can you die of retroactive mortification???

I hung out with my brother this weekend, who is 22, and one of his friends, who is 21. My brother, in a sometimes refreshing/sometimes infuriating sort of way, doesn't even pretend to have his sh*t figured out (love you, bruddah!). But his girlfriend (friend-girl), a beautiful brilliant wisp of a woman, has some pretty staunch opinions about life and love. She reminds me an awful lot of myself at that age. Though perhaps not beautiful, brilliant, or wispy, I held plenty of fervent opinions about many, many things when I was young. And by young I mean, until I had my first child at the age of 30, at which time my (apparently overblown) sense of self confidence suffered a fate worse than my tattered vagina. (Sorry for that visual).

I'm not saying brother's dear friend is wrong in her opinions/thoughts/predictions about herself. She has had a much different and way gnarlier life experience than I have. She may well have nailed her permanent point of view on the head at the tender age of 21 (though you all know I am a born-again 'Never Say Never-er'). Nor am I saying she's a card carrying member of the Douche Bonnet Guild, as apparently I am, or used to be. But. Talking to her and my bro' reminded me of how sure I once was about so many things, which in turn reminded me of this REE-diculous "letter to myself" that I wrote my junior year of high school for my Professional Drama class. (In retrospect, the name of the class is apropos.) My then-teacher just recently contacted me and forwarded the offending piece of swill. I spent the next 15 minutes cringing, laughing maniacally, and wishing I could teleport myself back to 1997 to punch myself in the face - though after reading the letter it is a mystery to me how I survived my teen years without someone doing me the favor.

Let's hope, for my sake, there is a Bell Curve of dickery and it peaks at the age of 16.

I cannot include the actual letter because it is too terrible, contains too many personal references, and I could never forgive myself. But. Here are a few gems:

Okay, first of all, I start the letter "Al principio."

I use the phrase "'nuff said" no less than three times.

Some thoughts on our "Professional Drama" course -

"My partner was basically useless, so alone I pulled everything together." Kind of like my marriage. Just kidding. The hubs said this after he read my letter, not me :)

"The shows were smashing." What is this, Broadway?

"Being a director is a tough job, especially when the actors and actresses think that you don't have the authority to tell them what to do." I'm actually still having this problem.

Quoting the substitute teacher "When I was watching you I was thinking, man, before she was born someone said 'This kid's gonna be a director - or a football coach.'" In other words, I was born bossy, so it's not really my fault?

"I don't think people realize how big a part the director has to do with the production." What I'm trying to say is, IT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART. *REE REE REE* < That's the sound of me stabbing my 16 year old self in the eye.

"Everyone doubted that we could pull this off without the constant aid of a teacher - and of course you helped a lot - but honestly - no offense - I think we could have done it without you." But they definitely could not have done it without me, obviously!

"I have done a lot of work this year, just as much or more than anyone else, but I didn't live up to the expectations that I had for myself and this class at the beginning of the year. So how about you grade on a curve and give me an A anyway." Yes, please, give me an A, for Asshole.

Some thoughts on life -

"You have to develop the skill of tolerating people that bug the hell out of you." True statement, actually. Though apparently it could have applied to others tolerating me.

"I was so naive [coming from junior high, as opposed to now, being a high and mighty 16 year old]. I had come from a little private school in a class of 24. I didn't know anyone, sex and drugs were a mortal sin.... everything is so different now. If I still held true to my 'I'm not going to be friends with anyone who drinks or smokes out' then I would have no friends, so although I do not agree with their practices, I have learned to overlook and accept (within reason.) I still do not accept such actions in a person I am having a relationship with, because I really do not understand why people do it, and if they are not on the same page as me, then I'm not interested in anything long-term anyway." Good thing I changed my tune or I still wouldn't have any friends. I couldn't even be friends with myself. (Not that I would want to!)

"I have learned that I am much more socially and intellectually mature than most of my peers... most of my friendships [at school] are more or less superficial... The playing field here is somewhat limited, so if I want stimulation, I have to reach outside the bounds of my school. There are just not too many people like me here, and I am raring to get out of here so I can find more kindred spirits." Kindred spirits being other complete ASSHATS?!?

"I have recently discovered that most adults are no more mature than I am, and they aren't always right." Now that I am an "adult" I know this to be true. But still. SOMEBODY SMACK ME IN MY SMART MOUTH!

"Never be totally dependent. Make sure you can always stand on your own. I have discovered that I do not need anyone to survive. If my parents kicked me out, I could get by." HA! Says the girl whose parents were about to foot the bill for her 4.75 year university degree.

"I know I'll do well in college." Note to self. Teach children modesty. Even if its false, it's better than sounding like a punkass.

"I'll probably be paying off debts for a long time before I ever get rich and world renowned, but hey, I want to have to work to get to the top." Stilllllll workin'...

"'Losers quit when they're tired, winners quit when they've won." Okay, Ali! Pfffftt. What if you're really, really, really tired though???

Oh, and speaking of mortifying ridiculousness. I also recently found a picture of me when I was about 12 years old. I wrote a note on the back... to... myself?? Just in case I forgot what a jackabee I was? OMG. Seriously. Kill me. PPS no clue who "Denny" is. Judging by the name, he did not actually qualify as a "potato" a.k.a. "fine guy." Quite possibly he was a complete figment of my imagination.




[copyright 1999 paramount pictures]

fostering your child's independence at the expense of your overpriced heath ceramics

more talk about preschool and poop. apparently my new metier.

the new preschool is all about the kids' independence, self-confidence, "emergent learning," positive discipline... blah blah blah. at orientation they had homemade play dough (and they were weirdly obsessed with the smell of it. they kept being like, "oooh, did you smell it? how good does it smell? what do you think it smells like? eh? eh?" ummmm... it smells like... play dough? for a minute i had a weird flashback to college and i thought, omigod, is there pot in the play dough?? there wasn't. i don't think. we didn't eat any. also? my hands keep writing douche not dough. is that bad that my fingers engage in rote name calling?)

anyway, they had scissors and knives out for cutting the play dough. because they "trust" that the children will "rise to the occasion." alright. good on ya. i hope your liability policy covers lefty scissor lacerations and getting shanked with a plastic shiv (shivved with a shank?) i tried to proactively manage the situation by explaining to J$ that he is in preschool because he is such a big boy and that is why at preschool, and only at preschool, he gets to play with things like scissors and knives. but that cup o' independence has already runneth over. last night he threw a holy terror of a tantrum because i told him he could not use a steak knife to spread butter. "I WAAAAANNNNIT!" "I'm sorry. You can't have it. Sharp knives are only for grown ups." "WAAAAAAAA. RAARRRRR. AAAAAAAH. *slam a door* *kick something* *throw something* I WOULD LIKE TO BE A GROWN UP! PLEEEEEEEAAAAASE!!! I SAID PLEEAAAAAASSSE!!!!!" [impressively, he usually manages to mind his manners, even amidst his psychotic breaks.] "I'm sorry. You'll have to wait 15-25 more years for that." "But they let me use  knives at 'cool..." and so it begins.

the teachers also explained that they were going to start out serving drinks in paper cups, but that soon they would work up to glass, "just like you use at home." HA! gurrrrrrl, that's just crazy talk. you obviously do not have children. the only person in our house who's allowed to use a glass-glass? is me. we do often use actual dinner plates, but there have been several (expensive) casualties (including the fancy freakin salt shaker) so i have recently been rethinking my strategy there. bring on the melamine!

in addition, the school encourages parents to let the kids "help" pack their own lunches, which is generally the opposite of helpful but can be fun or sometimes terrible depending on the day. the school director warned that they "would not engage in power struggles" over lunch, "so keep that in mind when choosing what to pack." obviously, she said, if you put cookies or goldfish along with healthy fruits and vegetables, the kid's going to eat the cookies first, and probably only the cookies. she said, "hey, if you want your kid to eat cookies and goldfish for lunch everyday, we're not going to judge you." [false.] "we're just telling you how it goes."

they also "strongly suggest" the kids pick out their own clothes and dress/undress themselves. J likes to pick out his own clothes. he also likes to decide that the outfit he picked out last night, or, thirty-seven seconds ago, is the worst decision he ever made in his entire life. dressing/undressing is another issue entirely. sometimes he insists on doing it himself, sometimes he views it as an insurmountable task. the level of difficulty may or may not have something to do with whether he's gotten enough sleep, whether he is suffering from low blood sugar, and/or whether mercury is in retrograde.

even on the best day, if i were to have J pick his own clothes and dress himself from head to toe... oh yeah, and also... eat breakfast (do you know how long it takes to choose which cereal to eat?), brush teeth (i think he has, like, twenty of them at this point... and did you know that, if given the proper incentive, a child's jaw can exert force equal to that of a crocodile?), get out of his pjs so he can get into clothes, apply sunscreen (you'd think it was agent orange the way they carry on), lug his own lunch box (SO HEAVY), walk to the car (SO FAR), get in the car (SO HIGH - but GOD SAVE THE SOUL of anyone who tries to help him), get in the car seat, face the direction in the car seat that does not guarantee a ticket and a visit from CPS, securely fasten 5-point safety harness (how long does that take? multiply infinity TIMES FIVE), drive (less than a mile now, thank you Jesus!), unbuckle (involves mind-reading re: whether or not he would like assistance this particular second), get out of the car (you'd think he was rappelling from El Capitan), and walk to preschool (farrrrr. lunchbox so heavy. arm might fall off. not to mention the fact that, meanwhile, i am hauling my overgrown baby chile, who weighs significantly more than J's lunch box.) fight over who gets to sign in (if you don't want my kid to write on the sign-in sheet then don't put it at his EYE LEVEL), pass the "health check," (still unsure re: acceptable levels/colors of snot), walk to classroom [dead man walking], hang up lunchbox (BY HIMSELF). pee (even though he decidedly DID NOT have to pee AT ALL 7 minutes ago, or maybe it was an hour ago, who knows). wash hands (total germ annihilation becomes supremely important at 8:29 a.m.) finally, finally, i think i'm going to make a clean exit but at the last minute, as per usual, i need professional assistance peeling the wailing child off my leg :( the moral of the story is, independence slows progress by a minimum of 73%.

so, yeah. that's how mornings go around here. i let the kids do things for themselves when and where i can, but if i completely handed over the reigns i'd literally have to wake them up at 3am so that we could all get to school/daycare/work on time. on the other hand, if i dress the kid the way i want to, it's a dead giveaway that i am not following proper preschool independence protocol. i suppose i could intentionally pick ridiculous and mismatched ensembles, or let him wear the same shirt every day for a week, but that really offends my particular sensibilities. instead, i just let daddy pick out his clothes, as his sartorial stylings are akin to that of a small child. nobody's the wiser ;)

another area of independence is wiping their own asses. as you may or may not know, J can't effectively wipe his own because, according to him, his butt is crooked. despite this physiological challenge, self-administered butt-hygiene is a life skill that they expect my 3 year old to master. when i asked about the logistics one of the teachers said, "we just show them how to do it themselves." i was like, "okay, well, can you maybe give me some pointers because my methods of instruction are clearly insufficient." then she and another mom (who apparently teaches kindergarten) laughed and said, "oh, yeah, it's not a squeaky clean operation or anything, there will be skid marks for another 2-3 years at least. hahaha." um, ew. as our family's chief-laundress and shit-stain supervisor, i object! not only on my own behalf but as the proxy for my poor kid who has to walk around with an itchy poopy butt all day! so sad! i guess ya gotta learn sometime, but man. welcome to "the real world," a.k.a. preschool!

when we I was pregnant with C-diggity, one of DM's mentors from work gave him his "parenting bible" - a book called "your self-confident baby." DM respects the guy a great deal and says his kids are super well behaved and totally entertain themselves and let him and his wife sleep in until 9 on the weekends and do not need a constant stream of eye contact, verbal validation, and rewards (unlike somebody else we know, *wink wink*), so i thought it would be worth a read. it had some good pointers, though, in my view, nothing totally earth-shattering. however, at the time i was reading this, J was almost a year and a half, and the book basically said if you haven't done all of this by the time the kid turns 2, you're f@#%^&. so we had 6 months to implement two years' worth of cognitive behavioral therapy. i more or less took that as "better luck next time!" i'm (mostly) kidding. i don't think J's a complete lost cause ;) (and in any event, to the extent there are any magical keys to his independence and sanity, i don't think i'm going to find them in a book.)

the thing is. i want to be a chill, free range mama. well, sort of. i want to be a free range parent whose little free range chickens clean up after their own damn selves as opposed to leaving a constant trail of detritus and destruction in their wake. and obviously i want to foster independence and self-confidence in my children. but i also don't want anyone to needlessly break a leg, lose an eye, or to have to buy a new dinner set every three months. i definitely used to be that A-hole who said, "i'm not going to let having children stop me from having nice things. i will just teach my children to respect and take good care of our nice things. it's as easy as that!" i should have heeded the warning signs, e.g., that i could not even teach my husband to respect and take care of our nice things. if nothing else, 3 years of parenthood has taught me that, for better and for worse, there is a limit on your powers as a parent in the face of kids' unerring tendency to be kids! as always, it all comes back to balance and finding what works for you. and also, not having people tell you - subtly or not-so-subtly - how to raise your children all the damn time.

that is all :)

honestly, my dog could probably get ready faster than these children.
[source: www.aliexpress.com]