"The Elfin Wars" OR "Once More Into the Breach"

I read this article in The Huffington Post, and it really got my knickers in a knot.  The key quote: "If you feel like a bad mother for not buying into the Elf on the Shelf, that's on you." Well. Can I just say that I feel like a bad mother multiple, multiple times in any given day, but never once has it had to do with an Elf -- shelved or free-range.

Here is the comment I left at the end of the article:

"The problem with "that's on you" is that YOUR kids are coming to school telling all the other kids that they got tickets to "The Nutcracker" from their elf. YOU are hosting parties for your elf, and staying up all night getting your elf up to cute capers and shenanigans, and nodding knowingly and disdainfully to other Elf-Lovers at the class Christmas party when a frazzled fellow mom expresses her angst about how much she still has to do before the grandparents arrive, and how the dog chewed the family elf, and how she wishes she could just once get her shit together. Most anti-elf mommies are not actually Grinchy about Christmas -- or even about the Elf. We do object to the Elf on the Shelf as a competitive sport. 

If you want to tear apart your house in the middle of the night every single night in the lead up to Christmas, that's on you. If you want to wrap a gift for every child in your house to be delivered every single day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, that's on you. But when you post it on Pinterest, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, the Huffington Post, you are dumping it on me. When your kids make other kids cry because their families got "lame" elves, that's dumping it on them -- and by extension on me.  

By all means -- let's all parent our own kids. And let's support each other in our frailties, insecurities, and mistakes. But mommies competing with each other in the Elfin Wars (like the Hunger Games but with more powdered sugar) is one more reason why I will continue to speak up. 

[Interestingly the whole notion of Advent as a time of spiritual preparation for the birth of Jesus never seems to come up when mommies are flinging Elf anger back and forth at each other this time of year.]"

Harrumph, is what I really meant to say.  But the good news is that according to the article's title, I am [finally] a "cool mom." So that's something.

+++++++

Advent book!

An Amish Christmas is a great book that introduces the Amish customs of the Christmas season. Even without Santa or twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, these children see the wonder of Christmas -- and have lots of wintery Christmas fun, too!

Rock the Baby

OK, so I went to Nordstrom today, and on my way to the escalator I walked past this contraption, which completely mesmerized me.  It's a baby rocking machine, and it comes with a speed control and an MP3 connection, so the mommy can play soothing music or white noise or French lessons.  The Nordstrom folks had a white noise recording playing; you can hear it above the jibber-jabber of passers-by if you turn up the volume on the short little video.

My first thought as I gazed at this very pricy baby accessory was: I have lived too long, if I live in a world in which we cannot rock our own babies any more.  But then I thought, now wait.  I used an un-motorized "bouncy seat" with each of my three urchins when they were younger; does that make me a bad mommy, or a good mommy -- or a bad mommy who at least had a chance to rinse a dish or two before she picked up the kid again -- so maybe I was a bad mommy with clean dishes?

This baby rocking machine had me re-thinking all of my life choices.

So then I got to thinking some more. This contraption is kind of like when I put the inconsolable infant sunny girl, strapped into her carseat, on top of the [empty] laundry dryer and turned it on.  The dryer hummed and vibrated, and the sunny girl was temporarily soothed, and I lay down on the cement in front of the dryer, in case the baby sunny girl vibrated off of it.  I figured she would fall on me, which would make me a great mommy -- or at least a martyr, which is the same thing.

It's also kind of like when the infant tall boy would not shut up could not be soothed, so I loaded him and me into my little two-seater Honda CR-X (God, I loved that car), and off we went into the night.  I drove completely around the I-495 beltway that circles Washington, D.C.  That's sixty-four miles. Y'all, I did that more than once, and at the time it felt like a great solution: the tall boy slept in his carseat, I listened to a combination of oldies and talk radio, and no babies were thrown out of any windows.  A win for everyone.

The mommy gig is a tough one; you all know this.  And any help an infant's mom can get as she juggles her baby, her toddler(s), her groceries, her hormones, her laundry,  her intertwined love and angst, and her latte is help she should welcome.  Once, when I was trying very hard to pay for groceries and the newborn girl in charge had had it (she has been in charge since Day One -- believe it), a lovely woman said to me -- as I struggled to gently bouncy-bounce my screaming, hungry infant and find my checkbook and appear as if I was fine with the milk leaking from both of my breasts -- "I don't want to offend you, but would it help if I held your baby?" People, I could have kissed her.  Maybe I did; that whole post-natal era is a bit of a blur.

So my conclusion? Rock your babies the best way you can.  You are a great mom. You were a great mom.  You will be a great mom.  Being a mamma -- especially a new mamma -- is hard as shit. We deserve all the help we can get.  And in the middle of that "what am I doing?" moment, don't let anyone (including a snobby Nordstrom shopper) make you feel bad.

We're not rocket scientists. We're better -- we make rocket scientists.

Harrumph!

 

So I have been reading reading through all the class information packets that got sent home with the sunny girl on the first day of school, and I think I may need to poke a stick in my eye to obtain a little relief.  In Prince William County, Virginia, the first week of school is nothing but forms, forms, info packets, forms, and requests for donations.

Photo courtesy of the fabulous Miser Mom

Every class has a different set of forms to read through. And all of these freaking forms have to be signed by a parent:  "Yes, I realize that my child will be required to attend this class.  Yes, I realize that my child is required to wear clothes to school.  Yes, I realize that you think my child is a dumbass and comes from a family of litigious dumbasses who will sue you if you don't state categorically that students are required to provide their own pencils."

But today the one form that has particularly frosted my cake is a particular teacher's screed about all the nonsense up with which she will not put.  She uses very huffy language (kinda like I'm using now), and I was actually only partially offended by her tone ( I do love a teacher who won't put up with a lot of nonsense). 

But my head exploded when I read this:  " . . . so keep your electronic devices off and out of site."

People, I get that we are all busy, and everyone makes mistakes or overlooks typos, but come on! --

1.  You are a teacher.
2.  You are introducing yourself to your students, and should want them to see your best possible self.
3.  You are also introducing yourself to their parents.
4.  Some of their parents can actually read, and do know the difference between site and sight.
5.  You had the whole summer to proofread this document. 
6.  You would lower the grade of a student who made this mistake.

Harrumph!

The Elf on the Shelf can kiss my . . .

People, I hate that freaking Elf on a Shelf.  I know I am not alone in this because I have spent way too much time reading crap on the internet about the loathing other people feel for the phenomenon -- like this blog post, or this one, or even this newspaper article (which worries me because I think the author might not be entirely joking).  But none of these writers hits on the real reason why the Elf on the Shelf sucks.  They all wax philosophically about how we shouldn't lie to our kids, and how they don't like to promote the idea of tattling, and how it "diminishes parental authority."  And how it's creepy as shit.

Actually I'm with them there; it is creepy as shit.

But the real reason that every mom in the world should rise up in rage at the mere thought of the Elf on the Shelf is because WHAT THE HELL?!  Do I not have enough damned stuff to do?  Or to feel guilty about not doing?  The Elf on the Stinkin' Shelf is mean to moms.  I would say dads, too -- but we all know that moms are the Christmas beasts of burden.  Shopping, wrapping, decorating, begging someone to find our outside lights and put them up, baking superfluous sweets, making sure the teacher gifts are appropriate and clever, helping out with class parties or seasonal fundraisers and celebrations for school or church or scouts . . . .  I seriously spend most of my December hyperventilating because I am so very behind.  Y'all, it's December 23 and my tree is not decorated yet.

So do not even think about Elfing my Shelf, if you know what's good for you -- or I'll deck your halls.

+++++

Today behind the door of the Advent calendar, we find a fabulous new book that I suspect will become a classic.  It's beautiful, and full of love and mystery and Santa!  The Lost Christmas Gift presents itself as a package that the adult narrator receives after it has been missing for years.  The storytelling is multi-layered, as we read the letters that the narrator should have received from his dad when he was a boy, along with his father's drawings depicting their adventure.  We also read the adult narrator's musings about his memories of that adventure.  It's wonderful!

For those who labour . . .

Thanks again, Rachel!

Snapshot: and then my head exploded

OK, so why the frick are Fifty Shades of Grey and all its awful sequels and wannabe copycat smutty smut being displayed at my grocery store?

Don't get me wrong-- it's not so much the smut I disapprove of (although this particular species of smut is repulsive to me personally).  It's the crappy, crappy writing that just makes me mad at the whole publishing world.  I mean, publishers are so sniffy and dismissive of fan-fiction authors and people who publish on-line, because those writers refuse to make use of the golden talents of an editor.  Well -- what happened here, editing wunderkinder?  If these book were edited by a "professional," then stock up on your washboards and bags of rice, because the world really has gone to hell and the end of civilization is at hand.

And what is up with Safeway deciding that these dreadful excretions are appropriately displayed exactly in this location -- just above the Disney princesses coloring books and nestled next to the Big Nate storybooks and the Crayola products??  At the eye level of a precocious five-year-old???  This galled me most of all -- I had to come home and read a chapter of Pride and Prejudice to cleanse my mental palate.

Harrumph!

Because there's festive and then there's just mean

Well, we are slowly but surely sparkle-izing our home, getting ready for Christmas. I've said it before -- I do like to stroll into the merry season. But it does seem like every year the culture makes that harder and harder to do.

Now, just to be clear -- I'm not talking about people like my neighbor, whose yard was filled on Thanksgiving weekend with a menagerie of whimsical critters who twinkle the night away. This is festive, people! I can get behind this, even if my family's lights are a tad more subdued (and we got them put up a little bit later).

No, I'm talking about the cut-throat, competitive people who are in a race to see who can be "done" the soonest. And the culture (but really by culture I mean "advertisers") fosters this Grinchy attitude. Have you seen the dreadful Best Buy and Target commercials? In the Target commercial we see a mash-up of gleeful shoppers -- and not one of them says the word Christmas or holiday or celebrate. What's the one word they holler so joyfully? "Done!"

Warms your heart, doesn't it?

And here's a terrific Washington Post article about the Best Buy commercials, which are just plain mean -- to Santa, of all people!

Well -- I plan to stick to my slowpoke ways, and bring out a little more sparkle every day. We have our wreaths and our Advent calendar, and as of this weekend we have a (bare) tree. And eventually the little baby Jesus will celebrate another birthday -- right on time.

+++

Our Advent calendar today shows us Sister Wendy's Story of Christmas. Our family loves Sister Wendy, who has guided viewers through the great art museums of the world on several PBS series. She has written several books for children, in which she introduces them to beautiful art. This book uses masterpieces by the world's great artists to tell the story of the Nativity.

Thanks, Jack and Matthew!

Do something!

So I have gotten myself into a little bit of a state these past couple of days because I read this article about our local food pantry. I must say I feel a little overwhelmed with sadness and frustration and a modicum of angsty rage that this food pantry -- which for many people in our neck of the woods has been the only resource standing between their family and a kitchen filled with nothing -- has been forced to temporarily close its doors.

In our family the ACTS Food Pantry holds a special place because we have been participating in food drives to support it for over twenty years. The sunny girl and the girl in charge have both helped sort food during the food pantry's annual Operation Turkey drive in November. And the tall boy organized a neighborhood food drive for this food pantry as his Eagle Project. To prepare for the food drive he spent quite a few hours at the pantry, shelving food, helping to organize donations, and talking to the pantry director about his goals and dreams for the food pantry.

Of course for all of us, the dream is clearly that we can live in a community where an emergency food pantry is no longer necessary. But until that day arrives, the Food Pantries, Community Kitchens, Bread For the City drives and SOME (So Others May Eat) programs are nothing more or less than a rope that we can throw to our drowning neighbors.

We all MUST support these programs.

Please. My friends. Go to your community's food pantry right now. Yes, now. Get up, go to your cupboard. Grab that can of beans, that Top Ramen, that peanut butter, those pasta noodles. Get in your car right now and go to your food pantry. They need it so very badly -- they won't even care that you are still wearing your pajamas and bunny slippers.

My mother would tell you you are earning stars for your crown in heaven.

Thank you so much.

You want "Real Housewives?" I'll give you real housewives . . . .

OK, so I have never watched a single episode of "The Real Housewives of Any City on the Planet" -- and if I have my way, I never will. But unfortunately, I have encountered commercials, clips, and excerpts from this heinous television show, and I feel like my eyeballs should be rinsed in Clorox. Here are just some of the words that come to mind when I consider this television experience: vulgar . . . OK. That's the main word that comes to mind.

But the thing that most irritates me about this show, now based in Washington, D.C., is that these bimbos are foisting themselves off as "Real," as "Housewives," and as actually "from D.C." While Mrs. Bush and Mrs. Obama can both credibly offer themselves as real housewives of D.C., there is nothing real about any of the women on this horrible show, and everything -- EVERYTHING -- they say is a lie, including the words "a," "an," and "the."

So I thought I would introduce you to the REAL real housewives of D.C. Are you ready? I hope your sensibilities will be able to handle the truth:

While the FAKE housewives of D.C. are using biometric locks to keep their daughters away from their precious designer clothes, these real housewives are making clothes for their daughters and for their friends. While the FAKE housewives of D.C. are insulting everyone in the city who doesn't look exactly like them, these real housewives are truly celebrating diversity by making it just one fact of their lives -- not THE fact of their lives.

While The FAKE housewives of D.C. are drinking enough champagne to ensure that they will be unable to speak a coherent sentence, these real housewives are raising their kids, going to church, volunteering at their schools, hospitals, churches, food pantries.

This real housewife homeschools five kids, and has written a hymnal of traditional Latin liturgical songs with her daughters. In her spare time. In Latin. And she throws a kick-ass party.

This real housewife hangs drywall, tiles bathrooms, lays carpet, installs flooring -- and leads three Girl Scout troops, all the while ensuring that her three daughters stay active and engaged -- and that they never miss their weekly trip to the library.

This real housewife works two free-lance jobs and volunteers at her four kids' schools, and she ensured that her grandmother's last days were filled with tranquility and comfort and love. She also knows how to throw a swell party; and not once -- ever -- has one of her guests thrown a drink at anyone.

This real housewife went back to work when money got tight, and then stayed at her job even when it was no longer "necessary," because she knew that the students she worked with needed her. She is also raising three fabulous urchins, and is the queen of the afternoon swirl -- from dance lessons to Boy Scouts to internship site; she rocks a Honda Pilot.

This real housewife is raising four beautiful children; she also militantly advocates for Newborn Screening, turning her own family's tragedy into a cause that has saved countless lives all over the country.

This real housewife is a popular and busy substitute teacher; when she's not subbing, she's volunteering at the school. She's also a Girl Scout leader, a community volunteer, and an active member of her church, plus she does all the bookkeeping for her husband's business. And she's crafty as all get-out, y'all.

This real housewife works full-time for the U.S. Army and still is able to attend her kids' concerts and sporting events, and participate in marathons, 5K and 10K runs, golf tournaments, and breast cancer fund-raising walks. And Perfect Days in Manhattan.

This real housewife has served in the U.S. Army herself, and now works full-time to raise a family while her husband continues to serve. Interestingly, while some FAKE housewives and their husbands crashed a White House state dinner, with no thought or consideration for the fact that their actions had endangered the President of the United States, this real housewife and her husband have spent their entire adult lives defending the President, the nation and the whole idea of freedom. This means that while the FAKE housewives have continually pissed and moaned in order to get even more publicity, this real housewife and her husband have quietly put their very lives on the line -- to make sure that the FAKE housewives have the freedom to live selfish, thoughtless, moronic lives of no meaning.

Well! Now that I have gotten that off my chest, here is my challenge to you: the next time you are tempted to watch this awful, awful television show, why not take that time instead to pick up the phone or sit down at your computer, and thank a REAL housewife of your own hometown for all the ways she makes your community safer, healthier, more vibrant, more educated, more humane.

You'll make someone's day -- and you won't even have to gargle with bleach when you're done!