Referee!

I spent all day last Saturday with a Poodle, a Vampire and a Dragon. No, Hallowe'en hasn't come early and no, this is not the beginning of a very poor joke. Soccer season has started.

This year our kindergarten girls' teams are named after dog breeds and while I really would have preferred to be a Bulldog or at least a Terrier, I do take solace in not being a Chihuahua (there were no Rottweilers or Pit Bulls). Second grade boys are mythical creatures, so my son is a Vampire, dressed inexplicably in a green kit. It's early in the season but at some point someone on the opposing team is going to realize that vampires suck. Fortunately, he won his first game. We played the Cyclops who perhaps were hampered by their only having one eye.

My Dragon is neither scaly nor fierce and sometimes still picks Daisies on the field during the match but I believe a financial incentive of some sort might solve that problem. Paying for goals can light a fire under even the most soporific dragon.

If I were in charge of making up team names, I'd pick much cooler themes like World Cup teams or European "football" clubs; something soccer-related at least, and kick-ass, hoo-ah at best. Let's keep the 'creative' names for nail polish hues.

What's Your Beef?

That was the name of a steakhouse in upstate New York where my college roommate waitressed. I could never decide if that is a great name or, like Homer Simpson's babershop quartet "The B-Sharps," if it is a name that is clever at first but gets less funny each time you hear it.

ANYWAY, here's my beef: one of Weaselsnob's "high octane moms" (I prefer Type A(hole)) has taken over my kids' elementary school.

This mom has a son who has some very serious, very legitimate allergies. Can we please stipulate that I recognize how awful that must be? And how I would never want to put the health of a child in jeopardy? And how I can guarantee that I am in the top 99% of label-readers? Good. Thanks.

The problem is that this woman has conflated the protection of her son's physical well-being with the protection of his emotional well-being. Her goal is to eliminate any possibility of a circumstance in which her son might feel left out (or singled out) because he can't eat what other kids are eating.

So, instead of providing an alternative treat for him to eat on the occasion of a classmate's birthday celebration, she has forced the school to change the policy for all kindergarten classes-- no birthday cupcakes or any other birthday food-type celebration whatsoever.

This is a public school. This kid will be eating in the lunchroom (where four other grades eat as well). And, presumably, he will face the issue of eating with people in public his whole life. Wouldn't it be wise to teach the child to accept his allergy and get on with living? It is what it is-- you don't eat that because it will hurt you, but you can eat this. Don't dwell on it. This is just a simple fact of your life.

We don't cancel recess and gym just because there are kids in our school who are physically handicapped and it might make them feel bad to see other kids run and jump and play. I'm sure it sucks way more for them than it does for you not being able to eat a munchkin. Seriously.

Believe me, I understand the desire to shield your child from any kind of pain. But in this case I can only see the creation of a bigger problem. At some point the mountain will no longer come to this Mom-hammed. At some point this child/teen/college student will have to fend for himself in a world that doesn't care if he can't eat the cake. What's he going to do? How's he going to feel then?

Diary of a Wimpy Mom

I have long suspected that there are two sets of standards for parents in our town. One set for the wimpy, liberal-arts degree, play by the rules people such as me (blessed are the meek and all that) and another for the stay-at-home, high-octane professionals. Now I am utterly convinced.

Example one: the mother that rolled her eyes when I said that my daughter had got her second choice of compulsory musical instrument. "I only ever put down one choice," she laughed, "that way I always get what I want." Hmm ...

Example two: The three kids who got the coveted drum as their instrument all have mothers in the upper echelons of the PTA. Hmmm ...

Example three: We are (supposed to be) allowed to negative-request a teacher for our child only if a sibling has already had that teacher. Overheard: "I don't want either of my twins to have Mrs. ___. She's a yeller and my girls would not thrive in that environment." (Uh ... who would?!) Request accepted.

We all have to be advocates for our children, of course. Those of us who value good manners, respect for elders and a sense of community are outnumbered by the grab-all-you-can-for-yourselves who take grief from absolutely no one in this world, except for some reason, their own children. And we have to raise (lower?) our game to give our kids a fair shot.

I accept that reality, but I'm selfish. I'd much rather be liked than feared. And I sincerely hope my kids would say the same.

Bingo!

In law school we played a game called B.S. Bingo (I hear they play it in boardrooms too): imagine a bingo card-- except, instead of numbers, the squares were filled with overused catchphrases or buzzwords. You would mark off a square anytime one of the words or phrases on your cards was said in class. If you completed a row, you'd say (or cough) something that sounded like bingo.

I haven't seen a B.S. Bingo board in a while but if I were playing with my friends and we were goofing on ourselves (as we often do), these are the kinds of things that would fill up the spaces on our boards:

"wait-- what was I talking about?"

"Do you see that I'm on the phone?" (said to a child)

"That's ridiculous"

"That's awesome"

"It's driving me crazy"

"I couldn't believe it. Can you believe it?"

"Why would anyone do that?"

"Are you serious?"

"Are you kidding?"

"I don't know why but I'm so tired today"

"Coffee?"

That last one would have to be the "free" space.

We're Ridin' Quattro

Our summer vacation plans required us to spend lots of time in the car. And, because, to my utter dismay, NOT ONE of the top car companies has seized upon my genius idea of installing a limousine-type partition between the front seat and the back, we figured we were in for our fair share of "don't make me come back there" type eruptions.

We were wrong. Two things soothed our savage beasts-- books on tape and the radio.

All of a sudden my kids love pop music. Taio Cruz, Katy Perry, Jason Derulo-- they sing along with all of it. My son's favorite is "Billionaire" by Travie McCoy because he gets to say the word frickin'.

"I want to be a billionaire so frickin' bad," he croons, heavily stressing what I assume he thinks of as the "F-word."

I let it slide (and blast the song) because I remember being a kid and singing along gleefully with Jim Croce: "bad, bad Leroy Brown, baddest man in the whole DAMN town..."

And as my sweet innocent little girl chirps about California girls (or gurls) being so hot they'll melt your popsicle I cringe a little bit; but then I remind myself that I missed every single dirty lyric as I sang along to Grease and that I didn't realize until I was about 30 that "Nights in White Satin" by the Moody Blues was spelled n-i-g-h-t-s and wasn't about a bunch of guys from King Arthur's court inexplicably wearing sheets.

Happy September!
Oh, and 1990's me wants to remind you all that tomorrow is September 2, 2010. That's right: 90210.

Blog, Featuring Extreme Wit

You know what word I love? "Featuring". It has replaced it's homely and uninspiring cousin, "with". "Featuring" gets added to product descriptions in order to boost gravitas and it has all sorts of applications. Musicians use it: "Eminem featuring Rihanna", "Jay-Z featuring Alicia Keys". It's a selling-point for DVDs: "with extras featuring cast interviews!". I went out to dinner the other night and all the evening's specials were [meat] "featuring" a balsamic vinegar reduction, picked radishes, raspberry coulis, etc. I even discovered a Cold Stone ice cream concoction that "features" M&Ms (not to be confused with Eminem -NOT tasty). I was only at Cold Stone for empirical purposes btw.

I wonder what would happen if I started adding the word to my everyday vocab to spice things up a bit. "Today's schedule will feature a mid-afternoon nap."

"What's for lunch, mom?" "Turkey roll ups, featuring baby carrots and drinkable yogurts."

"Please excuse my appearance. I'm featuring a giant pimple in the middle of my mono-brow at the moment. You can leave if you're grossed out or stay and feel better about your own face."

It's risky - like "awesome" it may become diluted with overuse - but I think I'll give it a spin.

Five Stages of Summer Vacation

I'm not a psychiatrist and I don't play one on TV but I do believe that I can identify 5 distinct mood changes since school let out in June.

1. Denial - I really don't have to be the sole source of entertainment for the next three months, right?

2. Anger - What do you mean you're bored?! You've been dying for school to finish! Why don't you play with the gazillion games and toys we've accumulated over ten years or better yet (gasp!) go outside and look for bugs/have a water fight/kick around a soccer ball etc., etc., ad infinitum.

3. Bargaining - I know you said your camp is full to capacity but you simply have to make space for at least two, preferably three, children. Just for a week. PLEASE.

4. Acceptance - My kids are awesome. Annoying but awesome. And I really got to know them better this summer. We have some really fond memories of trips and family nights and learning all kinds of new skills.

5. Abject elation - T minus 14 days and counting.

Bless their little cotton socks. I will miss them ...

Oliver Stone's The Pencil Case

Toward the end of the school year, we received an email from the PTA: Would we like to have our incoming second grader's school supplies purchased by the PTA and delivered to our second grader in the classroom on the first day of school? If yes, please complete the form and submit it with payment of $45.

$45?! I looked at the list. Some markers, some colored pencils, a couple of glue sticks.... standard stuff. Surely not $45 worth of stuff.

To be honest, the cost wasn't even why I opted not to fill out the form. The real reason? I'm a sucker for supplies.

I loved back-to-school shopping as a kid. I loved deciding which lunchbox I would carry for that year (Scooby Doo! No... Jabber Jaw!). I loved selecting a binder-- I remember reveling in the high-tech-ness of the Trapper Keeper. And I really loved the pens. I could (and still can) test pen after pen, making beautiful rainbows on the "try me" paper.

Turns out my son was not quite as interested in the undertaking.

No biggie because Target makes it super easy. PTA list in hand, we cruised through the back-to-school section and picked up everything (minus some 3X3 lined post-its) in under 10 minutes for about $18.

$18 vs. $45. You can imagine how smug I felt.

A few days later I swung by Staples and found the lined 3x3 post-its that Target didn't carry. They came in packs of six. The list called for eight. Annoying. I bought two packs. Together they were around $10. Still smug.

But then... I happened to be at Target one day and noticed that Target (being awesome in a truly Target way) actually has copies of the local schools' lists available in the supplies section. I picked one up just to make sure I hadn't overlooked something.

What's this? A new parenthetical had been added to the list: eight pads of lined 3X3 post-its (NOT the pop-up kind).

Target still had no lined post-its whatsoever. And, wouldn't you know, the ones I had bought from Staples (the only lined 3X3 post-its they carry, mind you) were pop-up ones.

I had to order mine online. Even with free shipping they came out to $17.

Grand total (after I returned the "bad" post-its): $35. But when I add in the time-value of two trips to Staples and searching out the best online vendor I'm not sure I really saved $10.

I did pick up some great markers though.

Quid Pro Woe

A few years ago, while on vacation, my husband took one for the team and watched Sex and the City with me on the hotel TV. It was a real stinker. And I've been paying for it ever since.

How? Countless airings of Bad Boys (parts one and two), some choice selections from the Nic Cage oeuvre, and any movie in which Jack Ryan is played by Harrison Ford. Evidently USA and TBS love these movies as much as my husband.

I kind of don't mind watching those same movies over and over because they require so little of my attention. I can read, flip through a catalog, mess around on the computer, change the laundry, or do a crossword puzzle without missing anything.

But I may be in some real trouble.

Last night, for the first time in ages, we saw a movie with no cartoon characters or animatronic guinea pigs. A real movie. In an-honest-to-goodness-theater. One small problem: the movie we saw was my idea (on the recommendation of every freaking publication I read)-- The Kids are All Right.

Eh. The kids (and the film) really were just all right. The acting was strong (Annette Bening makes a very believable lesbian) but it was a little slow. To his credit, my husband did not sigh audibly, excessively shift in his seat, or fall asleep.

As the credits started to roll, I looked at my husband and could not stop giggling. He asked why I was laughing and when I finally regained control I told him what had been running through my head for most of the movie.

Now I'm going to have to see The Expendables.

Yup.

Sigh.

Please No S'More

My husband is off work at the moment and rather than take a break from his normally hectic lifestyle, he has filled his two weeks off with ambitious plans. I am his reality-check/logistics manager but sometimes I have to just go with it.

On Tuesday, in a car filled with balloons and gift bags, on our way to our daughter's 5th birthday party, he suggested to the party girl that we go camping that night to celebrate. The kids screamed in delight. My reaction was ... (TUMBLEWEED)

Yep. My husband and I used to go camping a fair bit. Not K2 or anything like that, but Bryce Canyon and the like. All that came to a screeching halt when we saw 'The Blair Witch Project'. So it had been, what, ten or eleven years? since our camping equipment had been touched. We had two musty sleeping bags and a two-person tent. For five people. So we scrounged from neighbors, emptied the closet of duvets for padding and drove up to a park to our campsite. It was a stone lean-to.

We gave the kids the tent and my husband and I lay awake all night on the dirt floor (I even took a sleeping pill!), batting away bugs like lunatics, hiding under our sleeping bags then getting too hot, and freaking out at every twig-snap. At about 3am our youngest daughter came to sleep between us, forming an 'H'. I needed to pee for about 5 hours but dared not venture out and in the morning I had to pry my husband off the floor as he was crippled by back pain. We left by 7:30 am, with the kids asking all the way home when we could go camping again. My husband's response, thank the sweet lord, was "not for a while."