Linda R. Hirshman Strikes Again

Linda R. Hirshman’s op-ed piece in the June 18, 2006, Washington Post, “Unleashing the Wrath of Stay-at-Home Moms,” says this: 

Time and again, when I could identify the sources of the most rabid criticism and Google them, male and female, they had fundamentalist religious stuff on their Web sites or in the involuntary biographies that Google makes possible.

You should know that my previous comments in response to her “American Prospect” piece are number one when you Google “Linda R. Hirshman.”  I couldn’t figure out why so many people were suddenly visiting my blog, but that explains it.

Now I wonder this.  Does my religious affiliation negate my viewpoint?  I believe that for Linda R. Hirshman it does.  Or perhaps it’s my status as a long-time stay-at-home (now working-at-home) mother that makes my viewpoint irrelevant in her eyes.

I still want to know who, exactly, Linda R. Hirshman expects will take care of the children while all the mothers are at the office.  Perhaps she is in favor of illegal immigration and expects immigrants to take over the distasteful task.  Who?  I just want to know. 

(Anyway, hello, Linda R. Hirshman.  I figure you’re reading this since I retain the number on Google spot on your name.  And really, I don’t feel hostility toward you, but sincere confusion.  Did you really mean all that stuff or are you just trying to get a little more publicity for your book?  And I must declare that I thought your idea of using the New York Times brides as research subjects was very clever.)

No More Pencils! No More Books!

Yesterday, we celebrated the last day of school by going to a movie.  (“Cars.”)  Tickets for five children and me cost somewhere around $40.00.  (I could buy two DVDs at that price! I said to myself as we hurried toward the theater.)   

I have recently become devoted to Fandango.com so I purchased my tickets online before we left for the theater.  No line to wait in!  I had no idea if the theater would be crowded at 1:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon, so we arrived at 1:00 p.m. 

Lucky us!  The concession stand had no line, so we bellied up to the bar and I ordered:  a combo (large popcorn/large drink), a small Sprite (for the two little ones to share) and a second large popcorn.  My twin 13-year olds ordered and paid for their own drinks.  (They love to spend their money.)

Large popcorns come with one free refill, so after paying, we traipsed over to the salt and butter-dispenser.  I pulled out five brown lunchbags from my purse and divided the popcorn five ways.  Then I sent one of my boys back to get the empty popcorn bag refilled. 

I smuggled a bottle of water into the theater for my 8-year old who prefers water to pop.  So now, everyone had a snack and a drink–and I only spent $18.00 on snacks, which was something of a thrifty miracle.

Unfortunately, we had to wait a solid fifteen minutes before the movie started.  My three boys sat three rows ahead of me–one of the boy’s glasses were destroyed by a dog and he can’t see that well, so they wanted to be very close to the screen.  I sat between two almost-four year olds; my daughter, who has never been to a movie, other than “Finding Nemo” when she was a year old, but that doesn’t count because I spent almost the whole movie chasing her as she toddled in the hallways outside the darkened theater and freaking out about germs.

The other three and a half year old is a movie-veteran, having seen pretty much every kid’s movie as it was released in theaters over the past two years.  He sat entranced, methodically placing popcorn in his mouth and chewing without moving his eyes from the screen.

My daughter said, “I don’t want that,” and gave me her popcorn bag.  She scooted back in the theater-seat and due to her small size, the bottom of the seat flipped up, bending her in half.  This became her primary occupation during the whole movie.  She appeared to be doing some type of weird ab exercise, the kind you see on late-night informercials. Open, closed, open, closed, open, closed, the seat flipped and flapped, back and forth, up, down, up, down.

Five minutes before the movie started, she leaned over and said, “I want to go home.”  Flip, flap, flip, flap, flip, flap went her legs.

When the movie finally started, so did a baby two rows behind us.  The baby squalled and I turned and scanned the rows, but didn’t spot the baby.  The crying continued and I turned again and this time, I stared straight into the grim eyes of the screamer’s mother.  She had a hand clamped over the unhappy baby’s hollering mouth.

My annoyance instantly turned into sympathy.  I felt sorry that I had turned to shoot her a look.  (My look said, “Hey, I paid fifty-eight bucks for this–get that crying kid out of here!”)

A few minutes later, I heard the weeping recede into the distance at that mother left the theater.  I have no idea if she came back.

My daughter did watch the movie with interest, though her legs only sporadically stopped flapping the seat bottom up and down.  She ate popcorn, she laughed at funny parts.  Then, finally, she grew bored and said, “I have to pee.”  I said, “No, wait.”  She insisted, so I had to gather my purse and the hands of both three-year olds and crawl over two people.

She did pee and so did the little boy.  We washed hands and returned to the theater, crawled over two people and settled into our seats.  Then she wanted to switch seats with her little buddy.  Then she wanted to sit on the other side of him.  Flip, flap, flip, flap, flip.  Whisper, whisper.

“I want to go home.”

She called the name of her friend over and over.  He didn’t hear her, completely engrossed in the movie.  I can see why his parents take him to movies all the time.  He, the boy who cannot walk without leaping and kicking, sat immobile, except for one hand bringing popcorn to his mouth.  I think he blinked, too.   

Finally, she got his attention and had nothing to say.  Flip, flap, flip.

“Mommy!  I need to poop.” 

I told her she did NOT, and she gave up asking.  She has realized that declaring her need to vacate her bowels is a Get Out of Anywhere Free card.  For instance, when she whispers that in a stage-whisper at church, I hurry her out of the pew.  Because . . . well, just because.  But in the movies?

I really did like the movie.  I did not particularly like my movie-companion, however!  She will not go to another movie anytime soon.  This is a child who can barely be convinced to watch an entire television show.  I won’t be paying five bucks again for her to fidget and exercise her already taut abs.

*  *  * 

Today my 8-year old played in the final baseball tournament of the season.  (Hooray!)  His team took third place.  This was the first game I’d seen this year–my husband normally takes him, but today, my husband took my older boys to a Mariner’s game at Safeco Field.  (My husband tried to make me feel guilty about missing all the other games by launching into a chorus of “The Cat’s in the Cradle,” but I am not easily guilted.)

The funny thing is that my 8-year old could have gone to the Mariner’s game, too, but he was invited to a birthday party and he chose the party.  So, I went to his baseball game and took my daughter with me.

They won the first game, and played in a second one, so he was at the field from 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.  When he went to the birthday party at 3:30 p.m., I took my daughter to Costco to drop off film and shop (mainly for a roast for dinner tomorrow).

She had been begging to go to “the dolly store” to get another dolly (because you can never have enough dollies when you are almost four years old).  I took her to Goodwill where the doll bins were stuffed full of rejected and neglected dolls.  She picked out two, played in the toy aisle as long as I could stand it and then finally, we returned home.

And that, my friends, is about as much fun as I can stand to have in one weekend.  (And it’s not over yet!) 

(Oh, and we aren’t quite finished with school yet–we have to wrap up History and my Reluctant Student managed to leave himself a generous helping of Spelling over the summer.)

Today My Head Exploded

Tomorrow is our last day of school.  So, today we had to do a bunch of science.  Science lessons in this particular curriculum (K12.com) are on-line.  And I’ve discovered (to my utter dismay) that my boys don’t stay on track unless I am participating in the lesson with them.

So, at 10 a.m., we’re finally ready to start our lessons.  I sit here, one sits on my left, one sits on my right.  I read the introductory paragraph about cells and cell processes and then this happens:

Brown-eyed kid:  “Hey!  That’s my pencil!”

Blue-eyed kid:  “So?”

Brown-eyed kid:  “Give it back!”

Me:  “Look, here’s a pencil right here.  Don’t be silly.”

Brown-eyed kid:  “GIVE!!  IT!!  BACK!!” 

Blue-eyed kid:  “Mom!”

Brown-eyed kid lunges for pencil.  Blue-eyed kid darts to side. 

Me:  “Give the pencil back.”

Blue-eyed kid:  “No.  I had it first.”

Brown-eyed kid:  “He did not!”

Me:  “Let me know when you finish arguing and we’ll get to work.”  I click to my email account.

Flurry of motion.  Brown-eyed kid rushes blue-eyed kid’s hand clutching pencil.  In the melee’, my jumbo-sized glass of water spills.  Water, water everywhere, on my mousepad, on my pantleg, on the floor, on my desk, on a student guide.  I jump up, chair falls over behind me.  I shriek.

Me:  “NICE JOB!  CLEAN!! THIS!!  UP!!”  (I utter other assorted Christian curse words like, “Geez!” and “Shoot!” and “ARRRRRRG!”  Then I stomp upstairs where I slam the door for emphasis and change out of my drenched pants.)

We resume.  Blue-eyed kid’s student guide is damp, unwritable, but he retains the pencil.  Brown-eyed kid is repentant, but I am royally ticked off.  I read the science text in a grim, mechanical voice.  I sound like Ben Stein in Beuller’s Day Off.  This thought does not amuse me because I am mad and when I say “mad” I mean insane, not just angry.

Blue-eyed kid:  “See what you’ve done?” (addressed to brown-eyed brother).

[Just now, this very second, I am interrupted by the children in question.  I open the door and find one kid, arm raised in the classic “I’m-going-to-punch-your-brains-out” pose, while other kid taunts him from his reclining position in bed.  I snapped off the television, ordered them to their own beds and RIGHT NOW I hear them and will return to their room to sternly warn them and possibly throw them into the driveway where perhaps raccoons will adopt them.]

As you can see, it’s all sunshine and rainbows around here.  Not long after we finished our science reading at the computer, I sent the boys to read their individual science textbooks in the living room.  They immediately set about bickering and caused my head to actually fly off my shoulders like a firecracker you pick up after it doesn’t light and then it explodes and blows off your hand.  Like that.  Boom!  Splat!

I marched into the living room, attempted to sort out their disagreement, and then said, “You have three minutes.  Work it out!”  They each wanted to sit in a particular spot to do the reading and neither one would budge.  They worked it out before the timer rang.  Too bad my head was in uncountable tiny bits of matter stuck to my red kitchen wall already.

If only I could fit them with electric shock collars, everything would be just fine.  You think I jest?  Ha!

I’m Still Here, Reporting From the Laundry Room

The strange thing was, when I signed onto the computer this morning, my blog would not appear.  I kept getting the “Server Not Found” error message which later changed to “This Page Not Available.”   

Meanwhile, in my email box, thirty spam comments waited to be moderated.  How could “they” see my blog when I could not?  Apparently, it was a case of my computer plotting against me!  I scanned for spyware, rebooted the computer–twice–and agonized. 

And the spam comments kept coming.  Apparently, those who create comment spam do so in the hopes that the links they surreptitiously place in comments will raise their rank in search engines.  I am not positive, but I think there is a special place in hell for people who do such dastardly and wicked things.  I believe I have made my personal feelings about spammers clear.  (I hope they get their hair caught in a bicycle chain and are dragged down the street and skin their faces on the road.)  

In the early afternoon, I changed some settings, updated my browser, rebooted (again) and my problems vanished. 

So, it was a frustrating morning.

Only two days of school left and it looks like we will actually finish all our work.  My 8-year old son, who is enrolled in public school, will be going to the beach tomorrow, despite the fact that drizzly rain will likely fall.  This has been the soggiest June I can remember.  The English ivy threatens to take over my entire yard and the grass remains green, except under the swings where the children quickly wore bald spots. 

I have to say that I am looking forward to seeing Britney Spears on NBC (Dateline?) tomorrow night.  I keep seeing previews where poor Britney goes into what Oprah calls “the ugly cry” and her right eyelash begins to flop around on her eyelid.  I feel sorry for her.  Living in the glare of the media has to be rough.

With that random tidbit, I’m signing off.  I washed, dried, folded and put away five or six loads of laundry today and believe me, when you spend all your time supervising geometry lessons and washing clothes and wiping noses, there’s not a lot to report.

 

It Will Just Have to Do

Well.  I just attempted to post a jaunty little pictorial from today, but the pictures didn’t show up.  So I saved it as a draft and will investigate further tomorrow.

Meanwhile, it’s 11:00 p.m. and I must abandon this blog for eight hours of sleep.  If you haven’t already, wander over to The Amazing Shrinking Mom and leave me a comment.  Or click on the LargerFamilies.com button and leave a comment there.

Or just send me ten thousand dollars and we’ll call it even.

Oh, and Spammers?  I hope your fingernails get ripped off one by one.  I hope your nose is eaten by a sloth.  I hope your underpants ride up all day and drive you so crazy that you cut them off with scissors and accidentally jab yourself to death.  I hope you get worms in your intestines and lice in your ear hair.  

(I didn’t stop because I ran out of ideas, but only because I ran out of time, you worthless waste of space.)

Because I Have Spare Time Somewhere And A Special Message To Spammers

I know.  You were thinking, that Mel . . . such a slacker . . . can’t she fit more into her barren excuse for a life? 

So, I’ll also be writing for Largerfamilies.com–I’m sure you noticed that logo over on the left.  Click on it and you’ll find a bunch of resources, including a blog, for those who are raising larger-than-average families or those who are curious about those who are raising larger-the-average families.  I’ll be one of about a dozen bloggers contributing weekly.

So, click.  Enjoy.  Let us know what you think.  See you over there.  (And, of course, don’t forget to check my ClubMom blog every day because really, don’t you need a second daily dose of me?)

*  *  *  

Dear Spammers,

I hate you.  I hope you fall off your computer chair and bruise your butt.  I hope your keyboard electrocutes you.  I hope you stub your toe really hard and break it.  I hope flying staples scratch your eyeballs. 

I hope you get a paper cut in your most sensitive area.  I hope your hair falls out right in the front where everyone looks.  I hope your knee caps dissolve.  I hope your spine snaps in two.  I hope your eardrums burst and pus fills your nasal cavities. 

I hope your elbow gets stuck in the open and locked position.  I hope fleas infest your hair, all of it.  I hope a fork accidentally impales you.  I hope fire singes off your eyebrows and your nose-hairs.  I hope a giant pimple grows right in the center of your nose. 

I hope barking dogs disturb your sleep and attack you when you walk to your mailbox.  I hope lightening strikes you.  I hope you walk in your sleep and fall off a cliff.  I hope you drown in snake-infested water.  I hope an alligator eats you, head first. 

I hope your skin gets caught in a zipper.  I hope you get hangnails on all ten fingers.  I hope your fingers get frostbite and fall off.  I hope a collapsing building crushes you.  I hope you fall into an erupting volcano.  I hope a shark bites off your arms. 

I hope you rely on a food-bank and are only given Spam Luncheon Meat to eat, you rotten scummy loser.

Sincerely,

Mel

As the Weekend Ends

I bought a pair of Rayban sunglasses in 1987.  Last summer, I bought three pairs of sunglasses–one prior to vacation, one during vacation and one post-vacation.  I’ve since lost two pairs and broken the last pair.

The 1987 Raybans?  I have.  Why couldn’t they disappear?  Why do only new sunglasses vanish or break? 

So today, I purchased a pair and a spare from Marshall’s.  Hopefully, these will last through the summer.  (They say we buy more sunglasses per capita than any other city in the nation.  I wonder if it’s true?  Do we just lose them over the course of too many gray months?)

*  *  * 

My daughter continues to amuse me.  She’ll be four years old in September and pronounces most words perfectly.  But she still mishears a few words.  For instance, this morning, we went to church a few minutes early so I could photocopy something.  I told her we were going to “make copies.”  When he dad walked by the copy-machine, she proudly informed him, “We are making coffees!” 

At the pool this afternoon, crowds of kids splashed in both pools.  Being a reticent child, she sat on a chair and said, “I am not going in the pool today.  There are too many kids.”  Moments later, she spotted a baby in the pool and *blink* she was gone. 

She is drawn to babies like a moth drawn to a flame.  She wrapped her arms around her floating duck-ring and bobbed near the boy holding the baby in his arms.  I couldn’t tell if she talked or only gazed.  When the baby left the pool, she reappeared at my elbow, only to abandon me when she spotted another baby some distance away near the picnic area.  She zoned in on that baby, eventually setting up camp in the middle of a family preparing their meal.  I went over–twice–and reassured the father and mother:  “She is not an orphan!” I said, “She just loves your baby.” 

They laughed and waved me off. 

I wish that my daughter could have given me a little transition time when she transformed from Miss Cling-on to Miss Independence.  I’m a little dizzy from the change. 

The sun shone today and for the first time this year, I doused my kids with sunscreen.  I hear the drizzle is supposed to return.  I kind of hope it does.  It’s hard enough to concentrate on this final week of school without the distraction of beautiful weather.

*  *  *

My daughter likes to say, “Mom?”  (Repeat ten dozen times.)

And I say (in various degrees of annoyance), “What!?”

She says, “Did you know I love you?”  Pause.  “But only a little bit.”

I find this uproariously funny every time she says it–she tells her dad the same thing–and I wonder if perhaps something might be wrong with me that I find her confession so hilarious.  I never laugh, though, I just say, “You do?”  And she says, “Yes.” 

I know she loves me more than just a little bit and I have no idea why she says that, but it is what it is.  Kids!  They keep you just the littlest bit off balance all the time, just because they can.

Sum-sum-summertime in the Northwest

Summer in the Pacific Northwest means that at the end-of-the-school-year picnic, you wear the same coat you wore in February.  The rain floats down in a fine mist, rendering umbrellas pointless.  Your toes curl in your shoes, victims of a lack of blood flow. 

A fellow virtual-school mom is driving her family back “home” to Oklahoma next week to spend the summer in humid heat.  They’ll be  smacking bugs off their necks and wiping sweaty hair from their foreheads while we are donning sweatshirts on the fourth of July and carrying blankets to the fireworks display. 

I’m used to this chilly weather, but today even I repeated, “I can’t believe it’s so cold,” at the beach.  The children paid no mind, of course, and frolicked happily.  My boys wandered as far from me as they possibly could and my daughter, the former leech, kept disappearing from my side and reappearing on the horizon.  I continue to be shocked by this development in her persona.

One more week of school here in the nippy Northwest.  I think I may be looking forward to sum-sum-summertime more than any of the children.  Five days.

And tomorrow?  I’m going garage-saling with my mother.  It’s one of those huge community-wide sales where you can hopscotch from sale to sale.  Can anything be better?