Can You Spell That, Please?

Before I get into the heart of today’s rant, I’d like to share a video with you.  Most of you have probably seen this, but it’s still funny every time.  Warning, there is some language in this video.

This brings me around to my thoughts for the day.  Why do some parents feel it is hip to name their children bizarre names?  Never mind that the kids themselves won’t know how to spell them and their teachers can’t pronounce them, the worst part is that they will never find a Coke can with their chosen names on it.

My friend worked as a Paramedic for many years.  She told me the story of a mom who had called 911 for her son, who had a minor cold.  My friend was filling out the paperwork, and asked the child’s name.  When the mother told her the name, she hesitated and asked, very politely, “I’m sorry, could you spell that for me?”  The mother got very flustered and said, “I don’t know how to spell it.  It just sounded good.”  My friend took her best stab at spelling the complicated name, and life went on.  I couldn’t help but wonder what the child’s name was on his birth certificate, and why the mother would choose a name that she didn’t even know how to spell herself.

Celebrities try to outdo themselves with bizarre names for their children every day.  Directions, vehicle models, street names, trees, and celestial bodies are frequently used sources for the monikers they eventually bestow upon their offspring.  At what point does being hip and unique come full circle to the point where it is considered hip and unique to name your child “Mark” or “Sally” again?  Will celebrities run out of hip name sources and start using medications, like “Tylenol” or “Motrin” as baby names?  “And now, hitting the stage, it’s Nyquil and the Insomniacs!”

Names roll in and out of fashion like ever-changing tides.  Some names are forever linked with decades, like “Brittany” or “Madison,” while other stand the test of time, like “David” and “Matthew.”  Other names should just be avoided out of common decency, like the New Jersey parents who named their child Adolf Hitler.

What I find even funnier is the put-upon parent who names their child an old-fashioned name or something that isn’t on the most popular list but still isn’t all that crazy … yet they think they’re being unique. Which isn’t a bad thing, except the “I’m-way-hipper-than-you” parent complains to everyone who will listen how difficult their lives are because no-one pronounces Blaise correctly and little Augustine’s teacher has no idea how to spell his name.

Parents are free to do whatever they want, but if you choose a strange name for your child, you shouldn’t be angry when it is mispronounced or misspelled.  You knew there were risks when you named your child something like “Shabquellitaze” or “Nbtyxkz.”  Whether you were being cute or think you’re being edgy, you have doomed your child to life as a set of initials in class – and as that poor kid who constantly repeats and then spells their name a gazillion times a day. More important, you’ve kept them from the joy of finding their name on a novelty souvenir plastic license plate.

Color Me Confused

Earthquakes abound.  Hurricanes are wreaking havoc and leaving trails of death and destruction in their wakes.  There is rioting and looting in major cities, insane dictators launching nuclear missiles, flooding and famine throughout the world and people who still like the Steelers.

But nothing going on in this world today compares to the awesome destructiveness of Crayola’s newest color unveiling, Bluetiful.

Yes, this may be the most important subject and timely topic we can be divided over, hands down.

You see, Crayola has upset the space-time continuum by daring to name its own product.  After a naming contest for its newest color creation in the blue family, the winning name was Bluetiful.

Immediate outrage ensued and predictably, a boycott was threatened.  How dare this company name its own product?  Don’t they know that millions of children rely on crayons to learn colors and spelling and vocabulary?  It is no longer the responsibility of parents, or even teachers, to teach children that any shade of red is still red or that any nuance of blue is, in fact, still blue. And that they’re spelled r-e-d and b-l-u-e. Darn you, Crayola!  How dare you, the most popular art supplier of colored drawing implements in the world, neglect your duty of teaching our children?

What’s next?  Now that this insult is in place, will I be expected to teach my own children other things as well? Perish the thought!  Kindergarten teachers everywhere are in a tailspin.  They cannot be relied upon to teach our children colors!  Only you, Crayola, could accomplish this feat.  And you, Crayola, YOU just let us down!

I’m not sure I can continue to use my adult coloring books any longer.  Yes, yes, I still play with crayons. But more important, the confusion of naming crayons something other than their original color is just too great for me to handle.  What if I picked up the wrong blue and used it? Gasp! I mean, it could ruin a perfectly good drawing of Starry Night or Rainbow Dash.  I simply cannot be held responsible for my refrigerator art if Crayola continues to confound me this way.

The majority of people who chose the clever name of Bluetiful in the contest obviously have no respect for the role that Crayola plays in tutoring our children.  I suppose next I will have to teach my child manners?  Crayola should do that as well; Please Pink and Thank You Turquoise, for instance.  Yes Sir Yellow?  The possibilities are endless.  Crayola is falling behind the times here, and we are forced to teach our own children.  It is an outrage, an outrage I tell you.

Apparently, Crayola is only confusing us on a limited basis, since they discontinued my favorite color, Dandelion to make room for the mixed-up-not-a-real-word Bluetiful.  If you are going to baffle our children, Crayola should keep Dandelion and just add Bluetiful as an extra.  I was just getting used to Dandelion, and had finally begun to accept that Dandelion was a shade of yellow after twenty-some years of confusion.  And now, this?

A purple pox on you, Crayola, you destroyer of Denim Blue dreams!  Our Eggplant egos have been dashed to the ground, and trampled on by your Salmon sandals.  I can only hope that, together globally, we will overcome this Indigo insult.

Until we do, my friends, stay strong and Bluetiful.

 

click pic to read about all the hubbub

What’s for Dinner?

I came across a parenting article recently and even though my kids are older, with diapers and daily tantrums over “tie” vs “velcro” shoes a thing of the past, I was curious, so I took the time to check it out.  Actually, I found this particular piece of child-rearing commentary on the same mom advice blog that I’ve brought up before, the one that decries “mommy shaming” yet mom-shames religiously.

This new wave of helpful hints was about dealing with “picky eaters.” The writer’s solution? Let the kids choose. Sounds simple, right? Turns out it is simple. Basically, as the mother (or I guess, father…this article happened to be directed at moms), you fix whatever dinner you want and if the kids don’t want to eat it, fine. In fact, you start out the meal with the announcement that “eat or it not, it’s up to you.” Having no punishment for abstaining from any of the foods presented is the key here. Further, rejecting the main meal does not preclude being given dessert. Dessert is a given.

Now, this is all fine and good for kids who might eat “something.” But what about kids who won’t eat anything? My daughter is just that kind of kid. Not so much now that she’s older, but when she was little? Oh boy.  She took picky eating to a whole new level. There could have been a buffet in front of her – a veritable feast – and she would decide for whatever reason that she liked none of it and simply would not eat. No, that tastes funny. That’s brown or green or yellow. That’s slimy. It’s got onions in it. I don’t like gravy. Or my all-time favorite, a simplistic “Ewww.”

Or what about the kid who will eat dessert (since that can’t be withheld) and nothing else?  I can easily envision my kids, when they were young, having dessert every night for dinner – if it were available.  Hell, I would too if I had those rules. Come on! Who wouldn’t?

Force feeding kids by making them sit at the table until they eat something doesn’t work either. Been there, done that. On both sides of the table. I remember sitting at the table in an ever-escalating series of “battles of wills” with my mother over some vegetable or another. I recall a particularly long evening spent at the table brought about by Brussels sprouts. It wasn’t fun for me and I can’t imagine that it was a great time for my mother either. I’m sure she had better things to do than deal with my mulish dinner habits. Sorry, Mom. My kids inherited that same stubborn behavior willpower.

My son took it even further. I mean, of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? The curse my mother flung at me all those years ago worked. Like gangbusters it worked. I now have kids who act just like I acted. In case I haven’t said it lately, thanks for that, Mom. When my handsome, intelligent, ever-so-charming son was about five or so, he threatened that if I insisted he “eat those stupid peas already,” he would throw them back up. And. He. Did. Ahhh…memories. Hey, he gave fair warning. He still won’t eat peas and the boy is 24 years old.

I suppose we could just live by the old adage “oh, they’ll eat when they’re hungry” as they forego their mid-day and evening meals night after night. Indeed, that’s what this suggested routine seems to be, just done in a nicer way. I imagine the success of such a campaign all depends on the temperament of the child and just how hungry they’re willing to be to prove a point.

The thing is, you can’t force kids to eat. You can’t force them to sleep. It’s the two things really, besides bathroom habits, that they ultimately do have control over. Unless you’re a monster who literally force feeds your kids as they’re tied to a chair. But if you’re a normal human being, you can lead them to the table, but you can’t make them eat.  Threaten, cajole, humor, and beg…but you can’t really MAKE them. They choose to give in, or not. Same with sleep – you can put them to bed and order them to sleep, but only they can really make that happen.

I guess I was never overly finicky about what we had for dinner…I didn’t care if my kids ate hotdogs with mac and cheese while I ate the eggplant parm that I liked. I didn’t mind if we had home-made chicken nuggets (à la Chick-Fi-La, but my own recipe, which is healthier) three times a week. That tuna casserole they both love? Sure! Why not?

It’s different now that I’ve cut out the majority of meat for myself, but hey, the kids are old enough to feed themselves now, so I don’t really care…they’re on their own. But when they were little, I decided after a while that dinner time was simply not a battle I particularly felt like fighting. Of course, this decision might’ve taken place right after the “peas fiasco of 1997,” but it’s a solid decision nonetheless.

I also knew my kids were stubborn assholes strong-willed individuals who would go without food long enough that eventually social services would be called. So, dinner often had a kid-friendly menu in our house. Why deliberately put food on the table that you know someone won’t eat while hoping for the best? I didn’t really see this as catering to them – and still don’t – I view it as a way of enjoying the time we had together at the table. Instead of arguing or long, sullen silences, we had rousing talks about everything under the sun, jokes, and laughter, and joy. And everyone ate. I still make their favorites when we’re all together for a visit. But then, food has always been a big deal in our house, a way of bringing the family together. Meals are meant to be enjoyed, not fought over.

I figured – and rightly so – that they would branch out from hot dogs, mac and cheese, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and French fries prior to getting to college. Lo and behold, that’s exactly what happened. With the exception of very specific things like peas (go figure), mushrooms, onions, and sushi (can’t blame them there), they eat quite a variety of foodstuffs these days. Truth be told, they’re a lot more adventurous in trying new foods than me, I must say.

I suppose the idea presented in the article would work for some families…I mean hey, it worked for the writer, right? But if it were MY house? I would have had two children with amazingly high blood sugar from all the dessert they were stuffing themselves with and tons of uneaten leftovers cluttering up the fridge.

Karma delayed is still a…well, you know

So. My computer died. Some awesome tech gods are valiantly attempting to piece together the burned-out technology that was my hard drive and salvage the data I so blithely left lying about without a backup. Meanwhile, using my handy-dandy phone, I will leave you all with the below thoughts.

A neighbor child of about 5 years of age, for some reason only known to the Gods that be, has come into possession of a shrill, ear-piercing, toy of destruction known as a whistle. Not just any whistle mind you, but rather a whistle that seeks out an adult person’s last nerve and gleefully wreaks havoc on the few tattered shreds of sanity that remain intact, albeit not intact for long. I suppose this is karma. A bit delayed, but karma nonetheless.

You see, back in the day, oh many, many years ago, I gave my then very young nephew a set of drums for Christmas. When my kids came along, I was thankfully never repaid in kind by my brother. I’m not sure why. Perhaps he forgot,  perhaps, being an experienced parent by that time, he had sympathy, or perhaps the drums never made it to their house after all and thus my attempts at being the mean sister “cool aunt” were all for naught. Whatever the case may be, I don’t recall my son or daughter ever receiving similar noise-makers to test my patience.

Now, after my kids are grown and the only noise coming from our house is the unpredictable, staccato bark of an anxiety-ridden dog protecting our hearth and home from that rogue leaf blowing across the yard, this child…this neighbor child…comes home with an amazing, mind-shatteringly loud whistle. Just in time for nice weather and open windows. It’s a curse. I just know it. Right when I assumed I was home-free, my brother’s been dabbling in voodoo, black magic, or the like.

And all I can say is: well played brother, well played indeed.

Movie Theater Playgrounds?

A few weeks ago, we discussed having playrooms in libraries where kids could do anything except what they were supposed to do in a library setting.

In the latest installment of stupidity, indoor playgrounds are now being introduced in movie theaters.

Yes.

Read it again, slowly.  In. Movie. Theaters.

Now apparently, the gym is not to be used while the movie is playing. Small comfort if you ask me. Reportedly, for an extra three bucks a ticket (no choice here folks, if you use the theater, you pay the playground toll), the kids will be allowed fifteen minutes before the movie starts, fifteen minutes after the movie ends, and a fifteen-minute intermission during the movie to play.  My thought is: if we need to have a playground in a movie theater to start with, how good will these parents be at keeping the kids off the equipment while the movie is playing? And how much whining will there will be heard throughout the theater…”But moooomm, I WANT to go in the play area!” Oh yeah. Fun times.

I remember a time when libraries were to be used for, oh, golly, I don’t know…maybe reading?  And movie theaters were to be used for…wait for it…watching movies?

I get it; the idea is aimed towards kids and to be used during kids’ movies.  You won’t stick your kid on a jungle gym and watch Nightmare on Elm Street.  If you are taking your child to the movies, though, isn’t it expected that seeing the movie itself is the draw?  If your child can’t sit still through a one and a half hour movie geared towards his age group, maybe he doesn’t belong at a movie theater yet.

If I sound cynical and jaded, it’s because I watch over and over again as parents give up their parenting roles in exchange for an easy way out.  Or, they simply don’t have the foresight to recognize that an ill-behaved young child does not belong in a five-star restaurant.  The bottom line is that certain parents refuse to accept that some kids just aren’t ready for the responsibility of sitting silently through certain activities.  These same parents will be on blogs crying because someone looked sternly at them for allowing their children to hang upside down from the ceiling fan at a funeral.

I, for one, would not go to any theater with a jungle gym in it, even if my kids were still young.  I know this whole playground premise is oriented to kids and families and it’s not as if they’re going to be showing Deadpool or Logan or Chainsaw Massacre, but as a connoisseur of kids’ movies myself, some parents who go to see kids’ movies want to be able to oh, I don’t know, SEE the movie. Of course, I’ve always just assumed that was the entire point – to watch the movie.

As well intentioned as this playground idea seems, it won’t be long before some parent will most likely decide it’s ok for Junior to go down and play while the movie is running if for no other reason than to shut him up. Although we know how that works – it might stop the kid yelling into his mother or father’s ear but it will release him on to the rest of the movie goers.

These theaters will charge $14 a ticket to start with; now I will have children screaming throughout my overpriced movie.  I repeat, you are counting on the success of this venture by balancing it on parents who need these features to begin with.  If a parent can’t successfully take their child to a movie without other distractions, how will they stop them from playing while the movie is running?   It will start with one bored child who is allowed to go “play quietly” and end up as some kind of twisted Lord of the Flies story.

Co-incidentally, these same theaters serve beer and mixed drinks.  Which is a good thing. Because then, I can either drink my way to tolerating children throwing balls at the movie screen, or I can drink until I go join them myself.

In related news, I heard that Chuck E Cheese has announced it will be building libraries and movie theaters in all its locations.   Chuck could not be reached for further comment.

A Shameful Cycle of Shaming

These days, it seems like every mom with a computer becomes an immediate motherhood professional. From website to blog and back again, these moms pour out their wisdom and advice.  I find myself marveling at the wealth of information I can find in any one of these sites, and also the ridiculous amount of judgmental bull crap that I read in nearly every one.

On one site, a mother proudly proclaims she let little Junior cry himself to sleep last night; best decision she ever made and just who the hell in their right mind co-sleeps anyway?  In another article on the same site, a mom is complaining praising herself because she slept in a rocking chair all night, soothing her baby to sleep and why on earth would anyone in their right mind let their baby cry it out?  Both are shaming the other in their storytelling, while complaining that they are being shamed for their own choices.

It’s not so much the contradictory advice I constantly see (sometimes in the same damn blog) that bothers me.  It’s the sheer hypocrisy I see from some of these New Age Mothers. This “newer, softer” generation of parents are outraged at anyone who dares to judge them for their parenting techniques. They shame the “mommy shamers,” brutally. They encourage the battle cry “mothers unite!” and push hard against those who have the audacity to judge other parents.  This in and of itself is a very good thing.  Mothers SHOULD stick together.

I guess these writer-moms must be exempt from their own outrage, though, not to mention their own rules, because every other article I’ve seen is a harsh judgement against parents who think differently from whatever parenting protocol they happen to be writing about. When they run out of “their words,” they resort to memes to make their point.

When I’m navigating my way through these “Mom” groups and see memes outright mocking so-called “helicopter” parents or zingy little one-liners criticizing those with only one child (because apparently, they’re not actual “parents”), I think to myself:  For a group who berates mommy-shamers, you guys sure do a lot of shaming of your own. Why do you care how others parent their children so long as they’re loving and caring, and not abusive?  Isn’t mocking someone else’s parenting technique the very thing you get angry about, or is that just when others do it to you? Alas, I get no answers to my questions since the inquiring voice is only in my head.

Now as I’m sure you know, I’ve never been one to say I won’t judge. Hell, I do it all the time. Oh, I won’t judge you on your looks, your education, your job, your religion or anything of that nature, and I won’t judge someone doing the best they can with what they have.  BUT, I will judge you on being a hypocrite. I may judge you for white shoes after Labor Day, not stopping at the crosswalk, or for using the Express Lane with eighteen items, and I will definitely judge you for being a jerk, a bully, or an asshole.  It’s part of my charm. But some of these writer Moms are caught in an endless shaming cycle. While they decry those who judge them on their parenting choices, in the next breath they shame others for choosing a different path for their kids. You can’t have it both ways.

Bottom line, despite the competitive nature of the world, raising kids should not be a game or a contest, and if your child is growing up healthy, polite, and able to function respectfully in society, then congratulations.  You’re doing it right.  It’s a wise mother that knows there is no “right” or “wrong” answer to raising kids; it’s mostly just a hell of a lot of trial and error and making shit up as you go along.

Choose your parenting path, and travel it proudly.  You do need to take ownership, though, and realize that if you choose to judge – those you are judging will be judging you right back.

Library Etiquette for Kids

I breathed in deep, watching the antics of the children surrounding me.  They built their towering Lego structures then knocked them down in a furiously chaotic jumble – pieces flying, fought emphatically with plastic dinosaurs, screamed with delight at cartoons blaring from the TV, and raced Matchbox Cars around the racetrack themed rug.  Their incessant, ear-splitting squeals and generally deafening racket filled my ears at this amazing birthday party.  One child in particular screamed for two and a half hours straight; I didn’t know this was physically possible. It was impressive really.

But wait.

It wasn’t a birthday party.  This was during my recent trip to the library! Okay, so even though the title says “Library Etiquette for Kids,” it really should read “Library etiquette for parents who let their kids run around and invade every quiet space anywhere, ever.”

What happened to the days of yore when librarians glared over their horn-rimmed glasses and “shhh-d” kids with a menacing shhh that could not, would not be ignored?  Instead, they build an entire open air playground for them within the sacred walls of mystery, reading, and learning.    Gone are the days of teaching children that there is a time and a place for play, and that the library is most definitely not one of these places.

Do you want your kids to blow off steam?  Newsflash:  there are places designed just for that purpose.  Chuck E. Cheese, for example, the park, a playground, or a Bounce Zone come to mind.  Call me old-fashioned, but I still believe in the sanctity of the library. Okay, okay, I know I get up to my own library shenanigans, but hey, at least I’m QUIET about it. I mean, this is serious business, people.

I remember the good old days, when I would go to the library with my friends or parents and read, study, or research…not to mention stock up on books to take home. So quiet were these spaces that you didn’t dare giggle or you would risk being loudly hushed by the bespectacled Gargoyle behind the Counter.

During my fateful trip to the kid zone, I mean, library, there were several high school students scattered around at tables, attempting to have lessons with tutors; my daughter herself was there with a tutor trying to take a test.  These kids and their tutors had to raise their own voices to be heard over the ruckus coming from the kid’s corner.  The resulting cacophony brought to mind a football game or a bar; in fact, if I had a drink in my hand, this atmosphere would have been easier to understand…and to tolerate. Maybe.

I’m afraid of a future where kids have no respect for anything or anyone.  The heart of respect and learning could be found in the pages of the world that surrounded these kids at this specific moment in time and instead, they careened all around this indoor playground and paid no attention to the wonders that could have been found on the shelves right in front of their eyes.

What does this say about the parents?  I do understand that some parents need to use the library and have no-one to watch the kids for a few minutes; trust me, I get it. Been there, done that. But, here’s a novel idea (see what I did there?): encourage your kids to readHelp them to learn.  Point them in the direction of books that challenge their minds, warm their hearts, encourage their imagination.

If they can’t read yet, sit them down with picture books – it’s a library for god’s sake –  there are a myriad of options and opportunities to open your children up to the world of books. If you allow your kid to run wild in a library, you may be part of a bigger problem.  If you cannot teach your kids that they need to be quiet in some situations, Great Aunt Abigail’s funeral will be quite an interesting event.

What do these “play areas” say about the librarians and management of these once fine institutions?  Are they afraid to ask parents to (gulp, gasp) be PARENTS?  Who came up with this fantastic idea of allowing kids to play loudly in a building that is traditionally used to study, read, and learn?

Now, of course I know that kids need to play.  I am a big proponent of kids playing and burning off energy, socializing, sharing and laughing.  I am also a big supporter of the idea, “a time and a place for everything.

To me, the library is not the place for unrestrained, rowdy free-for-alls.  Allowing this behavior is disappointing for the people who still choose to use the library as intended, and for the kids themselves as they ignore thousands of books full of wonderful, wild adventures.

I guess I’m done with this rant for now; I need to go to Chuck E. Cheese and read a book.