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.

Ignore that Woman behind the Curtain

…we’re tweaking graphics. Sit tight.

Good for us she’s really smart and talented. This guy helped too.

Anyway, if it’s wonky for a few hours, nevermind us and move along.

New Years

I recently twittered about my ultimate New Year’s Eve…the one I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember- I want to do that whole cold, crowded Times Square in New York thing. Just once.

Odds are I would hate it and find it entirely overrated, but it’s never stopped me from REALLY wanting to go do it. When I was young and single I was too broke. When I was young and un-single I was too broke. When I was married and we had *some* fun money we had to save for a wedding and house, etc.

Then I got pregnant.

Then I was breastfeeding.

Then I got pregnant again.

Then I was breastfeeding again.

Now I’m broke with kids and no babysitter.

So wanting to go to New York for New Year’s Eve is more of a dream than ever. Funny thing is, I really hate the cold and I really hate crowds. I think it’s more of a “GODDAMMIT I WILL DO THIS ONE DAY” because everything in my life keeps getting derailed.

In fact, *I* am derailed. ALL of me.

Mom, interrupted.

Wait, that’s not even right…

Woman, interrupted.

I do everything with interruptions. My life is one big “oh, wait…hang on…what was I doing?”

It’s making me insane (er).

I realize life takes turns and things change. I realize you start off going one way and you get turned around or pushed in a direction you never expected. However, this was the path I *chose* and now I’m complaining. Unsatisfied. Restless.

The entire “spend New Years Eve in NYC” is just this HUGE freaking reminder that my life is on hold. That I chose to raise children and now I really can’t just chuck them to the curb and change my mind. Tempting….but no.

I WILL get there one day. I will stand in the middle of Time’s Square and kiss at midnight and drink champagne and bitch about the freezing weather. I might be 80, but dammit, I WILL get there.

I guess that means I just made a New Year’s resolution. Hmmm. Hold me to it, K?

Young Lady!

I say that to my daughter. A lot. I’m not sure where it comes from, or why…but I find myself spewing things like “Now young lady, we don’t do that!” and “Young ladies do NOT hit.”

I could puke.

But then I see stories like this one out of Independence, MO and I about puke again:

“Dozens of girls fought — possibly about a boy — outside a mall on Wednesday, and the brawl ended with mall security officers using pepper spray and police using Taser guns, authorities said.

It happened outside an Applebees at Independence Center and involved about 20 to 30 teenage girls, police said.A mall security officer was injured trying to break up the fight. Police took four females into custody. Two of them were juveniles.”

Now before you go jumping on me about equality or any of that crap…let me explain where I’m going with this…

I expect more from a group of young women. It’s not fair. It’s not right. It’s certainly not PC, but as women actually gain things like the right to fight in combat and blah blah blah…I still expect they don’t act like …well…men.

We’re smarter. We’re better. Except, of course, for my son, who is just as smart and just as good…but the rest of you with a penis are inferior.

I’d like to think we women folk are more evolved. Maybe that’s why I’m harder on my daughter sometimes. I don’t mean to be, I just expect more from her. I expect more from women in general.

Which means I’d rather they not act like frat boys and brawl outside an Applebees.

I also don’t want them sitting around in skirts knitting their man a sweater.

I think I need to go re-enroll in some women’s lit courses or some post-feminism discussion groups. Clearly I have some issues here.

When it comes down to it

..I’m totally traditional. Shhhhhhhhhhhh don’t tell anyone, it will totally ruin my street cred.

I’m sitting here after having feasted this Christmas, wine in hand, reflecting on what a total, traditional, happy homemaker I am.

Every year we have kielbasa from Detroit because that is just what you do on Christmas Eve.

I actually buy “Santa” paper just like my mother did before me, so all the Santa gifts have their own distinct Santa face.

We open stockings first, until adults are alive and the coffee is at least dripping.

After the chaos, left-over kielbasa and eggs for breakfast.

(mentally noting it’s always about the food)

None of these may seems like really big deals, but to me…they are HUGE. I can’t decide if that is WEIRD or completely against my nature. I mean, I’m the one who left my hometown. I was always weird. I was always the one who never fit in and always wanted OUT.

Yet I’m the one who gave both my children family names and continue traditions that have been practiced since I was born.

I don’t get it.

I mean, I spend a lot of time fighting against conforming. Well, I do and I don’t. It’s just that I was lucky. I had a warm and fuzzy and happy childhood and I want my kids to have the same.

I was never an angsty non-conformist. I was a happy non-conformist. I always did things differently and I was lucky to have parents that told me “that’s great!” In fact, I distinctly remember trying to come up with one single word to describe me for my Confirmation in 8th grade and my Dad telling me to write “Independent.”

So when I find myself screaming and yelling about politics or parenting or anything in between, it feels very natural. When I find myself DEMANDING we ship kielbasa from Detroit to Los Angeles, regardless of cost, I scratch my head a bit.

Of course this is just one part of my life. There are many other parts that would probably melt your brain they are so very NON traditional. Yet the constants…the things that never change, are as traditional as they come.

I’m embracing it, that’s for sure. As I get older I’m taking more and more pleasure in sharing those warm fuzzies with my own children. With settling into this life with a sprinkle of my mother and her mother and my grandmother’s ways in my kitchen and my home and my mind.

Maybe that’s how we all do it…take the good and rant against the bad. This Christmas I’m thankful the good I keep is in my home and in my heart. The bad I scream and yell and fight about almost always is on tv or in a newspaper or somewhere ‘else’ out there in the big wide world.

“Independent” still fits though, even if I’m currently freezing kielbasa and doing dishes.

2 Days Until Christmas, in case you didn’t know

2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas! 2 days until Christmas!!!!!

I’ve heard that about 50 times and we just woke up about 4 minutes ago.

I love having children in the throws of the “Santa ages” of childhood but HolyMaryMotherofGAWD I’m pretty sure my son’s head is going to EXPLODE before he’ll ever wake up Tuesday morning.

He’s obsessed. He’s also truly, and honestly, to his toes worried Santa won’t bring him something because he’s been bad.Yeah, cue the “awwwwwwwwww.” I mean, I only torture him like any other good American parent would. “Santa is watching, don’t you dare hit your sister.” “Santa heard that lie Count Waffles and I’m pretty sure you’re on the naughty list.”

With panic in his eyes before bed last night he actually asked me if *I* thought he had been good enough to warrant a gift from St. Nick. “Oh honey, I’m sure you’re just fine…don’t worry,” I said immediately regretting it if only for the pure leverage it’s given me these past few weeks.

Terrible, I know. He’s 4.5 though, he’s in trouble all the damn time.

When I was a kid we had the house on Christmas morning where everyone was up before dawn and my parents made us lay there awake and wait for the sun. It was unlike any torture known to man. I would call it worse than waterboaring.

My brother and I would be in our beds, flat on our backs, with eyes as wide as saucers and stare at the ceiling until my Mom or Dad would say, “Ok.” We’d throw our blankets off and race downstairs as fast as our tiny feet could go.

It’s 2 days before Christmas and my son is awake a good 2 hours earlier than usual bouncing off the walls. It’s like he’s had 6 cups of coffee. Like he’s got Santa fever and the only cure is more jingle bells.

He’s an addict and I don’t think any of us are sleeping until he crashes in a pile of unwrapped presents in about 48 hours.

I think the excitement and joy of this age is one thing, the sheer insanity and uberhyper activity was something entirely lost on my parent brain until about a week ago when he began to twitch.

I guess many of you may lecture me about hyping this holiday and it being all about toys and gifts and gimme gimme gimme. In all fairness, you’re an idiot. I haven’t done anything more or less than most parents do this time of year and we’ve had plenty of talks about giving and kindness and gifts not being important.

That being said he’s just shy of 5-years old and the boy believes. He believes some magic, white-bearded guy is bringing him toys. The holy grail of childhood. For one day a year he gets to have a candy and cookie laced toy-fest and the only thing stopping him is his ability to whack his sister on the head with a balloon and piss off Mom with his lazy cleaning skills. He believes, and it’s freaking magic people. It’s that warm, fuzzy magic that only comes when you’re a kid and Santa is coming. The entirely pure and innocent joy.

As a parent I’ve actually thought long and hard about this whole thing (why yes, as a matter of fact, I do think long and hard about my parenting decisions) and I’m totally fine with it. There are only so many years of Santa belief and I don’t really give a damn if that makes you think I’m spoiling my child or teaching him the wrong lesson. There are only so many years of pure magic on Christmas morning when you wake to find gifts have just appeared under your tree. There are only so many years when you can’t sleep from excitement and wait and wonder with hope and some panic if that one special thing is waiting there for you on that one special morning.

It will all be gone faster than a blink and he and I are going to enjoy every insomniac moment of it, dammit.

In fact, I’m letting him have Christmas cookies for breakfast while we wrap gifts. Then, with any luck, he’ll crash from the sugar high and I can get some sleep.

I Feel Bad For Lynne Spears

Maybe I’m having a weak moment. I don’t know, but everyone is slamming this woman now that we all know her 16-year old (ala Zoey 101’s) Jamie Lynne Spears is knocked up.

They film that up here by me. The Spears contingent is in town a lot.

The Mom of Britney and Jamie Lynne is being torn to shreds because it would appear both her little darlings are total fuck-ups. Ouch. Ok, so Lynne was in the midst of writing a parenting book, and apparently the publisher is known for “inspirational books and Bibles”- so you know there won’t be any 16-year olds heading to Planned Parenthood in this family.

As I sit here today and watch everyone on daytime tv slam the Mom, and around the blogosphere, etc. I’m wondering at what point we get to be upset with Britney and Jamie Lynne. Sure, 16 is young…crazy young-but not unheard of in 2007. My Mom was pregnant with me at 18. Go on over and talk to Kelly (aka Mocha Momma) about teen pregnancy.

Let’s add in these are two celebrity kids. Drug use and criminal activity is one thing, but your daughters procreating like bunnies, while not exactly responsible, isn’t really the end of the world here.

I’m by no means absolving parents of responsibility here. I just wonder how much we really know about Lynne Spears and her parenting tactics. The bottom line is: we don’t know shit. She might be the total church-going, supportive, doing-the-best-she-can kinda mom.

I don’t know about you, but I was having sex by 16. Something CERTAINLY could have happened. I can’t say my parents didn’t teach me all the things I needed to know and I didn’t have a solid foundation when it came to sex and responsibility. No excuses there. They told me. I knew.

Birth control still could have failed. I could have had a ‘moment’ of passionate irresponsibility. We alllllllllllllll could have.

So while I’m not ready to pat Lynne on the back and tell her “hey, good job!” I’m certainly not going to bitch like some crows circling overhead. We’re all Moms here. We’ve all fucked up. We’ve also all had sex, and sometimes rather irresponsibility.

Yeah, I feel bad for Lynne Spears. I hope everything works out, because her daughter is going to need support and that family needs to be stronger than it appears splashed all over the rags at the grocery store.

Frankly I’m finding all the blog laughing and pointing fingers and being snarky about a 16-year old getting pregnant rather high school. It’s the holidays after all, and I don’t care WHO this family is or HOW much money they have, babies are never easy. They aren’t easy for me under the best of circumstances at 33-years-old and certainly can’t be easy for a teenage.

Keep shaking your heads and making your jokes if you want, personally I think you need to shut up and grow up.

Maybe I Just Need to Be Monitored

You know, like Britney.

I think I’m a better parent when *other* people are around. Vistors, family, whatever…I’m on my best behavior.

Less yelling. Less total loss of temper over stupid things like who’s turn it might be to use the nintendo ds.

I don’t think I’m Joan Crawford or anything when people areĀ  *not* around, but I certainly get along better with everyone. Or maybe when no one is looking (which is a whole LOT) I’m just lazy.

Lazy Queen. Do laundry, sure…put it away…hell no. Lunch? Thaw a peanut butter jelly frozen thingy. Candy? Yeah, go ahead, I don’t feel like arguing.

Then there is the “Mom away on trip, kids act like perfect angels for inlaws, babysitter, teachers, father, grandparents, etc.” “Mom home and children turn into psychotic little people and melt down over everything and act like barbarians.”

So what does all of this lead me to believe? That maybe work is good and I need to be away from them more. They hate it. But they are BETTER when I am not around. It’s as if life is MORE NORMAL for them if I am not there.

Do I want to be away more? Depends on the day. Not really, but sometimes yes. Maybe I’m just having a bad day but I feel horrible at this “mom” job sometimes.

I work from home too much.

I don’t get down on the floor and play enough.

I yell too much.

I’m lazy about responding to their 400 questions or requests.

I look forward to dinner time so I can pour wine.

I worry all my son’s quirks (he’s currently sniffing his fingers 300 times an hour) are my fault.

I worry I’m too hard on my daughter.

And instead of doing anything, I do nothing. I say ok to cake at 1030am and read blogs.

Sigh.

Blogging helps me think all these things out. Writing has always made me feel better. So just writing all those things makes me realize I’m not awful. I’m not the worst mom ever. I need to improve, yes…but it’s not like these children are neglected. I think. I hope.

Anyway, before I cry. Come visit, you know, for the sake of the kids.