profound. To be clear, the answer is no, I do not have the guts to try acid - JUST SAY NO! The good news is that even though I'll never find myself sucking on a smiley face emblazoned tab of paper, I don't feel like I've missed out on the whole tripping experience thanks to the mind-bender that is Yo Gabba Gabba. The premise of the show is that this one guy has a suitcase full of toys that he sets up on a hotel banquet table and then they somehow come to life and then chaos ensues. It is a solid half hour of strobe lights, shapes, strange animals and loud noises.There are entire sequences that are nothing more than a hypnotic animated screensaver. And then the animal-monster guys do some sort of chant and a dance that draws you in so that the rest of the day you just keep thinking "Eggs in my tummy, yummy yummy." Actually, come to think of it, maybe they're just trying to draw kids into a cult.
The Cat in the Hat
This show really should be every mother's worst nightmare. The same thing happens every day: two kids are playing outside when the Cat in the Hat shows up and offers to take them on an adventure. They diligently run inside and ask their mother if they can go, and mom, being absorbed in some mundane motherly task, doesn't really listen to to kids and chuckles and says "sure." Then the Cat loads the kids up into his rickety old car and they go to like, Brazil or something. Ok, now re-read the above section and replace "Cat" with
"Creepo" and you'll see what I mean. This is a classic abduction story and somebody needs to put out an Amber Alert for these kids ASAP. Did we suddenly forget about stranger danger? Mom never gets up to check on her kids, and really is only visible for 5 seconds each episode. Also, the kicker is that the Cat is voiced by Martin Short, who I cannot verify isn't a criminal himself. I just know that on the final episode of the show the kids aren't going to come back and mom is going to feel terrible for spending the whole darn day playing Angry Birds and not paying enough attention to her kids.
Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood
I find myself offended by this abomination on a deep, personal level. Daniel Tiger is the little jerk that they put in charge of Mister Roger's Neighborhood, because apparently you can just leave a legacy alone. When I was little Mister Roger's Neighborhood was the absolute best part of my day. How cool was this guy? He changed his shoes just to go into his house! AND THERE WAS A TROLLEY IN HIS LIVING ROOM! I lived for this show, and the puppets and everything about it. Now we have Daniel Tiger, who is animated btw, so good bye really awesome live action trolley, and he just goes around doing normal cartoony things, all the while singing the "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood" with the super annoying sing-songy addition of "Ride along" tagged to the end of the verse. And that's all they do. There is no magic, I guess they try to teach kids to share or something but they don't go to the crayon factory or have to deal with Elaine Fairchild and the whole thing falls short of anything that is remotely fun. As my husband puts it, he'd "Rather spend 30 minutes at Fred Roger's grave, paying his respects, than have to watch that crap."
Of course, my opinions and those of my 1.5 year-old vary dramatically. He eats up every single moment of these shows, clapping and dancing and singing and it makes me question the sanity of children everywhere. With the next kid on the way, I figure I've got about 5 more years of this stuff before I can move on to what's next? The Disney Channel? Maybe we'll just become one of those progressive hippie families that doesn't watch T.V.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Teenage Dream?
This morning, for whatever reason (i.e. my iPhone needed a charge) I was looking through my old school year books and lamenting on what a strange, strange child I was. I was so miserable too -- I just wanted to be like 'everyone else' and I failed desperately. The weird thing is, now as an adult, sometimes I look at myself and I'm like, "Ugh, why am I so typical?!" Learning to be happy with yourself is a tough, tough thing! Anyway, here are some of the highlights from my younger years:
A STRANGE, EARLY OBSESSION WITH THE SIXTIES AND SEVENTIES:
PBS used to have a fondness for showing the Woodstock documentary about once a year, and sometime in my late elementary years I watched it for the first time and I was totally, 100% hooked. I would go to bed crying about how cruel it was that I wasn't alive during Woodstock and I listed exclusively to music from the era. I made peace sign necklaces out of old margarine lids, had a backyard 'pottery class' that I forced neighborhood kids to attend called "Be Free" and I even had my mom make me a "Jenny Dress" after the one that Jenny wore in Forest Gump and I wore it pretty much ever other day. The highlight of this whole phase was an outright, groupie-like obsession with the band Three Dog Night. I drew frogs named Jeremiah on every single surface available and never missed an opportunity to remind people that "one is the loneliest number." This all culminated when I got my entire sixth grade class banned from the school's annual multicultural celebration because I convinced them that it would be funner to sing "Joy To the World" rather than practice our Chinese dragon dance. Of course if I'd known that all those glorious hippies were seriously hopped up on some major psychedelics, I probably would have ran screaming from anything patchouli scented.
HAIR:
Oh god, the life long drama that is supposed to be my 'crowning glory.' Let's start in the late 80's shall we? ALL of the cool girls had "spiral perms" which they would gel each day to optimum stiffness. Not to be outdone, I went to my mom requesting a trip to the salon the preferred 'do. My mom, the thrifty, crafty maven that she is, got together with her sister and they devised a way to do a spiral perm at home. This involved dowels and tubing from the local hardware store as well as a home perm kit. So when my entire family got together for Super Bowl Sunday at my grandpa's house, all the guys went downstairs to watch the game and all the girls stayed upstairs and dumped industrial grade chemicals on my baby fourth-grader locks. The immediate result was burns to my eyebrows and neck. To this day I have a scar below my left eyebrow which I like to think makes me look mysterious. My hair was left a frizzy, dry, damaged mess which eventually started falling out in giant clumps. It was seriously seriously bad. The only solution was to take me to an actual salon and get a deep condition and try to shape whatever was left of my hair into something that didn't leave me looking like a chemo patient. And by 'shape' I mean cut my hair into a mullet, complete with little girl sideburns. Yes, they actually had to SHAVE THE SIDES OF MY HEAD because there was no hair left. Thankfully, it was the end of the most fashionably backwards decade in history so people would just say 'interesting' when they saw me.
By high school all the hair that had fallen out grew back into a thick, wavy uncontrollable brown mop. I tackled this problem with a 1-2 punch of blonde hair dyes and banana bangs. I didn't know what the heck I was doing with the dye so I'd just randomly pick out a color at the drugstore every 3 months or so and go to town on my hair. The result was a multi-shaded stratum of hair that went from almost platinum to brownish red. I would blow dry my rainbow tresses to the extent of severe drought every day and then I would curl my bangs under with a giant curling iron. The problem is that sometimes I would get some of my normal hair in with the bangs and so rather than separating it out, I would just cut the stray strands to bang length and move on with my day -- resulting in the most jagged bang part in the history of bang parts.
THAT CHEERLEADER:
In an effort to shatter every single image of a cheerleader in the history of cheerleaders ever, fate, for some reason bestowed upon me a mini-skirt and some pom-poms. And by "fate" I mean "my auntie was a judge at cheerleading tryouts." I'm sure the only reason I got on the team is because she felt bad about the fact that she'd destroyed my hair 5 years prior. On top of the fact that I was a messy-haired chunker of a wierdo kid, I also had the coordination of a newborn hippopotamus. I could barely jump, I never remembered my routines and I was always, always in the back row. One time all the other cheerleaders even got together and tried to vote me off the squad because they felt I made everyone look bad. When it came to stunting I was a 'base' meaning I literally let other girls stand on top of me, or more often a 'spotter' meaning that I stood behind the stunts in case a girl fell she would have somebody to land on. Nobody ever wants to be the spotter. And through all this I was totally oblivious to how terrible I was. I went around saying things like "CHEERLEADING IS LIFE" and "LIFE IS SHORT, CHEER HARD." I think my mom and I spent a lot of time hoping that the whole cheering thing would some how make me less socially awkward, but in actuality it just put it on display.
THE BUTT OF ALL THE JOKES:
I'll be honest, even as a kid I had a little extra padding in the booty era. Nowadays everyone wants a big butt, but back then I really didn't know what to do with all the junk in the trunk and it was always getting in the way of everything. My first major booty incident happened in 7th grade. I was in science class doing some project and for some reason I needed loads and loads of reflective tape. Have you ever used reflective tape? It's known for its ability to be REALLY REALLY reflective, it's also kind of brittle, so when you are using massive amounts, it has a tendency to flake off in chunks all over the place. This is not good news if you don't look where you are sitting and you manage sit on a whole bunch of it. Even worse when your mid school crush comes running at you from across the campus to let you know that you are blinding everyone with your backside bling.
The first time I had ever appeared in the local newspaper happened to be a picture of my cheerleading squad performing at the 4th of July parade. Inexplicably, my back is to the camera while everyone else is facing it, and in that same twist of fate, my skirt happens to be flipped all the way up, exposing my bloomered butt to the entire town. Another time in high school I was walking up a hill wearing what I thought to be a totally cute little outfit, only to be informed by a girl behind me that my backpack had hiked my skirt all the way up and everyone could see that I had a wedgie. Finally, the first college party I ever went to got broken up by the cops, since I was underage I ran outside with a whole bunch of other and jumped a chainlink fence, however due to my aforementioned lack of coordination, I didn't make it all the way over the fence and caught the butt of my jeans on the top -- ripping them all the way down the back. When the cops left and we went back into the party somebody duct taped my pants back together. The best part is that the gate to that darn fence was unlocked.
Of course this is just a tiny sampling of the major awkwardness that was my youth. Of course, looking back, I'm pretty sure that everyone else was just as awkward, so in that sense I guess I really was just like everyone else.
A STRANGE, EARLY OBSESSION WITH THE SIXTIES AND SEVENTIES:
PBS used to have a fondness for showing the Woodstock documentary about once a year, and sometime in my late elementary years I watched it for the first time and I was totally, 100% hooked. I would go to bed crying about how cruel it was that I wasn't alive during Woodstock and I listed exclusively to music from the era. I made peace sign necklaces out of old margarine lids, had a backyard 'pottery class' that I forced neighborhood kids to attend called "Be Free" and I even had my mom make me a "Jenny Dress" after the one that Jenny wore in Forest Gump and I wore it pretty much ever other day. The highlight of this whole phase was an outright, groupie-like obsession with the band Three Dog Night. I drew frogs named Jeremiah on every single surface available and never missed an opportunity to remind people that "one is the loneliest number." This all culminated when I got my entire sixth grade class banned from the school's annual multicultural celebration because I convinced them that it would be funner to sing "Joy To the World" rather than practice our Chinese dragon dance. Of course if I'd known that all those glorious hippies were seriously hopped up on some major psychedelics, I probably would have ran screaming from anything patchouli scented.
HAIR:
Oh god, the life long drama that is supposed to be my 'crowning glory.' Let's start in the late 80's shall we? ALL of the cool girls had "spiral perms" which they would gel each day to optimum stiffness. Not to be outdone, I went to my mom requesting a trip to the salon the preferred 'do. My mom, the thrifty, crafty maven that she is, got together with her sister and they devised a way to do a spiral perm at home. This involved dowels and tubing from the local hardware store as well as a home perm kit. So when my entire family got together for Super Bowl Sunday at my grandpa's house, all the guys went downstairs to watch the game and all the girls stayed upstairs and dumped industrial grade chemicals on my baby fourth-grader locks. The immediate result was burns to my eyebrows and neck. To this day I have a scar below my left eyebrow which I like to think makes me look mysterious. My hair was left a frizzy, dry, damaged mess which eventually started falling out in giant clumps. It was seriously seriously bad. The only solution was to take me to an actual salon and get a deep condition and try to shape whatever was left of my hair into something that didn't leave me looking like a chemo patient. And by 'shape' I mean cut my hair into a mullet, complete with little girl sideburns. Yes, they actually had to SHAVE THE SIDES OF MY HEAD because there was no hair left. Thankfully, it was the end of the most fashionably backwards decade in history so people would just say 'interesting' when they saw me.
By high school all the hair that had fallen out grew back into a thick, wavy uncontrollable brown mop. I tackled this problem with a 1-2 punch of blonde hair dyes and banana bangs. I didn't know what the heck I was doing with the dye so I'd just randomly pick out a color at the drugstore every 3 months or so and go to town on my hair. The result was a multi-shaded stratum of hair that went from almost platinum to brownish red. I would blow dry my rainbow tresses to the extent of severe drought every day and then I would curl my bangs under with a giant curling iron. The problem is that sometimes I would get some of my normal hair in with the bangs and so rather than separating it out, I would just cut the stray strands to bang length and move on with my day -- resulting in the most jagged bang part in the history of bang parts.
THAT CHEERLEADER:
In an effort to shatter every single image of a cheerleader in the history of cheerleaders ever, fate, for some reason bestowed upon me a mini-skirt and some pom-poms. And by "fate" I mean "my auntie was a judge at cheerleading tryouts." I'm sure the only reason I got on the team is because she felt bad about the fact that she'd destroyed my hair 5 years prior. On top of the fact that I was a messy-haired chunker of a wierdo kid, I also had the coordination of a newborn hippopotamus. I could barely jump, I never remembered my routines and I was always, always in the back row. One time all the other cheerleaders even got together and tried to vote me off the squad because they felt I made everyone look bad. When it came to stunting I was a 'base' meaning I literally let other girls stand on top of me, or more often a 'spotter' meaning that I stood behind the stunts in case a girl fell she would have somebody to land on. Nobody ever wants to be the spotter. And through all this I was totally oblivious to how terrible I was. I went around saying things like "CHEERLEADING IS LIFE" and "LIFE IS SHORT, CHEER HARD." I think my mom and I spent a lot of time hoping that the whole cheering thing would some how make me less socially awkward, but in actuality it just put it on display.
THE BUTT OF ALL THE JOKES:
I'll be honest, even as a kid I had a little extra padding in the booty era. Nowadays everyone wants a big butt, but back then I really didn't know what to do with all the junk in the trunk and it was always getting in the way of everything. My first major booty incident happened in 7th grade. I was in science class doing some project and for some reason I needed loads and loads of reflective tape. Have you ever used reflective tape? It's known for its ability to be REALLY REALLY reflective, it's also kind of brittle, so when you are using massive amounts, it has a tendency to flake off in chunks all over the place. This is not good news if you don't look where you are sitting and you manage sit on a whole bunch of it. Even worse when your mid school crush comes running at you from across the campus to let you know that you are blinding everyone with your backside bling.
The first time I had ever appeared in the local newspaper happened to be a picture of my cheerleading squad performing at the 4th of July parade. Inexplicably, my back is to the camera while everyone else is facing it, and in that same twist of fate, my skirt happens to be flipped all the way up, exposing my bloomered butt to the entire town. Another time in high school I was walking up a hill wearing what I thought to be a totally cute little outfit, only to be informed by a girl behind me that my backpack had hiked my skirt all the way up and everyone could see that I had a wedgie. Finally, the first college party I ever went to got broken up by the cops, since I was underage I ran outside with a whole bunch of other and jumped a chainlink fence, however due to my aforementioned lack of coordination, I didn't make it all the way over the fence and caught the butt of my jeans on the top -- ripping them all the way down the back. When the cops left and we went back into the party somebody duct taped my pants back together. The best part is that the gate to that darn fence was unlocked.
Of course this is just a tiny sampling of the major awkwardness that was my youth. Of course, looking back, I'm pretty sure that everyone else was just as awkward, so in that sense I guess I really was just like everyone else.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Inner View
I've been unemployed for what, 3 months now? I still have dreams that I'm working at my old job -- like somehow I just forgot that I quit and I show up at work and everyone shrugs their shoulders and I find a computer and I start working. Of course in all things dreamy, and nothing makes sense and my "job" consists of smoothing used coffee filters onto a bulletin board or something. I wake up confused trying to convince myself that no, I really don't have a job anymore.
I've been continuously employed for more than half my life, I started my first 'real job' at age 14 -- RAKS Building Supply, I'm looking at you. And it's weird for me not to work, I almost wish there was a time clock in my kitchen so I could log my mommy hours and make sure that the government was pulling out their fair share of taxes from my non-existent wages. I'd stuff the paystub of zeros into a junk drawer and forget about it, but it would be soothing just to know I existed.
That said, I just applied for a part-time-work-from-home-writerish kinda gig (I know how that sounds, but trust me the company is legit) -- and I have an interview on Monday! I'm excited but it's been YEARS since I've had a job interview so I'm trying to psych myself up for a good interview.
That said, I'd interviewed so many applicants at my previous jobs (both office and retail) that I almost lost faith in humanity and I feel like I have a good grasp at least on how NOT to blow an interview. Here are some of the more interesting tidbits from interviews past:
ME: Can you describe the outfit you are wearing to me as if you were selling it to a customer?
CANDIDATE: Well, uh, I'm wearing a red shirt. Because, I uh, like colors?
ME: Can you tell me about the most difficult situation you've ever had with a co-worker and how you handled it?
CANDIDATE: This one girl at my old job kept mad-dogging me and I went up to her and told her to knock it off because I don't take shit from nobody.
ME: What is your biggest strength?
CANDIDATE: I get along really well with minorities.
ME: What kinds of decisions are the hardest for you to make?
CANDIDATE: Can I come back to that one? LATER: The hardest decision for me to make is what to wear every day.
And I could go on, and on. These aren't even the worst -- the worst are the people who cannot answer a question if their life depended on it. Just minute after minute of awkward silence trying to coach them into saying ANYTHING and when they do its a one or two word answer. At this point I would usually dismiss them or start awkwardly rambling into my own life story because I felt obligated to hold interviews for at least 20 minutes. I don't understand why people are so bad at interviewing, some people say that it's a "skill" but I feel like it doesn't take a lot of skill to not sound like a total idiot. Do you want the job or not? If you do then act like it. It's so frustrating that people seem to think they deserve a job simply because they managed to show up to an interview. No wonder our country has such a sky high unemployment rate -- would you hire any of the above?
Anyway, if my competition looks anything like the above, I've got this one in the bag. Wish me luck!
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Mama glasses: a new perspective
So, since, I am now, like officially responsible for the well being of another human being, I have been forced to look back on some of my pre-child thoughts and actions and reconsider my past opinions, here are are some of the more prominent things that I would like to take back.
YOUR DOG IS NOT A CHILD
Oh man, I'm going to be in the dog house with some people on this one. I get it, I've got three dogs and I'm about a pet away from having an Animal Hoarders episode of my own. And I love my dogs, I really really do. And there was a point that I thought that my dogs were my children and I loved them as much as any mother ever loved any child.
Wrong.
I get it, sometimes your dog will pee in the house and you have to clean it up, or sometimes you've gotta rush the dog to the vet and it's really stressful, or maybe your dog wakes you up in the middle of the night and you seem like you are making a huge sacrifice.
It's not, in any way, at all, ever, the same as having a child. A human child is 100% lifetime commitment that requires more money and insanity than you will ever have the time to tally up. You cannot leave a child in the backyard all night if you want to go to dinner, you cannot just fill a child's bowl up with dry food and leave it out for them to eat at their leisure. Even if you have had to pick up an unfair amount of puppy oopsies, it is nothing like waking up at 3 in the morning to your screaming child because they have managed to crap all the way up to their neck and the only possible solution is to bathe the child and decontaminate the entire nursery, and by the time you are finished it will be PLAY TIME in the kid's mind and before you know it you've pulled an all-nighter.
And I can promise you, this is just scratching the surface. Anytime I hear anyone call their dog a baby I cringe and have to keep myself from saying "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you were permanently, physically scared and disfigured bringing that Pomeranian into the world."
BREASTFEEDING IS A BITCH
I knew that the second I got pregnant that I wanted to breastfeed my child. Because, I'm like, a dog lover, I had seen more than my fair share of puppy shows, where some golden retriever gives birth to like, 14 puppies and they immediately meander their sleepy little faces up to the mama dog and drink to their hearts' content. It's natural and beautiful, and totally instinctual- if a dog can do it, I can too, yes? I secretly judged all women who gave their children formula as selfish and ignorant.
The truth is, it's SUPER HARD and absolutely nothing feels natural about the whole process. You and your newborn child are both total idiots when it comes to this, and you will likely spend two weeks screaming at each other trying to get it right. Not only that, it HURTS. Plus, you know that post birth margarita you've been thinking about for 9 months? Forget about it. Anyone who has the audacity to say 'pump and dump' has no clue how hard it is to actually produce that milk, and for the love of Jesus, you DO NOT THROW THAT STUFF AWAY.
On top of all of this, everyone has a GD opinion on breastfeeding. From the people who think it's downright disgusting to the proud liberated women who whip a boobie out in the middle of REI to feed their three year old, it's a total hot button issue. I didn't feel like talking about it with anyone because it made me so uncomfortable knowing that the person was going to lean one way or another and either way, I was probably doing it wrong.
That said, the baby got his first tooth at 7 months and I happily celebrated by running to the store and picking up a tub of Enfamil and a 6-pack of beer.
NATURAL CHILDBIRTH IS FOR THE BIRDS
I was, absolutely, positively convinced that I was going to hypnotize myself into having a beautiful, natural childbirth. Women have been giving birth this way for thousands of years right? What's the big deal?
Thank god for modern medicine. I spent 6 hours of terrible unmedicated labor and I really couldn't figure out if I was alive or dead anymore. When I finally got the epidural right before my c-section it was the greatest relief of my entire life.
Really, what the hell was I thinking? There really is no reason to put yourself through that type of pain if you don't have to. And you don't 'owe it to your child' to give them a natural birth. The kid is not going to give a crap, trust me. You will spend the rest of your life laboring over that thing, so really, why start it off so painfully if you don't have to?
I think what really bothers me is the amount of guilt that is laid upon mothers who don't manage to go natural. I get that women are in a constant game of trying to prove that they are better than one another, but I don't think that a good mother is defined by whether or not she took pain meds to aid her in becoming one. Yes people in the middle ages did it naturally, but the infant/mother mortality rate was significantly higher than it is now. We live in a modern world. Embrace it.
TODDLERS ARE NOT EVIL CREATURES
But they are really good at acting like it in public. Before I had a kid of my own, I kinda hated children. Every time I saw them in public they seemed like dirty, demanding little demons set out to destroy the lives of their parents.
My kid is generally a pretty decent little guy. He's smiley and loving and causes me minimal grief. You would never believe that if you saw him at the grocery store. He manages to lose half his clothing before I get inside and has this lovely little trick of 'pulling my shirt down' whenever I try to put him in the basket. Also, the florescent lighting in a grocery store has the amazing ability to illuminate every speck of dirt on his body. I'll look down at him and he looks like he's been playing in the mud all day. I swear I bathe my kid. Talk about hell in a basket! I'm 89% convinced that they pump something into the air at the store to make kids act up.
So when you see a screaming, dirty, half dressed child in a grocery store, just remember that he might actually be an OK kid once you get him home.
Let's see what I have to say about teenagers in 14 years.
YOUR DOG IS NOT A CHILD
Oh man, I'm going to be in the dog house with some people on this one. I get it, I've got three dogs and I'm about a pet away from having an Animal Hoarders episode of my own. And I love my dogs, I really really do. And there was a point that I thought that my dogs were my children and I loved them as much as any mother ever loved any child.
Wrong.
I get it, sometimes your dog will pee in the house and you have to clean it up, or sometimes you've gotta rush the dog to the vet and it's really stressful, or maybe your dog wakes you up in the middle of the night and you seem like you are making a huge sacrifice.
It's not, in any way, at all, ever, the same as having a child. A human child is 100% lifetime commitment that requires more money and insanity than you will ever have the time to tally up. You cannot leave a child in the backyard all night if you want to go to dinner, you cannot just fill a child's bowl up with dry food and leave it out for them to eat at their leisure. Even if you have had to pick up an unfair amount of puppy oopsies, it is nothing like waking up at 3 in the morning to your screaming child because they have managed to crap all the way up to their neck and the only possible solution is to bathe the child and decontaminate the entire nursery, and by the time you are finished it will be PLAY TIME in the kid's mind and before you know it you've pulled an all-nighter.
And I can promise you, this is just scratching the surface. Anytime I hear anyone call their dog a baby I cringe and have to keep myself from saying "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you were permanently, physically scared and disfigured bringing that Pomeranian into the world."
BREASTFEEDING IS A BITCH
I knew that the second I got pregnant that I wanted to breastfeed my child. Because, I'm like, a dog lover, I had seen more than my fair share of puppy shows, where some golden retriever gives birth to like, 14 puppies and they immediately meander their sleepy little faces up to the mama dog and drink to their hearts' content. It's natural and beautiful, and totally instinctual- if a dog can do it, I can too, yes? I secretly judged all women who gave their children formula as selfish and ignorant.
The truth is, it's SUPER HARD and absolutely nothing feels natural about the whole process. You and your newborn child are both total idiots when it comes to this, and you will likely spend two weeks screaming at each other trying to get it right. Not only that, it HURTS. Plus, you know that post birth margarita you've been thinking about for 9 months? Forget about it. Anyone who has the audacity to say 'pump and dump' has no clue how hard it is to actually produce that milk, and for the love of Jesus, you DO NOT THROW THAT STUFF AWAY.
On top of all of this, everyone has a GD opinion on breastfeeding. From the people who think it's downright disgusting to the proud liberated women who whip a boobie out in the middle of REI to feed their three year old, it's a total hot button issue. I didn't feel like talking about it with anyone because it made me so uncomfortable knowing that the person was going to lean one way or another and either way, I was probably doing it wrong.
That said, the baby got his first tooth at 7 months and I happily celebrated by running to the store and picking up a tub of Enfamil and a 6-pack of beer.
NATURAL CHILDBIRTH IS FOR THE BIRDS
I was, absolutely, positively convinced that I was going to hypnotize myself into having a beautiful, natural childbirth. Women have been giving birth this way for thousands of years right? What's the big deal?
Thank god for modern medicine. I spent 6 hours of terrible unmedicated labor and I really couldn't figure out if I was alive or dead anymore. When I finally got the epidural right before my c-section it was the greatest relief of my entire life.
Really, what the hell was I thinking? There really is no reason to put yourself through that type of pain if you don't have to. And you don't 'owe it to your child' to give them a natural birth. The kid is not going to give a crap, trust me. You will spend the rest of your life laboring over that thing, so really, why start it off so painfully if you don't have to?
I think what really bothers me is the amount of guilt that is laid upon mothers who don't manage to go natural. I get that women are in a constant game of trying to prove that they are better than one another, but I don't think that a good mother is defined by whether or not she took pain meds to aid her in becoming one. Yes people in the middle ages did it naturally, but the infant/mother mortality rate was significantly higher than it is now. We live in a modern world. Embrace it.
TODDLERS ARE NOT EVIL CREATURES
But they are really good at acting like it in public. Before I had a kid of my own, I kinda hated children. Every time I saw them in public they seemed like dirty, demanding little demons set out to destroy the lives of their parents.
My kid is generally a pretty decent little guy. He's smiley and loving and causes me minimal grief. You would never believe that if you saw him at the grocery store. He manages to lose half his clothing before I get inside and has this lovely little trick of 'pulling my shirt down' whenever I try to put him in the basket. Also, the florescent lighting in a grocery store has the amazing ability to illuminate every speck of dirt on his body. I'll look down at him and he looks like he's been playing in the mud all day. I swear I bathe my kid. Talk about hell in a basket! I'm 89% convinced that they pump something into the air at the store to make kids act up.
So when you see a screaming, dirty, half dressed child in a grocery store, just remember that he might actually be an OK kid once you get him home.
Let's see what I have to say about teenagers in 14 years.
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