Dear Girls Who Dress In Strange, Outdated Uniforms and Sell Overpriced (Yet Still D-e-lectable) Cookies For The Briefest Time Period EVER,
Let me teach you something about this magical world that you might, one day, experience (if I let you live that long)... a world called "pregnancy". You see, in this happy land of swollen ankles, cracked ribs, and food cravings so fierce that no purveyor of edibles is safe, the will of the pregnant woman = law. Please her, and you've saved your own life. In this magical world, Oh Toters of the Tagalongs, it's best to just give Mama what she wants... and, right now, Mama wants to get her hands on some Thin Mints. And Tagalongs. And Samoas. And Lemon Chalet Cremes. How am I supposed to accomplish this task when you only peddle your wares for all of THREE WEEKS A YEAR?!
The last I checked, the following issues apply to you:
1. You, too, are susceptible to this recession, Oh Darlings of Detestable Attire
2. You have a quota, sure, but you also have a soul. I hope.
3. You have parents... parents who should know how to read a freaking MAP.
I fail, then, to understand why you continue to limit your sales period to 3 - 4 measly weeks a year. Really... REALLY?!
However, since I have yet to consume a single, freaking cookie this year (see point DIRECTLY above) and still have my wits about me, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Up. Your. Sales.
- Notice how you're having to cut back on how many cookies you're able to produce every year? It's not because the Magic Flour Fairy forgot to wave her wand above the factory, or whatever other nonsense your Troupe Leader has filled your dainty-hatted heads with... it's because your prices are too high, and your selling period is too short. I mean, think about it: You're badgering me to pay $4 for a box of cookies that will, in all humiliating honesty, last all of 2 blocks from store-to-home (1 block if there are traffic lights on that particular road), and you're only available for 3 - 4 weeks?! Darlings of Chocolate-Dunked Delectables, does that make sense?
2. Show a less demonic side (or, if that's too tall an order, just shoot for a softer side), and I'll show you my wallet.
- Lay off the freaking guilt trips, already! I know you reeeeeeeally have your heart set on that sparkling baton for selling 500 boxes of cookies, and you reeeeeeeeeally want to win that trip to Disneyland that you'd get by selling 74,500 more... but, um, it won't happen by jumping in front of my shopping cart with two of your closest friends. No, all that will accomplish is you getting run over by said cart, and your mother getting an earful when she tries to yell at me for hitting her precious Mini-Me. Have you heard of lying? Why not try THAT tactic the next time we meet in front of Safeway? Here's what it would look like:
You: "Gosh, lady... you're so pretty."
Me: "My, aren't you just the sweetest thing! Whatever are you selling? I'll buy all of them."
SEE?!
3. Go where the money is.
- Chances are, Susie Sixpack, it ain't the local Cash-N-Carry. By now, your parents are probably sick to death of hearing your endless blathering about quotas and goals and dreams and visions of a better tomorrow, which makes them your ideal business partner. Couple your new-found ability to tell boldfaced lies to complete strangers with your parents' knowledge of the community you live in, and you should be able to zero-in on the wealthiest neighborhoods in no time. Disneyland? It's yours.
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 Whores of Wholesome Cookie Wonders that I know you have inside of you.
In all honesty, your organization is a great one. I love the concept of girls sticking together, learning some pretty valuable life skills, and raising money in a way that isn't likely to hurt another corporation's bottom line (aside from the evil mega-giants of Nabisco et all). Heck, I was even a Brownie... for all of 6 months, which was how long it took me to realize that we were called "Brownie", not that we got to eat them.
Now, lengthen your selling period or I swear on everything holy in Pregnancy-topia that I will teach my toddler that it is okay to pee on girls in ugly uniforms.
Do a Good Turn Daily,
Krystal
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Monday, February 7, 2011
Friday, June 11, 2010
Teenagers of Little Sense (Pt. 1)
Dear Teenagers of the 21st Century,
OMG, wtf is wrng wit u?
Whether it is your obvious lack of clothing practicality, your blatant disregard for personal hygiene, or your selfishly manic desire for the newest and best of everything you can get your hands on, I'm just plain tired of you whippersnappers and your idiocy.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. "Eighteen" is still a "teen"
2. Chat-speak is not a language offered in school
3. Respecting your elders = getting to live
4. Hormones are a part of life... not the POINT of it.
I fail, then, to understand why you are so extremely annoying. Here, I'll put it to you in the form of an "if/then" SAT question: "If THE WORLD IS DOING YOU A FAVOR BY LETTING YOU CONTINUE TO EXIST, then the following must also be true: A) YOU SHOULD PROBABLY KISS THE GROUND THE ADULTS WALK ON, B) YOU SHOULD STOP DRESSING LIKE A HOBO, C) YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT SOMEONE WHO ISN'T YOU, or D) All of the above."
Guess which is the correct answer.
However, since I, too, was once an Annoying Mass of Adolescent Angst (hard to believe, I know), I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Until you are able to support yourself fully, just admit that you need your parents or other adults in your lives.
(Forgive me for failing to notice the cruel torture of having a place to live, free of charge. How could I have overlooked the depravity of having clothes provided to you, also free, and in the correct size and gender class. And, oh, let me not forget the food; how dare your parents or caregivers provide you with all of the meals, snacks, in-betweens-ies, and drinks that your exponentially morphing bodies need to survive and thrive. Seriously, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELVES! Ignoring the fact that it isn't cool to bitch and complain about how horrible your parents are (because, really, what does that accomplish?), it's just plain stupid. Do you honestly want them to never feed, clothe, or house you again?)
2. Unless your goal is to work at McDonald's when you're 40, stop incorporating chat-speak into your daily vocabulary.
(Dear, Sweet, Youth of America... you are quickly becoming the most unintelligent generation to ever gangsta-walk on this earth. It's one thing to send your friends a quick 'OMG', 'LOL', 'u r gr8' - filled text message in between class, but it becomes another thing entirely when I hear chat-speak come flying out of your mouth in an actual conversation. With a human. In the real world. I know we've all been taught that "it's what's on the inside that counts", but when the words you're using sound like a stroke victim attempting to spell their name, well, no one is going to care about what's on the inside. You may think you have a winning personality and enough charm/luck/money/intelligence to get you far in life, but the second a potential boss hears you bust out with "I saved the company over $3.2 million by catching a sales mistake last year and, OMG, let me tell you, Mr. Douchehammer, I was ROTFLOL," you're outta there.)
3. If you swear, glare, or "holla" at me on the bus one more time, I will drop you.
(I use profanity on a near regular basis, I admit it. The leg-up I have on you, however, comes from using it either accidentally/unconsciously (aka - spontaneously), or using it to emphasize a point I am trying to make. When you start dropping f-bombs like the conversation is an Iraqi war zone, you sound... well, like a teenager. And teenagers can sound preeeetty stupid. You do the math. Oh, and what's with the glaring, Oh Sulky of the Attitude Clan? When my only possible offense is breathing, I don't see how that earns you doing your best Mr. T impression at me from across the bus/room/store/city. Finally, I am way too old for your pimply, pubescent ass. If you really want a chick who digs much younger men, look up "Letourneau" in the phone book. Otherwise, show some respect.)
4. Keep. It. In. Your. Pants.
(Ignoring the fact that the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) reports that 19 million new STD infections occur every year... and nearly 50 percent of these new cases happen to young people between the ages of 15 and 24... and not only that, but the American Social Health Association (ASHA) reports that half of all new HIV infections occur in teenagers... well, no, wait; you can't ignore that. STOP GETTIN' FREAKY! It's, well, freaking us out. I won't be like some of your parents and tell you that sex is a dirty, gross thing that married couples "have to do", because that would promote its own set of problems, but what I will tell you is this: you only have so much time to be the age you're at right now. Why rush it?)
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 Upright, Non-Delinquent Youth of America that I know you have inside of you.
In all seriousness, you have so much potential. I am in awe of the talents that so many of you possess already at such a young age, and can't wait to see what kind of influence your voice has in the future.
Just... pull your pants up, okay? I don't want to see your boxers.
Get off my lawn,
Krystal
OMG, wtf is wrng wit u?
Whether it is your obvious lack of clothing practicality, your blatant disregard for personal hygiene, or your selfishly manic desire for the newest and best of everything you can get your hands on, I'm just plain tired of you whippersnappers and your idiocy.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. "Eighteen" is still a "teen"
2. Chat-speak is not a language offered in school
3. Respecting your elders = getting to live
4. Hormones are a part of life... not the POINT of it.
I fail, then, to understand why you are so extremely annoying. Here, I'll put it to you in the form of an "if/then" SAT question: "If THE WORLD IS DOING YOU A FAVOR BY LETTING YOU CONTINUE TO EXIST, then the following must also be true: A) YOU SHOULD PROBABLY KISS THE GROUND THE ADULTS WALK ON, B) YOU SHOULD STOP DRESSING LIKE A HOBO, C) YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT SOMEONE WHO ISN'T YOU, or D) All of the above."
Guess which is the correct answer.
However, since I, too, was once an Annoying Mass of Adolescent Angst (hard to believe, I know), I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Until you are able to support yourself fully, just admit that you need your parents or other adults in your lives.
(Forgive me for failing to notice the cruel torture of having a place to live, free of charge. How could I have overlooked the depravity of having clothes provided to you, also free, and in the correct size and gender class. And, oh, let me not forget the food; how dare your parents or caregivers provide you with all of the meals, snacks, in-betweens-ies, and drinks that your exponentially morphing bodies need to survive and thrive. Seriously, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELVES! Ignoring the fact that it isn't cool to bitch and complain about how horrible your parents are (because, really, what does that accomplish?), it's just plain stupid. Do you honestly want them to never feed, clothe, or house you again?)
2. Unless your goal is to work at McDonald's when you're 40, stop incorporating chat-speak into your daily vocabulary.
(Dear, Sweet, Youth of America... you are quickly becoming the most unintelligent generation to ever gangsta-walk on this earth. It's one thing to send your friends a quick 'OMG', 'LOL', 'u r gr8' - filled text message in between class, but it becomes another thing entirely when I hear chat-speak come flying out of your mouth in an actual conversation. With a human. In the real world. I know we've all been taught that "it's what's on the inside that counts", but when the words you're using sound like a stroke victim attempting to spell their name, well, no one is going to care about what's on the inside. You may think you have a winning personality and enough charm/luck/money/intelligence to get you far in life, but the second a potential boss hears you bust out with "I saved the company over $3.2 million by catching a sales mistake last year and, OMG, let me tell you, Mr. Douchehammer, I was ROTFLOL," you're outta there.)
3. If you swear, glare, or "holla" at me on the bus one more time, I will drop you.
(I use profanity on a near regular basis, I admit it. The leg-up I have on you, however, comes from using it either accidentally/unconsciously (aka - spontaneously), or using it to emphasize a point I am trying to make. When you start dropping f-bombs like the conversation is an Iraqi war zone, you sound... well, like a teenager. And teenagers can sound preeeetty stupid. You do the math. Oh, and what's with the glaring, Oh Sulky of the Attitude Clan? When my only possible offense is breathing, I don't see how that earns you doing your best Mr. T impression at me from across the bus/room/store/city. Finally, I am way too old for your pimply, pubescent ass. If you really want a chick who digs much younger men, look up "Letourneau" in the phone book. Otherwise, show some respect.)
4. Keep. It. In. Your. Pants.
(Ignoring the fact that the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) reports that 19 million new STD infections occur every year... and nearly 50 percent of these new cases happen to young people between the ages of 15 and 24... and not only that, but the American Social Health Association (ASHA) reports that half of all new HIV infections occur in teenagers... well, no, wait; you can't ignore that. STOP GETTIN' FREAKY! It's, well, freaking us out. I won't be like some of your parents and tell you that sex is a dirty, gross thing that married couples "have to do", because that would promote its own set of problems, but what I will tell you is this: you only have so much time to be the age you're at right now. Why rush it?)
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 Upright, Non-Delinquent Youth of America that I know you have inside of you.
In all seriousness, you have so much potential. I am in awe of the talents that so many of you possess already at such a young age, and can't wait to see what kind of influence your voice has in the future.
Just... pull your pants up, okay? I don't want to see your boxers.
Get off my lawn,
Krystal
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
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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