So I’ve found the root of all evil and as I mentioned, it has nothing to do with the green stuff. Wanna know what it is? Of course you do. Its cupcakes. Particularly the birthday variety of cupcakes. Well, it’s probably more like the refined white sugar that comprises a huge portion of the ingredients in cupcakes, but still. Hear me out. My daughter goes to the public school in White Plains NY. Yes, we do live in Westchester County New York where there are WAY too many moms who have too much money and time on their hands. Unfortunately, they seem to swarm to the PTA like flies on honey. This leads them to spend their time totally annoying normal moms with mandates like only bringing healthy food in to share for birthdays. At the beginning of the school year, we were actually given a list of healthy alternatives. Like granola bars. Or cut up veggies. WTF??!!! If my mom tried to send in granola bars to share for my birthday, I think I would have just told her to forget it. Cut up veggies? For a birthday snack? Don’t I force feed my kid enough of those every day? You have to go and screw with her birthday too?
I know that the motivations behind not encouraging parents to send in junk are well intended. But seriously. It is not a few random cupcakes that are ruining the health of our kids. It’s all the junk they eat after school and on the weekends that really hurts their weight and diet. Encouraging moms to send in healthy lunches is one thing. Not selling soda in the cafeteria for every day consumption, I can totally get behind that. Trying to be overly proactive about this stuff, not so much.
Another thing that bothers me is the holier than thou attitude of these moms. Frankly, I’m a pretty intelligent person. I think I can weigh out whether or not my daughter should have cupcakes. I don’t judge you for being a type A uber crazy helicopter mom, don’t judge me for being a more laid back mom. Both our kids will turn out fine.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Wow, You're..... Strict
Listening to: The Bounty Girls
Mood: Calm
My eldest daughter just entered Kindergarten last week. (Enter usual laments about how fast time goes by and children grow here) I’ve always been on the strict side with her. I will be with my youngest too. I feel children need leadership and boundaries to grow up right. Just my personal child rearing philosophy. I’ve commented before about how parenting is becoming less and less up to the parents and more and more of peer pressure and outside interference and regulation. I’ve also commented about parents who feel it’s their right to make judgmental comments on how other parents do their thing. One of the comments that I received recently that really bothered me: “Wow, you’re…..strict.” In a condescending tone as if I beat my children with a wooden spoon to keep them in line. (By the way, that’s how my dad kept me in line. Not that I in any way condone that.) So let me get this straight. You want to judge me for trying to raise a socially conscious, courteous, law abiding child? Um, what? It’s not really a new thing, but it is still very much in vogue to be friends with your kids. My generation as parents seem to have a need to be liked. I never subscribed to this theory. I love my children, my children love me. However, they don’t have to like me. In fact, they probably shouldn’t like me, at least until they turn 25. If they do, I feel like I’m not doing my job. Kids should not get everything they want or ask for. They just don’t have enough information or life experience to know what’s best for them. So yes, I am strict. Raising kids is a hard job. Hard enough without fellow parents being snarky. I don’t mind being seen as strict. I agree that if you start seeing me beat my children in public that I probably need to be stopped, but until then, let me raise my kids as I see fit.
Becky
Mood: Calm
My eldest daughter just entered Kindergarten last week. (Enter usual laments about how fast time goes by and children grow here) I’ve always been on the strict side with her. I will be with my youngest too. I feel children need leadership and boundaries to grow up right. Just my personal child rearing philosophy. I’ve commented before about how parenting is becoming less and less up to the parents and more and more of peer pressure and outside interference and regulation. I’ve also commented about parents who feel it’s their right to make judgmental comments on how other parents do their thing. One of the comments that I received recently that really bothered me: “Wow, you’re…..strict.” In a condescending tone as if I beat my children with a wooden spoon to keep them in line. (By the way, that’s how my dad kept me in line. Not that I in any way condone that.) So let me get this straight. You want to judge me for trying to raise a socially conscious, courteous, law abiding child? Um, what? It’s not really a new thing, but it is still very much in vogue to be friends with your kids. My generation as parents seem to have a need to be liked. I never subscribed to this theory. I love my children, my children love me. However, they don’t have to like me. In fact, they probably shouldn’t like me, at least until they turn 25. If they do, I feel like I’m not doing my job. Kids should not get everything they want or ask for. They just don’t have enough information or life experience to know what’s best for them. So yes, I am strict. Raising kids is a hard job. Hard enough without fellow parents being snarky. I don’t mind being seen as strict. I agree that if you start seeing me beat my children in public that I probably need to be stopped, but until then, let me raise my kids as I see fit.
Becky
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Playground Etiquette
Mood: blasé
Listening to: Classic Rock on TV
I took my daughters to a park yesterday. My elder daughter ran off to climb and my younger one got set in the grass to play. All of a sudden, my older daughter came running up to me, crying, with blood streaming from her nose to her chin. At first, I thought she fell and knocked out some teeth, but it turned out she was hit in the nose by a stray Frisbee. I looked for a tissue to stop the bleeding and then looked around for the person who did it or a parent to at least see if she was ok. Nothing. No one but a great older grandpa offering me some wipes. His grandkids still needed to be carried around, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t related to him at all. Thank you so much by the way super grandpa! I later learned that the boy who threw the Frisbee had apologized to my daughter, but it was still the weirdest thing. Any time your kid runs up to you with a bloody face, it’s very upsetting, especially if someone else was involved, but is nowhere to be seen. Isn’t this basic playground etiquette? If your child hurts someone, even accidentally, don’t you at least tell the other parent something happened? Offer your best apologies and make sure the other child is ok? Perhaps they were afraid I would go nuts. After all, some parents are a little crazy these days, especially when a bloody face is involved. Still. They had to see the blood running down her face. That would at least appear a little serious. It’s not just running into another child.
I just think it sets a good example when parents show their child how to react when someone gets hurt, even if it was just an accident. Not all parents are psychos. Kids get hurt and it was an accident. I may not have been quite as understanding if the boy had punched her, but it was definitely an accident. If this happens to your child, make sure you set a good example. Find the other parent and explain what happened. Even if they do fly off the hook, and lots do when their child gets hurt, you will still be teaching your child to take responsibility for his or her actions, even if they accidentally hurt someone else.
Becky
Listening to: Classic Rock on TV
I took my daughters to a park yesterday. My elder daughter ran off to climb and my younger one got set in the grass to play. All of a sudden, my older daughter came running up to me, crying, with blood streaming from her nose to her chin. At first, I thought she fell and knocked out some teeth, but it turned out she was hit in the nose by a stray Frisbee. I looked for a tissue to stop the bleeding and then looked around for the person who did it or a parent to at least see if she was ok. Nothing. No one but a great older grandpa offering me some wipes. His grandkids still needed to be carried around, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t related to him at all. Thank you so much by the way super grandpa! I later learned that the boy who threw the Frisbee had apologized to my daughter, but it was still the weirdest thing. Any time your kid runs up to you with a bloody face, it’s very upsetting, especially if someone else was involved, but is nowhere to be seen. Isn’t this basic playground etiquette? If your child hurts someone, even accidentally, don’t you at least tell the other parent something happened? Offer your best apologies and make sure the other child is ok? Perhaps they were afraid I would go nuts. After all, some parents are a little crazy these days, especially when a bloody face is involved. Still. They had to see the blood running down her face. That would at least appear a little serious. It’s not just running into another child.
I just think it sets a good example when parents show their child how to react when someone gets hurt, even if it was just an accident. Not all parents are psychos. Kids get hurt and it was an accident. I may not have been quite as understanding if the boy had punched her, but it was definitely an accident. If this happens to your child, make sure you set a good example. Find the other parent and explain what happened. Even if they do fly off the hook, and lots do when their child gets hurt, you will still be teaching your child to take responsibility for his or her actions, even if they accidentally hurt someone else.
Becky
Monday, August 11, 2008
It's a.......boy?
It’s a…..boy?
Mood: Quietly cranky
Listening to: Aristocats on TV
My youngest daughter is 8 months old. She doesn’t necessarily look like a girl. Most babies don’t look specifically like their gender for quite a while. So if some cute old granny tells me how cute he is and my daughter happens to be wearing a gender questionable outfit, I really don’t mind. Honestly, I don’t. Unless we know them, I don’t usually bother to correct the person. However, most of the times this happens, my daughter is not wearing an outfit of that type. She has pierced ears. Both of them. So if she’s wearing pink, is seated in her Very Pink Car Seat, and her older sister is asking her if she’s a good girl, well ladies and gentleman, it really isn’t a brain buster. You know what they say about ducks. If it looks, quacks, and flies like a duck, it ain’t a chicken.
I know some people make a big deal out of deciding that their children won’t be biased against certain colors just because of their gender. I have nothing against little girls in blue or green or boys in red or yellow, or even a little pink. However, most people do naturally use colors that help identify gender. It’s just habit. We define our world around us with convenient parameters. Using colors is a natural method of distinction. My daughter does occasionally wear blue and green and purple. I’m not a fan of making girls and boys into overly programmed bots, but pink and lavender just mentally fit for me on girls.
I guess it’s just my mom defensive getting rubbed when people tell me how cute my child is, but don’t bother to notice what she’s wearing and sitting in.
Becky
Mood: Quietly cranky
Listening to: Aristocats on TV
My youngest daughter is 8 months old. She doesn’t necessarily look like a girl. Most babies don’t look specifically like their gender for quite a while. So if some cute old granny tells me how cute he is and my daughter happens to be wearing a gender questionable outfit, I really don’t mind. Honestly, I don’t. Unless we know them, I don’t usually bother to correct the person. However, most of the times this happens, my daughter is not wearing an outfit of that type. She has pierced ears. Both of them. So if she’s wearing pink, is seated in her Very Pink Car Seat, and her older sister is asking her if she’s a good girl, well ladies and gentleman, it really isn’t a brain buster. You know what they say about ducks. If it looks, quacks, and flies like a duck, it ain’t a chicken.
I know some people make a big deal out of deciding that their children won’t be biased against certain colors just because of their gender. I have nothing against little girls in blue or green or boys in red or yellow, or even a little pink. However, most people do naturally use colors that help identify gender. It’s just habit. We define our world around us with convenient parameters. Using colors is a natural method of distinction. My daughter does occasionally wear blue and green and purple. I’m not a fan of making girls and boys into overly programmed bots, but pink and lavender just mentally fit for me on girls.
I guess it’s just my mom defensive getting rubbed when people tell me how cute my child is, but don’t bother to notice what she’s wearing and sitting in.
Becky
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Swimming in a Tar Pit
Mood: Exasperated
Listening to: American Pie – Don McLean along with my ghetto-booty wall sleeve air conditioner that will doubtlessly vibrate itself out onto the porch any minute now. Yippee.
I have once more emerged from the black hole of the internets once again to provide you with a taste of the rediculosity that is parenting. I know I’ve been away from a while (again!). I sincerely hope no one is checking back in every few days for inspiration. I hate it when I check back on a blog every day for a month to find the same entry staring me in the face. That’s just kind of how life is going these days.
While I was absent, I took my two progeny to visit my mother, best friend, and grandparents in Chicago and Michigan. For the most part, it was a great trip and fun was had by all. The rest we’ll dig into with a spoon in another blog.
And now for something completely different, last night I was contemplating how detrimental it would be to pipe mashed potatoes in my ears. Just to deaden the noise. You see, my baby is 7.5 months old now, and to my dismay, has decided that she is a screamer. And a yeller. She screams for food, she screams for a clean diaper, she screams to be picked up, she screams because she’s happy. Hell, she screams just for the joy of making so much noise. The problem with all this is that I have wood floors in my apartment and it’s not overly furnished with noise reduction items like love seats and curtains. I seriously have to cover my ears at times it is so shrill. And she does it all the time. She has been so different from my eldest daughter. In almost every aspect, she has been a much more difficult baby. It really calls my sanity into question when I still insist I want more kids.
I’ve always thought that having kids and trying to preserve your own identity is like trying to go swimming in a tar pit. Some people realize this before they have kids and jump in anyway, others, like me, don’t realize it until much later. Of course if you aren’t really interested in preserving your own identity sans kids and are totally sold on a new mommy identity, you have already sunk. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Of course most of us moms that identify with losing our identity get an inordinate amount of joy from said tar pit (i.e. our kids), it still gets a little depressing at times. I’ve told my husband many times that if I were able to just coast along never cooking or cleaning a thing, I’d probably handle motherhood just fine. The minute I start to put fight and cook or clean, little tar limbs appear out of nowhere needing lots of different things. My 4 year old is much better than the baby, but the ability to talk and get bored have inspired her to think of lots of unnecessary things to bother me to fetch for her. I.e. milk, a scissors, finger paints, a taco salad (seriously, wtf?). At least when it’s moderately temperate outside we can go for a walk or to the park. When Mother Nature decides to turn into a steam cooker, we’re not only stuck together, we’re stuck together in my 1000 square foot apartment. For the 18 or so hours they are awake.
*Cue tragic sigh. I’m sure I’ll miss all of this as they get older.
Becky
Listening to: American Pie – Don McLean along with my ghetto-booty wall sleeve air conditioner that will doubtlessly vibrate itself out onto the porch any minute now. Yippee.
I have once more emerged from the black hole of the internets once again to provide you with a taste of the rediculosity that is parenting. I know I’ve been away from a while (again!). I sincerely hope no one is checking back in every few days for inspiration. I hate it when I check back on a blog every day for a month to find the same entry staring me in the face. That’s just kind of how life is going these days.
While I was absent, I took my two progeny to visit my mother, best friend, and grandparents in Chicago and Michigan. For the most part, it was a great trip and fun was had by all. The rest we’ll dig into with a spoon in another blog.
And now for something completely different, last night I was contemplating how detrimental it would be to pipe mashed potatoes in my ears. Just to deaden the noise. You see, my baby is 7.5 months old now, and to my dismay, has decided that she is a screamer. And a yeller. She screams for food, she screams for a clean diaper, she screams to be picked up, she screams because she’s happy. Hell, she screams just for the joy of making so much noise. The problem with all this is that I have wood floors in my apartment and it’s not overly furnished with noise reduction items like love seats and curtains. I seriously have to cover my ears at times it is so shrill. And she does it all the time. She has been so different from my eldest daughter. In almost every aspect, she has been a much more difficult baby. It really calls my sanity into question when I still insist I want more kids.
I’ve always thought that having kids and trying to preserve your own identity is like trying to go swimming in a tar pit. Some people realize this before they have kids and jump in anyway, others, like me, don’t realize it until much later. Of course if you aren’t really interested in preserving your own identity sans kids and are totally sold on a new mommy identity, you have already sunk. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Of course most of us moms that identify with losing our identity get an inordinate amount of joy from said tar pit (i.e. our kids), it still gets a little depressing at times. I’ve told my husband many times that if I were able to just coast along never cooking or cleaning a thing, I’d probably handle motherhood just fine. The minute I start to put fight and cook or clean, little tar limbs appear out of nowhere needing lots of different things. My 4 year old is much better than the baby, but the ability to talk and get bored have inspired her to think of lots of unnecessary things to bother me to fetch for her. I.e. milk, a scissors, finger paints, a taco salad (seriously, wtf?). At least when it’s moderately temperate outside we can go for a walk or to the park. When Mother Nature decides to turn into a steam cooker, we’re not only stuck together, we’re stuck together in my 1000 square foot apartment. For the 18 or so hours they are awake.
*Cue tragic sigh. I’m sure I’ll miss all of this as they get older.
Becky
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
My Very Own Hypochondriac
Listening to: The air conditioner
Mood: Glad to be in a cool room
My eldest daughter has decided that she likes attention. Well, to be honest, this is a really old decision. The new part of this is the obtaining of attention through blowing any and all injuries, no matter how minor, WAY out of proportion. She’s like that creepy person you just met at the bus stand who now shares way too much information and wants to be your bff. The “take a look at this rash” type that makes you inch down the bench and desperately avoid any and all eye contact until the bus arrives. Not that it helps you any, the person will keep talking at you anyhow. Of course this fits in perfectly with my daughter’s innate ability to be the biggest drama queen ever. She doesn’t cry much when she gets hurt, but she will make sure to remind you 546 times in the next 5 minutes that she does indeed have a booboo on her hand. It bled, and yes, it still hurts. It has gotten to the point where any little sneeze, sniffle, or cough will doubtlessly turn into a raging cold or possibly pneumonia. That’s her story and she’s sticking to it until the next possible malady comes along. Recently, she got a nasty cut on her foot without even realizing it. It was only after I noticed that she had managed to smear blood across the floor (a wood one, thank god!) that she even realized it. It was a pretty decent sized cut on the top of her foot, but she couldn’t even think of how it had come to be there. Then we had to go through the band aid routine. I’m sure all mothers have gone through this. I need a one here……and here……oh, and here……and shoot, just give me the whole box with which to decorate my body because they stick so much better than paper stickers!
Sigh. I need a daiquiri. I’m not a drama person anyhow, but I think the heat and the drama are really getting to me. Yes. I am indeed in immediate need of a frozen drink of the alcoholic type.
Becky
Mood: Glad to be in a cool room
My eldest daughter has decided that she likes attention. Well, to be honest, this is a really old decision. The new part of this is the obtaining of attention through blowing any and all injuries, no matter how minor, WAY out of proportion. She’s like that creepy person you just met at the bus stand who now shares way too much information and wants to be your bff. The “take a look at this rash” type that makes you inch down the bench and desperately avoid any and all eye contact until the bus arrives. Not that it helps you any, the person will keep talking at you anyhow. Of course this fits in perfectly with my daughter’s innate ability to be the biggest drama queen ever. She doesn’t cry much when she gets hurt, but she will make sure to remind you 546 times in the next 5 minutes that she does indeed have a booboo on her hand. It bled, and yes, it still hurts. It has gotten to the point where any little sneeze, sniffle, or cough will doubtlessly turn into a raging cold or possibly pneumonia. That’s her story and she’s sticking to it until the next possible malady comes along. Recently, she got a nasty cut on her foot without even realizing it. It was only after I noticed that she had managed to smear blood across the floor (a wood one, thank god!) that she even realized it. It was a pretty decent sized cut on the top of her foot, but she couldn’t even think of how it had come to be there. Then we had to go through the band aid routine. I’m sure all mothers have gone through this. I need a one here……and here……oh, and here……and shoot, just give me the whole box with which to decorate my body because they stick so much better than paper stickers!
Sigh. I need a daiquiri. I’m not a drama person anyhow, but I think the heat and the drama are really getting to me. Yes. I am indeed in immediate need of a frozen drink of the alcoholic type.
Becky
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Too Much Touch
Listening to: Clean House
Mood: Tired
Psst. Psst. Over Here. Behind the couch. Shhhhh!! We have to be quiet or they’ll find me. My kids. They’ve sent out a search party already. I’m sure every mom has had moments like the one I’m having right now. Anyone who hasn’t either isn’t spending enough time with their kid(s) or she is lying. My children have decided on a double team attack strategy to make me crazy by never, ever letting me be by myself. Did I mention ever? I really feel bad for my husband, who is decently saran wrap-ish himself, because by the time he comes home, I have built a 3 foot steel bubble around myself. The children will still insist on throwing themselves at it and bouncing off, but by that time, I absolutely need some space. My youngest child was born a Velcro wannabe and her arrival has caused a jealous streak to arise within her elder sister who then decided that being away from me (read not touching me) might mean that I will run away to the circus and never love or think of her again. Now this is ridiculous, but I never could tell that girl anything.
My poor husband just can’t imagine why, at the end of the day, that I don’t want anything to do with anyone overly needy or under 20. It has nothing to do with him at all, but finding one more person telling me plaintively that he’s hungry just irritates me to no end. Especially when that person is 33 with perfectly functional arms and legs. I know this is a pretty common problem for wives, but it just drives me nuts to have another immature person adding to the chaos instead of helping me manage it, like an adult.
Becky
Mood: Tired
Psst. Psst. Over Here. Behind the couch. Shhhhh!! We have to be quiet or they’ll find me. My kids. They’ve sent out a search party already. I’m sure every mom has had moments like the one I’m having right now. Anyone who hasn’t either isn’t spending enough time with their kid(s) or she is lying. My children have decided on a double team attack strategy to make me crazy by never, ever letting me be by myself. Did I mention ever? I really feel bad for my husband, who is decently saran wrap-ish himself, because by the time he comes home, I have built a 3 foot steel bubble around myself. The children will still insist on throwing themselves at it and bouncing off, but by that time, I absolutely need some space. My youngest child was born a Velcro wannabe and her arrival has caused a jealous streak to arise within her elder sister who then decided that being away from me (read not touching me) might mean that I will run away to the circus and never love or think of her again. Now this is ridiculous, but I never could tell that girl anything.
My poor husband just can’t imagine why, at the end of the day, that I don’t want anything to do with anyone overly needy or under 20. It has nothing to do with him at all, but finding one more person telling me plaintively that he’s hungry just irritates me to no end. Especially when that person is 33 with perfectly functional arms and legs. I know this is a pretty common problem for wives, but it just drives me nuts to have another immature person adding to the chaos instead of helping me manage it, like an adult.
Becky
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