The Family Bone.

Mom's View:

As I was growing up, we always had pets in the house. At least a dog, and sometimes a couple of dogs or a dog and a cat. We weren’t allowed to have reptiles or rodents, and my mom hid the ant farm my aunt bought us before we could even order the tenants. But we did have some tropical fish in the kitchen. As I recall, they were ever rotating due to untimely deaths and fish cannibalism.

Our first dog was called Squeaky, named because all she could do was squeak when she was found at the garbage dump as a puppy. A Good Samaritan rescued her and her siblings, and my mother was sold the minute she opened her door to the Samaritan’s knock. Squeaky was part beagle and part rat terrier (I think), had a solid temperament (except when my little brother tried to kiss her on the lips during her nap), and was my first introduction to mortality.

After Squeaky, we had a purebred golden retriever named Chambertin (my parents’ favorite wine at the time. I know. I know. My parents were yuppies before the phrase was coined, if you must know). She was a sweet, obedient dog, and she spent hours in the backyard retrieving the tennis balls my brother hit during impromptu batting practices. She was a constant presence during my childhood, playing in the snow, walking alongside us as we traipsed through the woods on various adventures, sleeping next to the woodstove during down times.

Stormy, a kitten found by a truck driver in the middle of the highway during a rainstorm, came home at some point during Cham's reign. Clever name, right? I can make fun of it because I’m the one who named her. She had to be bottle fed and was never particularly social given her traumatic beginnings. But whenever I was sick, she parked herself on the end of my bed until I felt better. In fact, I knew I was getting better when I woke up alone. Then there was Mochi (Grey Persian who stared at lightbulbs), Porsche (dog so smart she was a little scary), Corey (dog so dumb she was a little scary), and my mom’s current dog, Derby. Derby’s a schnoodle who loves neck rubs. I didn’t live with the last three, but they’re still part of the family, right?

Given this history, it’s not hard to imagine why I’ve always had my own pets since I first moved out of the house and lived on my own. My first foray into pet ownership was a complete disaster and was deeply unfair of me. Roy was a guinea pig I bought during my freshman year at college, and who was shuffled from person to person after my college dorm roommate told me she wasn’t interested in having a pet (I thought she was being unreasonable at the time if that gives you any indication of what I was like when I was young). I took him with me when I sublet an apartment (really, it was a tenement with a bathtub in the kitchen) on the Lower East Side for the summer. I had no idea what a guinea pig liked, and I have to imagine that the poor guy was pretty depressed the whole time he was forced to live with me. One night, during a party, someone poured beer in his cage. While I’d like to say that was an aberration, I’m guessing that was only one of the many indignities poor Roy was forced to suffer in my care.

As it turns out, I was the victim of a violent crime that summer, and I left the city and my apartment without Roy. A good friend, whom I similarly abandoned in a crappy position, told me she found a school or something that took him, which I’m grateful for now but at the time was too self absorbed to appreciate. I actually still think about Roy and I apologize to him for being a horrible pet parent. I’m also sorry to my friend, but that’s probably the subject of a different post.

Since Roy, I’ve had numerous pets, all of whom I’ve treated much better than Roy, and most of whom would be deemed society’s rejects were they humans. Take Moses, for example. Moses lived on the city streets, and kept showing up on a friend’s porch after he’d been beaten up. She’d feed him for a couple of days and tend his wounds, and then when he felt better he’d leave again. I captured him in a box when he showed up with his ear half ripped off, a hole through one leg, and half his fur gone and dragged him to the vet for medical treatment and neutering.

A couple of days later, I went back to pick him up.

“He’s not a particularly nice cat, is he?” The vet handed him back to me dubiously.
I shrugged and went home.

He actually was a particularly nice cat. He just didn’t like a vet cutting his balls off.

Unless you’ve grown up with pets or simply owned a lot of them, I don’t think you have the same feeling about them that I do. When you’ve lived long enough in a house with – at various times - your parents, your brother, your sister, your husband, your kids and your pets, you tend to think of the latter as a part of your family. They are no more and no less important than anyone else. You recognize their unique personality traits, and you mourn them when they die.

When Moses got cancer six years after I first brought him home, I was beside myself. I kept him alive probably longer than I should have because I wanted to try anything I could. I had him tested; I considered chemo. I considered anything that might give him some additional, quality, life. Finally, when all appeared fruitless, I made the hard choice to let him go.

A few weeks later, I was at a birthday party for one of _____________’s friends, and I was talking to his parents. I told them about how I’d had a difficult summer because I’d lost Moses to cancer. The friend’s mother shrugged.

“So you’ll get a new cat.”

And that pretty much stalled the conversation right there. Moses wasn’t “a cat”. He wasn’t a generic classification that could easily be replaced. He was Moses! He slept on the dining room table in a patch of sunlight. He followed me all over the house when I was home. He agitated the dog and then got mad at her for getting wound up. Moses! You know. That guy.

She didn’t know.
But I do, and for that, I’m grateful.

Son's View:

I think that pets rock. They are the only thing that really let you pet it. If I asked my mom if I could pet her she would say no. I am conducting a test in which I ask
_________: “mom can I pet your hair?”
Mom: “what?”
_________: “can I pet your hair?”
Mom: “why? No! What are you doing?!”
_________: “nothing, tee hee.”
Now I am going to ask our new cat Ruby if I can pet her hair.
_________: “can I pet your hair Ruby?”
Ruby: “Meow (translation: Yes)”
_________: “thank you.”
R: “purrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
See, pets keep it short and simple.

Home for the Holidays.

Mom's view:

Every year around this time I watch my very most favorite Thanksgiving movie, “Home for the Holidays.” I know most people prefer “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles,” which is hysterical, I’ll grant you. But to me, no movie has ever captured the sweet discomfort of a large family get together better than “Home for the Holidays.” I cringe every time I see it. This year, _______________ watched it with me.

For anyone who hasn’t had the joy of watching this movie, it’s about a fortyish single mom (Holly Hunter) who is going home for Thanksgiving dinner. Right before she leaves, she loses her job, makes out with her (ex) boss and finds out her teenaged daughter is planning on losing her virginity over the holiday. She is rapidly getting sicker with a cold, loses her coat in the airport, and is deposited in this condition in a Midwestern town to a nervous mother (Anne Bancroft) and a good natured but somewhat chuckleheaded father (Charles Durning).

The cast of characters is rounded out by the gay, hysterically funny brother (Robert Downey Jr.), who is the black sheep of the family in numerous ways, the uptight, self-appointed watchdog sister (I forget this one’s name but I love her) and her similarly uptight family, and spinster Aunt Glady (also don’t know her real name), an eccentric woman who drinks too much and says grossly inappropriate things at the family dinner. The movie’s theme is families: how much we are different, how little we understand each other, and how much, ultimately, we belong to one another. Although I’m always horrified at the beginning of this movie, by the end the family’s craziness has become familiar and I find myself feeling a little nostalgic already.

The only completely unbelievable thing about the film is the fact that Robert Downey Jr. brings along a gorgeous, semi-normal guy (Dylan McDermott) who has seen Holly Hunter’s picture and wants to get to know her. I think the point of this is that the producers wanted to make sure we didn’t all go home and slit our wrists. If this was my family, someone would have brought over a reclusive neighbor with stained pants because they felt sorry for him and he would be the one who found me unbearably attractive. I’m just saying.

Anyway, ___________________ and I are going down to Florida this year to spend Thanksgiving with my mom and stepfather, my stepsister, and her two daughters. We have four divorces between us. I’ll also see my father (two divorces) and my grandmother on his side (widow). My ex-husband lives in Florida, and will be coming to Thanksgiving dinner as well. Even pared down to its most elemental form, it sounds crazy doesn’t it? And when you get into the nuances, it’s even more tricky.

As in “Home for the Holidays,” there will be issues. Someone will be mad at someone else, someone will be hurt, someone will drink too much, and someone will say the wrong thing. Actually, it’s quite possible that I’ll be responsible for all of these things. By the end of the trip, though, I will be sad to go. Because whatever its form, this is my family, and they belong to me. Whether they like it or not.

Son's view:

I liked this movie. I liked how the movie was set up in chapters. The family was funny and all the times the brother did something stupid it made me laugh. The mom was funny and when she took off her wig I thought that she was an evil old lady. My favorite part of the movie was when the brother told her to get into the car and then he drove away.

I Scream. You Scream.

Mom's view:

I was asking for it by picking the topic “Perfect Mom” right after Rake Wars 2009, clearly, because I think I sounded like an ogre in ___________’s post. I was really bothered by it, but when I went to work a friend quickly disabused me of the notion that it was as meaningful as I thought.

“It’s just because he wrote it while you were upset with him about the raking. If you’d picked the same topic the day after Christmas it would have been a whole different post.”

I confirmed this with __________, later on. “Remember your post about the perfect mom?”
“Yeah.”
“What if you’d written that the day after Christmas?”
He paused. “I might have focused more on the good things.”
Note to self: Do not be so stupid in the future.

Still, an unsettled feeling lingers, primarily revolving around the part where ______________ asked that I quit yelling at him so much because it scared him. This is despite the fact that I outed myself as a yeller in my own post, and despite the fact that I know the reason it scares him is because I don’t do it very often. It doesn’t bother me that he asked me to quit telling him what to do, which I laughed about, or that he asked me to quit being cranky, which I also laughed about. It bothers me that he talked about the fact that I yell. It bothers me a lot.

So I have to ask myself, “Why?”

I read an article not too long ago in my favorite newspaper, the NYT, about yelling. The article proposed a theory that yelling was the new spanking, which is something I immediately discounted.

“They’re not the same at all,” I told the computer. (In case you’re having trouble making the leap, I was reading the paper online).

I abhor spanking. I draw a clear line in the sand when it comes to physically reprimanding children, as I don’t see what possible purpose it serves. My argument against spanking is this: As far as I can tell, my purpose as a parent is to teach my child how to be an independent, moral, thoughtful adult. Punishment should teach, not hurt. If I spank my child, I’m acting in a violent way, out of anger, and it’s not teaching my child anything. When I am forced to deal with a difficult client or co-worker, I do not end the issue by slapping them. I work to come to a resolution that is thoughtful and appropriate. Why would I give any less to my child, whom I supposedly love?

Something like that. And that sounds really super mature, doesn’t it? I like to think so. I tend to espouse this theory while staring slightly above the head of the person to whom I am talking, as though I’m carefully pulling deep and meaningful thoughts out of thin air. If I could get away with smoking a pipe while pontificating, I’d do that too.

But here’s the thing. The very same argument I make about spanking could be made about yelling. How exactly does yelling at anyone help anything? What does it teach? I don’t solve issues at work by yelling, and even though I’m less likely to get fired if I resolve an issue by yelling than by smacking someone, I would still be risking my job. Why is it so easy to draw the line in the sand for physical violence, as opposed to violence of voice?

People always comment when they see a parent slap or spank a child in public. It’s inevitable. They say things like “Oh, good parenting,” or “Call DSS,” and some people even get so upset that they threaten the offending parent with violence. I hate seeing a parent act like that in public. Absolutely hate it. It scares me, and I feel sorry for the child, and I want to cry myself. But really, I feel approximately the same way when I hear a parent yell at a child. That voice raised in anger, the child clearly upset; it is all very disturbing. The parent never looks good in any situation where yelling or hitting is involved. Never.

On the other side of the coin, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with exhibiting frustration. Kids do rotten, stupid things. A lot. At least six times on a Tuesday. I’ve left _______________ in the back yard with a popsicle and a pat on the head, only to return to a shirtless, wild eyed savage standing over a wailing neighbor child wielding the splintered stick fifteen minutes later. Things can degenerate pretty quickly without discipline. Kids need to understand when they’ve done something that angers, or disappoints, or frustrates. They need to understand that actions have consequences. I don’t know that it’s so wrong for a child to know that, say, for instance, when you say you’re going to do the raking and you bail out on your mom so she has to go out and basically do it herself, and the one time you finally help you claim you have to go to the bathroom and then spend a half hour changing your shirt and reapplying your Axe body spray, this makes her mad. This would make anyone mad. If you don’t do your work at a job, you’re fired. If you don’t do your work at school, you get bad grades. What consequences do we, as parents, have to offer?

We’re not supposed to make food a reward or a punishment. I get it. Television? That doesn’t make much sense either. If you’re doing well at school you get to watch more television? Kind of sends the wrong message I think. So what then? You get to sleep with a blanket if you toe the line? That’s the thing with yelling. Unless you’re one of those people who screams all the time, like this guy I knew who I think was from the Ukraine and just basically yelled everything he thought, it’s a pretty clear indication to someone that you’re upset. That’s why it scares ______________ when I yell. He doesn’t want to disappoint me, and yet I’ve been disappointed. By doing whatever he’s done, he’s thrown off the peaceful calm of our usual existence by nudging. Mom. Right. Over. The. Edge.

But then again, it doesn’t seem to help. You’d think he could put two and two together, right? Like eventually he’d say, “Hmmm. When I say I’m going to do something and then I don’t, it seems to make mom mad. Maybe I should do what I say I’m going to do and AVOID the anger.” For some reason it doesn’t work like that. Instead, I believe the thought process goes something like, “Mom’s mad again. She’s crazy. Where’s my Kit Kat?” I’m guessing based on facial expressions.

____________’s “Perfect Mother” post bothered me so much because I agree with it. Yelling is a gratuitous outlet that serves little purpose other than release for the yeller. But when the deed is done and it’s beyond unacceptable, what do you do? How do you demonstrate levels of offense in a calm and moderated tone? Exactly how many times will I find myself outside, holding my rake (that he peeled the foamy cushioned handle off of, by the way), alone in a sea of leaves?

Son's view:

I think that yelling isn’t necessary in all situations. You deserve a good yelling when you’ve done something really wrong. But when you’ve done something not so bad you don’t deserve to be yelled at. You give them a lecture. This is just as bad as yelling. Yelling is loud and it intimidates the person you are yelling at to yell back. Which starts a fight. Now, when my mom yells at me, most of the time it is for a good reason. But once in a while she gets mad at the little things. So I guess that she doesn’t yell when she doesn’t have to.

The Perfect Mother.

Mom's view:

I picked this topic, and I hope ______________ doesn’t say I’m perfect because it isn’t true. I assured him that he could be honest and that it will not affect his rapidly expanding Christmas list, but I’m a little afraid that maybe he just doesn’t know any better because he’s 11 and because he hasn’t gotten to that stage where he realizes that I’m a moron and shouldn’t be allowed in public. Of course, I have been amazed by how much ___________ does know, so maybe he once again pinned the issue down in a lot less sentences than I will write. It will be interesting to see.

I’m a single mom. A really single mom. I don’t really date, which I claim is because I don’t want to but I suppose it’s viable that no one wants to date me either. Being a truly single parent (as opposed to someone who jumps from “uncle” to “uncle”) tends to make you and your child a fairly tight unit. It also puts you in a position where you are on your own, with no one to tell you that you are being unreasonable or crazy when you impose discipline, or when you get a particular parenting idea in your head. You can discuss these things with other family members, friends, or co-workers, but only in small doses or else they become uncomfortably aware that you don’t have a life outside of being a mom and tend to suggest that maybe you should consider dating.

On top of the fact that I’m immersed in subjective parenting on a daily basis, I also have no idea what a perfect mom might be. I’m not suggesting, via this post, that such a thing exists in some concrete way, because that’s clearly not the case. But I am suggesting that there may be a set of criteria to which a parent might aspire in order to do better. I’m just not sure what those criteria might be.

My mom was, and is, a good mother. Not a perfect one, because she’s a) human, b) had to deal with external factors that sometimes impeded her ability to parent me, and c) suffers from congenital bossiness. Factors A and B affect everyone. Factor C is unique. My mother is the type of person who would be willing to tell you exactly how to spend every waking minute of your day, whether she had any idea what your actual life entailed or not. And that’s not really her fault, because she comes from a long line of bosses. I suffer from Factor C as well, and it’s not my fault either so keep your criticisms to yourself.

Unlike _________, I have already crossed the bridge of eternal disdain and can now view my mom with what I hope is a more objective eye. Although she’s bossy, she is often right about things that she has actually experienced and is generous in sharing those experiences when you are in a tight spot. She is a fantastic cook, and she’s really fun to talk to. I was always interested in her attentions when I was younger, and I am interested in them now. She is a master at making any house she lives in feel like a home. The beds are comfortable and soft, the food is good, the cable package is excellent with portals distributed liberally throughout the house, the fire crackles in the fireplace, and the wine or chocolate milk, depending on your age, flows freely. She’s the person I call first with any news or concerns, and she never fails to offer comfort or guidance. By “guidance,” I mean she tells me what to do in lavish detail. But hey, I called.

When I embarked on being a parent myself, I really did not have a long list of ways that I wanted to be different from my own mother, unlike other people I know. I think that there are many who define parenthood by what it should not be, rather than by what it should be. Their parenting style develops in negative space, simply by approaching things in the way they expect their own parent would not. I did not feel that way about my own mother.

In fact, here is my list of things that I swore I would do differently than my mom:

1. I would not dictate how my child would wear his/her hair. My mom completely controlled my hair cuts and styles, which has resulted in a photo album full of pictures of me with permed hair. Oddly enough, my least favorite mom-imposed hair style, the “straight hair parted in the middle no bangs with a little piece pulled back on each side and secured with a decorated bobby pin,” does not appear prominently in my photo albums so I’m wondering whether I was really forced to wear it all that much.
2. I would not force my child to eat things he or she didn’t like. My mom, who fed us copious amounts of Velveeta cheese, fake sweeteners, and margarine in the name of misguided health, thought I needed to eat more red meat. I spent the better part of my childhood years spitting masticated balls of cow flesh into the toilet. To this day, the words “flank” and “steak”, when said together, make me gag a little.
3. I would try really hard to be maybe not quite so bossy about things that I am not, nor ever have been, involved in.

Seriously, that’s it! It would have been a much longer list at ____________’s age, mostly because I was a fairly sour child and felt the world did not function exactly as I would like it to. I’ve since grown into a more accommodating disposition. Plus, there are things that I wasn’t fond of at the time but weren’t what I would call characteristics of my mom. Just things that relate to Factors A and B, and that can happen to the best of us.

Now, if you look at my list of the positive characteristics I attribute to my mom, I am an abysmal failure. I recently turned off ALL cable, and I don’t let __________ have a television in his room. I am not good at making houses seem like a home – I’ve been living in this house for six years and I have still not refinished the stairs after ripping up the carpet. Most rooms have no curtains, because I can’t decide what I want, and I haven’t repainted the kitchen ceiling after the whole frozen pipes 2004 thing. I don’t let ______________ drink chocolate milk too often. I’m an okay cook, but I make a lot of quick and easy things. I’m not huge on homemade.

Also, I know there’s a list of things that I do wrong. I’m a yeller. I don’t yell hurtful things to ____________; I don’t say that he’s a bad person, or diminish him in any way. But I make my points really, really loudly on numerous occasions. I spend a lot of time with my nose in a book or writing something or watching television. I have never understood how to play with a kid, so I have to figure out a way to do things with ____________ that are fun, but don’t involve me doing something that makes me feel stupid. I tell _____________ what to do, A LOT. Then again, my mom had some of these issues as well. Ahem.

I’m not even sure that the list of things I picked out about my mom has anything to do with why I think she’s a good mom. It is just a list of things I attribute to her. And mothering is less about the person doing it than the person being mothered. For instance, after some rocky years of rebellion and poor fashion choices, I turned out okay. And I attribute this to my mom as well. She made sure I had a good education. She didn’t help me with my homework so I had to do it on my own. She basically framed my life so that there was no way I’d ever suggest I might do anything other than go to college. She let me go to New York City on my own, at 17, and let me live there over the summer after my first year of college. She drove down in record time when I ended up in the emergency room after being beaten up by a would be thief/rapist. She stood by me when I entered an ill-advised marriage, but she was also there for me when, inevitably, I needed to get out. She walked the parenting balance beam, and ultimately I feel she got it right.

So basically, I don’t know if I’m doing things right with ______________. I think he’s a great kid, so if I’m to judge by the product then I have to think that so far I’m doing okay. But we haven’t hit even the tween years yet much less the teen and young adult years. Also, we all know that things you wouldn’t expect can happen, and it’s not fair to point fingers at parents for everything. I guess, when it comes down to it, I hope the lessons I’ve taught him serve him well. I hope I’m able to give him the freedom he needs to become an independent adult, and the comfort of knowing that if something goes awry, I’m always there for him. I hope he looks back on these days fondly, and I hope he smiles when he thinks of me.

Son's view:

Well the perfect mother for most kids would probably let them eat whatever they want, let them stay up late, etc. I love my mom but here are the things that I would change:

1. Stop yelling so much! I hate it when you yell and I get scared when you yell!
2. Try not to explain every single thing that you need me to do! I get what you are saying and ill figure out what I need to do!
3. Don’t be so cranky! Sometimes when you are out raking or you’ve just done something hard you get cranky and then you start to yell and the cycle begins.

That’s what I think would make the perfect mother.

Mom's response:

Okay, so apparently I'm subpar in numerous ways, but he loves me anyway except for the fact that I'm a cranky bossy yeller. I feel so warm in my heart. And by the way, I'm cranky about the raking because ___________ was supposed to do it and bailed out completely. And yes I dragged him out anyway, but it was like trying to get an amoeba to rake. I gave up. I was OWED that crankiness. You know what? I feel like yelling.

Oh Rocky. You came and you gave without taking.

Mom's view:

I have never watched any of the Rocky movies, except in snippets. As far as I can tell, every single one of the movies is about an underdog boxer who makes good in some way, even if he doesn’t win the big fight. They start with an outline of some struggle, then Rocky decides he needs to step up, which leads to the montage scene combining inspirational music and working out, and then the big fight. That’s about it, right? So clearly, their magic eludes me.

The reason I picked this topic is because of a series of events that made it clear that I was on the outside looking in when it came to this franchise. ___________ has a complete set of the Rocky movies. This is thanks to his dad, who was young when Rocky originally came out and found inspiration in this story of a somewhat in shape guy becoming even more in shape to music. He used to go through these bouts of working out and he’d always listen to the Rocky theme song as a part of his whole regime.

When he first gave the DVDs to _________________, I though they’d end up moldering on our shelves the way “Fighter Jets” and some of the other transferred interest items have. And at first, they did. ______________ relegated them to the bottom of the wicker toy chest where we keep all the movies. Then, when I canned the television, they made an appearance. _____________ has now watched every single Rocky installment numerous times, sometimes from a push up position. What is it with guys and Rocky?

Anyway, one night not too long ago, he starts explaining to me that out of all the movies, Rocky IV is hands down the best.

“Rocky IV?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Usually people like the first one of any series the best.”
“Nope. Rocky IV.”
“How come?”
“Well, he’s fighting this guy in Russia who’s this giant guy and you can tell he’s all on steroids and Rocky beats him down.”
“And that’s why it’s the best?”
“Yeah.”

As I am wont to do, I passed on this key information to a co-worker the next day.
“______________ keeps watching those Rocky movies, and he swears Rocky IV is the best. Who likes movies with a IV after them?”

She immediately jumped in.
“No, no. Guys love that one. They all think it’s the best.”
“Really? Why?”
“I don’t know. But they love it.”

Sure enough, she emails her fiancée and passes on the debate. Her fiancée immediately writes back, advising me second hand that while my son is worthy of living, I’m clearly un-American. Actually, I think the exact wording was, “If you don’t like Rocky IV you don’t like America.” And FYI, I wasn’t saying I didn’t like it, having never seen it, but merely that it seems odd, as a general principle, to like a fourth installment better than the first through third. These movies generally don’t get better over time. They just don’t.

As usual, I Googled the issue, and it appears that people either loved Rocky IV or hated it. Very little in between, and there’s clearly a huge following. From what I can tell, the lovers feel that the montage scene is the best, with “Hearts on Fire” inspiring them all. They also like the fact that Rocky defeats communism via the big fight. Hmm.

Here’s my opinion. The Rocky movies are chick flicks for guys. But unlike the guys who laugh at me when I cry at the end of Sleepless in Seattle, even though I know it’s ridiculous and that it would never happen and that seconds after she walks out of the elevator with the guy he probably farts and makes her pay for her own pizza, I say “way to go!” Embrace your inner manly man and enjoy!

Son's view:

Rocky 4 is the best movie ever in the whole entire world. Now, I know I’m eleven but, there is this song in the movie that I workout to and it is totally awesome. If you just think of it you can do like, thirty push ups. It’s crazy. I love this movie and we just got the new one that came out, (rocky balboa) and my mom called it rocky the elderly, and I think that she is right. Stallone had to be about 80 in that movie. It was funny to watch him beat the fighter who was like, 18.

Obamarama

Mom's view:

The blog topic for today is Obama, but I have to back up a little and explain some things, because I really have no viewpoint. If you happen to be a political pundit (ie: know it all), let me advise you up front that I am not what you might call versed in political issues. In fact, I’m a cliché of an American, an ignorant slob wandering between action flicks and fast food joints, with virtually no idea what many of the issues are, much less whether one candidate’s plan for addressing them is better than another’s. Even worse, I’m purposely ignorant. You know why? Because a lot of political issues are BORING. There, I said it. I, like most Americans, don’t want to know all your petty little details about running the country. Just make my life better and don’t screw it up.

Does this make me an idiot? I don’t think so. I think it makes me human. I’m trying to live my life, not analyze it, so I tend to judge politicians based on the effect they’ve had on my life during their reign. For instance, to this day I have a soft spot in my heart for Bill Clinton. During the 8 years he was in office, my life was pretty good. Now, I realize that Clinton wasn’t responsible for my friendships during that time, or the fact that I was young and energetic, or that I really enjoyed the early stages of my career. But I was happy, and all was well. I was employed. I liked hearing about the fact that our deficit was taken care of, and that the budget was balanced, even though that didn’t make a lot of difference in my everyday life. Other than the garden variety crises that you tend to expect, things were okay.

Then, when George Bush was elected, life went downhill. I got divorced, my sister died, and Bush said a lot of stupid things. We were faced with 9/11, the war on terror, banks failing, the economy in ruins. My house is worth $75.00. My savings is stagnant because of the sputtering stock market. Sorry George, but you’re not my favorite guy.

Although I’m purposely ignorant, I’m not stupid. For instance, I’m aware that the repeal of the Glass-Steagall Act occurred on Clinton’s watch, thereby setting the stage for subsequent events in the course of the financial meltdown. And yes, I had to Google that to remember the name of it. But sorry, George, the disaster happened on your shift. Where was everyone who was supposed to be watching out for the signs of disaster? And you didn’t exactly make it easy to like you. You reminded me of my parents, and they never understood me. That wasn’t such a big deal when I was twelve, but now I’m the majority of Americans and it’s a bit of a problem. You were out of touch. You thought you were funny but you weren’t. Let’s face it, you were a mess.

Because I know I don’t know a lot about the issues, I vote based on several global principles:

1. Never let a conservative or a liberal be in office too long. That way, things are so muddy that while it’s difficult to make progress, it’s also difficult to screw things up too badly. This is my way of protecting Americans from my ignorance.

2. Anyone who touts their conservative Christian views likes the 1950’s and doesn’t like change. Don’t vote for these people. They only like white guys in cardigans.

3. If someone seems like someone you’d like to hang out with and talk to about things, then they are a good person to vote for because other people will like them too and they might be good at playing political Red Rover (I'm amending this to add a proviso - this only works if the candidate is not more ignorant than me. Sorry George W. and Sarah P., can't win 'em all).

4. Whoever is president should reflect the middle aged majority of the day, because people who are middle aged still remember what it’s like to be young and are not yet afraid to try new things, but are mature enough to realize that not everything goes exactly the way you think it should.

As you may have guessed if you read the above, I voted for Obama. We had a conservative guy who yapped all day about what a Christian he was for 8 years. That was pretty much the end of my inquiry. The fact that Obama is in the right age range, is temperamentally sound, and has a gorgeous family is all icing on the cake. I like him. I like having someone who says things I agree with and who doesn’t get all crazy whenever he’s the target of criticism. I like seeing him with his family. I like that you can add stuff to the end of his name and create a word.

Has he done anything to help my life yet? No, but he certainly hasn’t done anything to hurt it. Do I pay attention to the specifics of what he’s doing? Nope. That’s why I hired a president. I have other things to worry about, like why ____________ keeps claiming he has no homework.

Son's view:

I think that Obama is doing a fine job as president. With all the war and stuff he is doing what he should be doing. I mean he is under all the pressure with the war and problems and people just yelling thoughts at him. He handles it very well. Also he has a family. All the pressures of the day and he still has time to be a father. A good one I might add. His kids seem to have a good smile. Not that cheap phony one. Overall, Obama is doing a great job.

State of the State: No More T.V.

Mom's View:

Okay, it’s not like the television is really off. We still watch movies.

There isn’t the stress of having to watch shows at particular times though, which I guess there wouldn’t be anyway if we just had DVR, so I could watch shows when I wanted as opposed to when they were actually on. On the other hand, it’s not like I really lived my life around the television schedule. It was just a compelling need to have it on all the time, and when there were shows on that I liked, I felt the need to watch them. I was at the point, before we turned it off, of watching one thing and then watching another during the commercial. It was quite a chore to keep up.

The difference now is that we actually have to make an effort to turn the thing on and put in a movie – we actually have to make a choice to watch something in particular. When there’s something on 90 channels, it’s amazing how sucked in you are. I’ve seen _______________ watch a 30 minute infomercial on a cheese grater or something equally compelling. Just because it’s on. But now, unless we put it on, there’s nothing there. So the effect is that we really don’t spend nearly as much time zoning out in front of nonsense. And by we, I mean ____________.

Another difference I see is that we’re a lot more organized. __________ is less forgetful about the things he needs to get done but in this case, we really means me. For instance, I finally put away the piles of clean laundry that had inhabited our living room sofa for months. I mean many, many months. We’d gotten into the habit of stopping by the living room every morning before we’d get dressed to pick out an outfit and I find I get confused when I actually have to go to my closet now. I’m not sure what about the lack of television has caused this turnaround, because I still find a lot of ways to occupy myself. Really, though, it’s almost as though my thoughts are just better sorted now, although I’m not sure why that is.

Tonight, I watched the last half of a movie I’d had on last night and then I read for a bit. I wrote an old friend with whom I’ve recently reconnected a long email. I am writing this, and then I have some other projects I want to do. It doesn't sound like it's much different, I guess, but it is. Before, I would have done only one thing this evening. And I would have fit cleaning the kitchen into the commercial break.

___________________ came home and wrote his blog entry and then practiced some basketball skills. We had dinner, and he watched a movie. Then he practiced his saxophone (he actually started while the movie was still on) and we talked for a while, and now he’s reading.

He’s read almost 4 complete books during the month of October. This was almost entirely in the past two weeks or so, since we’ve turned off the television. That’s a record number for him in a month, much less a couple of weeks.

Also, I don’t know if it’s attributable to the television situation, but he’s gotten much, much better at math. He started out the year a little sloppily – understanding the concepts but making small mistakes that affected the outcome. Over the past couple of weeks or so, he’s started focusing more on the homework and his tests and his scores are dramatically improved. He used to speed things along so he could watch the Simpsons, so maybe it’s the fact that he no longer has to rush.

I miss the television. I am comforted by my old friends at Seattle Grace (yes I know how pathetic that sounds) and I miss it. I miss the familiarity of it. But I am glad it’s off. I feel like I’m expanding myself in an intangible way.

I don’t know what ______________ has said in his blog entry. He may not see what I’m seeing and think the whole thing is still very stupid. I’m sure the fact that the Yankees are going to the series is an issue for him since he won’t be able to see it. (Although I’ll take him to a sports bar. I’m not an ogre or anything. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they have these incredible drinks at bars called dirty martinis.) I know he misses the Simpsons although I’m not sure what else. But I see a huge benefit to this whole thing. So I miss it, but I want to miss it.

Son's View:

So far not having T.V has been ok. I wish that I could say that. I’m probably going to go insane within the next week. The Yankees won the championship and I don’t know what happened. I think we should turn the T.V. back on because, trust me, I’m out of the habit of watching T.V. all the time. I pledge that I will only watch T.V. for a little while each day. I think I could do this mostly because I have a lot of homework to do each day. Mom, I’m sending out an S.O.S for T.V.

The Wimpy Kid Series.

Mom's View:

____________ LOVES the Wimpy Kid series, but I just read an article in the New York Times about how some parents are upset about a certain perceived moral bankruptcy in the books. I pretty much immediately wrote any such concerns off, because I basically assumed these were the children of the same parents who wanted to burn Judy Blume books when I was a kid, or maybe politicians who were so busy juggling their busy schedules of extramarital affairs and meetings with fundamentalist Christians that they only had time to skim the books. But then I thought, "Hey, maybe that’s not fair of me." ___________ complains about every book he reads except those, which he devours instantly. If they were completely morally bankrupt, that would make a lot of sense.

So I read one. Actually, I read about 60 pages of the most recent one: “Dog Days.” (p.s.: this takes 7 minutes) And I can definitively say that so far, there is not one moral lesson contained therein. If anything, this kid does every possible thing wrong and doesn’t seem to think twice about it. Which is pretty funny. And I’m okay with that, because I know that __________ would rather stab himself in the eye repeatedly with a plastic fork than listen to me proselytize, which is exactly what I’d do if he pulled any of that crap. So I’m pretty much covered in the moral lessons arena. Plus, I’m guessing that most kids are smart enough to know that the book is a joke and not a lesson plan.

After I’d resolved my own mind, I went to my favorite researching tool (Google) to get a better feel for the perspectives on the issues surrounding the series. I couldn’t find any mention of any such issues. Seriously. Not one article, other than the NYT one, that claims in any way that there is an uproar about these books. I went on Amazon, which is what the NYT article quoted for some of the negative reviews, and found a very few amidst all the insanely good reviews. Seriously: very, very few. Most people just talked about how funny the books are, and the negative reviews about the most recent seemed to focus on the fact that it was maybe less funny than the others. (I’m totally going to read the rest of them if that’s true because I was laughing out loud at "Dog Days").

So now I’m thinking, “NYT (a newspaper, I might add, that I really enjoy), why are you misleading me this way? Plus, why are you suggesting something that might put negative thoughts in fundamentalist Christian heads?” I’m concerned by this. Because while I’m not at all worried about America’s children, I’m deeply worried about America’s fundamentalist Christians. They don’t understand jokes. And now I’m worried about the NYT egging them on. What is this world coming to?

Son's view:

I think that diary of a wimpy kid was the best book in the world. I mean, I don’t like to read when I have to (only when I want to, which is never) and this is the only book that I like to read. I heard that parents don’t like the main character because he isn’t a good example. Well technically he is a good example if think about it this way, do the opposite of what he does. It’s as simple as that. This is the only book that gets me and my friend to read. so overall this is the best book in the world.

Mom's response:

FYI: He heard it from me. See what you started NYT?

Getting Older.

Mom's view:

When I proposed this topic to ___________, he was not enthused. I (obliviously) thought it might be interesting to get a perspective from someone that young on what it means to be getting older. Also, I tend to know _________’s opinion on many of the topics we’ve discussed so far, but I had absolutely no idea what he was going to say about this one. Until he started telling me that he hated the topic and didn’t know what to write, because it didn’t mean anything to him, in that whiny voice that drives me to distraction. Over and over. After the 70th time of hearing how stupid the topic was, I said “Fine! Write about how stupid it is then! Just write something!”

I didn’t hear a word after that, and he started writing intently. So now I can pretty much guess what he’s going to say even though I haven’t read it. And really, that makes sense. The kid is 11 and in his eyes, immortal. Getting older to him means anticipation of things he can’t do but would like to. First love, first achievements, driving, voting, and of course other things I don’t really want to think about.

For me, though, this is a pretty poignant topic. I just turned 40, and I have found myself inadvertently taking stock of my life, and making changes in the way that I live. I have been more self-reflective, and I have felt an internal shift in my point of view. It is not an unpleasant feeling, but it is unexpected.

Until recently, I had always assumed I would live to be at least 100. The women in my family are notoriously long lived (and bossy, but that’s another story) and I’ve always been healthy and all, so I don’t think that assumption is necessarily too far from the mark. But here’s the thing I now realize: you can die any time. I hate even saying that out loud, because it seems like tempting fate. I can just see my mom shaking her head and saying, “she had just written that she could die at any time, and then she got hit by that bus. It was the oddest thing.” Then she breaks down weeping, of course.

I know you can die at any time because right after I turned 40, I started to read the obituaries. I have no idea why, because 40 was not a difficult milestone for me. I get confused for a much younger person a lot. (I like to think it’s because I look so awesome and not because I’m immature for my age or because I once accidentally wore a half-shirt to yoga on the day the yoga teacher felt the need to correct my pose and knocked me over, thereby calling attention to the half-shirt) I exercise pretty much daily, am content with my life and generally feel pretty great overall.

And yet.

When I read an obituary, the first thing I do is look at the age of the person who died. Sometimes, they don’t print the age, which is such a cheat, at which point I try to figure it out by the year they graduated, the apparent age of the person in the picture, and other clues embedded in the narrative. My research has uncovered an alarming number of people who live only 10 -30 years after they turn 40. As you may have noticed, this is less years than it took to get to 40 which, I can tell you definitively, happens FAST. Supersonic fast.

There are stories of people who recently retired from their jobs and who barely had any time to enjoy not working before they “died suddenly,” or “died after a short illness.” What illness is that? There are a lot of people who are still working towards their retirement and die before they ever get that chance. On any given Sunday, which for me is obituary reading day, the percentage of deaths of people aged 50-69 is anywhere between 10 and 30%. I didn’t actually calculate that out, but it seems like an accurate estimate given my state of concern over the issue. Premature death is occupying 10 – 30% of my thoughts.

I think part of the problem with aging when you hit the 40 mark is that no one really talks up the stuff we have to look forward to. __________ hears daily about how great it is to drink rum and drive cool cars, but there is a distinct lack of well thought out media about retirement and senior citizen’s discounts. Nor, in my opinion, is there any effort to focus on what the aging population really cares about. I still have my youth inside of me, and I hold it close. By the time I turn 65, it will be the new 12, the way we’re going. But from the media I see, the only things people of a certain age care about are their estate planning, the fit of their Depends undergarments, and their grandchildren. I’m sure you think about these things, but they aren’t exactly goals.

In fact, the more I think about it the surer I become that life itself is my goal. I want to make sure that I continue to live it, and that I don't retreat into some sort of a half life just because I'm getting older. When I look back at this ripe old age of 40, I realize that my life has never been the one I expected to have. It’s been different in every conceivable way from the life I had planned for myself. The twists and turns were always unexpected and never usual. Half the fun has been figuring out how to make the best of whatever I ended up with, because there are only so many things that are within your control. I’m lucky: I’ve had a lot of trials, but I like where I ended up after all of them. I can firmly say that I’m proud of how I crafted subpar situations into a life that ultimately makes me very happy. I’d like to be around a lot longer to see what happens next, and I’d like to know there will be a lot more curves on the road.

So for me, my incessant stock taking has led to this: I am making changes designed to ensure that my life will continue to be an exciting ride. I will embrace aging, and I will fight stasis. And I might even seek a second career in the advertising biz. I’m pretty sure I could make retirement look pretty freaking amazing. Especially on a discount.

Son's view:

The getting older topic is a very stupid topic, so I refuse to write about getting older. But what I will write is reasons about why I hate this topic.

1. I think that all you can write about is birthdays.
2. Getting older is a topic I would not like to think about right now because I’m only eleven.
3. I don’t like to wish away life.
4. I would not like to think about my future because I’m scared what might happen.
5. The only reason I like getting older is because I like getting presents, and seeing peoples faces when they open a good present.

that is what I think of this topic.

Mom's view of Son's view:

Unexpected. This is a good post. I think number 3 says it all, and if you can hold onto that you'll have a great time. Number 4 makes me sad. Why are you scared? I hope you weren't looking at me when you wrote that one. Should I be feeling insulted?

The Best Way to Spend Money.

Mom's view:

Did I mention that __________ is the ultimate consumer? I picked this blog topic just to spur him into a (probably really short) diatribe about things. When I was a kid, all I could think about were all the things I didn’t have but wanted. Those stupid little duck shoes from L.L. Bean were all the rage when I was young, and I coveted those things like crazy. The ones that were popular, of course, were the ones that didn’t protect your feet at all because they were basically a really ugly pair of shoes. Sure, they were rubber. And fully waterproof, as long as it wasn’t actively raining and there were no puddles, or as long as snow accumulation was no more than ½ inch (taking into consideration the kick up factor).

Ralph Lauren Polo was the ultimate clothing line - madras shirts and those extra fuzzy sweaters. Also, more L.L. Bean: Norwegian fishing sweaters. Those navy blue ones with the white check marks all over them? Because a bunch of 7th grade girls like to spend their free time fishing in impractical boots. As if the silliness of the outfits wasn’t enough, it was all horribly expensive and you were supposed to have a lot of it.

My mother was ridiculously clueless, of course. Although we lived in country club land and had a nice house, she was still firmly bound by her Iowan roots and hated spending a fortune on stupid items.
“Look, I got you one of those sweaters you wanted.”
“This isn’t the kind I want.”
“But it has a horse on it.”
“This isn’t the right horse. This horse has an extra full mane and is rearing back. And there’s no polo stick or a rider. This horse is horrible.”
“It’s the exact same thing. And it was half the price.”

Oh, but it wasn’t. We all know that. The difference between that horse and a polo horse was the difference between a Holly Hobby lunch box and a brown paper bag. You might as well stuff yourself in a locker with that stupid, insanely coiffed, hyperactive horse. Just cut your hair with a Flo-bee and call it a day. With a horse like that, you might as well join the Future Cheese Makers of America and pick your nose freely. I think I am being perfectly temperate when I say that the horse on the sweater my mother picked out for me was the end of the world. The bitter, bitter end.

And here I am today, thinking she wasn’t so far off. The problem was that she tried to match the horse. You can’t match the horse. The horse is a LOGO. You have to have the right logo. But if you get a regular sweater that’s similar to the fuzzy polo sweaters with NO horse, that’s okay, right? Maybe not. But I have to say, spending a fortune on clothes is beyond stupid. I realize that now. I need an Abercrombie and Fitch belt so I can beat this concept into my child.

Or maybe a blog. So _____________, please. Listen to me. The best way to spend money is as follows:

1. On trips you can take with someone you love, like your son. Every cent I’ve spent on a trip with you has turned into a vivid memory. I will carry those with me forever.
2. On charities that mean something to you. I remember every cent I’ve given away, and the joy it has given me to be able to help out in a time of need.
3. On healthy, whole foods. Good nutrition is an investment in your future. When you grow old you will want to be able to live as if you were young. The link between good nutrition and good aging is clear. Give yourself that gift.
4. On giving your child a stable life. Shelter, warmth, food, and comfort.
5. On a pet. Animals give far more than they take.
6. On your retirement. No one wants to be old and poor. Make sure you save enough for your future.

I understand you. I understand your desire for clothes, cell phones, PSP 75.0 with the built in food processor, televisions, fur carpets and disco balls. I understand it all. But I promise you that childhood is a fleeting thing you will never want to revisit except on occasion and for a very short time. I promise you that one day, when you look at a picture of yourself in your baggy shorts, you will laugh as hard as I did when I saw that picture of myself with my acid wash jeans tucked into my socks and my Flock of Seagulls haircut (although I think acid wash is coming back any minute now). I promise you that you will remember those things you coveted as a distant joke with a punch line you forgot.

No? Not buying it? Yeah, neither did I.

Son's view:

I think that you should be able to spend money on whatever you want. For example, I want some new clothes from Abercrombie (I have a gift card) and my mom says that she won’t let me get it until I grow out of old clothes. Now, most of my old clothes, I don’t like, and Abercrombie is the most popular brand of clothes in the school. Now some of my clothes people bought me and I only wore once or twice (most of the time I didn’t like them). so I just want the stuff and we just cleaned out the closet and some of the time I don’t have clothes for school.

Pigpen. The Saga of ______'s Room.

Mom's view:

_________ picked the topic, which he initially just said was about his “room.” Given this broad topic choice and the fact that __________ is the ultimate consumer, I naturally assumed his post would be a long list of items he’d like to purchase in an effort to create a swinging middle school bachelor pad. He later revealed that the topic is, more specifically, the cleanliness of his room. I’m pretty sure I made a face, since that’s like saying the topic is the peaceful sound of a fire alarm.

In addition to being the ultimate consumer, __________ is a hoarder. Every available drawer, cabinet, closet and basket is filled with stuff that is hard to classify but appears to be something we might need one day, because for some reason everything ___________ owns ends up broken down into unidentifiable components.

Whenever we clean, I end up holding up plastic caps, or wires, or something that seems like it might be necessary to make something else work and asking, “Hey, what is this?” “Should I keep this?” The answer is usually unsatisfactory.
“That’s the wire to the remote control for the Spider Man game I had when I was four.”
“Where’s the game?”
“We threw it out because the remote control didn’t work.”

Sometimes, I’ll find things that have been created out of other things using pieces of a science kit and scotch tape.

“What’s this?”
“Oh, that’s a burglar alarm I made out of the buzzer from the Operation game and my cd player. It didn’t really work.”
“Where’s the rest of the Operation game?”
“We threw it out because the buzzer was gone.”

And so on. These are not actual conversations we’ve had, since I can’t remember the real ones exactly, but they’re close.

It’s a little frustrating, from a parent’s point of view. It’s hard to comprehend how a child who generally appears to be sitting still, enjoying a show about obnoxious kids, can nonetheless end up half buried in a pile of detritus by the time the sitcom is over.

Then again, he comes by it honestly. When I think back to my own room, I seem to recall that I had a room packed full of random stuff myself. There was something comforting about the sheer volume I’d collected, and I balked at the thought of throwing it all out. Every once in a while I’d be banished to clean it, at which point I’d begin to randomly open drawers, revisiting the junk of years past. Nothing would get thrown out, and eventually when it was close to dinner time I’d just shove everything back into the available space and mash the new junk on top of it.

Oh alright. Just shut your door and we’ll call it a wash.

Son's view:

I think my pigsty of a room is great. It makes me feel relaxed and safe when I go to bed. All the junk and old stuffed animals are comforting. I mean if I changed my room I wouldn’t be happy with any of the results. When I changed my sheets it took me a while to get adjusted to the new sheets we bought last year. Also [I think I speak for all of kid-kind here] I think we shouldn’t clean our rooms to perfection. I mean the occasional dusting and picking up the clothes on the floor is necessary, but not the changing of the sheets all the time [but you have to wash them regularly, and when the, how can I put this in neater terms, the acid comes up from your stomach]. So parents, DON’T MAKE CHILDREN CLEAN THEIR ROOMS! Please.

Regarding Certain Recent Events Involving the Television.

Mom's view:


First of all, let me just say that I have loved television for as long as I can remember. I learned to read from Sesame Street, ran home for the Happy Days/Laverne and Shirley dynamic duo in the afternoon, and grew up with the Cosby kids. In times of crisis, like 9/11, I have turned to television as a comfort and a guide. I become inexplicably happy during the 5th or 6th hour of a reality T.V. marathon, wallowing unshowered and clad in my pajamas, holding my seventh bowl of cereal in my hands. I can’t imagine my life without it.

That being said, I have discontinued my cable service, including even the local channels.

My customer service representative clearly thought I was insane. “You want to downgrade to the basic package?”
“What’s the basic package?”
“Local channels and a few others.”
“Will I be able to watch television with that package?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want the basic package.”

It seemed inordinately hard to convince her that the full disconnect was the best option for me. When I told ____ the night after I called the cable company, he wasn’t happy with me either.
“But I’m staying organized.”
“I know. It’s not about that.”
“Then why?”
“Because we need to change the habit.”
He was strangely quiet after that.

The simple truth is that I disconnected service to all the televisions because of what happened one recent evening. It is actually embarrassing, as a parent, to write. But if I don’t confess to these transgressions, who will?

On this fateful evening, the television was on when I got home, but the homework wasn’t done. I asked _______if he had homework and he said, “just a little, and it’s really easy.” I asked him to turn off the television and do his homework when he finished his dinner. Dinner, for both of us, was in front of separate televisions (unfortunately, a really common occurrence). I was caught up in the double Grey’s Anatomy rerun on Lifetime, despite the fact that I’ve seen them all before. When the second one finished, I noticed the television was still on in the other room.
“I thought you were going to turn off the T.V. and do your homework?”
“I finished it.”
“In front of the T.V.?”
“Mom, it was really easy.”

An hour later I was deeply enmeshed in another show. One so compelling that I don’t remember what it was as I write this. ________ walked in.
“Remember how I was having trouble counting to forty in French before? I’m really good at it now. Un, deux, trois…”
“Honey, can we do this in a little bit? This is right at the good part.”

I actually said that! Out loud!

The next morning, I reviewed the really easy homework done in front of the television. It was a paragraph about a book he’d written. True to form, it was really well written and interesting. BUT HE SPELLED THE NAME GEORGE WRONG. And that was even part of the book’s title. He kept talking about "Gorge" all the way through the whole thing. Tell me that doesn’t have something to do with the television blaring in the background while he was writing it. Actually, if you did I wouldn’t believe you. And what parent would rather sit in front of Grey’s Anatomy reruns rather than eat dinner with her child? Or tells them to bug off with their fancy French speaking until the commercial? Something needed to be done.

I’m educated, keep my house relatively clean, know what my son is doing at almost every given moment, care deeply about him and his studies, monitor his assignments and ensure he’s done his homework, talk to him about his day every day, and basically otherwise perform as a normal mother. I read extensively, and I truly don’t spend every single waking moment in front of the television. But after nights like the one described above, where I fall in and don’t emerge from the haze until bedtime, I really feel like I'm one wifebeater away from a pretty lowbrow existence. And I’m starting to see the same pattern in my son.

So I have disconnected the cable. As I write this, it hasn’t happened yet, and I spend approximately 7 seconds every hour trying to convince myself that having the basic channels would be okay. Which is just, in my opinion, more proof that it needs to be done. We are stuck in a rut, and we both need enough time to develop a new pattern. Hopefully, it will be one in which the television is an afterthought, rather than the first thought.

We’ll see. This may be an appropriate topic for some “State of the State” addresses in the future, as our days loom long without mindless entertainment.

Son's view:
I think that not having the T.V. is the stupidest idea in the world. I can’t watch my sports shows. My mom can’t watch her shows. I think my mom made a mistake. I mean I will not have T.V. and she won’t have T.V. either so it’s like she’s grounding herself. Honestly I think that’s she’s going to want the T.V. on more than I want it on.

Mom's view of son's view:

He may be right.

Movie Review: Whip It

We saw this movie last Saturday.

Mom's Review:

First of all, I love a good girl power movie. I also love a good Drew Barrymore movie because generally, I really enjoy the way her movies are styled. Even though I thought the story was pretty standard – one of those “be yourself coming of age moms and daughters and strangely understanding dad who steps in as the empathetic figure ala Bend it Like Beckham,” I liked it. I liked the visuals, I liked the fast pace, and I liked the way it felt. It reminded me of being young and trying to be subversive and different and unique.
I saw this with ________ (this is how my son will be identified because he chose “Eric” as his fake name, and then some weird name like “Milky,” and neither one of those works for me), obviously, and I have to say it was a little uncomfortable because there weren’t any overtly sexual scenes or anything, it was certainly implied when (SPOILER ALERT!!!) Ellen Page and that skinny guy were swimming and taking each other’s clothes off. And when she later emphasized the fact that she’d given him “everything,” it led to uncomfortable questions and a lecture and ________ ultimately looking like he wanted to throw himself out of the car rather than listen to me talk anymore.
That aside, I like exposing him to stories of lives that are different than those in our own little suburbia. Where we live, it all seems very uniform to me. I’m sure that’s only facially true, that if you get to know people a little more they all have a story, but it seems like there’s this big suburbia party line and if you aren’t on it, you aren’t living. And if that isn’t true, then why do they make so many movies about finding yourself and being comfortable with your originality?
Of course, it’s not really a stretch to make roller derby cool. Chicks in makeup skating around and flinging each other into walls is pretty alright in almost everyone’s book. But what if Ellen Page had been into stamp collecting or entomology, or Entenman’s cookies, for that matter? What about then? I want to see someone really throw off the shackles of normality and make it seem great. That would be excellent.
Another thing that seriously bugged me was when Ellen Page first talked to someone on the roller derby team about tryouts and said that the last time she wore a pair of skates they had Barbie on them. Then, when she decides to try out, she pulls out that very pair of skates. And somehow they still fit? Who is wearing Barbie on their skates when their feet have stopped growing? Are we supposed to believe that Ellen Page’s feet were abnormally huge when she was a Barbie-loving child? The inclusion of the Barbie skates was insane, in my opinion. It seems like there would have been a million other contrivances that could have been used to get a pair of okay fitting skates into her hands before the big tryouts that would have made a semblance of sense. I think someone thought the Barbie skates image would be funny and got WAY too invested. Just my opinion.
Overall, though, it was a good flick. Definitely watchable, and maybe even more than once.

Son's Review:

My review of whip-it is that I thought that the movie was extremely funny. I mean, girls roller-skating and pretty much “murdering” each other. Also I like how the mom is a postal service lady and she’s taking her daughters to beauty pageants. Turns out that she was a beauty pageant winner. I also liked how her best friend was an under aged drinker. But a kid - that’s not like you can do that. So don’t. I also liked birdman because he was like a waiter in a nobody town that thinks getting promoted at the worst fast-food restraunt is, well a big deal. I think it’s a big deal if you get a raise.

The Rules.

The rules are as follows:
1. For each post, a topic will be chosen. The topics will be varied, and may involve a political issue, movie, social event, or virtually anything else that might strike up a conversation.
2. Posts will be anonymous, since one of us might want to run for office one day.
3. We won't talk about the issue on which we are posting nor see each other's posts until we are both done. That way, the opinions will be solely those of the writer.
5. Posts will be clearly identified as "Mom's view" and "Son's view".
6. We can respond to the other person's post after it's been written as much as we want, via a responsive post.
Mom's predictions for the blog are this: First, I think my son's posts will become better and more thoughtful over time. I'm not sure how long he'll last, though, so it may very well be that this project is shortlived. I hope not, because I think that if we stick with it, we'll learn quite a lot about each other.