Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Soul Train
Pre-schoolers and/or kindergartners should not be referred to as "gentle souls." They're not. Even the tenderest among them is, in reality, a pint-sized pit bull stalling to release its teeth. "Old soul" is equally annoying. The only "soul train" I'm jumping on is conducted by Don Cornelius, not "Mombies."
Tales From the Dorkside
"You know what I like about you, Miss?" adorable 16-year old Eli piped up a few minutes before class started.
I never take much of what students say to heart. Teenagers are your best friend one minute (generally, before grading time), and your arch-enemy the next (generally, after grading time). But, Eli is a sweet, quiet girl, so if she's willing to talk, I'd better listen.
"What's that, Eli?" I implore.
"You're such a dork, Miss! You're so random!"
She was proud of her proclamation. She continued, "I mean 'dork' in a good way, because I'm a dork, too!"
I cherish this compliment more than any other I've received as a teacher. It's better than "You know everything" and "You're so weird," which are also both true statements about me, I might add.
I never take much of what students say to heart. Teenagers are your best friend one minute (generally, before grading time), and your arch-enemy the next (generally, after grading time). But, Eli is a sweet, quiet girl, so if she's willing to talk, I'd better listen.
"What's that, Eli?" I implore.
"You're such a dork, Miss! You're so random!"
She was proud of her proclamation. She continued, "I mean 'dork' in a good way, because I'm a dork, too!"
I cherish this compliment more than any other I've received as a teacher. It's better than "You know everything" and "You're so weird," which are also both true statements about me, I might add.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Kinder Playdate
Nope, this post is not about the softer side of children at play. The "kinder" in this story refers to a word that keeps popping up in recent conversations and nagging at my brain. It's a shortened form of "kindergarten" that the mommy crew is verbally volleying around. Examples: "Aiden, let's go meet Dakota over at the kinder playground!" or "Jaden is so excited for his first day of kinder!" Are people so lazy that they can't utter two lousy syllables? Or, is the inception of the word "kinder" a way for the nose-high bougie set to attempt to even make elementary school some sort of exclusive club for their kiddos? Kindergarten?! Not for my little genius. Nothing but the best for him. Nothing but kinder.
Another word that causes me to gag is "playdate." Not sure why, but the word kind of creeps me out a bit--the "date" part--maybe, because I've actually seen some of the single moms from stepson's kinder treating it exactly like a date. The mother of stepson's most recent playdate friend was a newly divorced bleach-blonded hooter-suit wearing mommy on the prowl. How in the world would she chase after little Cody in those platforms and shorty shorts? Since my husband is thoroughly hunky, I decided I would be the only one playing with and dating my husband, so I decided to tag along to this playdate. In order to go, though, I was forced to play the part of "helicopter" parent. Where I live, parents don't just drop their kids off to play and come back later to pick them up. No, now the parents stay, too. So, not only do I have to entertain stepson's little friend, but his mommy or daddy (sometimes--horror!!--both), as well. These parents hover around their kids for "supervised play." Control issues? Worse, I'm a good listener, so I always get an earful of whatever mommy's kept pent up all week. Three times, I've gotten juicy tidbits about marital woes. Little did these ladies know that I'm an evil blogger who will be posting all this.
So, finally, let me get to the marriage of the words "kinder" and "playdate." Stepson had a kinder playdate at the new elementary school last weekend--the week before school started. It was nearly 100 degrees and the kids wanted nothing to do with one another since they were all strangers being forced to play together. I didn't attend, but according to dear husband who did put in an appearance, all the kids clung to their mommies. He always uses the word "mommy," but stepson never does. I've noticed this about parents lately, too. They always refer to themselves as "Morgan's mommy" or "Julian's daddy," but the kids just say mom and dad. Are the parents trying to eternally infanticize their kids? Afraid they're growing up and might not actually need mommy and daddy at their playdates anymore? It all kind of made me miss the days when my mom would pull up to my grandparents' farm, let my cousins and me out of the car, saying she'd see us later. We played with goats, picked and ate cherries off the trees, and ran through the cornfields. And I never once questioned my mom about why she wasn't there to supervise.
Another word that causes me to gag is "playdate." Not sure why, but the word kind of creeps me out a bit--the "date" part--maybe, because I've actually seen some of the single moms from stepson's kinder treating it exactly like a date. The mother of stepson's most recent playdate friend was a newly divorced bleach-blonded hooter-suit wearing mommy on the prowl. How in the world would she chase after little Cody in those platforms and shorty shorts? Since my husband is thoroughly hunky, I decided I would be the only one playing with and dating my husband, so I decided to tag along to this playdate. In order to go, though, I was forced to play the part of "helicopter" parent. Where I live, parents don't just drop their kids off to play and come back later to pick them up. No, now the parents stay, too. So, not only do I have to entertain stepson's little friend, but his mommy or daddy (sometimes--horror!!--both), as well. These parents hover around their kids for "supervised play." Control issues? Worse, I'm a good listener, so I always get an earful of whatever mommy's kept pent up all week. Three times, I've gotten juicy tidbits about marital woes. Little did these ladies know that I'm an evil blogger who will be posting all this.
So, finally, let me get to the marriage of the words "kinder" and "playdate." Stepson had a kinder playdate at the new elementary school last weekend--the week before school started. It was nearly 100 degrees and the kids wanted nothing to do with one another since they were all strangers being forced to play together. I didn't attend, but according to dear husband who did put in an appearance, all the kids clung to their mommies. He always uses the word "mommy," but stepson never does. I've noticed this about parents lately, too. They always refer to themselves as "Morgan's mommy" or "Julian's daddy," but the kids just say mom and dad. Are the parents trying to eternally infanticize their kids? Afraid they're growing up and might not actually need mommy and daddy at their playdates anymore? It all kind of made me miss the days when my mom would pull up to my grandparents' farm, let my cousins and me out of the car, saying she'd see us later. We played with goats, picked and ate cherries off the trees, and ran through the cornfields. And I never once questioned my mom about why she wasn't there to supervise.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The Boob Tube
I guess I should officially announce that I am no longer a step-mom-to-be, which means I should probably change my blog's subtitle, even though it will be hard to make a clever rhyme. As of June 19, 2009, I am a full-fledged stepmom. Funny how we got married on Juneteenth-- the day the slaves learned of their freedom after the Civil War, only to become a slave of marriage. I kid.
Worried how my five year-old stepson might take the news (psychologists say they often react sullenly or violently as they realize that their fantasies of mom and dad reuniting is over), we broke it gently. But, instead of an ugly outburst, he jumped up and down in the car, hitting his head on the car's ceiling. Then, the only detail he wanted to know was, "Does that mean if my mom dies that you're my mom?" Umm, no. I will never be any one's mom. That is a bit of slavery from which I will always be free. I didn't say that, of course, but I thought it.
The tidbit I really wanted to share today is about the "boob tube." Stepson has recently acquired "boobs" as a part of his vocabulary, probably at that hoighty-toighty, touchy-feely preschool he attended. He seems to like to slip it into conversations, just to let me know he knows the word. Example: "Oh, I just hit you in the boob, J!" or "Don't worry, J. When I walked in on you in the bathroom, I didn't see your boobs." He even pointed out a super-heroine in a comic book, explaining that he wished her boobs weren't covered up. He's fascinated.
So, the other night, he asked if he could watch a little TV after dinner and before bed. Husband said yes, and after we were done eating, casually said, "Should we see what's on the boob tube?" Stepson's eyes lit up like light bulbs as his head automatically turned to look at...my boobs, of course! He had a sly grin on his face, like dad was giving him permission to look at my chest. Not only that, apparently, we'd all be watching it. The boob tube!
He looked slightly disappointed when his dad explained what boob tube really means, but five minutes later he was completely titillated by Spongebob.
Worried how my five year-old stepson might take the news (psychologists say they often react sullenly or violently as they realize that their fantasies of mom and dad reuniting is over), we broke it gently. But, instead of an ugly outburst, he jumped up and down in the car, hitting his head on the car's ceiling. Then, the only detail he wanted to know was, "Does that mean if my mom dies that you're my mom?" Umm, no. I will never be any one's mom. That is a bit of slavery from which I will always be free. I didn't say that, of course, but I thought it.
The tidbit I really wanted to share today is about the "boob tube." Stepson has recently acquired "boobs" as a part of his vocabulary, probably at that hoighty-toighty, touchy-feely preschool he attended. He seems to like to slip it into conversations, just to let me know he knows the word. Example: "Oh, I just hit you in the boob, J!" or "Don't worry, J. When I walked in on you in the bathroom, I didn't see your boobs." He even pointed out a super-heroine in a comic book, explaining that he wished her boobs weren't covered up. He's fascinated.
So, the other night, he asked if he could watch a little TV after dinner and before bed. Husband said yes, and after we were done eating, casually said, "Should we see what's on the boob tube?" Stepson's eyes lit up like light bulbs as his head automatically turned to look at...my boobs, of course! He had a sly grin on his face, like dad was giving him permission to look at my chest. Not only that, apparently, we'd all be watching it. The boob tube!
He looked slightly disappointed when his dad explained what boob tube really means, but five minutes later he was completely titillated by Spongebob.
I'm Lame
I would've updated this site a lot sooner had I known someone actually reads it. So, both Tai and Amburglar, this one is for you, because I had no idea that anyone was out there, let alone followed. I took the summer off from writing to spruce up the new home that my husband and I bought a couple of months ago. It's slow going, but we have successfully taken it from the 1970s back to the 1960s. In most cases, this would not be an improvement. In this one, it is. Trust me.
I have a couple of posts that are "marinading" in my mind right now, so until I get those out, here is my thought for today. A couple of weeks ago, I read No Kids: 40 Good Reasons Not to Have Children by Corinne Maier. It was just released in the U.S. this month, but it was first published in France in 2007, where it sparked immediate controversy.
I've loved Corinne Maier since I first read her book Bonjour, Laziness! The Art and the Importance of Doing the Least Possible in the Workplace. How could I not admire someone telling me to work less and not feel guilty about buying cosmetics online during my planning period? Everyone's gotta have some downtime. So, when I heard she'd published a book about not having children, I was thrilled, until I found it was only available in Europe. Finally, the English translation is here, and the only thing I was disappointed with is that the subtitle has been slightly changed to "40 Good Reasons Not to Have Children" instead of the snarkier French subtitle: "40 Good Reasons Not to Spawn." It's still an engaging read, regardless, and for everyone considering having a child--especially those on the fence--this is required reading. What makes this book an especially courageous endeavor for Maier is that she is a mother of two children and has the guts to say she'd skip motherhood if she knew then what she knows now. She blatanly explains that "Becoming a parent means giving up everything else: your life as a couple, your leisure time, your sex life, your friends, and, if you're a woman, your career success. All that for kids? Honestly, it it really worth it?" According to Maier, no. Not by a long shot.
So, what are her 40 good reasons? Here they are:
1. The "desire for children": A silly idea
2. Labour (child birth) is torture
3. You avoid becoming a walking pacifier
4. You keep having fun
5. Rat race plus rugrats: No thanks!
6. You keep your friends
7. You won't have to use that idiot language when talking to kids
8. Open the nursery, close the bedroom
9. Kids are the death of desire
10. Kids are the death knell of the couple
11. To be or to do: Don't decide
12. "The child is a sort of vicious, innately cruel dwarf" (quote from Michel Houellebecq)
13. Kids are conformists
14. Kids are unbiased allies of capitalism
16. A brain teaser: How to keep kids busy
17. The parent's worst nightmares
18. Don't be fooled by the "ideal child" illusion
19. Your kid will always disappoint you
20. The horror of becoming a merdeuf (mere de famille) (sort of the French equivalent to an over-obsessive soccer mom)
21. Parent above all? No, thank you
22. Keep the experts at bay
23. The family: A horror
24. Don't revert to childhood
25. It takes real courage to keep saying, "Me first"
26. Kids signal the end of your youthful dreams
27. You can't stop yourself from wanting your kids to be happy
28. You can't get away from your kids
29. Get used to it: School is boot camp
30. "Raise" a child... but toward what?
31. Avoid benevolent neutrality like the plague
32. Parenthood is a sad, sweet song
33. Motherhood is a trap for women
34. Motherhood or success: Pick one
35. When the child appears, the father disappears
36. Today's child is the perfect child: Welcome to the best of all possible worlds
37. Danger, child ahead
38. Why wear yourself out for a future that doesn't include you?
39. There are too many children in the world
40. Reject the ten absurd commandments of the "good" parent, such as your children are more important than you, than your work, than you as a couple, than any other child, than all the adults living or dead in the world you live in.
Of course this book has not changed my mind about having kids--I'm already in agreement with Maier. What worries me, though, is how it has reinforced my mental ammunition against having children. Within the past month, several of my friends have announced their pregnancies, and I have to pretend that I'm happy for them. I'm still waiting for them to give me a good reason why they're having kids--something better than, "I just want one." I don't judge them. Well, okay, not that much, but I do feel somewhat sorry for them. If this is what they truly want, then I'm happy for them, but like I said, I haven't head one solid reason from most of them why they really want it. Some of them don't even seem to know if they do--it just happened--oh, well! I hope they don't have the same experiences as Corinne Maier, but I also hope they don't become part of the cult of mommyhood. I know for sure, I'm not drinking the Mombie Kool-Aid. People have to realize that it's okay NOT to have kids--that a woman who refrains from reproducing is not necessarily infertile, bitter, or a child-hater. I don't want people to feel sorry for me because I don't have kids. I wish everyone would put as much thought into having kids as I have into not having them. Personally, I think I'm privy to one of the best-kept secrets out there--the amazing freedom of a childless woman.
I have a couple of posts that are "marinading" in my mind right now, so until I get those out, here is my thought for today. A couple of weeks ago, I read No Kids: 40 Good Reasons Not to Have Children by Corinne Maier. It was just released in the U.S. this month, but it was first published in France in 2007, where it sparked immediate controversy.
I've loved Corinne Maier since I first read her book Bonjour, Laziness! The Art and the Importance of Doing the Least Possible in the Workplace. How could I not admire someone telling me to work less and not feel guilty about buying cosmetics online during my planning period? Everyone's gotta have some downtime. So, when I heard she'd published a book about not having children, I was thrilled, until I found it was only available in Europe. Finally, the English translation is here, and the only thing I was disappointed with is that the subtitle has been slightly changed to "40 Good Reasons Not to Have Children" instead of the snarkier French subtitle: "40 Good Reasons Not to Spawn." It's still an engaging read, regardless, and for everyone considering having a child--especially those on the fence--this is required reading. What makes this book an especially courageous endeavor for Maier is that she is a mother of two children and has the guts to say she'd skip motherhood if she knew then what she knows now. She blatanly explains that "Becoming a parent means giving up everything else: your life as a couple, your leisure time, your sex life, your friends, and, if you're a woman, your career success. All that for kids? Honestly, it it really worth it?" According to Maier, no. Not by a long shot.
So, what are her 40 good reasons? Here they are:
1. The "desire for children": A silly idea
2. Labour (child birth) is torture
3. You avoid becoming a walking pacifier
4. You keep having fun
5. Rat race plus rugrats: No thanks!
6. You keep your friends
7. You won't have to use that idiot language when talking to kids
8. Open the nursery, close the bedroom
9. Kids are the death of desire
10. Kids are the death knell of the couple
11. To be or to do: Don't decide
12. "The child is a sort of vicious, innately cruel dwarf" (quote from Michel Houellebecq)
13. Kids are conformists
14. Kids are unbiased allies of capitalism
16. A brain teaser: How to keep kids busy
17. The parent's worst nightmares
18. Don't be fooled by the "ideal child" illusion
19. Your kid will always disappoint you
20. The horror of becoming a merdeuf (mere de famille) (sort of the French equivalent to an over-obsessive soccer mom)
21. Parent above all? No, thank you
22. Keep the experts at bay
23. The family: A horror
24. Don't revert to childhood
25. It takes real courage to keep saying, "Me first"
26. Kids signal the end of your youthful dreams
27. You can't stop yourself from wanting your kids to be happy
28. You can't get away from your kids
29. Get used to it: School is boot camp
30. "Raise" a child... but toward what?
31. Avoid benevolent neutrality like the plague
32. Parenthood is a sad, sweet song
33. Motherhood is a trap for women
34. Motherhood or success: Pick one
35. When the child appears, the father disappears
36. Today's child is the perfect child: Welcome to the best of all possible worlds
37. Danger, child ahead
38. Why wear yourself out for a future that doesn't include you?
39. There are too many children in the world
40. Reject the ten absurd commandments of the "good" parent, such as your children are more important than you, than your work, than you as a couple, than any other child, than all the adults living or dead in the world you live in.
Of course this book has not changed my mind about having kids--I'm already in agreement with Maier. What worries me, though, is how it has reinforced my mental ammunition against having children. Within the past month, several of my friends have announced their pregnancies, and I have to pretend that I'm happy for them. I'm still waiting for them to give me a good reason why they're having kids--something better than, "I just want one." I don't judge them. Well, okay, not that much, but I do feel somewhat sorry for them. If this is what they truly want, then I'm happy for them, but like I said, I haven't head one solid reason from most of them why they really want it. Some of them don't even seem to know if they do--it just happened--oh, well! I hope they don't have the same experiences as Corinne Maier, but I also hope they don't become part of the cult of mommyhood. I know for sure, I'm not drinking the Mombie Kool-Aid. People have to realize that it's okay NOT to have kids--that a woman who refrains from reproducing is not necessarily infertile, bitter, or a child-hater. I don't want people to feel sorry for me because I don't have kids. I wish everyone would put as much thought into having kids as I have into not having them. Personally, I think I'm privy to one of the best-kept secrets out there--the amazing freedom of a childless woman.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Look Out, Brangelina! Here Comes Silie...or...Jumon
My wonderful significant other got me a subscription to Us Weekly last year. It is my guilty pleasure way of unwinding on Friday night after school. Looking at all the fashions, makeup, and gossip helps me forget my worries while indulging in someone else's. Mindless entertainment. Like Miranda on "Sex in the City" says about her favorite trashy celeb mag: "It's my thing. Get over it."
So, just the other day, my future stepson picked up Us Weekly and started flipping through it. My significant other (his dad) asked him which girls he thought were pretty. Five year-old stepson pointed to a picture of Kim Kardashian and said, "Whoa! She hardly has any clothes on!" Then, he saw a picture of Ben Affleck and said, "That kind of looks like my dad." (He's sort of right on that one. And, he was really right on the Kim Kardashian picture, too.)
Next, he said, "Let's find a picture that looks like you, Jules." I thought I'd help him by pointing out Pamela Anderson, who looks NOTHING like me, by the way. He said, "No...her...hair ...is too crazy." I'm pretty sure his eyes fixed on her huge breasts for a moment before flipping the page.
He leafed through for a while before saying, "Here's one! This looks just like you and my dad." It was a picture of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.
Sigh. Okay, future stepson is perfect.
Here's the pic he pointed out:
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Mommy 'n Me: A Story of Pole Dancing
Now I've seen everything. Today, I offered to accompany my extremely handsome significant other to a birthday party with his son. The party was for one of his son's preschool classmates who is turning five. Formerly, in the early days of our courtship, I shied away from such celebrations. All the mommies and daddies know each other, and I'm the childless (or childfree, however you look at it) gal in uncomfortable shoes in the corner. One thing that instantly lets other people know you're not a mother is wearing any kind of shoe with a heel. Pointing and laughing when kids cry is also a dead giveaway.These days, I'm the first one in the car when it's time to party kid-style. I even go shopping for the presents, and I swear that it's my mission to make sure every kid at the pre-school has the "Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed" game. Sadly, it's my go-to gift when I can't think of something else. But, I don't know these kids. How would I know what they want? I just see it as my ticket in the door to the festivities.Today's party was at "Child's Play." When I heard this, I envisioned a possessed doll on a rampage with a knife. I wanted to see that scene where that kid shoves an air hose up Chucky's nose and his head explodes. Would it happen at an indoor playground in Los Angeles? Would it occur in a pit of multi-colored balls, or, at the face-painting booth? Needless to say, while there were several precocious kids running around, there were no serial killers in overalls. Next time.
What "Child's Play" did have to offer, though, was something much more valuable than a murderous doll. It offers "Mommy 'n Me" classes. Wondering what kinds of classes a place like this could offer, I asked for a brochure, and right there on page 3: POLE FITNESS! Yes, mommy can drop off little Cody or Maya in the front and learn stripping in the back! Talk about "Business in the front, party in the back!" When I saw how much this place charges for a two-hour birthday party, I realized why they offer Pole Fitness, because mommy is gonna have to take a couple of shifts to pay this shindig off during these trying economic times.
I took a little walk to the back to check out the pole dancing facilities for myself. There it was--a mirrored room. The best part was that the poles had been covered with padding so some unsuspecting kid (or me) wouldn't run into them and maim himself. After all the crap I've talked about L.A. lately, this place kind of made me change my mind. Where else could kids get their faces hurled with balls, while mommy learns to--ahem-- keep them out of her face? (or, at least ask for a tip first). Today, I loved L.A.
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