I Love Holiday Letters

What people thought when they read your holiday letter. . .

Dear family and friends, (I had no idea that our kids being on the same soccer team made us friends. And if we're such great friends, why didn't you share your Bloody Marys with me? I'd have rather gotten drunk at soccer than gotten a holiday letter.) 

Hope you all had as wonderful a year as we did! (It was kind of meh, actually. But I'm surprised that you can call a year wonderful after that debacle at soccer where you used your Bloody Mary thermos instead of your Gatorade thermos to give all the kids drinks. Did the police drop the charges? Are the Andersons still suing you?)

Jason, 15, is growing into a delightful young man. (I had no idea you had a 15 year old. Does he ever leave his room?) He has a number of friends around the world now, thanks to his computer game War of Worldcraft. (That's not what it's called. But that explains a lot.) 

Jack, 12, has become dedicated to the tuba and his schoolwork. (I wonder if that's because he got kicked off the soccer team for fighting? After downing several Bloody Marys?) We are so proud of how much his grades have improved. (Repeating sixth grade helps, I'm sure.)

Molly, 3, is quite the little spitfire. After several challenging weeks at preschool, we have decided to homeschool her for preschool. We're having so much fun together! (That's not what it looked like at the grocery store last week. Or the week before. Or the week before that.)

Bill has recently taken up tennis (Is that because he can't coach soccer anymore? Or is it the sexy tennis pro at the club?) and is very happy at his new job.

Susan has stopped doing the PR for Mothers Against Drunk Driving (this has to do with the soccer debacle, doesn't it?) so that she can spend more quality time with Molly, Jack and Jason.

Wishing you many blessings in 2013, (You too, I think you made need them more)

The Smith Family

(All parts of this letter are completely fictional. Certain reactions may not be. Though honestly? I totally love getting holiday letters.)

I'm Not Dead. . .But A Woman at the Gym Might Be

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. I'm hoping someone will invent a way for me to type safely while driving my kids around. I mean, why shouldn't I have a laptop embedded in my minivan's steering wheel? It's not like I'm doing any difficult driving.

Anyway.

So the other day I was at the gym (what I really need is an elliptical trainer with an embedded laptop, then I could be skinny and a consistent blogger!), because that's what I do now. My weight loss has been slow, because well, I have to lose a lot of weight. And because I refuse to diet. So I'm still one of the bigger gals at the gym, but who cares?

No one, except for the woman I had the unfortunate experience of exercising next to the other day. At first, as she kept looking in my direction, I thought she was looking at the TV that was tuned to ESPN. Because I too would rather watch ESPN than Rachel Ray, I glanced at her, planning on smiling in a friendly way. But the woman was not looking at ESPN. She was looking at the numbers on my machine.

Now, of course I've looked at other people's incline and resistance numbers before, or checked their speed on the treadmill. I have nothing against being a nosy bitch. But I try not to let them know I'm looking, and I certainly don't sneer while I'm doing it. Not so this woman. She looked at my numbers, looked at her numbers, looked back and then upped her resistance to match mine. For real.

I went back to focusing on my magazine because sometimes I can be a little self-conscious/self-absorbed/slightly paranoid. But a few minutes later, when the harder part of my interval kicked in, I noticed her doing it again. And she was struggling. But she kept glancing at me and upping her resistance to match mine.

Have I mentioned that she completely ignored the slim woman on the other side of her? Whose resistance was much higher than mine? Apparently she just didn't want the fat chick to be stronger than she was. Or something. Everything I did, she did. She even changed her time on the machine when I switched magazines and she could see my time.

I suddenly saw my 13 year old self, being okay with the acknowledged school genius beating me on a test but flipping out when someone I didn't think was so smart beat me. And instead of saying something to the competitive woman I gave her the same "bless your bitchy, immature heart - I really pity you" smile I would have given to my 13 year old self.

Next time, though? I'm totally tripping her.

Parking Lot Asshole

Obviously I need to start avoiding parking lots.

I'm not plagued by high expectations for myself. I don't feel like I should be curing cancer or bringing about world peace or even writing a super-popular blog. My house, as we know, is messy. I am chubby and I do things like run errands (including school drop-offs) dressed in the clothes I wore at the gym. With no make-up on. I don't make my kids' Halloween costumes and my husband is the one who does crafts and cooks with them. And there's the screaming. Although I did review a bunch of stuff last night and read a good article in this month's Parenting and I will say that I have not even yelled today. So there's that.

But while I don't have high expectations for myself, I do try not to be an asshole.

I'm finding this more and more difficult as I have to deal with elementary school pick up. Everyone parks, but there are only about a tenth of the spots needed for parents to pick up their kids. So people put their cars wherever they feel they can squeeze them in, even if it makes it supremely difficult for other parents trying to pick up their kids.

Until today, I parked way down the lane and as out of the way as possible. Until today, I dragged my boys a city block each way to pick up their sister. Until today, I did not feel like an asshole at pick up.

But then Lovebug asked me if we could park closer. And I had an image of the impending downpour getting us as we walked the long distance back to the car. And there was a spot in front of me - well, not a spot, but a space behind 2 other cars that were parked near the school in what's supposed to be a drive only lane. There was a cone in the way, though.

So I got out and moved the cone. And parked.

Thanks to not having to walk forever, we were gone before the older kids' bell had even rung. While I made it more difficult for the other people driving down the lane, it's not like I blocked anyone completely. It's not like I was that woman yesterday at drop off who parked in the drop off/no stopping lane and had a 20 minute conversation with a friend. It's not like I ran over the cone.

Of course, the fact that I've even begun in asshole territory already kinda worries me. I mean, school's only been going on for a month. I wonder how corrupted I'll be by January?

Hell Is Other People

Perhaps it's anxiety about Ironflower starting kindergarten tomorrow, perhaps it's the fact that no matter how much a try, I am just not kind-hearted, but I wish I had a license to smack people upside the head. Just hard enough to jar them a bit and  release my tension, of course.

Like all these so-called Christians on their anti-Muslim crusade. Don't build a community center with a mosque 2 blocks from Ground Zero! Let's burn the Koran! Muslims are bad! I mean, I understand that certain branches of Christianity are all about converting others to their religion, but is this seriously the way to go about it? And do they honestly feel that the average beer-swilling, hot dog loving, Jersey Shore watching American is going to be seduced into becoming a Muslim? Besides which, if they want to complain about fanatics and the like, why don't they clean up Christianity first? Have they not heard about the FLDS and all the 14 year old girls married to old men? Shouldn't Glenn Beck take care of his own brethren first?

I think smacking all the people in that group would probably wear me out, but if not I'd start next on the woman I saw yesterday. Now, I do honestly try really hard not to judge other parents, but since I'm also trying to be kinder and quieter and to exercise more, I'm kind of worn out. So, anyway, the woman yesterday. She had this cute little baby, 4 months old max, and she was feeding her baby food. Few 4 month olds need baby food and this one certainly didn't - she wasn't even attempting to swallow it. It was all over her and she looked absolutely miserable. The woman kept shoveling at her until the jar was empty. Why do people try to force feed their kids? Why do people give baby food before 6 months? Aren't American Academy of Pediatricians recommendations good enough?

Speaking of good enough, I stayed up too late watching Can't Buy Me Love recently. It's one of the greatest 80's teen movies NOT made by John Hughes and I still love it. But the clothes - wow. I realized just how trashy and anorexic the teen world has become while watching that movie. I mean, there were baggy clothes (as there were in the '80's) and the girls were thin, not anorexic. It amazed me how unslutty everything was. And that depresses me enough to want to smack myself upside the head. I am OLD. I really feel like the coke-fueled '80's were a more innocent time. Help.

I will also need help smacking the heads of the Jersey Shore cast, whoever decided that Thomas the Tank Engine should be priced like collectible jewelery, the creators of Dora the Explorer and of Diego as well, the jackals at Staples yesterday who nearly ran over a toddler, people who don't know how to use apostrophes, people who still think Obama is Muslim, a Kenyan citizen  or both, people who don't watch Glee and/or Modern Family and everyone who likes Justin Bieber.

Ah, I feel better now.

She Started It

I survived taking the kids to the pool again today. On the bright side, no one pooped. Though Lovebug let out a few screams (overtired+overexcited=Lovebug screams in response to any negative stimuli) that were loud enough to make me think someone had pooped.

But I suppose I'm the one who misbehaved today. Because today, folks, I read a magazine while my kids were in the pool. That's right, not only did I let them go in by themselves, I dared to look away while they were in there.

Of course, they are 4 and 5 and they were in about 3 feet of water. Fenced into 3 feet of water, I should say. And there were like 6 other kids in the whole area.  While neither swims quite successfully, they do understand not breathing water. Oh, and they are very loud.

So, when I was not playing with them, feeding them or finding out why Lovebug was screaming (bumped his elbow on the fence, for example), I read. Not a novel, because I could get so engrossed in a novel I could miss them taking my wallet and handing it to the guy who sells ice cream and/or smacking that kid who was splashing everybody. Anyway, you should have seen the looks I got from the other moms.

Not all of them, but enough. Especially the one that I was NOT going to make fun of on this blog because she always seemed perfectly nice. I am trying to be a kinder, gentler me. But she glared at me, so clearly she started it and I can make fun of her freely.

Now let me say that a lot of moms around here still wear bikinis. Because they still look good in bikinis. And another percentage, while maybe not rocking the bikini, still looks cute at the pool. This mom is clearly trying to be in that category, because she doesn't try the pregnant bikini thing, but her suit is very cute and she always does her hair.

And by does her hair, I mean that she invariable ties a grosgain ribbon around her ponytail. It's always a different color, too.

What woman over 18. . .hell, what girl over 10 wears a ribbon in her hair? And who thinks, yeah, a ribbon is the perfect accessory for swimming?

And it's in this loopy, lop-sided bow with long strings hanging down her neck. I mean, it would not have been a great style in 1986.

Ahem. So, yeah, ribbon lady and her friend glared at me today, as I sat with my magazine. I started to feel self-conscious. Because, you know, maybe I was being irresponsible by not watching them (along with the 2 lifeguards) in the 3 feet of water. And then I thought, maybe they're just jealous because they had toddlers to follow around(this is why I avoid taking ChunkyMonkey to the pool. Also, he gets bored. And if I'm hauling a ton of gear and making a picnic, we are staying at the pool for more than an hour, dammit.) and I did not.

So then I thought, I'll ask the internets. Well, the 4 of you not at BlogHer, anyway. Was I being irresponsible? Should ribbon lady have glared at me? Or would you have done the same thing?

"Playboy I Don't Get It"

This is a top search on my blog these days.

Even ignoring the weird Google statistical gymnastics that cause people searching for this to wind up here, what the hell, people?

I don't know whether people want me to explain Playboy's attractions or to commiserate about that weird attraction some people have for Playboy.

I hope it's the former. So here's my explanation:

Playboy has pictures and videos of pretty, naked girls. They are naughty without being smutty. They do not get mad, go on the rag or make guys hold their purses while they try on clothes. They are FANTASY women. And men like fantasies.

(Probably some lesbians do too. But I've never met a lesbian who's told me that she liked Playboy. But I would really, really, love to and I would totally go out drinking with her even though I don't really drink anymore. . .wait, my drinking fantasies aren't the point here. . .)

Oh yeah, men are also visually stimulated. So, you know, Playboy. That's the point. And let me tell you, Playboy is the cleanest, sweetest porn there is. So if your guy is all about Playboy? Be happy.

Anyone looking for commiseration has obviously gotten lost. My feelings on porn should make it clear.

Schadenfreude

I am trying to remember the last time I was in a truly good mood. I have flashes of happiness, like watching ChunkyMonkey hold his siblings' hands as they carefully walked him to the car the other night or watching Ironflower and Lovebug giggle in the pool yesterday. But an overall feeling of well-being that lasted more than a few hours?

I have no idea.

I was fine until I read some happy status updates on Facebook. It's not that I'm filled with  schadenfreude, exactly. I don't like it when skaters fall or waiters drop trays. And it's not that I want every status update I read to be a complaint about kids or jobs. Really.

But when someone is perpetually upbeat these days, I kinda want to smack them. I wonder if there's a German word for annoyance at the extreme happiness of others?

I am grateful for so many things, feel fortunate for so many reasons. But I am also worried and stressed about so many things. So many legitimate and currently unfixable things. And I don't think everything my kids do is adorable. Or even tolerable.

So I bitch. And I was okay with that until I started having violent thoughts while on Facebook. I mean, how do people get to be happy all of the time? Even drug addicts have to come down sometimes.

Poop On The Beach

The universe is testing me.

Two subjects that other people manage every day are completely tripping me up.

Other people, for example, don't secretly hope to run into douchebags so that they can get a blog post out of it. Other people, I gather, might not even automatically assume that someone is a douchebag within 10 seconds of seeing them. So I've been trying to be more open-minded and tolerant.

Also, I notice that I'm always telling my kids to ask directly and politely for what they want, and to speak up for themselves. Yet there are many occasions - especially with strangers and doctors, for example - where I don't take my own advice.

I was just thinking about my personal goals on Saturday while I was watching the big kids at a local pool. They were in the shallow water, playing happily, and I was chatting with my Dad  - who not only met us there, but managed to snag 2 comfy chairs and a place in the shade. Awesome. There was a group in front of us with 2 toddlers. I started paying attention when I noticed the little girl running around naked and heard one of the adults say, "But is she potty trained?"

The child's mother replied, "If she's naked, it's fine. She can just go in the sand. " You know, the sand were kids were digging at that very moment. THAT SAND. Not the sand off in the bushes away from people who were digging and eating and laying in the sand.

"Um, I think she's already gone, " said the first guy. And super mom said, "Oh, she pooped. You can just scoop it up with one of the sand toys and throw it in the trash."

That's right, the child had pooped into the sand where people were digging and eating and laying. And then they used her toy shovel to scoop it up and throw it into the trash can. And they didn't even rinse off the shovel.

I mean, how the hell am I supposed to ignore this level of douchebaggery? How can I not post about the crazy people who think it's okay to let their kids poop where dogs can't? And to use their kids' toys to scoop up poop?

I can't. I have failed this test, universe. And you know what? I'm okay with failing this part of the test. There are just too many douchebags in the world for me to be a kind, happy blogger.

BUT.

What I am ashamed of is failing to say anything to these people. I just stared at my Dad, both of our mouths wide open. Usually I can think of a good question or comment within 48 hours of an incident, but I am still at a loss. Should I have said anything? And, if so, what?

Help me here, internets.

Sometimes I Hate The Park

Dear Lady-at-the-park-this-morning,

First, congratulations on your new daughter. I'm sure she's adorable, not that you ever uncovered her long enough for me to see her face. Also, may I commend you on your well-behaved boys. They played well with my Lovebug and seemed very polite - they actually got your permission before going on the jungle gym and waited for you to join them.

I'm sure you noticed that my children did not ask me permission for anything. Not even the toddler. They roamed freely within the confines of the playground. I followed the toddler, who seems to have a strong urge to return to the emergency room. My kids were all over the place, but I always knew where they were. Okay, I knew where they were for the vast majority of the experience.

I'm sure you also noticed that I was the only adult with my children, while your husband sat patiently with your sleeping baby. I wonder how you'll handle things when he's not there. I wonder if you'll still give me dirty looks after you've taken 3 mobile children to a park by yourself. I wonder if you'll still sniff at me when your boys become more independent and don't want to do the same things all the time.

I sure hope we run into each other again. Preferably when my youngest is a reasonable 3 year old and yours is a toddler.  And you don't have any back-up.

Sincerely,

Jerseygirl

Am I Over-Reacting?

I must start by saying that I'm sure my neighbors are nice people who love their children very much. And who (fortunately) do not read my blog.

But. (You totally knew that was coming, didn't you?)

I'm not sure how I feel about my kids actually playing with their children. They gather at the cul-de-sac that ends our street. At first, I was pleased that the parents seemed so nice and so willing to share their kids' myriad toys with my kids (we live about a block up and mainly come down with our bikes and some chalk).

Ironflower was enchanted with 2 little girls, slightly younger, who share her penchant for princesses. ChunkyMonkey just loved that I let him out of the stroller outside of the house. Lovebug was not as thrilled, as one boy was too little and the other little boy is really, really into sports (What can I say? We're so afraid of becoming psycho sport parents that we've sort of forgotten to teach our kids the rudiments of T-ball. Oops. Also, we'd much rather go for a walk.)

Lovebug changed his tune when the motorized Barbie Jeep and the motorized Mustang came out. Each of Ironflower's new little friends has her own car (Did I mention that they're younger that she is? And she's 5?).  Well, he did until he realized how hard it would be to actually get a turn.

Not that the girls used the cars a lot. But just because they weren't using them didn't mean they wanted to let a BOY use them. Their parents cajoled and begged and bribed and Lovebug was allowed to play. Which I thought was nice of the parents. And bitchy of the children.  A bit later, one girl threw a huge hissy fit about not having the right princess shoe. She demanded them and demanded them and finally her mother went home to get them. A bit later there was another tantrum that resulted in another child getting what she wanted.

And another and another and another until my children were just kind of staring at them in fascination. When it was time for us to leave, Ironflower was riding in the mustang with one girl. Before she could get out, the girl started the engine. I followed, half jogging while I pulled Ironflower's bike, pushed ChunkyMonkey's stroller and kept an eye on trike-riding Lovebug. I told them to stop, told Ironflower to ask the girl to stop but nothing worked. The girl's dad caught up and also told them to  stop.

They didn't until they were at our driveway.

Now, if Ironflower had asked, I would have been fine with this. But there was no asking ., . . .and no listening. Which is not like my kid. The dad was unsurprised and unconcerned that his daughter didn't listen and had driven off without permission. He didn't say anything to her about it, just asked her where she wanted to go next.

And I was horrified. I was horrified by the whole experience. I've avoided the cul-de-sac at peak times ever since.

But now I'm thinking. . .what if it's me? What if I"m the bitch? What if I'm being unduly harsh by giving consequences for temper tantrums? What if it's not a big deal when my kids don't listen and obey? Why should I care how they talk to me?

But I can't help it. I don't want my kids to act like that or to treat me like that. And I'm not sure if I want them hanging out with parents who do.

The Bitch Is Back

So yesterday I had an epiphany. Not the kind that will solve the healthcare crisis or even make the Jersey shore cast return to their natural selves (no steroids! no tanners! no saline!), but hey, it made me feel better.

For the longest time, I've been really slacking in the blog arena. Not keeping up with my favorite bloggers, not posting as much, not posting as well. I blamed it on writing for Demand Media and on not having as much time in general.

And that, dear readers, is bullshit.

I have been depressed and I haven't wanted to post about it. I've had a lot of excellent reasons to be depressed, but I haven't wanted to post about them either. In fact, I've been afraid to post about a lot of things, for fear of insulting or over-sharing with the people I know in real life who read this blog.

And it occurred to me yesterday that the more I worry about not living up to other people's expectations of me, the less I feel like myself. You're probably thinking, "Duh, it's so sad that you didn't figure that out when you were 20."

I did. But motherhood - and all the inherent expectations of "good" motherhood - made me forget. Then we moved back here to Stuck-Up (where not everyone is Stuck-Up, but you all know what I'm talking about) and I completely lost it.

I started imagining other people's expectations of me. It was like in my head I went back to the last time I lived here. In high school.  Do you have any idea what it's like to have a high school mentality and adult problems?

My head has been like a really bizarre episode of 16 and Pregnant.

And I am SO over it. If one of my posts offends you, I'm sorry. Feel free to write a nasty comment or ignore me at the grocery store. If you don't like me and you take it out on my kids (my greatest fear), I will kick your ass.

And if I've been ignoring your blog, I'm sorry. I'm back now.

Why I'll Never Be Rich. . .Or Popular

I live in a place where people range from comfortable to wow-is-that-a-Murano-glass-chandelier-in-your-toddler's-bedroom?-rich. And because of all the perks of living in such a place - the safety, the amazing public schools, the proximity to cultural events, the fact that no one wears house slippers to the grocery store - I try to ignore all the things that bother me about living in such abundance (I didn't say I always succeeded. I just said I'd try.)

But I can't ignore this one.

There are a few places that I tend to visit nearly every day. Because my life is exciting like that. Anyway, two of my local places have put out jars to collect change for the people in Haiti. Both places are reputable and reliable and will donate the money without a doubt. If they had any money to donate.

In one place, the jar is empty. In another, where it has been up for a week, it is nearly so.

I would like to think that all of my neighbors have driven their Porsche Cayennes and Ranger Rovers to their banks so that they can wire thousands of dollars to Haiti. I would like to think that they are all too busy using their credit cards to carry change to put in the jars. I would like to think that they just haven't noticed the jars.

But the jars are rather obvious. In one case, there was even an email about the jar. And who doesn't keep change in their car?

Every day, when I drop in all the change I can scrounge up, I keep hoping that the jars will be full. Maybe I'm obsessed with them because I can't write a huge check or volunteer for Doctors Without Borders. Maybe they just seem so important to me because helping to fill them is all I can do. Maybe this is why I'll never own a Range Rover - I can't save money worth a damn.

Would this bother you? Does the idea of the empty change jars in what is literally one of the wealthiest counties in the country bother you? Or am I just being bitchy again?

This One Qualifies as Bitchy

I felt guilty when I first read it. "Oh my God, I do that all the time! I did it to all 3 kids! I'm so irresponsible!" And then, well, then I took a deep breath. I turned off the "Supermom" voice, the one that screams (internally) whenever the baby eats a cracker from the floor, the one that panics (mostly internally) whenever she sees one of her child's peers exhibit a skill her child doesn't have, the one who is thinking about learning to knit just because she thinks moms should know how, not that she has actually interest.

I reread the paragraph. "What was she thinking?" I wondered this time around.

The "she" is some mom who wrote to Parents magazine because her daughter's car seat fell off the shopping cart. Now that sucks, and I'm very glad the baby was okay. Apparently, the shopping cart went over a bump and the car seat fell off the top part. The part where I've been putting my car seats for the last 5 years.

I have never had a car seat fall.

Possibly some of that is luck. And possibly some of it is that when the terrain is bumpy, I freaking hold on to the car seat.

Look, I'm not judging. I'm sure this woman is much more patient than I am and spends hours reading to her baby every day. I bet there are no crackers on her floor. So I'm NOT saying I'm better than she is. I'm really not. I'm just saying. . .didn't she ever notice what the car seat did when it was bumpy? How it bounces it bit? How did she not notice?

And why did Parents magazine have to publish this? Now poor new moms are going to be strapping their babies into Bjorns and not giving their poor backs a damn rest while at the grocery store. Why not just say, "Hold the car seat in the parking lot"?

Is it really too much to ask people who procreate to have some sense?

This Post Has No Main Idea

I like to call myself a realist. Some might say "cynical bitch", but those people also might say "I think The Bachelor helps people find true love", so really, who cares what they think? Anyway, I really soured on romance thanks to my ex-husband, who was a great one for romantic gestures and also for being a total selfish asshole, but even as a child I wondered how an abused maid like Cinderella would get along with a prince's family.

I'm always looking for the dark backstory, and generally there is one. Let's take Chastity Bono - er, I mean Chas Bono - shall we? When I was a little girl in the '70's, I watched Sonny and Cher with my mom. My favorite part was whenever little Chastity came out in a sparkling dress that matched her mother's. I secretly longed for a mom with straight hair who wore glittery dresses on TV, one who would put me on TV too. I got over it quickly, especially after I heard that Sonny and Cher got divorced. I got even more over it when Sonny became a Republican politician. And, er, now that little Chastity is a man (not that there's anything wrong with that) . . .well, let's just say it's probably good I never wore a sparkly dress on TV.

Sure, sometimes I think it would be nice to think that Katie and Tom do really love each other and that it's not just a business arrangement, or that EVERYONE on Rock of Love was acting, but that's not who I am. But as I listen to the news and read magazines, I start to wish that everyone was more like me.

We're going to run out of oil. Health care costs are going to be out of reach for the average American. We're not going to just "win" the Middle East like we did World War II. People who can't afford it, are too young or too insane for it are going to keep breeding. Not everyone can own a flat screen TV.

And we need to accept that.

Our current situation is the dark backstory to the Reagan and Clinton years. Every politician proclaims that he or she can fix things, if this or that bill is passed it will fix things. Bullshit.

Can't we just stop being optimistic Americans for one minute and realize that fighting on Fox News isn't going to fix jack shit - and neither is either political party? We need to accept our dark back story and learn how to manage it.

Look at Chas Bono. Her mother is a gay icon, the ultimate feminine fantasy-woman. Does Chas try to emulate her? Try to become her eager assistant? Try to become an earth mother archetype in rebellion? No. He goes in a completely different direction. Not dwelling on the past or hostiley rejecting it.

Although, the cynical part of me wonders how much of it had to do with those sparkly dresses.

The Reading Bitch

Last night I watched the commercial for "Teach Your Baby To Read!", a product that teaches babies and toddlers to memorize the shapes on flashcards read. The urge I had to smack all those parents upside the head, well, it reminded me of my urges when I watch the kiddie pageant spectacle, Toddlers and Tiaras.

It's the same damn thing.

Poise, the ability to walk in high heels, reading. . .those are all great skills to have. Reading's obviously more important, but still. In our looks-obsessed society, the ability to wear lip gloss without it going all over your teeth can't be denied. But why the rush?

Four year olds don't need to look polished to do well at preschool.

And babies don't need to be able to read. And, in fact, they aren't actually reading. Sure, I saw them say the words on the cards, or gesture to indicate that they knew what the word was. But that's not actually reading. They didn't decode (aka "sound out") the word and they sure as hell didn't comprehend its meaning from the surrounding text.

I've taught lots of kids to read and I guarantee that none of them would have read for real any more quickly had they memorized the words for body parts as babies. If their parents had talked to them more, read them more stories and/or not let them spend all night watching horror movies, that might have helped. But this stupid program? Not so much.

A colleague once referred to me as "The Reading Bitch", that's how into teaching reading I was. I might have been a little militant. I might have distributed timelines and scopes and sequences and lesson plans to my elementary school teacher colleagues a little obsessively.

And yet my baby has no idea what letters even are. But I have gotten him to sit still long enough to finish listening to "Touch and Feel Farm". I'm kinda proud of that. Because it's age-appropriate.

I suppose in a world where first graders have cell phones and grandmothers attend Botox parties, age-appropriate isn't a very popular concept. Sure, everyone clucks over the pageant kids, made up and hairsprayed like teenage prom queens, but they still have their own shows. And I've yet to hear anyone talk about, much less criticize, "Teach Your Baby To Read".

The truth is, kids who memorize easily (or very early), often have a hard time reading more difficult text when they hit second or third grade. And forget about developing their thinking skills. Memorization does jack for those. But all those parents can now brag that their one year olds can read, which I guess is more imporant than age-appropriate or thinking.

Score another one for the assholes.

I Never Should Have Turned On the TV

Let's take a moment to think about the Fresh Beat Band, formerly known as The Jumparounds.

Done yet?

Unless you have very young children, you probably have no idea who I'm talking about. Lucky you.

The Fresh Beat Band has a show on Nickelodeon. I've never seen it, I've only been subjected to their music videos, which are played all the time on Noggin. They are annoyingly catchy, like Roxette. But for preschoolers.

Anyway, I looked them up this morning. Not because I want to buy an album - I swear - but because one of them looks vaguely familiar. It turns out that I don't know her, but in my explorations I did discover something odd.

Oh my God, so much explanation for something and it's not that big of a deal. Sorry.

There are a lot of parents out there with very passionate feelings about the Fresh Beat Band. And they all have way too much time on their hands. I mean, I know people argue on message boards instead of just writing their own blogs (though I don't know why since here I can just delete anyone who disagrees with me), but a children's band? Really? Shouldn't parents have better things to argue about, like the introduction of solid food?

What is wrong with people? No wonder W. was president for 8 years and no one understands the politics of the recession and health care reform. . .they're all busy fighting about whether the Fresh Beat Band members are "too pretty" (Is everyone on Noggin supposed to be as freakish looking the humans on Lazytown?).

And I'd like to know how the hell they have time for this. As a parent who spends a LOT of time on the computer (er, I work on here. It's not all Facebook.) and doesn't even have time to look at message boards, I wonder if all of these people have maids and nannies? I somehow doubt it.

Or maybe they care so much about what's on Noggin because all their children do is watch it?

PS To the person who said that they "Have" to lip sync because they're also dancing. . . go see a Broadway show. Or a high school show, for that matter. They can dance and sing at the same time. It's called talent.

PPS To the people complaining that the videos are just advertising. . . .the whole damn network is advertising. You think they're being noble by not having traditional commercials? No, they're selling your kids all the characters so that you wind up buying Dora dolls, Diego toothbrushes, Max and Ruby books. .. .uh, not that I've been that naive. No way.

The Retard List

I hate retarded people.

Not people with Down's Syndrome or other medically tested mental issues, I like them just fine. In fact, it could be said that I like them more than most so-called normal people, because most of them work hard to learn as much as they can.

The same cannot be said for the normal brained masses. Hence my use of the derogatory term, "retarded" (please don't come back and haunt me, Eunice Shriver. I didn't mean it that way, and you were scary enough in real life). Call them the intellectually lazy, the undereducated or the people who NEED A FUCKING CLUE. I don't care. I'll be calling them "retarded".

And who are these people?

People who don't understand that plural words don't need apostrophes.

People who say that Sarah Palin is not a quitter.

People who do not give their children rules and boundaries.

People who have appeared on Bridezillas.

People who give their kids names that are really nouns, like Lexus or Princess.

People named Jon Gosselin.

People who can't name their Senators but still bitch about politicians.

People who leave comments on here that say, "Nice post, thanks. Try my new hand sanitizer product." (Dude, at least read the so not nice post before your blatant advertising. Sheesh.)

People who can't pronounce the word "specific".

People who want to ban books.

People who find sex scarier than war.

People who cannot tell the difference between "your" and "you're".

People who think women shouldn't breastfeed in public.

People who fight against gay marriage.

People who wear Crocs to any restaurant nicer than McDonald's.

People who wear Uggs when it is not below freezing.

People who can't tell the difference between "are" and "our".

People who think Paula Abdul is not on drugs.

People who don't let their kids read Harry Potter.

People who write to eHow for advice like, "How many credits after a law degree does it take to get a Bachelor's?" and "How many credits do I need to graduate?"

Let me state that except for the eHow idiots, I have personally known all the people on the retard list. I may even be related to, or friends with, some of them. Hell, I may even love them. But that doesn't mean that I don't think they're retarded.

Who do you think is retarded?

The Idiot Theory of Relationships

I used to watch Jon and Kate Plus 8. The kids liked it - and I didn't have to worry about what they were learning from it, unlike their other favorite adult shows, Family Guy and Robot Chicken. Anyhow, if one more person blames Kate's bitchiness for the dissolution of that marriage I'm going to break something. You know what makes a woman bitchy? Being married to an idiot.

Now, let's take my own marriage. There are times, like when Hot Guy cannot find the children's bathing suits -located in their dresser drawers - that I get a bitchy attitude. But then there are times when I cannot make the iron work without his intervention. (Which is why I don't iron anymore. But I digress.) And then, well, Hot Guy doesn't, of course, because he's flawless and all, but OTHER husbands might get an attitude over my iron incompetence. Or about the time I backed into the garage door with our new car.

Anyway, my point is that in any given marriage at any given time, someone's is acting like the idiot. As long as idiot duty hovers around 50-50, things will be okay. But Jon Gosselin never quit being the idiot. He never seemed to know what was going on, never stood up for himself, never discussed things, never took responsibility. And always having to be the smart one will stress a person out. Which might turn them into a bitch. Hence, Kate Gosselin.

Maybe she is a bitch. . . but being married to an idiot and having EIGHT kids might make you bitchy too. Maybe she is obsessed with money.. .but she has EIGHT kids, she really doesn't have a choice but to be obsessed with money. Maybe she's changed her look since she first got on TV. . .but hello, this America where everyone wants to look 20 forever. Is she really any worse than anyone else? Really?

And finally, let's look at what's happened with them since the divorce. Jon is dating a college dropout who parties hard and badmouths the mother of his children while also staying at MICHAEL LOHAN'S house with a tabloid reporter who claims they are dating. Oh, and maybe he's going to design clothes for some designer most of us hadn't heard of until this plan. Can someone say idiot?

I could totally be a marriage counselor, don't you think?

Today I Like the F Word

People bug me. I know, I know. That's a shocker, huh? I know I always seem like such sweetness and light. But, believe it or not, I spend a lot of time marveling and how stupid and/or annoying people are. Once, to honor my friend Nita, a woman who really was sweetness and light and who died way too soon, I tried to have only nice thoughts about people. I tried to be positive and kind in thought and deed.

I lasted a day.

So now I try to avoid being a completely selfish cow, or losing it in front of my children. It's important to have attainable goals.

Anyway, I don't think it's totally selfish or harming my children when I say. . ..

Jon Gosselin, why don't you run off with Miss California so that we don't have to deal with any of you anymore?

Miss California: I don't really care about your feelings on gay marriage. As far as I'm concerned, those with a religious objection to gay marriage should make sure that their personal religious institutions do not permit such ceremonies and shut the hell up about what the government permits. If the objection is religious, keep it to your religion. Oh, and I think anyone who poses half naked and has fake boobs shouldn't be bragging about what a great Christian she is.

Jon and Kate: I'm not above exploiting my family either. I mean, I enjoy the free stuff I get for this blog. Sure, your exploitation has gotten you book deals and a new house and fabulous trips, but whatever. I'm not a jealous person. But of course, you couldn't just enjoy your money, could you? You had to start acting like real fucking celebrities. Which you are not, by the way. Hell, your reality show isn't even competitive! But now Kate's on the cover - the COVER - of People magazine, Jon's scamming ingenue types and the whole mess is being played out in the tabloids. To which I say, I have now lost all respect for you , your show and your parenting skills. Grow the hell up.

Retarded College Students: It's true, President Obama doesn't deserve an honorary degree from ASU, since I'm pretty sure their idea of accomplishment has to do with keg stands. I can't believe those whiners don't want to give the FUCKING PRESIDENT a damn degree.

Fox News: And speaking of college students, why the hell is Fox News acting like the protests at Notre Dame are a HUGE news story? I don't care if the anti-choicers are protesting the pro-choice President. I know plenty of college students protested when Bush spoke at commencements (not that Fox News reported this). I don't even mind it being a news item. But at the top of their home page? Is that really necessary?

Question: Am I the only person who barely remembers who her college commencement speaker was? And wouldn't have bothered protesting at the time (even though I protested other things), because it's just not that important? I mean, this generation is fucking whiny, right?

Passive-Aggressive Revenge

Dear Mom of That Toddler,

I've always felt kind of sorry for you, as you tried to leave the preschool as your son screamed from the room across the hall. Sometimes I would even see your older daughter tearing up outside of her classroom and I would think, Man, that must suck. I had sympathy. But yesterday your son ran over my daughter while they were playing outside. We were both watching, which is probably what made Ironflower burst into tears. I know your little boy didn't mean to hurt her. But. . .you should have made him apologize anyway. It's polite behavior. I don't care if he wouldn't have meant it, or even understood it. If he's old enough to go to school he's old enough to understand that he should be polite.

So, I will no longer give you sympathetic looks while your children freak out in the morning. Instead I will be thinking superior thoughts because my children generally only freak out at home.

Yours,
Ironflower's Mom

Dear Kelly Bensimon or whatever the hell your name is (from the Real Housewives of NYC),

As I watched your little brouhaha with Bethenny this week, I couldn't help but wonder if you were simply stupid or the biggest narcissist this side of . . .um. . .Madonna. If you wanted to prove how mature you were (and how immature Bethenny supposedly is), running around whining to everyone about Bethenny's comment was not the way to go. Also, you wouldn't have stated - in front of everyone at the meeting - that you wouldn't put your name on the invitation. You would have said it privately. If you had class.

From
Someone who has no doubt you popped that guy

Dear Mr. D-----, (co-owner of Ironflower's dance school)

Look, I don't really have a problem with how you exploit the parenting paranoia around here for financial gain. We're adults, after all. Most of us are well-educated. So it's our own fault if we allow ourselves to be suckered in to overpaying for things so that our daughters fit in at your school. But. To stride into the classroom on parent observation day and to tell me - in front of my daughter, her classmates and the other parents - that I'm the only one who hasn't bought tickets for the recital yet? That's not okay. Some might even say it's shitty.

I say it means that my daughter will be attending a different dance school next year.

Happily,
A soon-to-be former customer