Dear Operators of Motorized Vehicles ,
In a world where technology abounds, literature is engrossing, and applying ones makeup takes more time than can be scrounged before leaving the house, our vehicles seem to have become the 'catch-all' of our lives. Swerving by me in countless numbers, you astound me with the amount of circuitry protruding from your ears, newspapers and/or novels in your hands, and double cheeseburgers hanging from your mouths. Where do you find the attention or, rather, the ability to drive?
Oh, wait. You don't.
Guess what the green light means? (Here's a hint, it doesn't mean "adjust your cleavage", "update your Facebook status", or "stir another pack of sugar into your coffee".)
The following is a list of things that, to the best of my knowledge, apply to you and the Wonderful World of Driving:
1. Double-parking is fine... if you are driving a hearse.
2. "SUV" does not equal "Compact", nor does your "lack of brains" equal "handicapped".
3. You are not part-vulture.
4. Cutesy decals on your rear window is grounds for a rear-ending, "Baby on Board" or not.
5. Just because something looks funny (like, oh, a Roundabout), it doesn't mean that all bets are off.
I fail, then, to understand how things could have gotten so out-of-hand. Didn't we all have to take the same drivers' test? Shouldn't we be looking out for each other on this, the great Road of Life, instead of throwing back another coffee, flipping the bird, and playing I-5 bumper cars?
However, since I have pledged to forever don my Seat-belt of Safety, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions for you, Oh Operator of the Auto.
1. I don't care how nice your new ride is; keep it inside ONE parking space.
(I know what it's like to be in a hurry, I do; you overslept, your child is crying, there was a line of DMV-proportions at the drive-through Starbucks, and now your boss is calling, demanding that you pick up 10 boxes of toner for GodKnowsWhatCrazyProject... but parking your car in a dead straddle over the dividing line of two parking spaces? Not cool. The excuse of "Oh, I wasn't paying attention!" isn't very reassuring, either. I'm supposed to feel okay with that? Logic leads me to think that you probably "weren't paying attention" for the majority of your drive. *shudder* Oh, and I'm ever so happy that you have the funds to purchase and drive a Spyder convertible... but slanting your car across two slots just so no one dings your precious Penis Compensator? Sooooo not acceptable. Whenever I see an expensive car deliberately double-parked like that, my hands start twitching and making their way to the keys in my purse, almost begging me to write a nice "Hello, Douche-waffle" note on your door. Which leads me to...)
2. Stop thinking that the rules of parking don't apply to you.
(Yes... I know, Dear Driver, this point coincides rather closely with the previous, but you do know the reason for that, don't you? I can't take any more of this double-standard crap whilst on the road! It's enough that I had to live with it during my childhood... *cough*... anyway, I do not need it from you! I am an SUV-driver. I have a 2002 Saturn Vue that, while it may be labeled as a 'mid-sized SUV' and could, theoretically, fit into a compact space, I park in spaces that will not cause direct or indirect damage to those I have parked next to, or whom may choose to park next to me. It goes beyond common courtesy, m'dear... it's THE LAW. Those pretty markings on the ground aren't decorations meant to enhance the color of your pretty BMW - no, those are words... words that say "Compact Only". Oh, and just so we're clear, parking in a handicapped spot because you're "just going to be a minute", don't feel well, or are too stupid to read the sign isn't an excuse, either.)
3. Stop circling the parking lot like a bird about to dive.
(I know you really, really want that primo spot by the front of the store, but you're holding up fifteen other cars who don't have the maneuverability to get around you while you sit there with your hazards on. Believe me, honey; the only hazard here is that you sit there, pretending not to notice the backup, while gulping down your second quad-grande extra caramel Caramel Frappucino of the day. Your ass could use a little exercise - park a few rows back.)
4. ENOUGH with the stick-figure-families, already.
(Why, my Commuting Cutie, do you feel the need to cover your rear window in cheesy stickers that tell everyone everything about your family? Don't you already do this on Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc...? Before you know it, your car will look like this, and I'll be forced to kill you to save my own sanity.
A couple of witty stickers or decals? Totally fine.
(I have one that talks about tattooed moms on the PTA. Gets a laugh every time.)
Row after row of "Baby on Board", "Save a horse, ride a cowboy", "Cowgirl up!", "The Hansen Family", and a sticker from every single concert you've seen...? Nutty.)
4. Just because a traffic function is idiotic, doesn't mean you get to ignore it.
(Sweet Steerer of my Soul, pay attention here. Roundabouts are the Department of Transportation's way of making sure you're paying attention... and then eating your soul if you are not. As my good friend Kim said, "(Roundabouts are) possibly the biggest waste of tax dollars ever because people are too retarded to figure out how to use them. Traffic lights are simple. Red means stop. Green means go. Yellow means floor it. Very simple. At the roundabout, people can't drive because they're too busy trying to decipher the heiroglyphics on the signs to see which lane they're supposed to be in. RE-TAR-DED." I will be the first (er, second) to say that these Whirly-Swirley Cycles of Death are about the stupidest traffic-control creation since crossing guards, but the fact is that they are here, and we have to live with them. Just because they look kind of fun and make you think back to doing donuts in the parking lot does not mean you can just catapult yourself into the intersection (which, yes, is exactly what this is) and think that you'll be fine. Maybe.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Glowing Example of Driver Safety that I know you have inside of you.
I know you're busy. I know you're stressed, you're tired, and you are most likely over-worked. I can understand how the brain can switch to auto-pilot when you start to do a familiar task such as driving; it's something that most of us have done since our teenage years. Just remember that driving safely and parking responsibly isn't just for you... it's for everyone else on the road, feeling just as stressed, tired, and over-worked as you are.
Like me, the girl with the really, really good aim... looking for just one more reason to get her concealed weapons permit.
Honk if you love kitties,
Krystal
Monday, April 26, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Girly-men
Dear Metrosexual Twig-Men and/or Men Who Look Like Boys,
I am almost at a loss of words here... but, unfortunately for you, I will soldier on.
What. The. Hell.
I think that about covers it.
Whatever happened to embracing your masculinity, guys? When did it start becoming cool for guys to dress like a chick? Why are we so overrun with men who would rather scribble madly in their black spiral notebooks, or get a manicure, than go punch something/someone when they're upset?
The last I checked, the following is what most women find attractive about you/why we keep you around:
1. Your muscles are sexy
2. You look so, so good in jeans and a t-shirt
3. Your communication skills are... sparse
4. Your recreational choices befuddle us
I fail, then, to understand why you have decided to chop off your collective cojones and embrace the twisted world of emaciated, Emo fashion and high-priced cocktails. How am I, an intensely pro-sex, straight adult female, supposed to fantasize about a guy who looks like a jacked-up, butch lesbian or, at best, a teenage boy with whiskers? You're making this way, way too hard for me, fellas.
However, since I have a vested interest in seeing your ranks improve, Oh Twig-like Metrosexual Abomination, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Put down the eyeliner and pick up a barbell. And a hamburger.
(I don't care how nasty your gym bag smells after some time lifting weights, playing basketball with the guys, or a quick pick-up game of baseball, I would rather smell dirty-dirty man stink than some unisex cologne you dropped $100 on. Oh, and please... if anyone should be ordering a salad with the dressing on the side, it's me; I'm the girl in this relationship, m'kay... and I would likely order something with a little more punch. Unless you're really, really craving the dandelion greens with crumbled feta and an aged balsamic reduction, order the 'Entire Rib of Cow' special with a side of 'More Beef', roll up your sleeves, and tear into that sucker like a kid at Christmas. There's something primal and sexy about a guy who shows healthy-to-high levels of testosterone... one such exhibition being food choices. Now, I'm not a big girl by today's health standards, but I don't want to look at a man and think, "Hm... nice eyes, cute smile, but I'd break him in a second." I want a guy who has the muscle tone he should have for his age, not that of a high school senior.)
2. Put down (or burn) the skinny jeans, and put on some sweats.
(Why... WHY with the skinny jeans, guys? I see so many of you walking around with tattoos (a personal attractant for me, yes) on your arms and scruffy, sexy faces... only to find your man-junk all vacuumed sealed into these size 2 pants. It doesn't stop at skinny jeans, either. No, I like to call this craptastical wardrobe brainwashing the 'Jonas Brothers DiCaprio Effect'; khakis (not so bad, in moderation), a polo shirt (gag me), and/or a sweater vest (wave 'bye-bye' to your chances of getting laid), and some loafers (no words), and you've got yourself a Mr. Douche doll. I'll be completely honest and say that yes, this may seem like sex-on-a-stick for some women, but me? I'd rather see my guy in a pair of jeans (that don't advertise the size/lack of size of his unit) and a t-shirt... or, really, whatever he's comfortable in. That, to me, is incredibly sexy.)
3. Put down the notebook and raise your voice.
(Ah, poetry... the centuries-old method of self-expression, and super-romantic 'wooing tool'. I don't really know how to proceed with this one, Oh Man of Missing Masculinity, as I have some mixed feelings here. While I can appreciate the time, effort, and creativity that goes into writing a poem or love song for a girl, and have had a couple written for me that I treasured, it has always felt... off... to have a guy be that expressive. I'm sure I will get many an e-mail/comment about this from my male friends, but this is just what I feel. I like my men a little more closed-off; willing to cuddle after sex, but not wanting to immediately jump out of bed to write a sonnet (or ten) about my breasts. Hey, I like 'em too, fellas... but poetry as self-expression for a guy? If it's the only form that you're using, it's going to be a turn-off.)
4. Put down the gourmet Gouda and pick up a Wii controller.
(I'm sure you've heard plenty a stereotypical woman spout-off about "I just wish HE'D cook some of the meals", or have watched your fair share of The Food Network, but really...? When did the weekend plans of the (admittedly stereotypical) American male turn from video games, movies, sports, projects, etc. to sauteing, blanching, scrap booking, or intensive, voluntary manscaping? Stop taking over the woman's hobbies, damn it! Go back to your Wii's, your ESPN, your table hockey, and leave our stuff alone! Not only are you infringing on our millenia-old territory (what do you think cave drawings are, if not the earliest form of scrap booking?), but you're becoming too much like US. If we wanted to date other women, we would... hence lesbians. Totally fine, just not my bag. I want my man and I to have a few, key differences other than the obvious anatomical ones.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Strong and Mighty Tower of Masculinity that I know you have inside of you.
I love me some men-folk. I do. I also understand that men, like women, are multi-faceted creatures with widely differing personalities within their own subset. I respect the rights of each individual to pursue the lifestyle that makes them happy... I also happen to respect my own right to wonder what the hell they're thinking when they walk out the door looking and acting like a neutered version of themselves.
All of that being said, I'd still do you.
Stay out of my closet,
Krystal
I am almost at a loss of words here... but, unfortunately for you, I will soldier on.
What. The. Hell.
I think that about covers it.
Whatever happened to embracing your masculinity, guys? When did it start becoming cool for guys to dress like a chick? Why are we so overrun with men who would rather scribble madly in their black spiral notebooks, or get a manicure, than go punch something/someone when they're upset?
The last I checked, the following is what most women find attractive about you/why we keep you around:
1. Your muscles are sexy
2. You look so, so good in jeans and a t-shirt
3. Your communication skills are... sparse
4. Your recreational choices befuddle us
I fail, then, to understand why you have decided to chop off your collective cojones and embrace the twisted world of emaciated, Emo fashion and high-priced cocktails. How am I, an intensely pro-sex, straight adult female, supposed to fantasize about a guy who looks like a jacked-up, butch lesbian or, at best, a teenage boy with whiskers? You're making this way, way too hard for me, fellas.
However, since I have a vested interest in seeing your ranks improve, Oh Twig-like Metrosexual Abomination, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Put down the eyeliner and pick up a barbell. And a hamburger.
(I don't care how nasty your gym bag smells after some time lifting weights, playing basketball with the guys, or a quick pick-up game of baseball, I would rather smell dirty-dirty man stink than some unisex cologne you dropped $100 on. Oh, and please... if anyone should be ordering a salad with the dressing on the side, it's me; I'm the girl in this relationship, m'kay... and I would likely order something with a little more punch. Unless you're really, really craving the dandelion greens with crumbled feta and an aged balsamic reduction, order the 'Entire Rib of Cow' special with a side of 'More Beef', roll up your sleeves, and tear into that sucker like a kid at Christmas. There's something primal and sexy about a guy who shows healthy-to-high levels of testosterone... one such exhibition being food choices. Now, I'm not a big girl by today's health standards, but I don't want to look at a man and think, "Hm... nice eyes, cute smile, but I'd break him in a second." I want a guy who has the muscle tone he should have for his age, not that of a high school senior.)
2. Put down (or burn) the skinny jeans, and put on some sweats.
(Why... WHY with the skinny jeans, guys? I see so many of you walking around with tattoos (a personal attractant for me, yes) on your arms and scruffy, sexy faces... only to find your man-junk all vacuumed sealed into these size 2 pants. It doesn't stop at skinny jeans, either. No, I like to call this craptastical wardrobe brainwashing the 'Jonas Brothers DiCaprio Effect'; khakis (not so bad, in moderation), a polo shirt (gag me), and/or a sweater vest (wave 'bye-bye' to your chances of getting laid), and some loafers (no words), and you've got yourself a Mr. Douche doll. I'll be completely honest and say that yes, this may seem like sex-on-a-stick for some women, but me? I'd rather see my guy in a pair of jeans (that don't advertise the size/lack of size of his unit) and a t-shirt... or, really, whatever he's comfortable in. That, to me, is incredibly sexy.)
3. Put down the notebook and raise your voice.
(Ah, poetry... the centuries-old method of self-expression, and super-romantic 'wooing tool'. I don't really know how to proceed with this one, Oh Man of Missing Masculinity, as I have some mixed feelings here. While I can appreciate the time, effort, and creativity that goes into writing a poem or love song for a girl, and have had a couple written for me that I treasured, it has always felt... off... to have a guy be that expressive. I'm sure I will get many an e-mail/comment about this from my male friends, but this is just what I feel. I like my men a little more closed-off; willing to cuddle after sex, but not wanting to immediately jump out of bed to write a sonnet (or ten) about my breasts. Hey, I like 'em too, fellas... but poetry as self-expression for a guy? If it's the only form that you're using, it's going to be a turn-off.)
4. Put down the gourmet Gouda and pick up a Wii controller.
(I'm sure you've heard plenty a stereotypical woman spout-off about "I just wish HE'D cook some of the meals", or have watched your fair share of The Food Network, but really...? When did the weekend plans of the (admittedly stereotypical) American male turn from video games, movies, sports, projects, etc. to sauteing, blanching, scrap booking, or intensive, voluntary manscaping? Stop taking over the woman's hobbies, damn it! Go back to your Wii's, your ESPN, your table hockey, and leave our stuff alone! Not only are you infringing on our millenia-old territory (what do you think cave drawings are, if not the earliest form of scrap booking?), but you're becoming too much like US. If we wanted to date other women, we would... hence lesbians. Totally fine, just not my bag. I want my man and I to have a few, key differences other than the obvious anatomical ones.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Strong and Mighty Tower of Masculinity that I know you have inside of you.
I love me some men-folk. I do. I also understand that men, like women, are multi-faceted creatures with widely differing personalities within their own subset. I respect the rights of each individual to pursue the lifestyle that makes them happy... I also happen to respect my own right to wonder what the hell they're thinking when they walk out the door looking and acting like a neutered version of themselves.
All of that being said, I'd still do you.
Stay out of my closet,
Krystal
Friday, April 9, 2010
Evils of the Interwebs
Dear Social Networking Sites and Various Applications,
You have hooked me. You have hooked me, and I didn't even know I was being hooked. Now, unfortunately, I feel rather 'hooker'-ish, as I have so many johns, er, sites to keep track of, update, post on, and respond to a the beep of the pager, er, message notification. When did our relationship become so very, very complicated? What used to be a mutual understanding now seems like a one-sided arrangement and, believe me, E-PhoneChatFaceBlogGoogleE-list, it is time for some relationship counseling.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. You exist for enjoyment.
2. Networking is encouraged.
3. Apps are for fun.
I fail, then, to understand why the I feel the vein on the left side of my temple start to spasm every time a new alert lands in my Inbox. Why are you intimidating me??
However, since I am a committed partner, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Stop stressing me out.
(Sure, I am - supposedly - in control of what content I see... how often I see it... yada yada yada. But that's like telling a fat kid that they're in control of what the put in their mouth; true, but ultimately inconvenient. I am a card-carrying member of the "microwave generation" who expects things to happen now, now, now, and who also likes to cram as much into that little microwave as possible. By having the ability to update a status from my iPhone on not one but three apps, receive e-mail notifications every time a "friend" posts/likes/unlikes/updates/pees, and sending me automated reminders when I haven't fed my pet dragon for over 90 days (I'm so sorry, Kindling... Mommy still loves you), I'm starting to feel smothered. This co-dependency thing has got to stop.)
2. Enable a 'beer goggles' feature.
(Nothing says "I'm professional, trust me with your business" like a 2:00 a.m. picture post of you throwing back your seventh shot of tequila, wearing that dress you always say makes you look like a hooker. Sure, there are different sites for professional networking vs. social networking... but when you've linked the two sites to automatically update each other...? Doesn't help. Since I want us to foster a healthy, balanced relationship, Oh Social Networking Sites and Various Applications, I am asking you to meet me half-way here; come up with some kind of feature that will block me from posting something insanely stupid and/or incriminating at oh-dark-thirty or after x-amount of adult beverages.)
3. Chill. The hell. Out.
(Vampire Wars... FarmVille... Mob Wars... Music Pet... Happy Island... Bejeweled... My Five... enough already! To each their own, yes, but you're creating some insanely scary Super Gamers who plague my Inbox with their impassioned messages of clan battles, "he-said/she-said" drama, and ramblings about their numerous hemorrhoids. Don't need it. I play Vampire Wars on occasion (OMG - Add me to your clan!!!! Assassin "(HW) Tempia" Level 64 Noble Vampire!!!!!), when I need a break from dealing with real people, or when I feel like breaking real people... not as a substitute for real life. Why would you allow such people to bond with you, E-PhoneChatFaceBlogGoogleE-list? It's like you have sprung from our bed of normalcy into their dungeon of depravity... and I just don't know what that means for us. Can our relationship recover? Should it recover? I don't know. I. Just. Don't. Know.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Not So All-Encompassing Time Wasting Distraction from Heaven that I know you have inside of you.
I have nothing 'meaningful' to say this time. There's no point; social networking sites aren't meant to be meaningful, and those who believe otherwise are likely a little off. Yes, I'm being extremely judgemental when I say this, but I get to say it because I know the difference between a Friend Request and a real, human friend. Instead of relying on automated update messages, beeps, and other alerts, I know how to pick up the phone and send someone a good, old fashioned text message (telling them, in 50 characters or less, how much I love, appreciate, and want to see them).
OMG... I wonder how many views this is going to get...
*Poke* (your turn),
Krystal
You have hooked me. You have hooked me, and I didn't even know I was being hooked. Now, unfortunately, I feel rather 'hooker'-ish, as I have so many johns, er, sites to keep track of, update, post on, and respond to a the beep of the pager, er, message notification. When did our relationship become so very, very complicated? What used to be a mutual understanding now seems like a one-sided arrangement and, believe me, E-PhoneChatFaceBlogGoogleE-list, it is time for some relationship counseling.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. You exist for enjoyment.
2. Networking is encouraged.
3. Apps are for fun.
I fail, then, to understand why the I feel the vein on the left side of my temple start to spasm every time a new alert lands in my Inbox. Why are you intimidating me??
However, since I am a committed partner, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.1. Stop stressing me out.
(Sure, I am - supposedly - in control of what content I see... how often I see it... yada yada yada. But that's like telling a fat kid that they're in control of what the put in their mouth; true, but ultimately inconvenient. I am a card-carrying member of the "microwave generation" who expects things to happen now, now, now, and who also likes to cram as much into that little microwave as possible. By having the ability to update a status from my iPhone on not one but three apps, receive e-mail notifications every time a "friend" posts/likes/unlikes/updates/pees, and sending me automated reminders when I haven't fed my pet dragon for over 90 days (I'm so sorry, Kindling... Mommy still loves you), I'm starting to feel smothered. This co-dependency thing has got to stop.)
2. Enable a 'beer goggles' feature.
(Nothing says "I'm professional, trust me with your business" like a 2:00 a.m. picture post of you throwing back your seventh shot of tequila, wearing that dress you always say makes you look like a hooker. Sure, there are different sites for professional networking vs. social networking... but when you've linked the two sites to automatically update each other...? Doesn't help. Since I want us to foster a healthy, balanced relationship, Oh Social Networking Sites and Various Applications, I am asking you to meet me half-way here; come up with some kind of feature that will block me from posting something insanely stupid and/or incriminating at oh-dark-thirty or after x-amount of adult beverages.)
3. Chill. The hell. Out.
(Vampire Wars... FarmVille... Mob Wars... Music Pet... Happy Island... Bejeweled... My Five... enough already! To each their own, yes, but you're creating some insanely scary Super Gamers who plague my Inbox with their impassioned messages of clan battles, "he-said/she-said" drama, and ramblings about their numerous hemorrhoids. Don't need it. I play Vampire Wars on occasion (OMG - Add me to your clan!!!! Assassin "(HW) Tempia" Level 64 Noble Vampire!!!!!), when I need a break from dealing with real people, or when I feel like breaking real people... not as a substitute for real life. Why would you allow such people to bond with you, E-PhoneChatFaceBlogGoogleE-list? It's like you have sprung from our bed of normalcy into their dungeon of depravity... and I just don't know what that means for us. Can our relationship recover? Should it recover? I don't know. I. Just. Don't. Know.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Not So All-Encompassing Time Wasting Distraction from Heaven that I know you have inside of you.
I have nothing 'meaningful' to say this time. There's no point; social networking sites aren't meant to be meaningful, and those who believe otherwise are likely a little off. Yes, I'm being extremely judgemental when I say this, but I get to say it because I know the difference between a Friend Request and a real, human friend. Instead of relying on automated update messages, beeps, and other alerts, I know how to pick up the phone and send someone a good, old fashioned text message (telling them, in 50 characters or less, how much I love, appreciate, and want to see them).
OMG... I wonder how many views this is going to get...
*Poke* (your turn),
Krystal
Monday, April 5, 2010
Perfect Mothers
Dear Soccer/Hippie/Overly Opinionated/Overly Involved Moms,
I am finding it increasingly difficult to relate to, let alone tolerate, you... and it is leading to some pretty serious urges to slap your hand and tell you "NO" like I would to my own toddler. (Oh yes, you read that correctly; we use hand-slaps in my house. Feel free to report me to CPS.) Whether it is my own insecurities or not, I resent feeling inadequate when compared to your Mothering Might.
The last I checked, all capable, loving, sane and otherwise "good" mothers do the following with their children:
1. Feed them
2. Clothe them
3. Diaper them
4. Play with them
5. Watch them
I fail, then, to understand why there is a 'holier than thou' attitude amongst us moms. Aren't we all on the same, spit-up covered side?
Since I already have enough crap on my hands, what with my son's increasingly disturbing diapers, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of "behavior modification" suggestions.
1. Stop acting like the food you provide your child is the freaking Bread of Life.
(So what if you provide Jr. with all-organic, homemade, gluten-free mush? I'm guessing it comes out the same way that my frozen fish stick meals do. Don't believe me? Feel free to stop by Bruce's daycare in about, oh, 45 minutes... I'm sure he'll have a fresh example just for you.)
2. Making your child's clothing, or spending $50 on a name brand onesie does not a great mother make. Stop acting like it does.
(It does, however, make you come across as extremely condescending when you preach about this in chat rooms, at play dates, and in casual passing. I don't care if you raise the sheep, shear them, spin, dye, and weave the wool yourself; making your child's clothes is a great thing... for you. I, however, don't have the time or talent to do so. I also don't have the interest. When it comes to spending large amounts of money on something your child will grow out of in a month (if you're even that lucky), well, great. I think it's stupid but, most importantly, it's passing along the belief to your children that they just have to have whatever is most popular. I can't wait to see how THAT turns out.)
3. Preaching about your chosen method of diapering makes you sound like a freaking hippie.
(This is where my bias will come raging to the forefront. I, like most mothers-to-be, considered the pros and cons of cloth diapering vs. disposable diapers; the effect on the environment, the cost, the convenience and, most importantly, the effect on my child's butt. When Bruce was born, the choice was clear for my husband and I, and disposable it was (and is). Here is where I get a little pissed (pun intended):
Asking how another mom diapers her kid? Totally fine.
Proceeding to tell her, whether directly or passive-aggressively, about the evils of her chosen method? Grounds for throwing a mashed-banana diaper in her face.
You have your routes, I have mine. LEAVE IT ALONE ALREADY.)
4. Play should be fun... not dysfunctional.
(Whether on a play date or spending some good old fashioned 'tummy time' on the floor, do you know how to play with your child? I mean, actual play; that thing you do when your entire existence, for that moment, is comprised of trying to make your little tyke coo, laugh, or smile. That's it. When did the point of playtime become expanding your two month-old's vocabulary, or teaching your toddler the violin? Children only get so long to live life completely worry-free, so why would you cheat them of that simple, sweet quality time? Think back to when you were a kid, coloring in your favorite _____ coloring book (for me, it was Barbie). How would it feel if your mom took it away and replaced it with a book on fractions?)
5. Quit thinking that daycare is the devil.
(While I completely agree that the ideal situation would be for the mother and father of little Susie Homemaker or Jack Sixpack to stay home all day, every day with their child for the first year, that is next to impossible. Not only is there this small thing called "money" to consider, but you also have to take into account the mother or father's feelings on the matter. In our case, I HAD to go back to work full-time when Bruce was 7 months old; we needed the money, we don't believe in going on DSHS support while I could be working, and I need adult interaction to keep me sane. By looking down on moms who work outside the home, you come across as judgmental, lazy, or ignorant. My holding down an 8 - 5 job with travel and the occasional late-night required doesn't make me less of a mother than you, it just means I go about caring and providing for my son in a different way.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Relate-able, Less Egotistical Super Mom that I know you have inside of you.
Just like every child is different, every approach to mothering is going to differ as well. I respect the hard work and great effort that so many of you go through to provide what you feel to be the best possible environment for your child, and understand feeling so passionate about your chosen route toward child-raising. I hope that your children know how lucky they are to have someone who cares so much for their well-being. Your choices are your own, and no one should make you feel inadequate or unqualified for how you have chosen to raise your precious child.
Now, get ready for the first tattooed President of the PTA, 2014. It'll give you a whole new topic to gossip about, I'm sure.
See you on the playground,
Krystal
I am finding it increasingly difficult to relate to, let alone tolerate, you... and it is leading to some pretty serious urges to slap your hand and tell you "NO" like I would to my own toddler. (Oh yes, you read that correctly; we use hand-slaps in my house. Feel free to report me to CPS.) Whether it is my own insecurities or not, I resent feeling inadequate when compared to your Mothering Might.
The last I checked, all capable, loving, sane and otherwise "good" mothers do the following with their children:
1. Feed them
2. Clothe them
3. Diaper them
4. Play with them
5. Watch them
I fail, then, to understand why there is a 'holier than thou' attitude amongst us moms. Aren't we all on the same, spit-up covered side?
Since I already have enough crap on my hands, what with my son's increasingly disturbing diapers, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of "behavior modification" suggestions.
1. Stop acting like the food you provide your child is the freaking Bread of Life.
(So what if you provide Jr. with all-organic, homemade, gluten-free mush? I'm guessing it comes out the same way that my frozen fish stick meals do. Don't believe me? Feel free to stop by Bruce's daycare in about, oh, 45 minutes... I'm sure he'll have a fresh example just for you.)
2. Making your child's clothing, or spending $50 on a name brand onesie does not a great mother make. Stop acting like it does.
(It does, however, make you come across as extremely condescending when you preach about this in chat rooms, at play dates, and in casual passing. I don't care if you raise the sheep, shear them, spin, dye, and weave the wool yourself; making your child's clothes is a great thing... for you. I, however, don't have the time or talent to do so. I also don't have the interest. When it comes to spending large amounts of money on something your child will grow out of in a month (if you're even that lucky), well, great. I think it's stupid but, most importantly, it's passing along the belief to your children that they just have to have whatever is most popular. I can't wait to see how THAT turns out.)
3. Preaching about your chosen method of diapering makes you sound like a freaking hippie.
(This is where my bias will come raging to the forefront. I, like most mothers-to-be, considered the pros and cons of cloth diapering vs. disposable diapers; the effect on the environment, the cost, the convenience and, most importantly, the effect on my child's butt. When Bruce was born, the choice was clear for my husband and I, and disposable it was (and is). Here is where I get a little pissed (pun intended):
Asking how another mom diapers her kid? Totally fine.
Proceeding to tell her, whether directly or passive-aggressively, about the evils of her chosen method? Grounds for throwing a mashed-banana diaper in her face.
You have your routes, I have mine. LEAVE IT ALONE ALREADY.)
4. Play should be fun... not dysfunctional.
(Whether on a play date or spending some good old fashioned 'tummy time' on the floor, do you know how to play with your child? I mean, actual play; that thing you do when your entire existence, for that moment, is comprised of trying to make your little tyke coo, laugh, or smile. That's it. When did the point of playtime become expanding your two month-old's vocabulary, or teaching your toddler the violin? Children only get so long to live life completely worry-free, so why would you cheat them of that simple, sweet quality time? Think back to when you were a kid, coloring in your favorite _____ coloring book (for me, it was Barbie). How would it feel if your mom took it away and replaced it with a book on fractions?)
5. Quit thinking that daycare is the devil.
(While I completely agree that the ideal situation would be for the mother and father of little Susie Homemaker or Jack Sixpack to stay home all day, every day with their child for the first year, that is next to impossible. Not only is there this small thing called "money" to consider, but you also have to take into account the mother or father's feelings on the matter. In our case, I HAD to go back to work full-time when Bruce was 7 months old; we needed the money, we don't believe in going on DSHS support while I could be working, and I need adult interaction to keep me sane. By looking down on moms who work outside the home, you come across as judgmental, lazy, or ignorant. My holding down an 8 - 5 job with travel and the occasional late-night required doesn't make me less of a mother than you, it just means I go about caring and providing for my son in a different way.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Relate-able, Less Egotistical Super Mom that I know you have inside of you.
Just like every child is different, every approach to mothering is going to differ as well. I respect the hard work and great effort that so many of you go through to provide what you feel to be the best possible environment for your child, and understand feeling so passionate about your chosen route toward child-raising. I hope that your children know how lucky they are to have someone who cares so much for their well-being. Your choices are your own, and no one should make you feel inadequate or unqualified for how you have chosen to raise your precious child.
Now, get ready for the first tattooed President of the PTA, 2014. It'll give you a whole new topic to gossip about, I'm sure.
See you on the playground,
Krystal
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