Archive for the ‘Style’ Category

October 23rd, 2011

Dissecting The Mean Girl

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It’s very rare for someone to tell you to your face how they truly feel about you. It’s rare because it’s not an easy thing to do. Somebody once told me to my face that I’m “mean.” I was rather stunned because usually those kinds of things are reserved for behind-the-back lashing and also, I didn’t agree with her.

Admittedly, some of my behavior towards this person could be considered somewhat questionable, but I’m not sure if it was what you’d call “mean.” I know what “mean” is. I have seen mean. We’ve all seen it. It’s everywhere. It’s in the shows we watch and the movies we see. It’s in the articles we read and the videos we view. The characteristics of a mean girl have been dutifully exposed.

But even when you know you’re being mean, it’s still hard to accept being called out on it. No one wants to be a “mean girl”—unless, of course, they truly are just that. And quite honestly, I don’t feel that I’m truly a mean girl.

So when I was told that I was, it broke me. It broke me for awhile.

But then I got to thinking…Am I a “mean girl,” or was I just being mean?

There’s a difference.

And that led me to conclude that there are two types of mean girls:

There is the Mean Girl on the Offense: This girl is like a lawnmower in that she’ll plow through anyone who gets in her way. She is the Mean Girl who makes herself feel better by tearing down others. She rules by fear and finds the less assured to be her disciples. She is mean; it’s a state of being.

And then there is the Mean Girl on the Defense. This girl is not mean coming out of the gate. She has to be provoked, like a sleeping bear. If you’re going to poke her, good luck to you because she might come out swinging. She’s either standing up for herself or she’s just totally and completely annoyed by someone else’s behavior. Her meanness is reactionary and, as far as she‘s concerned, it is justified. Unlike the Mean Girl on the Offense, this girl’s meanness is not a state of being, it‘s temporary. She’s not a Mean Girl, but she can be mean and if you question her about her conduct, her answer will more than likely be: “Well, she started it.”

Of course, not all girls fit nicely into either category. There are lots of other Mean Girl groups and subgroups, but I’m too lazy and too stupid to get into all of them.

I really just needed to hash out what I had so far because not only am I responsible for myself, but I have two little girls of my own and if they see me being mean, there is a good chance they could grow up to be the same way. And no one wants that.

Of course I don’t want my girls to be Mean Girls—but I also don’t want them to be doormats. I needed some help so I went to my friend “Remi.”  Remi helped me to see that it doesn’t have to be either/or. While there is no place for the Offensive Mean Girl (except in the movies) the Defensive Mean Girl is pretty much unavoidable. And not only that, she’s also human.

It’s human to be put off by other people once in a while. We can’t all like each other, but we don’t necessarly have to act on it.  It’s not nice to come out both guns blazing to every single person who rubs you the wrong way. Plus, there’s no percentage in it. Where’s it going to get you?  Nowhere good.

I wish I had the innate quality and maturity level to let things go and bite my tongue, but I’m not built like that—and that is something I need to work on. When the time comes, I’m really going to try and help my girls find a place in the middle. I want them to be more like Remi. I want them to know when they should stand up for themselves and when they should walk away. I want them to know when to put up and when to shut up. If I have to, I will attach a filter or a muzzle to their mouths.

And who knows? Maybe there’s even one big enough to fit me.

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July 7th, 2011

Lady Gaga: The Camper

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I have heard people say that Lady Gaga is this generation’s Madonna.

Is she?

Regarding the music, Lady Gaga seems to shine when she’s singing and also when she’s sitting at the piano. Madonna’s vocal range is fairly limited and I don’t think she can play an instrument.

But where fashion is concerned—take a seat, Gaga. Madonna got you beat.

Madonna has always been an icon of style. When she first burst onto the scene in the early 80‘s, her timing was perfect. We were ripe. Madonna brought with her an unfamiliar sound and an effortless look that mixed just the right amount of edge and femininity.

Madge helped shape an entire generation of girls, myself included. I spent many mornings searching for my black pencil skirt so I could throw it on over a pair of  lace leggings. From there I would carefully layer a mesh top over one or two tanks and then I’d accessorize with pearl and beaded necklaces until the back of my neck itched. Of course, I added one of my many Borderline video hair bows and although I skipped the black bra (because really, who was I kidding) I rarely left my room without lining my arms with approximately one zillion black rubber bracelets— and if I felt that I didn’t have enough on, I used the black rubber bands from our vacuum cleaner. I was a little bummed that I couldn’t rock the Cross earrings, but the whole “being Jewish” thing kind of got in the way.

Lady Gaga also came on the scene at a time when music needed an adrenaline shot. Her raw talent and vocals were a welcome alternative to the tired, predictable beats that seem to penetrate almost every song currently getting air play.

Her look, however, has me a little confused. It seems that almost every time I see her, I find myself asking the same question:

 

What is that about?

True, Madonna has had moments of controversial fashion choices, but for the most part her style has always remained admirable and accessible. Of course, it is not Lady Gaga’s job, anymore than it was Madonna’s job, to dress in a way that influences her fans and followers. We don’t even know for sure if Lady Gaga  wants to be compared to Madonna—though I have to imagine early on in her career it didn’t hurt, and it maybe even helped.

The thing is, Lady Gaga is now an established artist with her feet planted firmly in the Billboard charts and her music downloaded into IPODS everywhere, which leads me to my next question:

Why is she still trying so hard? …or is she for real?
While the trendsetting Madonna was “Desperately Seeking Susan,“ Lady Gaga just seems desperate.

I read somewhere that Gaga claims she was considered a “freak” in high school. That had to hurt. In my experience, I have found that people who aren’t comfortable with who they are generally don’t embrace it with uniqueness, but instead they hide it with some sort of outrageousness—and that is what I think she is doing. (That’s what I did.) I think she is hiding behind her various looks and playing it off as “avant garde.” I think she is intentionally pointing to her ensembles so we don’t see her.

You know what else I think? I think camp would have been a good place for Lady Gaga. If Gaga had gone to overnight camp (probably any camp, but preferably ours) she would have risen to exactly where she is with self awareness outlining her persona instead of ridiculousness.

We have all kinds at Camp: Freaks, geeks, clowners, downers, talkers, gawkers, hotties and notties—and many of the kids are at a stage where they aren’t exactly comfortable with who they are. One of the truly special things about Camp (and there are many) is that it helps kids find comfort in their own skin.  They find that comfort because the people that surround them make them feel comfortable. Their respective personalities are not only accepted, but in many cases, celebrated. They’re all loved and they all have a place here.

Campers live in close quarters and though some of their cabin mates may not be people they would have chosen to be friends with, let alone share space with—TOO BAD—they  learn to live with them and appreciate them for all they have to offer. In turn, kids are accepted without prejudice and most every one of them leave here a little more confident and a little more self assured than they were when they first got off the bus.

Assuming that I’m right about Lady Gaga being uncomfortable in her own skin (and I might not be—but for the sake of this piece, let’s assume that I’m right), I honestly believe if she had gone to overnight camp, she would have grown up to love herself for exactly who she is instead of continually shifting our focus to her facade. She would just BE. She would just be herself.

Whoever that is.

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June 29th, 2011

Don’t Be A Tease

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I feel like everyone is teasing me lately. And I don’t like it one bit.
I was out for dinner recently and when the server went over the specials, I picked one that sounded dee-lish. I was very excited for my dinner because I am kind of a loser in that way and I look forward to my feeding time much in the same way a hippo does. When the server came back to my table, she told me that she was very sorry but they were out of what I wanted. What? Wait. What? You’re out of what I wanted? Um, how about, I don’t know, how about maybe taking it OFF YOUR LIST OF SPECIALS?
When I told the youngest Front Boys’ cabin (B-2) that I would come by during Rest Hour to play some cards and partake in a little candy eating, they told me that they didn‘t know too many games besides “War.” War? Really? I don‘t think so. That game sucks. I told them that I’d bring four of the older boys from the Back Boys’ cabins to teach them a really fun, legendary Camp game called Squares. I found four very cool older boys at dinner that night and they were totally into it. (Damn right they were into it, I did it for them when they were little and it’s time to pay the piper). The older boys got the “OK” from one of their counselors and then asked me if I was going to pick them up. I laughed so hard, I busted through all the botox in my forehead.
Are you joking? Pick you up? Hell to the NO. I’m not going into Back Boys.

Meet me at the B-2 cabin. Rest Hour. Tomorrow. Be there.
They were pumped, but did they meet me? No, they did not. TEASE.

I ran into six campers that I adore in our Camp Store earlier today. They used to be in Front Boys and now they are in Back Boys. Knowing how I feel about going to Back Boys, do you think I will be spending much quality time with them? They were sad too. All of the sudden it was like I stepped into an 80’s movie montage of memories: Euchre, tootsie pops, me telling them that their cabin is stinky and yelling at them about how wearing the same shirt over and over is not cool, but rather quite disgusting…that kind of stuff. We shared a laugh and a hug and we all swore that we’d still hang, but the moment I turned around I knew it would never be the same. Then, as I started walking away, one of the campers called out:

Don’t worry, Robyn, we’re just in Back Boys for first session. We’ll be back in Front Boys for second session and then we can all hang out again!

Could it be? Would they be back up in Front Boys for second session? I was very excited about the prospect of getting some of my boys back, but when I asked Cody about it that night he just looked at me like What are you talking about? Why are you listening to the campers?

So, I guess that is a “No.”

But the straw, the straw was this: I was looking through People, Style Watch magazine and I saw a dress that I had to have. I was very excited about how cute I planned on looking in my new dress so I Flo Jo’d it to my computer and went to the website listed under the dress in the magazine. Would you believe that the site is  just a showcase for the store items? You have to physically go to the actual store to buy the dress which is exactly what I would do IF THERE WAS A STORE SOMEWHERE AROUND HERE!

I mean, Come ON.

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June 21st, 2011

On Turning 40

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I turned forty last week. That used to seem so old to me. Forty. I don’t feel old though. At least not in the head I don’t. It’s not like I woke up on my fortieth birthday and instantly started referring to The Salon as The Beauty Shop; I didn’t grab a Redbook, throw on a housecoat and cover my couch with protective plastic. It wasn’t like that at all. I, in fact, haven’t changed much from when I was in my thirties, or even my twenties. Each one of my toes boasts a different color of nail polish and if you say the word “trim” I will start cracking up because I think it is the funniest thing ever.

My body feels kind of old though. Maybe that is what forty is all about. Body/old. Head/young. But as soon as I mention anything like that in front of a legitimately old person I get this: “What do you know from aches and pains?  You think you know from aches and pains? What do you know? You’re young.” Oh yeah, old person? Tell that to my 4 year old daughter. She informed me earlier today that she can jump out of bed in the morning because she is young and I can not because I am old.

So, what’s the real deal? Is forty old or is it young? It can get pretty confusing and the following three sayings are supposed to lend comfort to those of us making the jump, but I have found the opposite to be true.

Life begins at Forty. I hate to be the one to tell you this but if your life is beginning at forty, you missed out on A LOT of really good years. I can’t imagine discounting all the years before I turned forty. I loved them all. Those were the years when I could eat cake without a second thought while now I might as well bypass eating it and just tape it to my ass since that’s where it’s going anyway. The years before forty were the years when I woke up with a hangover because I actually HAD A HANGOVER. Now, if ‘m up past midnight I wake up with that same horrible, lingering hangover—and that’s without drinking.

Forty is the new Thirty. No it’s not. Thirty is Thirty. I don’t care how sweet your body is, there is nothing worse than checking out someone who looks great from behind, but when they turn around you’re like “Holy Moly, what the hell is that all about? Is that Judi Dench?” It’s probably time to ditch some of the items inhabiting your closet. I know it hurts, especially if they still fit, but just because you can wear something doesn’t necessarily mean you should. Bazaar magazine separates what they feel is appropriate by decade each month in case we need guidance. I think that is a little severe, but it might be a good time to reassess the closet and perhaps bid a fond farewell to the leopard print super-tight mini dress.

Forty and Fabulous. Fabulous? Come on. I can name several things I find to be NOT so fabulous:

-While assessing my closet (as instructed above), I tried on several pairs of pants and many of them were short. How in the hell did that happen? I haven’t gotten any taller.

-The gyno doesn’t only go in through the Front, he hits the Back as well. (Some sort of prostate check). That was an unexpected violation I wasn’t quite prepared for.

-When someone says “You look good,” it really means “You look good, for forty.”

-Young people who say that 80’s music is old and it sucks. You know what? YOU SUCK.

-Grey hairs, forehead lines and spider veins. Oh yeah, there’s a whole lot of “fabulous” in that trio of terror.

-Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I need an iron to get the pillow lines out of my face.

-I can’t do much anymore without stretching and steroid injections. I’m thinking about mugging the Tin Man for his can of oil.

-I actually have to put some thought into the location of any new tattoos because I don’t want it in an area that will be all nasty and wrinkly when I’m older than I already am.

Of course, there are some great things about being forty. Lots of great things, but you’ll have to find that list on someone else’s blog. It’s past my bedtime and I can’t remember where I put my bite guard.

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May 13th, 2011

Bullying?

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Yesterday when I was doing the morning drive drop-off, I got to hear a little Drew and Mike in the Morning in between snippets of a song coming from Sweet Pea, my 4 year old, in the back seat. Sweet Pea was singing something about how her daddy likes to eat bagels in the bathroom (he doesn’t) and Drew and Mike were reviewing audio of a kid from a Milford, MI high school. The kid was talking about how his days are filled with relentless bullying. (The Justin Bieber t-shirt he insists on wearing probably isn’t doing him any favors.)

When I got home, I grabbed the mail from day before and although I was short on time, I somehow found myself flipping through the latest issue of People, Style Watch magazine. I landed on Tim Gunn’s Who Got It Right? segment. It was then that I realized that bullying doesn’t necessarily only happen face to face and it doesn’t necessarily end when we become adults. It seems to me that there is a “Bully Spectrum” and it ranges from “Horrible” to “Acceptable.”

In the magazine, Tim Gunn complimented Keri Hilson’s outfit (whoever the hell she is) while shredding Vanessa Hudgens’s. He said that Hudgens’s printed dress and jacket were “fighting with each other.” Admittedly, he was right–and even I sighed while looking at Hudgens’s outfit— but I’m not putting it in print for thousands of people to see. I was thinking it to myself and then yes, I may have mentioned something to my younger daughter, Lovey, about how Hudgens might want to invest in a full length mirror, but that doesn’t really count because Lovey is 23 months old and she doesn’t even know what freakin’ day it is.

I felt bad for Hudgens. I’m sure she thought she looked really cute before Tim Gunn gunned her down. I imagine her feelings were hurt when she opened the magazine to see herself next to Hilson with a comment about how Hilson’s outfit worked and hers didn’t.

Just because Gunn’s hurtful (albeit truthful) comments are placed within the pages of a magazine, does that mean that it‘s not actually bullying? Or is it a form of bullying, just a more “acceptable“ form?

What if he had done it like this instead? What if he had put up a picture of two people wearing tiaras and let the reader decide who got it right while leaving his own comments out?

WHO GOT IT RIGHT?

Is that a better idea? I truly don’t know. I just know that bullying is everywhere and if we can’t figure out where it starts, I don’t know how we’re going to make it stop.

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May 5th, 2011

You’re Not Alone (V)

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I’m not saying these are all about me. I’m just saying if you feel the same way, you’re not alone.

You’re not alone if…

…you don’t belong to a country club. Just make sure you have a friend who does. That way you get to have all the fancy fun with none of the demanding dues.

…you can’t fold a fitted sheet.

…you accidentally stepped on a toy and broke it, and then you acted all sorry even though you really weren’t because secretly you hated that toy.

… your reason for not driving a Minivan is because you know random guys probably won’t check you out any more.

…you use the 3 second rule for more than just food–like that car in front of you that hasn’t moved even though the light is green. Tap that horn and give that car a little reminder. “Let’s get it on, pal. That light ain’t gonna get any greener.”

…you are steadfast about your bra and undies matching everyday. You could get into an accident and you don’t want to be remembered by the fireman and police officers as the lady whose bra and undies didn’t match. That is just no way to be remembered.

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April 7th, 2011

Gavel Grabbers

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The other day I was pulling out of my daughter’s pre-school when I noticed a car pulling in. Pick up is at 2:00. That driver was late. I couldn’t tell if she was stressed and anxious or if she was calm and apathetic. I just knew that she was late. I shook my head slowly, sighed softly and proceeded with the judging process. I’d like to know what she was doing that made her so late to pick up her kid? What is she so busy with that she can’t be there at 2:00?

I drove away doing the hair flip of self righteous complacency since I was, of course, on time. The fact that I was late the day before has no relevance here. I’m sure some of the moms judged me that day, but whatever. I had a good reason for being a little late and also, it was me.

Before I became a mother, one of my friends let me in on something very interesting. She said: You will never feel more judged than you will as a mother.

Now that I am, indeed, a mother, I feel I am in a good position to report the following:
1. I agree.
2. I don’t care.

I believe we are all guilty of grabbing the gavel every once in awhile. It’s human nature to judge. And if, in fact, we all do it– it stands to reason that it’s going to come back our way at one point or another.

Who among us doesn’t judge, and who among us is free from judgment?

Who hasn’t lifted their eyebrows at the grocery store, questioning parenting techniques while some kid is having a total freak-out in the candy aisle? Who hasn’t been at a school play thinking that lady over there should have given that gingham midriff top a little more consideration before leaving the house?

We all do it. And we’re all susceptible to it.

Some people care that they are being judged and some people do not. For those who don’t care, as long as you’re not stepping on others to get what you want or ignoring the basic standards of common decency, good for you. High five. In my opinion, not caring is a much easier way to live.

For those of you who do care, be nice. I have found that if you’re a nice person, people are less likely to judge you. Being nice is judgment kryptonite. It’s harder for judgers to judge nice people because if the one judging has even the slightest conscious, they will feel bad ripping on a nice person. Wear those white patent leather boots to a PTA meeting, show off that tramp stamp during parent/teacher conferences, it doesn’t matter—you’re safe behind your shield of niceness—and if someone dares to judge someone as nice as you, that person is a B. And trust me, everyone knows it, including, but not limited to, the B herself.

B’s use judging as a pastime. I know people like this; people with really bad energy. They’re out there. Judging is one of their basic traits. Smugness shows on their faces, criticism permeates their social interactions, and for the most part, what they have to say (about pretty much everything) is negative. But know this, B’s—you’re also getting shredded right and left. You’re getting it because there are so many who feel you deserve it and let’s face it, you probably do. You started it. B’s!

I don’t know why some of us care about what others think and why some of us don’t. Not caring may come with age and exhaustion, or it could be that it’s just an innate part of certain personalities. For many (myself included) as our families grew bigger, our social circles grew smaller so now the only people we truly care about are those coveted few in our inner circle. And those are the ones who love us for all that we are, and all that we come with, without passing judgment.

But some people just can’t help but care what the peripherals think. It does seem that caring what others think would be a very natural response, but speaking from a purely cognitive and logical place, I have to ask: Why?

Besides wasting your time and energy, what’s it doing for you? If you’re a good person, who cares what anything else thinks? Chances are, the person judging you doesn’t know you and you’re just the unsuspecting victim of a drive-by judging—or maybe the judger is a miserable bitter sister who is trying to make herself feel better about her own life. Who knows? Who cares?

Bottom Line: If you feel the need to judge someone, I‘m not going to tell you not to do it, it’s human nature, we all do it a times (me too)—but also know that you are vulnerable to the same thing. You’re going to be judged whether you ask for it or not. If you’re a B, you’re asking for it. If you’re not, you’re a bit safer, but still, not totally safe.

We will never change the fact that people judge, but we can control how much or how little we actually care.

 

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March 14th, 2011

You’re Not Alone (IV)

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I’m not saying these are all about me. I’m just saying if you feel the same way, you’re not alone.

You’re not alone if…

…you didn’t like the book The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. You’re also not alone if you didn’t read it,  if you tried to read it and didn’t like it or if you can’t figure out why everyone said it was so great. You’re not alone if you read some of it, thought to yourself that there are just too many people–people with crazy ass names– and saw the movie instead. You’re not alone if you have never even heard of these books (but it might be a good idea to go out a little bit).

…you don’t feel sexy after a day of work and/or carpools and cleaning up after your kids. Just give your spouse the heads up that you are exhausted so he’s not disappointed when he gets to bed and you’re drooling, but not over him.

…you have an excuse all ready for the cop as you run that yellow (borderline red) light. You might not get pulled over, but it never hurts to be prepared.

…you buy a bag of  jellybeans and pull out the red, purple and pink ones for yourself. Everyone knows that the other colors suck, so no one will suspect you.

…your purse and shoes don’t match. That’s a dated fashion rule and it’s stupid.

…you can’t afford to buy all (or any) organic food. It’s expensive, I know. If you want to do something, pick a few things that you really believe in. I like to buy organic milk and chicken. I think my girls won’t have Double D boobs when they’re 8 years old if I only give them organic milk and chicken. Do what you can do, but don’t beat yourself up. Especially over the bananas. Everyone knows those are a scam.

…you go to get a pedicure and you forgot and/or didn’t have time to shave your legs. Just tell them that you have an upcoming leg wax appointment and you need to grow it out for that.

…you hit your horn when some idiot pulls out in front of you and then proceeds to go 15 mph under the speed limit. That is BOGUE and it’s OK to convey that message through your horn. If you are able, you should try and see what the other driver looks like. It’s good to know if you can take them or not, just in case they get mad.

…you are a day or so late on changing your kids’ sheets or giving them a bath. Nothing bad will happen.

…you have no interest in meeting your favorite celebrity. Chances are good the reality won’t the same as your reality, and then you’re not only crushed for life–but you’re also stuck with a ton of memorabilia from someone who was an ass to you. Live the dream. It’s bound to be better.

…sometimes you don’t shower after working out. You still have to throw on something on though: body spray, lip gloss, deo… I mean, come on–we’re not total neanderthals.

…once in a while you find yourself out of poop bags when your dog poops on someone’s lawn. Just promise yourself that when you get home, you’ll get a bag and come back to clean it up. If the neighbor comes outside and busts you, tell him that you had every intention of coming back to get the poop. If, however, that’s not enough for him and he starts yelling and going nuts, threatening to call the police and asking if you and your dog “do this all the time?”–it’s OK for you to tell him to up his medication before you turn and walk away waving  “Bye, Jack!” and when he (within 3 seconds) yells to you that his name’s not Jack, tell him it is WHEN IT’S SHORT FOR JACK ASS.

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March 10th, 2011

Monkey See

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Every now and then, my soon-to-be 4 year old daughter, Sweet Pea, lets loose with an “Oy…Jesus.” She has never been to church and to my knowledge has no friends named Jesus, so it’s pretty safe to assume she heard it from me.

I say it. I think I might even say it a lot. My mom said it when I was growing up so I probably picked it up from her. I certainly don’t say it with any trace of ill will or offense, I actually say it with loss. Jesus used to be on our team. I’m not entirely sure why he left. It seemed like he had a good thing going with us, but I wasn’t there so I can’t speak with any definitiveness. I guess eight days of presents and potato latkes weren’t enough to keep him. Good for him for starting his own thing. That shows motivation and initiative. Plus, it’s proven to be a pretty successful endeavor. Sometimes I feel the need to call out to him though. I guess I do it fairly often because Sweet Pea, my soon-to-be 4 year old, did it today.

Our kids are watching us. It’s like being in a reality show, but without the cameras and diet pill endorsements. If you weren’t one of the cool kids when you were growing up, now is your chance because you’ve got your very own built-in captive audience of followers. I don’t know how long it’s going to last, because I don’t know how cool you are, but you’ve got them for at least a little while so during that time, it’s a good idea to try and do the right thing.

It all starts with us. That is not to say that waving a cigarette while running around your house yelling and popping pills is not a good idea, it’s a great idea, just not in front of the kids. Watch and learn, practice what you preach, monkey see, monkey do… you‘ve heard them all before; they’ve been around forever–and they’ve been around forever for a reason–they’re true. As parents we need to use discretion because our kids pick up on everything. We are their leaders and while they’re young and impressionable, they’re going to follow our lead whether we’re channeling Rosa Parks or Genghis Khan.

It’s impossible as parents to always set good examples so there will, inevitably, be times when our kids see and hear us do questionable things. I like to try and keep everything balanced. For instance, I say “I love you” and “Please” and “Thank you” and “You’re so beautiful to look at, it almost hurts my eyes,“ to my girls as much as possible not only because I want them to say those things to me, but also because it helps to maintain the equilibrium in our house when they find themselves on the receiving end of “UGH. You’re killing me and I’m beyond done with you.

We can only do the best we can do, and though we may slip up at times, we need to be conscious of where our words are landing. In other words, the next time your neighbor, Trampy McTramp, pops in wearing ALDO shoes that are two inches too high and a bebe top that is too sizes too small, remember that although there may not be any cameras rolling–you are being watched, so before you shred her ensemble upon departure, remember that one never knows when your kid may decide it‘s a good time to repeat your words. And when she does, you can blame it on TV or the kids at school, but we both know there is a good chance she heard it at home–and I will be right there with you as you close your eyes, let out a big sigh and quietly say: “Oy…Jesus.”

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March 4th, 2011

You’re Not Alone (III)

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I’m not saying these are all about me. I’m just saying if you feel the same way, you’re not alone.

You’re not alone if…

…you decided  to get scissors and physically cut stuff out of your kid’s hair because it’s just too sticky and too much of a pain in the a$$ to brush it out. You can’t get away with this forever, but if she’s only 19-months-old, you still can.

… sometimes you have to confer with a calendar to remember the last time you showered.

…someone gets your kid a present, and then you put it away because your kid has enough crap, and then you bring it out one day when your kid is being really good, and then you take all the credit.

… when your kid says “Look at me! Look at me!” you sometimes reply “That’s great!” without even looking because you are busy and whatever they’re doing probably isn’t anything all that great.

…you secretly hope that you win at Candyland even though you’re playing with kids.

…you see the people who work at the market more than you see your friends.

…you ate cake for breakfast and justified it by telling yourself that it’s OK because cake has eggs in it.

…you are jealous of your little one who has no issue walking around with her belly hanging out.

…you agree to accept the Facebook “friend requests” of your friends’ kids because your friend wants you to spy on them. You’re also not alone if you neglect to tell her that you are a worthless spy since you hid those kids from your Facebook feed because their status updates are stupid and annoying.

…you throw down a little “BECAUSE I SAID SO!” every now and then, even though you always swore that you never would.

…you think it’s OK to leave your kids in the car, strapped in their car seats, while you run into a restaurant to pick up carry-out. OK, that is really not OK–but it used to be, a long time ago, and it’s OK to sometimes wish that it still was.

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