Dear PBS & the Creators of Super Why!

Thank you.

One hundred times, thank you.

For those who haven’t seen it yet, Super Why! on PBSkids is “geared towards children on the cusp of reading.” That means preschoolers. That means, my kids.

Despite my best efforts, I have a stereotypical boy who loves his numbers and counting and math and, until recently, abhorred the alphabet. He had no interest in letters, in reading, in writing, in even LISTENING to books.His preschool teachers keep telling me not to push and in the same breath tell me he’ll need to write his name come the first day of Kindergarten.

We’ve tried flash cards. Different kinds of books. All gently, all without really making him squirm. But I’ve been worried he would never pick up a love of reading, a want of words and sentences and paragraphs that make your mind wander.

Count Waffles will be 5 in March and while he can invent an entire city with semi-working plumbing in my front room, reading about one just doesn’t interest him. When I told him he could learn how to build it bigger, better, stronger from a book-he rolled his eyes, looked at me with that “don’t make me I get so frustrated” shrug and I let it go.

Then came WordGirl who peaked his interest slightly. WordGirl accidentally led us to Super Why!

And today…today my son spelled RED in my front room while asking me where he could find “that one car, you know mom, the red one –r-e-d, red.”

Holy crap. Did he just spell red? Wait. Does he even know what that looks like on paper? Can he…I mean could he…might he actually be able to READ the word?

I showed him a red crayon. I asked him to read the label. First he looked at me like I was insane. He looked at the crayon. He looked at me. I showed him the r. I showed him the e. I showed him the d. His eyes lit up.

Red, mom. That says RED.

I cried. He again looked at me like I was insane, but in that…Mom stop GUSHING way insane. He was damn proud of himself too.

Then he asked to watch Super Why! (horray Tivo) and asked to play the Super Why! games on the office computer. Could he get a computer like Whyatt? Could he get books like the Super Readers have? Isn’t his cape cool? I wish I could spin like that and make my clothes change. Did you know Mom you can have an adventure by reading? And on. And on. And on. And on.

It’s my understanding the creators of Super Why! are the brains behind Blues Clues. I just want to say publicly-

Angela C. Santomero and Samantha Freeman Alpert– this Mom thanks you.

Sincerely, (and I mean it)

Queen of Spain

p.s. not to be outdone, the 2.5 year old spelled SMART and pretended to read 3 books today. Show off. I have no idea where she gets it from.

The Fort That Ate My Front Room

I’ve come a long way baby.

There was a time any sort of mess freaked me out. If you came over for dinner I would take and clean your glass before you were finished drinking.

Now I can hang, to a degree, with toys all over and various forts in each room. I really need to vent about this latest Count Waffle’s creation though-as it has now consumed every square inch of our playroom (aka the front room) and every pillow, blanket, toy in the house.

It has plumbing people. Tubes that used to be wrapping paper holders and a toy keyboard stand. While I applaud and encourage my son’s inventions, I need to draw the line somewhere. I’m thinking this thing can’t expand beyond the playroom. I’m also going to need to vacuum, eventually.

Spawn of Satan

There has been much discussion in our house as of late regarding the 2.5 year-old and if and when she’ll grown horns and a tail.

That’s not really true, there is actually no real dispute over whether she is the spawn of Satan.

She is.

The end.

The dispute lies in the question: “If Princess Peanut is the Spawn of Satan-which parent is Satan?”

Yeah, that’s the sort of dinner conversation we have around here.

I would have to argue that Kaiser is Satan, as no one as angelic as I could ever be compared to Beelzebub . I’m sure he’ll disagree and give you some nonsense about my wild ways. Don’t believe a word.

In the meantime, while we decide exactly which parent is the devil…I’m picking up a copy of “Parenting the Strong Willed Child” and probably some more wine. I’d love your discipline advice if you have any. Last night she threw a boot at my head and didn’t seem to care I took away her puppy. Time-outs seem to um, only enrage her further and entrench her defiance. I’m getting a lot of typical “NO!” “I WILL NOT” and “NO YOU CAN’T!” which is usually accompanied by her arms folded or her hair flip. Sassy. She’s sassy.

I need to break her will.

I’ve pretty much done it all-taking away toys, time outs, etc. etc. She sleeps in the same room as her brother so that can be a problem at bedtime. Either way-I’m out of ideas and am going to resort to duct tape and a strong box to ship her to a convent if you guys don’t help me.

Hellllp meeeeeeeeeee interwebs…you are my only hope. Not to mention, her father is Satan.

Cows Make Milk

My not-exactly 5-year old loves cows. He sleeps with a stuffed cow named Kaiser (that’s the name he came with, I swear) and begged me to take him to the county fair so he could see cows live and in person.

He likes their teats.

Go ahead-make the “you breastfed him too long” joke or the “a man who knows what he likes” as I’m over it. Whatever the reason, the boy really, really, really is udder obsessed.

Thus began my (and Nana’s) search for a stuffed cow with udders. It’s been a good year of searching, at least. You’d be surprised how many stuffed cows are out there, and how zero of them have udders.

Enter Sim from Utterz.com. I met Sim at Blog World Expo in Vegas and while I was *supposed* to be talking business, I was instead explaining to him how his company’s mascot, Bessie, would make my son the happiest little boy on planet earth.

Time passed.

I continued to use Utterz (if you haven’t yet, go check it out, it’s fun) and exchanged a few emails with Sim here and there.

Then a box arrived at my door, and my son’s world changed forever:

No Tea Parties Here, Your Doll Creeps Me Out

A girlfriend of mine was over the other night and we were recalling our hectic Christmas shopping experiences. Gabbing away about stores and lines and Wii-hunting insanity, we realized something:

Nothing is as scary, or disturbing as baby dolls.

Not the baby dolls we grew up with, today’s baby dolls. The freaky, life-like, mechanical pee machines that pass as normal at Toys R Us.

Now I ask you-what is cute and cuddly about a baby arm and hand that moves? Or something even CALLED “Alive Wet ‘N Wiggles?

My friend actually bought and brought home the twin dolls as she thought they looked the least complicated of all the freakazoid babies on the shelf and low and behold they required 6 C batteries or some such nonsense- each.

What happened to a doll that just lays there? Am I that old and grumpy? Do they really need to be THAT life-like? I mean, really? Is this what kids want? To be just a stressed out as Mom because their little baby doll cries and shits and demands to be fed? Not to mention (as my friend’s husband said) where does that leave room for IMAGINATION?

I sound like an old man….”back in my day we didn’t have these video games and electronic toys-you had a rock and a stick and you turned it into a game and we liked it!”

But really…LOOK at these things:

That baby is totally going to eat my brains, not give me love.

How Hillary Can Win Me Back

I saw it during the ABC/Facebook debate last night. That spark. I SAW IT.

When Edwards and Obama started hammering her tag-team style, she got ANGRY-that’s when the Hillary I used to love came back out to fight.

Of course, that Hillary is the one that tends to fire me up while turning others off. That’s the Hillary that gets the sexist and conservative voters calling her the b word and railing against having a crazy woman in power.

That fight I saw in her? It was real. Genuine. It was the kind of thing her campaign was trying to manufacture with those cackles on national television and giggles of a “softer side.” Why can’t they just admit “Hillary lite” isn’t nearly as exciting and commanding as “Hillary pissed and yelling” – don’t sell me a softer Hillary, sell me what I KNOW works and gets stuff done: Raging Ass Kicker Hillary.

I don’t care anymore if you hate her for it. You hated her anyway and you’ll hate her again. I don’t care if she’s so far into the establishment she is considered the “same old thing.”

Bring back the Hillary people love to hate instead of this Middle-of-The-Road-play-all-sides, rhetoric spewing android democrat and she’ll get me back. Then we can talk about experience AND history. Then we can talk about having the resume AND being the First Woman President.

She was right last night-a woman in the oval office would be huge. But no one is talking about it yet. No one is excited about it yet-why? She’s made us forget she could make history by becoming one of the many drones of politics. By becoming one of them. She used to be trail blazer, now she’s lost in the herd.

Show me that trail blazer again. Show me the woman who tried to push universal health care while not even a politician. Who, when I was still a teenager, had me reading up on drug makers and their lobby. Who had me proud and excited a strong and vocal woman was injecting herself into the national spotlight in a way no other First Lady has.

Let her loose.

Then all those women and young people the Hillary camp took for granted-all those WOMEN LIKE ME who have been waiting their ENTIRE LIVES for this just might consider making it happen.

Let her loose.

And hope it’s not too late.

crossposted at the Huffington Post

Barbie is One Sly Minx

I caved and bought that freaking Barbie and her 12 Dancing Sister Princesses Fairyworld Mermadia Utopia of Tutu’s and Fluff DVD.

Something in my GUT told me to say “no” but in case you don’t know there are three big storms coming our way and I need new movies dammit. I can only color and play cars for SOOOOO long people, come on.

As expected Princess Peanut donned her tutu and clapped and danced and was simply OVERJOYED at “Hi, I’m Barbie, I play Genevieve the oldest sister….” or some crap. Then it was a blur of songs and ballet shoes and gold dust and really bad CG (um, yes, I do know what bad animation looks like..hello…).

There was the much anticipated dancing and some inane plot about an evil step mother and a dying father and blah blah blah you know the story.

Mostly our first Barbie experience was harmless. I say mostly because I was slightly annoyed at the giggling over some cobbler boy (he makes the shoes, get with the program) and the rate at which my little Princess wanted to change outfits to twirl around in. But what really got me…was an unexpected interested in the movie by Count Waffles.

Mind you, he’s not even 5 yet and he’s very into “that’s a BOY toy not a GIRL toy” and “I don’t want PINK that’s a GIRL color”-yes, his feminist mother is so proud.

So when the Count wandered over to see what all the frufru was about and our little Peanut explained “Dat Barbie and DAT da Princesses and day daaaaaaaaaaaaaaace” the response was one I had NOT counted on:

“Wow. She really is beautiful.” And a glazed look fell over him and he sat down to stare.

Fuckin’ Barbie.

Slut!

Whore!

Tramp!

Trollop!

JEZEBEL!

I’ll take you down bitch. Stay away from my baby boy.

And with that I shall now commence hating every.single.one. of his future girlfriends.

Dear Michelle Obama, A Look Back

About a year ago, I wrote an open letter to Michelle Obama and published it here on the Huffington Post. It was picked up by the Chicago Sun Times and for one reason or another became a heavy topic around the web and at dinner tables because me-the white suburban mom-dared to utter the word everyone is thinking but no one wants to say.

It was probably one of the most sincere and heartfelt things I have ever written in my life. At the time I was getting ready for Christmas with my family and watching the candidates slowly declare for 2008.

I couldn’t help but wonder what on earth Michelle Obama was thinking. Not as a prominent player in American politics or as the wife of a Senator. I was wondering what the “Mom” in her was struggling with, if anything:

“The simple fact that I know you are weighing this decision with such intensity makes me like you and your husband even more. It confirms to me you are the type of people I think you are: smart, loving, educated, and with great common sense. Frankly, it makes me want your husband in the Oval Office even more. I’m just not sure my needs outweigh the cost to you and yours. I don’t want to seem like a selfish American, but it will take something BIG to give hope to this country and those of us disheartened, disenfranchised, and just plain disgusted with the current state of affairs. Yes, I want Senator Barack Obama to be that something big. I want him to be the answer. I want to ask you to support his run in 2008. But I can’t. I can’t ask you to do it for me. I can’t ask you to do it for the children or for the future or for the good of mankind. You are a mother, like I am a mother, and I know I can’t ask that of you.

I can only wait.

Whatever you decide, the Moms, if no one else, will understand and have your back.”

Many things have happened in the year since I wrote those paragraphs. Senator Obama is, in fact, a presidential candidate and depending which poll you like best, he’s not just in the race-he’s in the lead.

Again I find my mind wandering back to Michelle Obama. Because she’s a mother. Because she’s a woman holding two little girls hands, standing next to her husband, with history on the line.

I get twinges of this feeling with Senator Hillary Clinton. They are more reserved, and I haven’t exactly figured out why. The mother piece is there. The woman piece. The history. The first. I have a tremendous amount of respect for the Senator. If she is the Democratic Nominee she will absolutely get my vote and I’ll be first in line to champion the first woman President of the United States of America.

Maybe it’s the sacrifice that is missing. Maybe I look at Michelle Obama and her family’s potential first differently than Senator Clinton’s. We all know the Clinton family has been dealing with the White House and all it entails, and Chelsea is grown and it seems just less…risky? Maybe that’s naive of me. Whatever the reason, the more I see Senator Obama climb in the polls, the more my mind thinks of his wife and family.

When the firestorm erupted over my original article I responded on my personal blog,

“But that really is what all of this is about. It’s about being a mother. Do you go with showing your children just how big of an impact you can make on the world? Do you take the safer route? It’s about choices. And the millions of choices that go with motherhood. Breast or bottle. Work or home. Cloth or disposable? It. Never. Ends.

My letter to Michelle Obama was nothing more than my sympathy and empathy for having to make yet another motherhood decision. And as we all know, what is best for one family is not, necessarily best for the next.

I still breastfeed my 21-month old. That is a choice that I get shit for. But it works for my family. Sure, it’s not an oval office issue or anything, but it’s an issue none the less. And it seems we women get shit for any decision we make on any motherhood issue.

As a mother, and a mother with a rather LOUD speaking platform, I will happily get the back of ANY MOM for their decisions. It’s time for the world to SHUT THE FUCK UP and remember it’s the mothers who sacrifice, suffer, and agonize over those decisions.”

Then, of course, I received another round of hate mail because I’m a mother and a woman and I curse.

The Obama and Clinton family will always have my utmost respect simply for trying to be the first-motives not withstanding. There is risk in this for white, Southern, male John Edwards but I’m not sure it’s the risk of the first minority or the first woman.

I realize we’re all trying to get past this whole race/gender thing…but let’s be real here-you and I both know people who say things like “I just don’t want a black man as president” or “I just can’t vote for a woman.” Throw in the “mother” and “family” factor and I think the Obama’s and Clinton’s will never get a fair shake.

I know-I’m a woman. I’m a mother. We can’t even pick out the right toy at the store without it being a national issue.

I am at a total loss for what I may be writing one year from now. I’m not even sure who I’m voting for let alone what I think might happen come next holiday season. Will we be talking of risk and firsts or will be over it entirely and already bitching about those first 100 days in office?

What I do know, is the same holds true today as I wrote last year:

“The talking heads and pundits can make fun of me all they want, but how soon they forget photos like this, and this, and this. It’s easy to dismiss a ‘self-described Mom’ when she’s showing support for a fellow mother, but it’s not so easy to dismiss all the mothers, wives, and children I see in those photos.

So mount your protests and do your best spin on my very honest letter. Just keep reading. Because the Mom voice will stay loud, and we’re making the decisions that rock the world-whether you like it or not.”

Crossposted at the Huffington Post