I have too much junk in my trunk...and I'm not talking the good kind J Lo gets paid the big bucks for!! I'm talking actual junk; knick-knacks; brickabrack; chatchkis - CRAP!! Over the years I have managed to accumulate enough stuff to pack a small house to the gills. I'm not ready for hoarders or anything, but I am ready to clean out. A couple of months ago I decided to have a yard sale. I got some family together who also has too much stuff and we picked a date.
At first I was going great guns to get rid of anything that wasn't nailed down. I had boxes in the attic, basement and anywhere my kids couldn't get into them to destroy all my hard work. I tossed old treasures, new junky toys and things that were simply collecting dust. If I wasn't sure, in the box it went. I was doing well. I went through my storage totes of holiday decorations and tossed Easter baskets, cheap Christmas decorations and old Valentine's decorations I bought in college. The project was going well.
Preparation for the big sale was long and tedious. We even managed to get out new coffee table set in time to sell the old one. I sorted through all my old treasures the night before and was sure I was prepared. I knew the early birds would probably be there at 8 am - a whole hour before the sale was set to start. But I would be ready. I planned to be outside setting up before 6am - plenty of time to be ready for the vultures...or so I thought!!!
Why don't I ever learn? Every time I think I'm fully prepared, that's when all hell breaks loose.
The day started promptly at 5:15. I woke groggy, but ready. By 6:45 I hefted all the heavy boxes out on my front lawn. The poor dewy grass had no idea what it was in for. I managed to only break one glass candle stick...not bad for a klutz! Things were going well enough I figured a donut break was well earned. The morning was early and surely no one would be so brazen to show up before 8am...wrong again. I barely returned to my front yard makeshift store before the vultures arrived. 7:45...a full hour and fifteen minutes before the advertised start of the sale my first obnoxious customer arrived. I was stilled furiously hanging clothes on the line my husband installed for me when a middle aged blond woman pulled up.
Thinking nothing of the fact she was too early she walked right up to inspect my wares. After a quick look she promptly informed my husband that his choice to quickly remove a low hanging branch was poorly timed...who asked her anyway?? She then took herself across the street where she informed my mother in law that her prices were too high. Turns out she was looking for things to buy and resell at her yard sale. She complained that she wouldn't be able to turn a profit herself. Oh, I'm sorry!! What were we thinking???
The day continued in pretty much the same tone. I was offered $1 for a party dress. Are you kidding me?? I modestly priced a brand new pair of Osh Kosh toddler overalls at $3. The MSRP on the tag still attached was $28. I was offered $1...are you kidding me?? When I stuck to my $3 guns the woman looked at me like I asked for a kidney. Another man offered me $3 for an MP3 player that I priced at $5. When I went down to $4 it was too high...because that extra dollar would break him!! Full suits priced at $8 were apparently too rich for my customers' blood. I never even got anyone to look at a 2 cup coffee maker. That just made a guest appearance from the basement for fun! A woman offered 25 cents for a brand new Coach wallet. That could have been the all time low. After 6 hours of nickel and diming I had enough. It was like people expected me to pay them to take my stuff. Maybe my neighbors had the right idea...they were looking to get rid of furniture, so they marked it free and sat down to read a book. In the end, all their stuff moved while I was tasked with bringing most of my junk back in the house.
In the end, all my hard work resulted in just enough money to buy dinner...after the exhausting day I was in no shape to cook and clean!! Now I have just enough time to get more junk together before we do it again in the fall. I told you I never learn!
Monday, June 20, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Status Symbol
There are many things in this life I find annoying - slow drivers, inefficiency, and uncomfortable bras are just a few. But lately something that has shot to the top of the list are the people who must update their Facebook status every four seconds with what they are doing. In particular the stay-at-home-moms who seem to chronicle every move their child makes. "Oh Little Johnny ate 2 bites of scrambled eggs and had a sip of Juice." "Oh, Little Suzy just had a 52 minute nap." Gee thanks. I'm so glad I get to read about every little poop your poopsie takes.
OK, I know this sounds bitter, but I have good reason. I am a working mom. Now before you stay-at-home-moms get all "I work too!!" on me let me just say I understand. I know just how hard moms work. Remember I'm a mom too. I just get to serve another master during the daylight hours. And to add to it, I have to leave my babies to do it. I get the joy of leaving sometimes crying babies to go off and earn a paycheck.
To be fair, those who know me would say I have it pretty good. My office is at home and I can tweak my hours somewhat around my kids. But that does not negate the fact I'm not the only one raising my children. That is a pain that no amount of money could ever alleviate. Then, to top it off by people who have nothing better to do that status update or worse those who couldn't care less about their kids makes me crazy.
Who are these people who can up and leave their kids to go on vacation?? I can actually say I know someone who left their 10 week old baby to go on a booze filled convention weekend. You would have had to pry my baby out of my cold dead hands before I did that...again I know judgemental, but maybe some people need a wake up call. Perhaps we've allowed our priorities to go askew...tending to smart phones and not sweet babies.
Oh well, guess it's time for summer and all the moms who complain their kids are driving them nuts!! Can't wait!
OK, I know this sounds bitter, but I have good reason. I am a working mom. Now before you stay-at-home-moms get all "I work too!!" on me let me just say I understand. I know just how hard moms work. Remember I'm a mom too. I just get to serve another master during the daylight hours. And to add to it, I have to leave my babies to do it. I get the joy of leaving sometimes crying babies to go off and earn a paycheck.
To be fair, those who know me would say I have it pretty good. My office is at home and I can tweak my hours somewhat around my kids. But that does not negate the fact I'm not the only one raising my children. That is a pain that no amount of money could ever alleviate. Then, to top it off by people who have nothing better to do that status update or worse those who couldn't care less about their kids makes me crazy.
Who are these people who can up and leave their kids to go on vacation?? I can actually say I know someone who left their 10 week old baby to go on a booze filled convention weekend. You would have had to pry my baby out of my cold dead hands before I did that...again I know judgemental, but maybe some people need a wake up call. Perhaps we've allowed our priorities to go askew...tending to smart phones and not sweet babies.
Oh well, guess it's time for summer and all the moms who complain their kids are driving them nuts!! Can't wait!
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Magazine Malfunctions
I don't remember exactly when I started my subscription to Parenting magazine. I think it was sometime after my first child was born - a neighborhood kid was selling subscriptions as a school fundraiser. Wanting to do all I could to be a good mom I figured a whole magazine dedicated to the subject would be a perfect addition to our household. Each month since then the magazine is delivered to our mailbox by our chain smoking mailman...ironic isn't it.
In the beginning I looked forward to its arrival. I anxiously awaited the new tidbits of information it would share with me. Being a working mother, the only time I had to read it was in the bathroom, so it also come to symbolize my one well deserved bathroom break a day. I always started from page one and read straight through. Surely each article was worth my attention and of course the editors had put so much thought into its production that the least I could do was give it my full attention.
As time went on, I gradually I became a little skeptical of some of the article. Suggesting my one year would devour wheat germ and guava juice if I offered it caused me to raise an eyebrow...wheat germ?? I don't think so. Then there was the article about summer travel that came complete with a picture of a child bent over the front seat of a station wagon. Not only were her legs wide open, but they chose to put her in a bathing suit that looked like underwear. Really?? This is the best picture we could find for this article?? Then there was an article that suggests daily walks in the woods? Hay editors...ever hear of ticks and nap schedules?? Come on, we mom's do our best, but suggesting a Survivorman mentality is a bit much if you ask me.
Now that I am more confident in my parenting (or maybe just too tired to wonder) I can say I look more discerningly at the magazine. My latest chuckle between the periodical's covers was an article on fevers. The article made sense to me...most fevers do not need medicine. The body needs time to work naturally. A natural approach usually sits well with me. The part that did not was the perfectly made up model who was playing the mother. She is probably all of 22 with perfect makeup complete with smokey eyes that would make Angelina Jolie jealous. Her lips have that "I just retouched my lip gloss" look that Paris Hilton made famous. Her hair is perfectly colored in a rich brown that every brunette yearns for styled into long loose curls. (I think it even had some shimmer to it!) To top it all off, her nails are perfectly manicure because every mother has time to do those nails while they are caring for a sick child!! Come on Parenting really?? It's not enough that like most mothers I spend 23 hours a day worrying that I'm doing the best job I can. Now I have to look at Little Miss Perfectly Made up Mother while I try to glean more knowledge from your magazine. No wonder the average mother of toddlers just let themselves go without makeup and cut their hair into the standard man's haircut. How can we compete so why bother!?!?
I understand the magazine does not want to use old Mother Hubbard as their model, but do we really need to look at the cover model from last months Cosmopolitan while we are dealing with hormonal imbalances and anxiety about raising our children? I'm just saying give us a break...after all poop and puke are enough to deal with on precious little sleep.
In the beginning I looked forward to its arrival. I anxiously awaited the new tidbits of information it would share with me. Being a working mother, the only time I had to read it was in the bathroom, so it also come to symbolize my one well deserved bathroom break a day. I always started from page one and read straight through. Surely each article was worth my attention and of course the editors had put so much thought into its production that the least I could do was give it my full attention.
As time went on, I gradually I became a little skeptical of some of the article. Suggesting my one year would devour wheat germ and guava juice if I offered it caused me to raise an eyebrow...wheat germ?? I don't think so. Then there was the article about summer travel that came complete with a picture of a child bent over the front seat of a station wagon. Not only were her legs wide open, but they chose to put her in a bathing suit that looked like underwear. Really?? This is the best picture we could find for this article?? Then there was an article that suggests daily walks in the woods? Hay editors...ever hear of ticks and nap schedules?? Come on, we mom's do our best, but suggesting a Survivorman mentality is a bit much if you ask me.
Now that I am more confident in my parenting (or maybe just too tired to wonder) I can say I look more discerningly at the magazine. My latest chuckle between the periodical's covers was an article on fevers. The article made sense to me...most fevers do not need medicine. The body needs time to work naturally. A natural approach usually sits well with me. The part that did not was the perfectly made up model who was playing the mother. She is probably all of 22 with perfect makeup complete with smokey eyes that would make Angelina Jolie jealous. Her lips have that "I just retouched my lip gloss" look that Paris Hilton made famous. Her hair is perfectly colored in a rich brown that every brunette yearns for styled into long loose curls. (I think it even had some shimmer to it!) To top it all off, her nails are perfectly manicure because every mother has time to do those nails while they are caring for a sick child!! Come on Parenting really?? It's not enough that like most mothers I spend 23 hours a day worrying that I'm doing the best job I can. Now I have to look at Little Miss Perfectly Made up Mother while I try to glean more knowledge from your magazine. No wonder the average mother of toddlers just let themselves go without makeup and cut their hair into the standard man's haircut. How can we compete so why bother!?!?
I understand the magazine does not want to use old Mother Hubbard as their model, but do we really need to look at the cover model from last months Cosmopolitan while we are dealing with hormonal imbalances and anxiety about raising our children? I'm just saying give us a break...after all poop and puke are enough to deal with on precious little sleep.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Tents and Tots
Last week our oldest daughter perfected the rapid crib escape. It's not the first time she has managed to flee her coop, but it was becoming more common. She takes a Maguyver like approach and climbs the impossible. Her crib is a bit more fancy than a standard rectangle. We were too flush with hormones and baby bliss when we registered for it to see how practical a simple crib would eventually be. We picked out one with a high swooping back and a low scoop front...a mistake we now will pay for dearly.
The first time she climbed out of her crib was one winter evening after I tucked her and her sister in their respective cribs. They were making more noise than I felt was appropriate for 8:30 pm and I decided to go check out the situation. I opened the door to their dimly lit nursery to be greeted by my 2 year old sit calmly and happily in my cushy glider. She had a book open and I swear she looked like she was reading to her little sister. I promptly busted up that party and put her back in bed. After a bit of discussion, my husband and I agreed it must have been the low scoop front that allowed her to escape. She didn't have to get her leg up too far and she could be free. We formulated a plan and turned her crib around the next day. Now the high swooping back faced forward. We thought for sure that would solve the problem. Granted we now struggled to get her in and out of the crib smoothly over the high swooping part, but as long as she stayed put we would deal with the side effects.
Our solution lasted a while. We struggled daily to put her to bed without blatantly dropping her in her crib. Rhu tried the beaver approach for a while-if she couldn't climb out she'd chew her way out. After serious damage to the sides of the expensive crib we installed rubber mats...also another way to make it difficult to get out.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. Last week Rhu finally became able to climb out of her crib at will. I think the last straw was when I was getting ready for work and I saw on the baby monitor that she not only climbed out of her crib, but she climbed into her sister's. The two girls laughed and played like college freshman at a frat party. There was laughing, tickling and throwing of personal possessions overboard. That was it...she had to be stopped. Once again my husband and I discussed the situation. We agreed on the solution quickly. It was going to be drastic, but if we were going to keep our babies safe we had to do it.
That night we purchased a crib tent. It's a giant size version of one you would see at a picnic keeping the food safe from bugs. This contraption looks hysterical. A mesh tent that completely cover the crib and all side so no matter how clever the kid is, they aren't getting out...I hope.
We didn't know how she would react to being confined like a zoo animal, so we told her it was her tower. She has developed a serious infatuation with all things Rapunzel, so we hoped the spin doctoring would help the reception.
The first night went well until I heard her howl at 3am. Instantly I woke up sure we were doing psychological damage by caging her in!! I rushed into her room and rescued her from her prison. A few minutes of rocking and singing and she was ready to go back to her magical tower. It didn't take long before she figured out that smashing her face in the mesh would be funny. Since then she has taken to her new crib tent very well.
Now, every night she goes in her tent and says a happy, "Night" and she's off to dreamland. I wonder how long before she figures out how to break free...
The first time she climbed out of her crib was one winter evening after I tucked her and her sister in their respective cribs. They were making more noise than I felt was appropriate for 8:30 pm and I decided to go check out the situation. I opened the door to their dimly lit nursery to be greeted by my 2 year old sit calmly and happily in my cushy glider. She had a book open and I swear she looked like she was reading to her little sister. I promptly busted up that party and put her back in bed. After a bit of discussion, my husband and I agreed it must have been the low scoop front that allowed her to escape. She didn't have to get her leg up too far and she could be free. We formulated a plan and turned her crib around the next day. Now the high swooping back faced forward. We thought for sure that would solve the problem. Granted we now struggled to get her in and out of the crib smoothly over the high swooping part, but as long as she stayed put we would deal with the side effects.
Our solution lasted a while. We struggled daily to put her to bed without blatantly dropping her in her crib. Rhu tried the beaver approach for a while-if she couldn't climb out she'd chew her way out. After serious damage to the sides of the expensive crib we installed rubber mats...also another way to make it difficult to get out.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. Last week Rhu finally became able to climb out of her crib at will. I think the last straw was when I was getting ready for work and I saw on the baby monitor that she not only climbed out of her crib, but she climbed into her sister's. The two girls laughed and played like college freshman at a frat party. There was laughing, tickling and throwing of personal possessions overboard. That was it...she had to be stopped. Once again my husband and I discussed the situation. We agreed on the solution quickly. It was going to be drastic, but if we were going to keep our babies safe we had to do it.
That night we purchased a crib tent. It's a giant size version of one you would see at a picnic keeping the food safe from bugs. This contraption looks hysterical. A mesh tent that completely cover the crib and all side so no matter how clever the kid is, they aren't getting out...I hope.
We didn't know how she would react to being confined like a zoo animal, so we told her it was her tower. She has developed a serious infatuation with all things Rapunzel, so we hoped the spin doctoring would help the reception.
The first night went well until I heard her howl at 3am. Instantly I woke up sure we were doing psychological damage by caging her in!! I rushed into her room and rescued her from her prison. A few minutes of rocking and singing and she was ready to go back to her magical tower. It didn't take long before she figured out that smashing her face in the mesh would be funny. Since then she has taken to her new crib tent very well.
Now, every night she goes in her tent and says a happy, "Night" and she's off to dreamland. I wonder how long before she figures out how to break free...
Monday, May 9, 2011
Bubble Gum
Growing up my eldest brother always moaned that I got to chew gum in the womb. It was a frequent complaint that was meant to illustrate the unfairness of life as the oldest sibling. He always had to wait for privileges like gum chewing and curfews while I enjoyed them at a much quicker rate.
These comments throughout my childhood were as commonplace as cartoons on Saturday mornings and freeze tag in the playground. I never gave them a lot of thought other than oh well, sucked to be you until I had a child. Scratch that...until I had the second child. I find myself obsessing over being fair to both children. I try to look at situations from each child's prospective. It would be an understatement if I said this latest compulsion that consumes my life.
Growing up the attitudes of RHIP (rank has its privileges) and first up-best dressed ruled our large family. My parents and older brothers firmly believed in the pecking order. For a while as a child I thought my oldest brother was a third parent. I'm pretty sure he felt that way too until I was well into my twenties. It seemed he had as much to say when it came to raising me as my parents did. Looking back, he was doing his job as the oldest. A job he took seriously from the day I was brought home from the hospital and he placed a football helmet on my head for protection. I always thought I appreciated his efforts. I never realized how difficult a job he was dealt just for being the first fastest swimmer in our family. Until now that is... I look at my oldest child everyday and pray she takes her job just as seriously.
It was a hot summer day when we learned Rhu would become an older sister. She was barely 6 months old when we began to tell her about the baby growing in my belly. She often laid on my stomach and as it grew I purposefully told her that she was going to be a big sister and that it was a very important job. Her first assignment as a big sister was to announce the news to the grandparents. She took to this job very well...a sure sign she was up to the task of being the oldest. At six months she babbled very well and even spoke some words, but to say a sentence was a bit much to ask of her. We made a sign that said, "I'm Going to be a Big Sister" and attached it to her shirt. God forbid stores made Big Sister shirts in a size below 4T. Rhu performed her task with enthusiasm and the crowd loved it.
As the months passed and she made the word BABY a sort of mantra, I felt more and more confident she would be able to handle the transition. Finally the time came when RaRa made her debut in this world. I went into labor just as it was Rhu's bath time, but being the practical person I am I bathed my child and put her to bed without letting her know what was about to happen...why alarm a 14 month old? After many hours of contractions and pain our second child was born and so was and elder sibling-figuratively.
The timing could not have been better. RaRa and I were ready to receive visitors mid morning when Rhu would be at her best. I'll never forget hearing the sound of new baby shoes on the maternity ward floor getting louder as she got closer to our room. The cheerful giggle as she walked in and the word "Baby" shouted in delight as Rhu saw her baby sister for the first time. There was no mistaking. This kid was made to be a big sister. Her loving curiosity pulled at the heartstrings and the first hug she ever offered her little sister came from a place of pure love that only children know of. She confirmed my belief that she would be the best loving and protective older sibling in 29 years. I believe if she had a football helmet she would have placed it on RaRa's head for protection just like her uncle.
I'm sure in years to come Rhu will feel her life is unfair since she had to wait to play with crayons until she was 20 months old and RaRa did it at 10 months. Or perhaps her curfews will be harder than any subsequent children. I hope she always takes her job as oldest just as seriously. Life is not fair and we will try to do the best we can.
These comments throughout my childhood were as commonplace as cartoons on Saturday mornings and freeze tag in the playground. I never gave them a lot of thought other than oh well, sucked to be you until I had a child. Scratch that...until I had the second child. I find myself obsessing over being fair to both children. I try to look at situations from each child's prospective. It would be an understatement if I said this latest compulsion that consumes my life.
Growing up the attitudes of RHIP (rank has its privileges) and first up-best dressed ruled our large family. My parents and older brothers firmly believed in the pecking order. For a while as a child I thought my oldest brother was a third parent. I'm pretty sure he felt that way too until I was well into my twenties. It seemed he had as much to say when it came to raising me as my parents did. Looking back, he was doing his job as the oldest. A job he took seriously from the day I was brought home from the hospital and he placed a football helmet on my head for protection. I always thought I appreciated his efforts. I never realized how difficult a job he was dealt just for being the first fastest swimmer in our family. Until now that is... I look at my oldest child everyday and pray she takes her job just as seriously.
It was a hot summer day when we learned Rhu would become an older sister. She was barely 6 months old when we began to tell her about the baby growing in my belly. She often laid on my stomach and as it grew I purposefully told her that she was going to be a big sister and that it was a very important job. Her first assignment as a big sister was to announce the news to the grandparents. She took to this job very well...a sure sign she was up to the task of being the oldest. At six months she babbled very well and even spoke some words, but to say a sentence was a bit much to ask of her. We made a sign that said, "I'm Going to be a Big Sister" and attached it to her shirt. God forbid stores made Big Sister shirts in a size below 4T. Rhu performed her task with enthusiasm and the crowd loved it.
As the months passed and she made the word BABY a sort of mantra, I felt more and more confident she would be able to handle the transition. Finally the time came when RaRa made her debut in this world. I went into labor just as it was Rhu's bath time, but being the practical person I am I bathed my child and put her to bed without letting her know what was about to happen...why alarm a 14 month old? After many hours of contractions and pain our second child was born and so was and elder sibling-figuratively.
The timing could not have been better. RaRa and I were ready to receive visitors mid morning when Rhu would be at her best. I'll never forget hearing the sound of new baby shoes on the maternity ward floor getting louder as she got closer to our room. The cheerful giggle as she walked in and the word "Baby" shouted in delight as Rhu saw her baby sister for the first time. There was no mistaking. This kid was made to be a big sister. Her loving curiosity pulled at the heartstrings and the first hug she ever offered her little sister came from a place of pure love that only children know of. She confirmed my belief that she would be the best loving and protective older sibling in 29 years. I believe if she had a football helmet she would have placed it on RaRa's head for protection just like her uncle.
I'm sure in years to come Rhu will feel her life is unfair since she had to wait to play with crayons until she was 20 months old and RaRa did it at 10 months. Or perhaps her curfews will be harder than any subsequent children. I hope she always takes her job as oldest just as seriously. Life is not fair and we will try to do the best we can.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Fairy Tales and Fantasy
Unless you live under a rock, you know that in the last week Kate Middleton made every little girl's fairy tale dream come true...she married Prince William. It is the first time in over 300 years a commoner married the heir to the British throne. The world watched as she gracefully stepped out of her car and into a life of royalty. She will live a life all little girls dream about. If I were being totally honest, I must admit I watched the wedding with interest.
I love a wedding. I enjoy the romance and the dress. I enjoy being swept away by two people starting a new life completely in love. I can't help but wonder from where this part of my personality comes. My parents are probably two of the least nosiest people I know. They could care less about the royals and wouldn't watch A Wedding Story on TLC if you paid them. I wondered just long enough before it caught my attention-my two year old mesmerized by her 57th viewing of Disney's Tangled. There she was, my little Rhu being indoctrinated by a seemingly harmless movie. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks!!! This is where it starts. All the fairy tale movies and stories we force down our children's throats.
I was particularly struck by the moment in the movie where Rapunzel saves Flynn. Sorry if you have not seen the movie and I spoiled the ending, but come on-it's Disney. What did you expect to happen? In this particular scene we, the audience, is led to believe that true love is enough to save Flynn from certain death. The true love Rapunzel has in her heart can overcome the stab through the heart Flynn just suffered. Come on really? A tear drop from your true love will make gaping hole through vital organs just magically heal...oh come on!!
But, that's not even the part that made my right eyebrow jump up in amazement. It was the part where Rapunzel realizes Flynn is saved and he says a suave line like, "Did I ever tell you I have a thing for brunettes?" Then they embraces in the hug/sit on his lap move followed by a romantic kiss. It was the exact moment I saw my two year old try to reenact that scene that I realized we have a problem. My poor baby only 26 months on this earth and she has been brainwashed to believe that's how life works. What are we setting her up for-a life time of unrealistic fanatical expectations?
Take Sleeping Beauty for example. What woman thinks it's a good life plan to move in with seven messy short men and be their maid? I've known some desperate single women, but is this really the best plan to trap a man?? Being a maid? And speaking of maids, do we really think Prince William would have married Kate Middleton if she was forced to clean up after Pippa on a regular basis like Cinderella?
What are we reading our children? The classics?? No wonder we are a society of dysfunctional individuals. We've been told since we were born that if we put on funny outfits like glass slippers or dresses made by mice and go dance around our Prince Charming will come. Yea...maybe to see us at the strip club, but definitely not to sweep us off our feet and bring us to live in a palace happily ever after.
Fairy tales and fantasy are what we pump our kids full of when they are young then look at them like they are crazy when they are in their mid-20's and still waiting for their Prince Charming. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to believe in the possibility of a dream. After all, without dreams, what do we have? Without fantasy, childhood is very boring. Some of the best times spent with my girls are when we are playing dress up and dreaming. So, congratulations Kate Middleton and all the girls who find their Prince Charmings. Someday I hope my girls will find themselves living happily ever after...just not too soon. I better not find them behind any couches kissing boys when they are in grade school!!
I love a wedding. I enjoy the romance and the dress. I enjoy being swept away by two people starting a new life completely in love. I can't help but wonder from where this part of my personality comes. My parents are probably two of the least nosiest people I know. They could care less about the royals and wouldn't watch A Wedding Story on TLC if you paid them. I wondered just long enough before it caught my attention-my two year old mesmerized by her 57th viewing of Disney's Tangled. There she was, my little Rhu being indoctrinated by a seemingly harmless movie. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks!!! This is where it starts. All the fairy tale movies and stories we force down our children's throats.
I was particularly struck by the moment in the movie where Rapunzel saves Flynn. Sorry if you have not seen the movie and I spoiled the ending, but come on-it's Disney. What did you expect to happen? In this particular scene we, the audience, is led to believe that true love is enough to save Flynn from certain death. The true love Rapunzel has in her heart can overcome the stab through the heart Flynn just suffered. Come on really? A tear drop from your true love will make gaping hole through vital organs just magically heal...oh come on!!
But, that's not even the part that made my right eyebrow jump up in amazement. It was the part where Rapunzel realizes Flynn is saved and he says a suave line like, "Did I ever tell you I have a thing for brunettes?" Then they embraces in the hug/sit on his lap move followed by a romantic kiss. It was the exact moment I saw my two year old try to reenact that scene that I realized we have a problem. My poor baby only 26 months on this earth and she has been brainwashed to believe that's how life works. What are we setting her up for-a life time of unrealistic fanatical expectations?
Take Sleeping Beauty for example. What woman thinks it's a good life plan to move in with seven messy short men and be their maid? I've known some desperate single women, but is this really the best plan to trap a man?? Being a maid? And speaking of maids, do we really think Prince William would have married Kate Middleton if she was forced to clean up after Pippa on a regular basis like Cinderella?
What are we reading our children? The classics?? No wonder we are a society of dysfunctional individuals. We've been told since we were born that if we put on funny outfits like glass slippers or dresses made by mice and go dance around our Prince Charming will come. Yea...maybe to see us at the strip club, but definitely not to sweep us off our feet and bring us to live in a palace happily ever after.
Fairy tales and fantasy are what we pump our kids full of when they are young then look at them like they are crazy when they are in their mid-20's and still waiting for their Prince Charming. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to believe in the possibility of a dream. After all, without dreams, what do we have? Without fantasy, childhood is very boring. Some of the best times spent with my girls are when we are playing dress up and dreaming. So, congratulations Kate Middleton and all the girls who find their Prince Charmings. Someday I hope my girls will find themselves living happily ever after...just not too soon. I better not find them behind any couches kissing boys when they are in grade school!!
Monday, April 25, 2011
Zum Zum Zumba
Well I did it. I broke down and gave in. I can officially say that I am the last suburban mom in America to try Zumba. Last week my neighbor invited me to join her in trying the exercise class based on Latin rhythms. If you're not already laughing that's because you don't know I am an almost six foot tall Irish girl with hips and feet that are not exactly on speaking terms.
For those who are not avid Zumba fans I'll tell you the class is a series of aerobic Latin dance moves set to music that should be pouring out the back kitchen window of the local Taco Bell. The music is saturate with trumpets and horns. I swear every time I closed my eyes I pictured the singer to be a 4 foot tall Mexican guy with black hair as greasy as my car engine, a shirt mostly unbuttoned revealing a chest full of thick hair with gold chains, and hands adorned with gold rings. If I was being fully honest, this picture of "Rico Suave" included him doing a little Samba action-purely for the humorous effect mind you.
To top it all off, we took the class in the white trashiest town the good Lord every put on this green earth. So, have you got the picture? Zumba class with Latin dance moves being done by mostly white trash woman. This was enough to keep me giggling. I haven't even gotten to the part where my hips don't lie.
So, the class started and I did my best to keep up with women who obviously attend this class on a regular basis. They were even doing shout outs for music requests like we were at a Hot97 rap party. The standard issue Hispanic teacher gyrated her body in perfect rhythm while I was lucky to be facing the correct direction most of the time. At some point it occurred to me that as rhythm challenged as I was, I had somehow been able to conceive and give birth to two children-oh if they could only see me now! Pumping my arms back and forth as if I was auditioning for an MC Hammer video. I'm pretty sure that even though my kids are only 2 and 1 they would have fallen to the ground laughing. Hell, I spent most of the class laughing because of course we were facing an entire wall of mirrors.
As the class continued, I resembled a person being stung by a thousand bees with arms and legs flailing about. I squatted and thrusted with all the zeal I could muster, but still managed to project an aurora of an epileptic seizure. Tightly pursed lips and a stern expression of concentration completed my look. In truth, I looked constipated most of the time. If I knew how ridiculous I would look, I would have brought my video camera and posted the disaster on YouTube - at least I could have made money.
After 60 minutes with music by Ricky Riccardo's descendants it was time for the cool down. Oh the joy. They managed to take something as simple as stretching muscles and make it Latin complicated. By now my cheek muscles were raw from all the laughing. I just might have pulled a jaw muscle. Obediently I stretched and breathed and tried to keep from laughing. The room suddenly turned into a Zen like state. Who knows, maybe everyone's endorphins kicked in at once. I think mine took a left turn down the hall.
I did feel accomplished though. I managed to get through a class made for people the exact opposite of my cultural backgrounds. Who knows, maybe we'll be back next week. Beats doing laundry on a Wednesday night!
For those who are not avid Zumba fans I'll tell you the class is a series of aerobic Latin dance moves set to music that should be pouring out the back kitchen window of the local Taco Bell. The music is saturate with trumpets and horns. I swear every time I closed my eyes I pictured the singer to be a 4 foot tall Mexican guy with black hair as greasy as my car engine, a shirt mostly unbuttoned revealing a chest full of thick hair with gold chains, and hands adorned with gold rings. If I was being fully honest, this picture of "Rico Suave" included him doing a little Samba action-purely for the humorous effect mind you.
To top it all off, we took the class in the white trashiest town the good Lord every put on this green earth. So, have you got the picture? Zumba class with Latin dance moves being done by mostly white trash woman. This was enough to keep me giggling. I haven't even gotten to the part where my hips don't lie.
So, the class started and I did my best to keep up with women who obviously attend this class on a regular basis. They were even doing shout outs for music requests like we were at a Hot97 rap party. The standard issue Hispanic teacher gyrated her body in perfect rhythm while I was lucky to be facing the correct direction most of the time. At some point it occurred to me that as rhythm challenged as I was, I had somehow been able to conceive and give birth to two children-oh if they could only see me now! Pumping my arms back and forth as if I was auditioning for an MC Hammer video. I'm pretty sure that even though my kids are only 2 and 1 they would have fallen to the ground laughing. Hell, I spent most of the class laughing because of course we were facing an entire wall of mirrors.
As the class continued, I resembled a person being stung by a thousand bees with arms and legs flailing about. I squatted and thrusted with all the zeal I could muster, but still managed to project an aurora of an epileptic seizure. Tightly pursed lips and a stern expression of concentration completed my look. In truth, I looked constipated most of the time. If I knew how ridiculous I would look, I would have brought my video camera and posted the disaster on YouTube - at least I could have made money.
After 60 minutes with music by Ricky Riccardo's descendants it was time for the cool down. Oh the joy. They managed to take something as simple as stretching muscles and make it Latin complicated. By now my cheek muscles were raw from all the laughing. I just might have pulled a jaw muscle. Obediently I stretched and breathed and tried to keep from laughing. The room suddenly turned into a Zen like state. Who knows, maybe everyone's endorphins kicked in at once. I think mine took a left turn down the hall.
I did feel accomplished though. I managed to get through a class made for people the exact opposite of my cultural backgrounds. Who knows, maybe we'll be back next week. Beats doing laundry on a Wednesday night!
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