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Did anyone really use this as an opportunity to go out and play?
Our nanny’s husband was just diagnosed with cancer.
A different sort of blogger would make this story her own, and be able to milk at least two or three good soul-searching, tearjerker posts out of it: perhaps something to choke through at next year’s BlogHer Community Keynote. In the hands of another blogger, the story of my nanny’s husband getting cancer would become an opportunity to show how deeply I empathize with other people and how touched I am by the lives of others. But it would also be a lie.
When I write something that involves other people here, my goal is to determine where it is that their story ends and my story begins. The cancer part is not my story beyond how badly I feel for her and how grateful I am that nothing like that has every happened to me (knock on wood). Beyond the momentary bitter reflection on a health care system that made her husband wait for two months to get the biopsy that would confirm diagnosis, and the reflection that those two months might well be the difference between life and death for him, this isn’t my story to tell.
No, my story is the selfish one about how our nanny’s husband being sick makes my life more difficult. It’s harder for me to squeeze out the hours I need from my day lately, since her schedule is limited. How Mini needs me more, and more often, and that I am anxious about it because, with his transition to preschool next week, I have to assume this need for me will only increase. I find myself trying to calculate ahead of time how many days I will need to stay at preschool with Mini, and for how long, in order to make him feel comfortable. My story is the one about how it’s hard for me to prioritize the other half of my work day, the one that involves doing the family’s budget and grocery shopping, and making sure everybody has everything they need right when they need it, when I cannot get in time to work on everything I want to work on. About how I get so easily frustrated by Mini in the morning, when all he is doing is being a toddler and wanting my attention, and I want to fix this or that, or work on this or that, rather than play cars with him.
My story reveals that sometimes I am a total asshole.
My story is about how Noggin is now Nick Jr., and nobody told me, and that the fact that they’ve been playing Little Bill for a full hour on weekday mornings lately is infuriating to me. And about how I’m so annoyed with the makers of Thomas’ Hero Of The Rails for putting an ad at the beginning of the disc, that you are forced to watch, because every time Mini sees it he wants to go get that toy, RIGHT NOW, and there is no way to explain to him that this is not going to happen without some kind of meltdown. About how I have to wash the comforter AGAIN today, and the duvet cover, and pick up all the toys so that nobody steps on them in the middle of the night. Or how Lieutenant Bautista’s speech impediment is like the elephant in the middle of the room on Dexter, and that there are millions of Elmer Fudd jokes to be made and nobody is making them. That the last thing that Heroes needs is another set of characters, and why do they always make us wait so damn long for a new episode of Lost.
My story is full of ups and downs and challenges and failures, but they are tolerable, and they are mine. And I’m lucky.
This lunchbox advertises your toddler's unresolved anger management issues.
Kurt Cobain In Memoriam Lunchbox
Who's that on your lunchbox, Mini? Oh a GenX rock icon who shot of his head with a shotgun? SUPER.
This is quite simply the lunchbox for the toddler whose parents long for a bygone era, who ache for the days when GenX rock idols were just misunderstood suicidal heroin addicts, rather than the deceased subjects of tedious Gus Van Sant films. And what burgeoning young creative genius won’t appreciate the flexibility of the included thermos? Concealing the vodka you brought to share at snack time or disposing of used needles has never been easier! Plus, your child can spread word about the grunge movement among a new generation when he sets up his lunchbox at the miniature table at lunchtime, where all of his preschooler buddies can get a clear view of Kurt Cobain at his guitar, smoking as he composed what would become the soundtrack to the 1990s. And when all the other preschoolers start debating the aesthetic appeal of Kinderslut, or exchanging bon mots like “Rape me, my friend . . . rape me, AGAIN,” or “Polly wants a cracker, guess I should get off her first,” within earshot of their parents, well — how proud will you be that it was your precious little one who first got them to wonder if they were dumb, or maybe just happy, before popping an SSRI?
Betty Page Lunch Box
Betty Page is already a role model for maladjusted goth pre-stripper teens everywhere. But if you know your toddler is going to end up on the pole, why not indulge inappropriate hero-worship earlier?
Before Betty Draper was picking out lunchboxes at the Five & Dime that morning, she hadn’t realized that her daughter’s destiny was to be the contestant on every season of Project Runway whose personal style consists of mixing red gingham with Doc Martens. But when her three-year-old picked out this Betty Page lunchbox, Betty Draper realized it was only a matter of time before Michael Kors was sending her home in the fourth or the fifth round, declaring himself “so tired” of candy apple red lipstick set against a backdrop of paler-than-pale skin. And so Betty Draper objected at first that the lunchbox glorified a woman of loose morals and middlebrow tastes, and besides, it was far too small to accommodate her daughter’s beloved goldfish crackers and chocolate Ho-Hos. But then a Betty Draper had a feeling — or something akin to those instinctive impulses she once felt, but had then learned to ignore (with the help of an extra glass or two) of wine at dinner). Betty Draper realized that if she did not do something quick, then one day soon all of those fruit roll-ups and granola bars would become more cellulite on her daughter’s hips, and so why not choose the smaller lunchbox now, taking her daughter’s aesthetic preference as a sign that perhaps it was already time for her daughter, too, to begin tenure on the Mother’s Little Helper diet of melba toast, coffee, wine, and prescription amphetamines.
The “Just Plain Mean” Lunchbox
This lunchbox advertises your toddler's unresolved anger management issues.
Mean is cool! In fact, mean is exactly the kind of ideal we want to set for our burgeoning young feminists! Being mean will keep the boys safely away from you, where they cannot infect you with their nasty boy cooties or subject you to their patriarchal-reinforcing rituals of heteronormativity! And not only that, embracing your inner meanie also encourages and propagates the overly simplistic, black-and-white epistemology that has plagued the assessment of female characters since the beginning of time! Is Susie a nice girl? No, she’s mean! Have you ever seen her actually kick somebody in the crotch? No, but I’m sure that she would. Where did you pick up the term ‘vagina dentata‘ anyway, Billy? Has your grandfather been sending you stuff from his 1930s pulp fiction collection again? But, Moooooo-um — I’m telling you that she’s that kind of girl: she’s MEAN!
Tonight We Dine In Hell Lunchbox
Oooh! Dining in hell? Will there be brimstone appies?
Instill in your toddler the merits of asceticism and a life of self-restraint with this Spartan lunchbox. Perfect for large picnics, the “Tonight We Dine In Hell” lunchbox is roomy enough to hold rations for your child and all of the classmates with whom he was separated from the rest of the community at an early age in order to undergo extreme physical conditioning and preparation for warfare. The thermos doubles as an ice cooler, and in a pinch it can be used to transport blood for battlefield transfusions. And before you object to the verisimilitude of the steroid-enhanced abs on Gerard Butler depicted on the front of the lunchbox, remember that juxtaposing this picture with those from recent movies will only underscore for your toddler the merits of consistent self-restraint and unrelenting physical training.
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Each week, in addition to the links you can see by spying on my Google Reader, I compile a list of posts that interested me and post them here on Saturday. You can check out the ABDPBT Personal Finance, ABDPBT Tech, and ABDPBT Commodity Fetishism versions at your leisure as well. If you have any posts that were great that I missed, please send me an email and I’ll check it out before next week.
First of all, today is Mr. Right-Click’s birthday, so if you see him, be sure to wish him a happy birthday. I believe he is also accepting gifts. Just FYI. I love you, honey!
I don’t know if you’re familiar with McSweeney’s or not, but if you are not, you should be. And now is a good time to start getting familiar, because they’ve just released an iPhone App which will deliver to you a random sampling of the hilarious stories and spoofs that appear there regularly. Good exploitation of the “we’re-waiting-for-our-doctor’s-appointment-and-have-nothing-to-do” market, if you ask me.
Check out the work by SpY, an Urban Artist from Madrid, at We Heart Stuff. Cool pictures. I think the skateboarding rink combined with a soccer field is my favorite, but I included the “gardening” installation in honor of Mr. Right-Click’s birthday: it combines two of his great loves into one.
The UnMom: I have a kid around here somewhere. Just not on this blog.
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ONLINE DATING CHRONICLES
Sure, I eventually met my husband, Mr. Right-Click, through online dating. But not before I had dated nearly one hundred of Los Angeles' least suitable bachelors. Laugh along in my Online Dating Chronicles.
SPY ON ME
Looking for something to read? Wondering what I'm reading? Perhaps it's time to start Spying On My Google Reader to find out about the coolest stuff I've read lately on the internet.
MUCKRAKING
Sometimes I like to muckrake. You can read about it here. Oh, and here too. Listen, if I don't do it, that muck will just keep piling up until we have to call a roto-rooter. So really, you should thank me. You're welcome.
LISTS
You know, you slave away at blog posts day after day, you try to write fiction, you try to provide interesting social commentary, but at the end of the day, they come for the lists. Check out List Mondays to see what all the hullabaloo is about, because I sure as hell cannot explain it.
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Tech for mommy bloggers. Or bloggers who aren't mommies, but hang out with them. Or Dads. Whatever.
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This is where I post stuff that I think is cool. Maybe you will think it's cool, too.
FULL ARCHIVES
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LOS ANGELES
Los Angeles is where I was born and raised. I always thought I'd leave, but for some reason I never did. Sometimes, I like it here. Other times, I'm not so sure. But good or bad, it has made me who I am.
Sometimes I take the melodrama of my life and twist and turn it until it looks almost charming. I do this because I want you to like me:
Cigarettes & Green Felt: This is about the time I figured out that adults were mostly full of shit.
Assburger: It's not just a disorder on the autism spectrum: it's also one of your relatives!
On Truth: Sometimes somebody will say something and it hurts your feelings. And then you will write a story about it and your aunt will call it "phenomenal." Everyone else will try to pretend like it never happened.
The Sheer And Unmitigated Power of Bob Mould: Sometimes you spend your formative years obsessed by an unrequited teenage crush, and then one day you realize that person is now an orthopedic surgeon who lives in your neighborhood. It kinda sucks when that happens.
Ben From Madera: For one Halloween, Ben dressed up like a bee, like that kid in the Blind Melon video. That's how I will always remember him.
Mr. Right-Click
He is my best friend, even if he uses a PC. And the fact that sometimes he will pretend to be a "Pancake Pirate" is only part of the reason. Arrrr!
Mini
His cutie-pie percentile group is off the charts.
Spinning
If you think this is just about exercise, then you have underestimated how wildly inappropriate people can be when they undergo physical pain in a group setting.
Community Keynote. In the hands of another blogger, the story of my nanny’s husband getting cancer would become an opportunity to show how deeply I empathize with other people and how touched I am by the lives of others. But it would also be a lie.
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