Storytelling

Sorry I'm late, but I've been busy for the last two years. I've come out of retirement because of Harvey Weinstein and Lauren Duca. Lauren is the brave and astute Teen Vogue op-ed columnist who has taken on everyone from Tucker Carlson to Martin Shkreli internet trolls (she attracts a certain type of adversary.) Harvey is the former head of Miramax and the Weinstein Company who is also a serial sexual predator. Someone more clever than I am commented that, in fact, he is a sexual predator who, incidentally, made movies. In Lauren's most recent column, she stated that, "[t]he patriarchy is built on our silence, but there is an undeniable feminist power in our storytelling." So, here's my story.

I was seven when I started third grade. Because of elementary school consolidations, I was bused to a new school across town, with a few neighborhood friends and a lot of kids I didn't know. I was an anxious, sensitive kid who liked to curl up in our living room wing chair to read Nancy Drew mysteries and block out the world. The year was already shaping up to be a difficult one, for a shy child who disliked change and was anxious in new situations. To the outside world, however, I looked like a kid in an advertisement for milk or white bread or something quintessentially all-American and wholesome. And there was a boy in a different third grade class, who apparently had a thing for all-American, wholesome-looking little girls, because he (without ever speaking to me) developed an immediate obsession with me. This was not a harmless crush or a fleeting schoolyard romance that starts at the beginning of recess and ends before the bell rings. Throughout the year, it became clear that he was not going to get over his interest in me quickly or without collateral damage. 

Every day a classmate would approach me with the novel news, "Henry* likes you. He wants to talk to you." I would react in one of three ways, depending on how emotionally strong I was that day. I might cry or physically lash out at my classmate or I would just shrug and walk away. Once on the playground, Henry's friend gave me flowers that Henry had picked for me. "I don't want these," I said throwing them back at Henry's friend. "He just likes you. He just wants to talk to you." I didn't want to talk to Henry. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted to fly by anonymously and unmolested under the radar. Once my classroom teacher allowed Henry into our empty classroom and he left flowers and a note on my desk. I blushed furiously and rushed into the class to grab the offerings and throw them in the trash before anyone saw them. My teacher (a man) told me, "he just has a crush on you. It's a compliment. You're really hurting his feelings by not talking to him." When I still refused to talk to Henry, my teacher frowned in disappointment. 

As the year went on, my emotional strength waned. I wasn't sleeping and my anxiety ratcheted up to a painful degree. There was more kicking and yelling and less walking away. I pretended to be sick so I could stay home. I didn't pay attention in class. I was deeply depressed, but I didn't tell my parents what was happening because I was ashamed. I was embarrassed that I had done something inappropriate to attract all this attention. As it turned out, the school took care of the issue and someone - a counselor, my teacher, I don't know - called my parents to express their concerns that I was acting out. It was enough of a problem that I was dragged off to a therapist for a screening appointment to start group therapy, so I could commune with other "troubled" kids. 

Never once, during this ordeal, did anyone tell this boy to stand the fuck down. No one blamed him for harassing me or sending his friends to pester and cajole me into talking to him. No one told the other kids, who weren't even his friends, but enjoyed getting a reaction out of me when they mentioned Henry, to leave me alone. No one said to Henry, "it is wholly inappropriate to have strong romantic feelings at age eight. Leave this poor girl alone, get some therapy, and go play four-square." How did he interpret the adults' reactions to this situation? I have no idea, but I can imagine he assumed that it's okay to doggedly pursue girls who repeatedly rebuff your advances. If you've listened to Harvey Weinstein, and the recording of his advances on actress Ambra Battilana Gutierrez, you can see the result of that type of lesson. The lesson to me was clear: Just be nice. Just talk to him. Your reaction is the problem. Be more compliant. Be a better victim. 

This experience has impacted my entire life. Looking back at a vantage point of nearly 40 years, I can see a patterns in my behavior and reactions with roots in third grade at Irving Primary School, where I learned passivity and submission. There were times when I wasn't really interested in a guy, but I would still go out with him because I had been stripped of my own agency at such a young age. Then I'd get called a slut because I was dating around too much. When I was harassed at work or school, an all-too common occurrence, I never made a big deal about it. I'd been taught that I couldn't prevent unwanted comments and advances, so the best thing to do was to act like a good sport about the harassment and remove myself from the situations that felt most dangerous. I never reported anything or complained to people in authority. Why would I when my experience with authority figures was them siding with my tormenter?

So, that's my first story. There are others, but the origin story for all of my experiences is right there at Irving School with a little girl who learned early to pipe down and deal with abuse because no one likes a complainer. 

*Name changed because I don't like to think about his real name. Yes, still. 

RH - Visit to Atlanta's New Restoration Hardware Gallery

You know you're getting old when you can remember when IHOP was the International House of Pancakes, KFC was Kentucky Fried Chicken, and RH was Restoration Hardware. Of the three, the rebranding of Restoration Hardware probably makes the most sense. IHOP still sells pancakes and KFC is still all about chicken, but RH's hardware selection is dwarfed by the store's inventory of beige linen-covered furniture. As a part of RH's rebranding, the company is leaving the malls and opening stand-alone stores around the country. The stores are understated, quaint, and restrained in the tradition of Candy Spelling, Marie-Antoinette or Mariah Carey. That is to say, not understated, quaint, or restrained in the least.

Right before Christmas, I received an email from RH announcing the opening of its Atlanta store. I give you understated:

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 It's called "The Gallery at the Estate in Buckhead," which makes it sound like an English country home and not like a retail store located next to Cheesecake Factory (a closed Cheesecake Factory, no less).  Here is the description from my email:

RH had me at the "decomposed granite" (which I am not fancy enough to recognize as fancy landscaping materials, but instead makes me think of decomposed bodies). Naturally, when my friend Elizabeth suggested that we make a day of gawking at the grandeur of The Gallery at the Estate in Buckhead and then eating at The Shack of Shakes at Across the Street from The Gallery at the Estate in Buckhead, I was all in. 

Matilda, the Baby, and Me

For Christmas, the Baby received a Kindle from my in-laws. They were incredibly generous with the children's gifts, which was much appreciated since the K has us all on austerity measures because of his new job. The Baby is obsessed with the Kindle and takes it with her everywhere. The Kindle was supposed to be a reward for learning how to read, although it is debatable that she's reached this milestone. But, if you listened to her struggle through all 15 pages of Paw Patrol's Chase is on the Case in 20 minutes, while sounding out every other word, you'd agree that someone deserves a reward.

Now, does she use the Kindle to read books? Of course not! She plays some creepy princess beauty parlor game, the free version of which assigns you a wrung-out looking princess with ashy skin and bags under her eyes who you spray, scrub, smooth, and spritz until she looks good enough to go shopping at Walmart. You can't get rid of all your princess's flaws unless you buy (with actual, real money) additional products and treatments. To which I say, Nope! The princess should not worry about her appearance, because it's what's inside that counts. The Baby responds by glaring at me and then at the imperfect virtual princess, probably thinking that the princess's insides are not part of the game.

When she's not saying, "meh, I guess you'll do," to princesses on the Kindle, she's watching movies. Her favorite movie is Matilda. In case you're not familiar with Matilda, it is based on the Roald Dahl book and is about a brilliant little girl, Matilda Wormwood, who is misunderstood, unappreciated, and badly treated by her tacky, ignorant parents and older brother. Matilda's father enrolls her in a school run by the evil Miss Trunchbull, who belittles and bullies all the children. The one kind adult in the book is Matilda's teacher, Miss Honey. Eventually, Matilda realizes that she has telekinetic powers which she uses to vanquish Miss Trunchbull. When Matilda's parents flee to Guam to avoid being arrested for scamming customers at her father's used car dealership, Miss Honey adopts her and they live happily ever after. The movie stars Mara Wilson as the title character and Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman as her terrible parents.

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At first I was unbothered by the fact that the Baby clearly identified strongly with Matilda and her persecution by all the despicable adults in her life. But, as her obsession grew, I started feeling defensive. I mean, I can totally see the similarities between the K and Danny DeVito. Used car salesman, lawyer - potato, potato, I say. Other than a 15 inch height difference, they're practically the same person. But, I'm an understanding, patient, saintly parent, nothing like Matilda's tacky, superficial mother. *Ahem* But, I didn't think that the Baby's Matilda binging would cause any harm. Sure, she might attempt to move objects with her mind, and maybe Miss Trunchbull's appearance would give her nightmares:

And that's her good side.

but I never could have predicted the lasting impact that Matilda would have on her.

Analysis of State Google Searches

I am the hugest sucker for maps, the Internet, pseudo-social science, and pop-culture. So, when I saw this post that combined all my loves, it was like Christmas came early (Christmas 2015, because it was posted on December 29, 2014). The post is a state-by-state compilation of Google searches, listing the searches for which each state dominated. For example, Google-users in my home state of New Jersey searched these terms more than Google-users in any other state:

In July, Tracy Morgan was riding in a limousine on the New Jersey Turnpike when the limo was hit by a Wal-Mart truck, so it kind of makes sense that people in New Jersey would be disproportionately interested in that story. New Jersey does political scandals better than anyplace outside Chicago, as was proved in 2014 with Bridgegate. In August of 2014, a staff member and some political appointees of Governor Chris Christie conspired to close toll lanes on the George Washington Bridge and cause a massive traffic jam in Fort Lee, New Jersey as political retaliation against the Mayor of Fort Lee. It's somehow fitting that New Jersey, a state that most people know from driving through on the highway, dominates in Googling stories which involve highways.

Of all the celebrities and athletes that New Jerseyans are furiously Googling, only one makes immediate sense to me. During the 2014 FIFA World Cup, everyone was Googling Team USA's goalkeeper Tim Howard. But, New Jerseyans were Googling him extra hard because he's originally from New Jersey. And, let's face it, when your other big local news stories are fatal car wrecks and political operatives creating traffic chaos, who would blame New Jerseyans for cyber-stalking Tim Howard?

No Debate about Ebates

While our house was in quarantine due to the plagues, I had a bunch of blogs written in my head, but no time to write or share any of them because I was too busy doing laundry and disinfecting everything. This week (precious optimism), I hope to clear some of the backlog. My future blogging plans include writing about the pantry moths (per request by a kindred reader) and how I'm one step closer to being investigated by DFCS because the Baby gave herself a haircut and then tried to hide the evidence by dousing her head with a combination of blue tansy and hand lotion.

A mother's prayer: Please let there be a bald Barbie,
please let there be a bald Barbie, Amen.

When I was down with the flu I logged a lot of hours watching HGTV, including a marathon of Fixer Upper, in which a telegenic couple (Joanna and Chip Gaines) renovate and redesign homes for their clients. Since this is the plot of nearly every HGTV show, the twist is that Chip and Joanna live on a ranch in Waco, Texas with their four children. It's like The Pioneer Woman meets The Property Brothers if the brothers were married to each other or if the Pioneer Woman's husband worked with her making meatloaf, instead of being a Carmex-addicted cowboy. It was either the fever or HGTV's magically delivery, but for about a minute I considered ditching the ATL and moving to Waco. The kids could grow up on a ranch (ignore the fact that I would probably hate everything involved in ranching) and we could buy a pretty legit house in Waco for under $100K, which is like what people spend on their cars in Atlanta. Hopefully, I'll get the flu next year and can enjoy a season two marathon of Fixer Upper. By that time, I'll bet the Gaineses will be all Hollywood. Chip will have gotten caps to fix his wonky tooth and Joanna will be shopping for a house in Calabasas. I joke. For real, they seem like a lovely couple. Check out their shop for a $65 "Lost Sock" Hanger, or, alternatively, go buy a new pair of socks for $5.

Sayonara 2014

Happy Thanksgiving! And Happy Hanukah! And Joyous Kwanza! And Merry Christmas! And Happy New Year! Our family has been in illness purgatory since November 20th, so I have been unable to write anything. Well, not entirely true. I wrote a parody of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie called If You Give a Kindergardener a Craft Project that I didn't finish. You have that to look forward to sometime in the future. Whether I will actually finish it, or will just publish it unfinished like The Mystery of Edwin Drood remains to be seen. (Note to self: add opium den to If You Give a Kindergardener a Craft Project to make it edgier.)

According to Facebook, 2014 was a great year. Thanks for being part of it. You know what? Screw you, Facebook, 2014 kind of sucked. Okay, so it wasn't as bad as, say, 1934 (hard to top the Lindbergh baby kidnapping, the Great Depression, Hitler, and the dust bowl), but it wasn't all that great. On a global level, there was the Ebola crisis, Russia invaded Crimea, the Middle East continued to be a mess, Atlanta was paralyzed for days by a freak snowstorm, there were lots of plane crashes (and one plane that went missing and still hasn't been found), terrorist groups thought killing people was a good way to stop girls from going to school, we lost Robin Williams and Joan Rivers, and celebrities found out that their private cellphone pictures weren't so private (maybe that wasn't so bad; depends on your perspective). But Facebook has to be all Johnny Mercer and accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative. The Facebook year in review for Malaysia Air probably featured the new snack offerings for passengers in the coach cabin.

Flight attendant: "Don't mention that elephant sitting in 12D."

Halloween: Rubik's Cube Costume

Best Halloween Ever - 1980, Halloween birthday party. Pre-Pinterest, Mom put together a haunted house in our terrifying-under-normal-circumstances basement. Party guests were blindfolded and touched a dead man's "eyeballs" (peeled grapes), "intestines" (cold spaghetti noodles), and hand (surgical glove filled with wet sand). I dressed like a fortune teller in some hippie clothes borrowed from Mom's artist friend.

Worst Halloween Ever - 1993, Austin, Texas. I woke up to find out that River Phoenix had overdosed outside the Viper Room and (unrelated) that my Toyota Carolla had been towed to a dump/impound lot in southeast Austin.  I spent November 1st bumming a ride to the lot (guarded by an actual junkyard dog) and retrieving my car from a guy who, between his lack of teeth and heavy Texas drawl, was nearly impossible for me to understand. Okay, technically that was the worst November 1st ever, but since the precipitating events actually occurred on October 31st, I'm calling them for Halloween. If only the Internet had been around, I could have crowd-sourced my $75 towing fee like this girl did when she took an unexpectedly pricey Uber.

In other news, someone needs to come up with a funny Uber picture, because this is all the Internet's got:

2010's favorite meme subject, Ryan Gosling:

Oprah:

and, of course:

Let's get some new meme material. I'm old and I've grown bored with Hey, Girl and The Most Interesting Man. I will never say a bad word about Oprah because she could find and destroy me. Plus, this will never not make me laugh. That Oprah, rich as she is, would take a road trip is amazing (even if she made her BFF Gale King do all the driving). You'd never catch Streisand and Walters on a road trip; no makeup, dirty hair, eating Corn Nuts and drinking Mr. Pibb, nary a soft focus filter in sight.  

Halloween Teacher Breakfast

At our elementary school, we have a guy called "Bike Dude." Bike Dude is in charge of all of our "Walk and Roll" days, which is the one day each month when kids are encouraged to walk bike or scooter to school. Whenever the Bike Dude's kids graduate from elementary school, we get a new Bike Dude. It's like the new Darren on Bewitched:

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Everyone just pretends that this is the only Bike Dude that ever was and the kids don't seem to notice (a sign that all grownups look the same to kids). I've been a parent at the elementary school for so long, I'm on Bike Dude number three. Since the Baby is in kindergarten, I'll probably be looking at Bike Dude five or six before I'm done. Instead of saying, "I've been a parent at this school for nine years (!)," I can just say I've been there for "five Bike Dudes."

So, last year I pledged to volunteer less this year, and I almost succeeded. Yes, almost. After going an oddly long time without any contact from the room parents in the Boy's class, I asked around and learned that due to various issues, all the room parent volunteers, save one, had quit. Quit?! I am kicking myself for never realizing that this was an option! Here I was thinking that being a room parent was like indentured servitude, and that, once committed, I was obliged to serve for a year until I secured my release.

Soccer Match Predictor

I'm sure that some of you, like me, will be attending your kids' soccer matches this weekend. I've discovered that sometimes all you have to do is observe the opposing team and their fans to figure out how a game is going to turn out. I've prepared a test that predicts for you whether it's going to be consolation Powerades at QT or celebratory ice creams at DQ. Answer the questions and check your score at the end of the quiz.

1.  Goalkeeper

The opposing goalkeeper is warming up before the game. +1
The opposing goalkeeper is warming up before the game and has tattoos and visible facial hair (male or female). +2
The opposing goalkeeper is warming up before the game and looks like this:

+10

Least Sexy Inspirations for Sexy Halloween Costumes

Halloween is just around the corner and I am SOOO excited to see all the people dressed like Ebola doctors in their Tyvex suits:

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Of course there will be the inevitable sexy Ebola doctor outfits:

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The post-exposure spray down is what makes it sexy. It's just like the water scene in Flashdance:

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Update: Atlanta Botanical Garden is Getting a New Restaurant!

Well, apparently I am more influential than I thought because right after I published my scathing review of my e-coli salad from the Atlanta Botanical Garden, I read in the AJC (well, Mom read it and dropped off the article) that the ABG is expanding and the plans include "a two-story restaurant, with a dramatic view of Midtown Atlanta" and salads that aren't black and slimy. It's true! The restaurant "will use many locally sourced foods, including produce from the botanical garden's own edible plants exhibit." Yes! There are also plans to redesign the children's garden, which was last renovated in 2002.

The ABG has undertaken a new capital campaign to raise the $40 million needed for these improvements and is already more than half way to the goal. Anne Cox Chambers, a trustee and longtime supporter of the ABG has pledged $9.6 million. Can you imagine having that much money? Good for her for spending it on something that the community will enjoy instead of a wedding or 225 Hermes Birkins painted with naked demons:

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Staycation Day 5: Sky Zone

TGIAO! That's Thank Goodness It's Almost Over, with the "It's" referring to both our staycation week and my blogging about our comings and goings. Yes, those are two things, so "It's" should probably be "They're," but TGTAO is a bad acronym because it could also stand for "Twerking Grandma Throws Ass Out."  In case you hadn't figured, I am really trying to get back into blogging and recapping our week was an easy-ish way to get back into writing daily. Hopefully, once I'm into a routine I'll get back into writing more high-concept posts about dog people and imaginary telephone calls with Dora the Explorer.

To briefly recap earlier events in our staycation; on Monday night I discovered that the two Sky Zone trampoline parks closest to us did not open until 4pm. This was a major disappointment for the kids, particularly the Boy who didn't want to do anything other than visit Sky Zone and play Minecraft for his week off. Turned out that there is a third Sky Zone location in Kennesaw, which is even farther than the other two locations. But, the Kennesaw location was opening at noon because some schools in the area had the same random break week that we did. Hallelujah! I bought hour long jump passes for noon, because Google Maps was predicting a trip time of an hour and we had to book it back to our natural surroundings by 2 pm for the Boy's 9-year-old well appointment at the doctor. Delicious box lunches would be served in the car. With our 60-minutes of physical activity and flu vaccinations, staycation day 5 was unofficially sponsored by the CDC.

Getting a jump on National Handwashing Week and realizing that
I've been washing my hands wrong for my entire life. And that was
the one thing I thought I was doing right!

Staycation Day 4: Recreational Slumming

We changed things up on Staycation Day 4 because I had an appointment in the morning, so Grammy generously offered to watch the kids. The kids are a little more rambunctious than Sister and I were as children, so I'm fairly sure that the second they leave Grammy's house she pours herself a glass of wine and takes a nap. Grammy already has her hands full trying to train Hello Puppy, who is just about the cutest puppy ever. But as anyone who has tried to train a dog will tell you, cuteness is in the eye of the person not getting woken up at 4 am to watch the puppy sniff the grass for ten minutes and not pee. I hoped that the kids would help out with Hello Puppy, who they all seem to like better than the Dog. You might be wondering how Hello Puppy and Dog get along. Well, the first time they met, the Dog was thrilled to find something over which she could exert dominance (her usual M.O. is to try to take down the Baby). They chased each other and tumbled around on the floor and then the Girl said, "Look, [the Dog] is trying to play wheelbarrow with the puppy!" Yesssss, that's exactly what's happening.

Just as a palate cleanser, here is a dog pushing a wheelbarrow:

Just so you don't get the idea that I was doing something fun for myself, I had a physical therapy appointment for my back. Going to PT has a certain Hotel California-like quality to it. Time loses all significance and when I leave, sometimes after two hours, I can't for the life of me explain what took so long. I also feel a little dishrag-tired, especially if I've had dry needling. After PT, all I want to do is go home and relax. When the kids are in school, at least that's an option (even if I rarely just sit around and relax). Unfortunately, with the kids on break, what I had to do was entertain three children who were tired of spending time together.

Staycation Day 3: Atlanta Botanical Garden

Part of the reason that we didn't travel for fall break is because we had to do some work around the house. I feel like home improvements fall into two categories: improvements of omission and improvements of commission. In law school you learn that you can be charged with a crime of commission, which is an overt act like stealing a loaf of bread. But, you can also be charged with a crime of omission, which would be failing to do something that you're supposed to do like not paying income taxes (take note, Jersey Shore cast members). So, if you're thinking about home improvements, there are things that are genuine improvements to your property, like adding an outdoor fireplace, or remodeling a bathroom. These are improvements of commission. Then there are improvements that are just expected, but if you don't have them...people notice.   For example, if you buy a new hot water heater, no one is going to compliment you on the temperature of your water.  ("It is truly a pleasure to wash my hands at your house because the water is just so temperate," said no one ever.) However, if you don't have hot water, people will be like, "what? You have no hot water? What are you, a polar bear?" These are improvements of omission, only noted if you omit doing them.

In any case, our home improvement was of the omission variety. So, we had to spend a chunk of change on something that no one will ever notice AND no fall break trip.

This is my reaction to a cold shower, even though it is
supposedly good for you. 

Stacation Day 2: Panic and Clue Town

Not to toot my own horn, but I thought that Stacation Day 1 went pretty smoothly. The complaints were minimal, we all enjoyed the Aquarium and I ended the day thinking I was pretty much the best mother on the earth. Even better, the kids were super excited about our plan to go to Sky Zone on Tuesday and I was excited about visiting Ballard Designs outlet which is conveniently located next to the Roswell Sky Zone. It was a winning plan for all, which is why I was totally bummed when I looked at the Sky Zone Roswell website and saw that it opened at 4 pm. What? I get that when kids are in school, the pool of likely candidates to play trampoline basketball goes way down, but certainly someone can come up with some kind of trampoline exercise for adults. A quick Google search and...oh, of course:

I chose to picture the German version because I think it's kind of funny that it says, "Die Personal Trainerin," which is probably how many people feel after doing trampoline exercise with Gwyneth Paltrow's personal trainer. I'm a little worried, though, that Tracy's shoulders are all jacked-up from getting injured on the trampoline. Her posture looks a little weird, no? But, the point is that Sky Zone has an untapped revenue stream and my Day 2 stacation plans were ruined.

There is another (inferior) Sky Zone location in Suwanee (not to be confused with Sewanee, Tennessee home of The University of the South, which no southerner ever calls "The University of South," but instead refer to as "Sewanee."), but even that location wasn't open until 4pm. I went to bed feeling defeated and panicked that I didn't have a plan for the following day and I was going to have to break it to three kids who wore their special Sky Zone jumping socks to bed that we couldn't go.

Well, the news delivery went about as well as I had imagined: yelling, rolling on the floor, and cries of, "it's no fair!" After Sky Zone was off the table, no one wanted to do anything, but I was determined to find something for us to do...whether they liked it or not. Bwahahaha!

Stacation Day 1: Georgia Aquarium

Our school system is on a "balanced" schedule, so last week was fall "break." I'm using quotation marks with both because, last week was not much of a break for me and I was left feeling slightly unbalanced. Unfortunately, we were not able to travel for fall break, so I had to travel vicariously through the pictures my friends posted on Instagram and Facebook. I'll admit to having more than a twinge of jealousy when I scrolled through pictures of various beaches, Alaska, Australia, and France.

I knew that if I didn't plan something for us to do each day, we'd be in danger of spending the whole week holed up at home with the Boy playing Minecraft, the Baby watching "Bubble Guppies," and the Girl wanting me to work on craft projects with her. Would this have been okay? Oh, probably, but I didn't want them to go back to school and hear all about their friends' fun vacations and have nothing to offer other than, "I made a diamond pick axe in survival mode." We didn't really leave metro Atlanta for any of the activities. Of course, thanks to suburban sprawl, our trip to Kennesaw, Georgia should qualify as a day-trip. But sadly, Kennesaw, Georgia hardly compares with the Palace of Versailles.

Kennesaw:

Let them have guns.

Palace of Versailles:

Let them eat cake.

Kennesaw meets Palace of Versailles:

Because what six year old girl doesn't want a birthday
cake decorated with weapons?

I hope that this is for a paintball party.

Hello Kitty is not a Cat and Other Deceptions

Years from now, I'll tell my children that I remember exactly where I was when I heard the startling news that Hello Kitty is not really a cat. Of course, I'll say I was reading on a G-rated website and not Dlisted, which is my new favorite thing in the entire world, other than Mom's new dog, Hello Puppy.

This picture is your reward for reading this long, boring post.

But, now that I know that Hello Kitty is not a cat, I'm wondering about Hello Puppy. Maybe he's not a dog at all, but really a perpetual 3rd grader named Puppy White who lives in a London suburb with his parents, George and Mary. I'm sure that Mom is just imagining him peeing on the rugs and chewing the furniture legs because he's really in London asking his mate for proper DI-rections to the loo and noshing on some black pudding.

In all seriousness, there is a brilliant lesson in the Hello Kitty story, which is that things are not always as they seem. For example, when I wear yoga pants and flip-flops you might think that I'd just practiced Bikram yoga and executed a flawless crow pose. The truth is likely that I've just been to physical therapy where I had needles inserted into my back. (Also, I could never do Bikram yoga after reading this article. This wasn't a big sacrifice as I never considered doing Bikram yoga prior to reading the article. Just like it's easy for me to not go to Hobby Lobby because Michaels is closer and I already know where to find everything.)

Father's Day - The YETI Cooler

Okay, so it's a little late to be posting about Father's Day, but I don't seem to be able to do anything on time these days. I think I need this:

You know if you search "Sorry I'm Late shirts" in Google images you get images of people who have taken the time to style their Sorry I'm Late shirts, i.e.:

I am late because I left my shoes in a wooded area and couldn't find them.

When you take the time to style your Sorry I'm Late shirt and make an entire Sorry I'm Late ensemble (and then take a picture), it probably explains why you are late.

The creator of this ensemble had another issue:

in that she had to time travel back to 1995 to create her outfit. I mean, I can't tell the scale of that backpack, but I'm pretty sure it's one of those tiny backpacks that was all the rage in the mid 90's. Felicity and Baby Spice wore them and they were perfectly balanced by four inch-high platform sandals. I recently saw a picture of Miley Cyrus toting a tiny backpack, which means she's ruined both teddy bears and tiny backpacks forever. 

Obviously, you all can tell that I'm late with my Father's Day post because I got "busy" Googling, "Sorry I'm Late shirts" and looking up pictures of 1990's celebrities wearing tiny backpacks. 

Throw the Tiger in the Whirlpool: Why I love our á la Carte Chore Board

I have not been very good about giving the children an allowance for doing daily chores. I started a few times but got tired of nagging them to do the chores, and instead of leaving their chores un-done so they could bear witness to their slovenly ways, I'd succumb to my mild OCD and make their beds and clean up their messes. Sometimes, I would pay them even though they hadn't actually completed the chores which taught them nothing about getting paid for working, but instead primed them for a future as county road crew workers. We've always ended up back in the same place, scrapping the allowance and me doing everything.

Recently, I took a different approach, one that gave the kids the option of earning money on a per-chore basis. I think that when I've finished telling you all about the how this system has worked, you'll agree that it's vastly superior than just giving a straight allowance. I made a chore board where I post different chores that I would like the children to perform and assign each chore a monetary value. So, making your bed gets you .25 and taking out the garbage is .75. Value is determined by frequency, grossness, and duration of a given chore. This valuation system is no different from society where long-haul commercial fisherman earn more than Justin Beiber. Oh wait, no. Clearly my value system needs some tweaking to put it in line with American society. Five cents for scrubbing the toilet and ten million dollars for making up racist song lyrics. Better now. Anyway, here are some (as yet unperformed) tasks on our chore board:

This way the kids are earning money only for the work they've actually done (novel concept, I know). I wish I'd thought of this years ago because I would be a freaking millionaire.

Happy Campers

Remember back when camps were basically all the same? The camp had some name that evoked nature; Camp Porcupine Mountain, Camp Lake Vulture, Camp Meadow Chrysanthemum;  or it had some faux-Indian name that the owners had to change in the 1990's (yes, summer camps are more progressive than the NFL). And the activities at these camps were all basically the same: swimming, weaving lanyards, singing campfire songs, eating s'mores, drinking bug juice, and trying to eavesdrop on the counselor's conversations.

Remember this classic summer camp movie?
"Little Darlings," starred Tatum O'Neal (left, front row) and Kristy McNichol
(right, front row). Believe it or not, that's Cynthia Nixon (Miranda from SITC)
next to Kristy. Another bit of trivia: Matt Dillon played Kristy's love interest.
I was waaaay too young to understand the plot when I watched
 this on video at a friend's birthday party. 

Now there are all of these camps where children can explore their most arcane and specialized interests. When I was making our camp plans for the summer, I was floored by all the options. Here are a few camps that didn't quite make the cut for us:

1. Junior Exterminator Camp - Junior Exterminator camp provide the opportunity for kids to learn about animals in their natural habitats! Enjoy up-close animal encounters with roof rats, squirrels, possums, mice, and raccoons! New for 2014: Campers will love exploring our simulated attics, basements, chimneys, and crawl spaces and hunting for their favorite rodents. Camp mascot Billy the Bat will be giving out our fun, "I literally killed at Junior Exterminator Camp" shirts to the campers \with the most captures. Please make sure your camper is up to date on all of his or her vaccinations and sign up for Junior Exterminator Camp today!