Sunny Spain, Danger Island and International Abductions

Have you ever been in a foreign country and found yourself wondering if your cab driver might be kidnapping you? Well – this did happen to me once. And I suspect that it’s not all that uncommon (the suspicion as opposed to the actual kidnapping). I mean, with language barriers, unfamiliar scenery and standard issue paranoia – it seems like this could happen to the best of us.

Or – maybe it’s just me. Either way, here’s my story.

In September of 2000, Chris and I got married and then flew to Spain for a two week honeymoon in Andalusia. We stayed in Malaga, Marbella/Puerto Banus and Seville. And while we were in Puerto Banus, we decided to make a quick trip to Great Britain.

Yes – you read that right – we left the sunny beaches of the Costa del Sol so that we could enjoy an cool, overcast day in the city of Gibraltar. This British territory shares a border with Spain, and was just an hour drive from our hotel.

Our hotel was beautiful, but after a few days relaxing by the pool with a book, I got at little bored with my sedentary pursuits. Not the kind of bored that made me want to fly home and leave the fun filled vacation of suntanning and tapas bar hopping of course. But the kind that made me feel the need for a day trip.

So that morning at breakfast, I pulled out our trusty Andalusia book and said, “I’m tired of looking at topless German supermodels at the pool – I have to have an activity today.” And while Chris probably didn’t quite agree about the topless German girls, he was happy enough to leave the hotel to have a little adventure.

One of the reasons that we selected Gibraltar was that we would get to enjoy a drive along the coast. It was a beautiful day and the hour long cab ride felt more like minutes as we took in breathtaking views of sun sparking on sea.

Then we saw “the rock.” It’s almost shocking to see Gibraltar looming on the horizon. It is literally a giant rock under an ominous looking cloud. We immediately dubbed it, “Danger Island.”


While it’s not technically an island, it does kind of look like one as you’re driving down the coast.

I won’t go into detail about our arrival at Danger Island (where we brushed elbows with armed soldiers), or the time we spent there (purchasing hand stitched lace pillow cases and hearing jokes about Monica Lewinsky from the locals). But I will say that my only regret is that we didn’t take the cable car up to the top of the rock for a view of Africa. Oh well – maybe next time.

When departed Gibraltar later that afternoon, I was very ready to put my shopping bags at my feet and close my eyes. Between the walking and the overcast sky I was feeling rather sleepy, and within minutes of entering the cab, I had dozed off.

At some point I felt sun on my face, and peered out from under my sunglasses to see that we were in fact, back in Spain proper. But the expected view of sun sparkling on sea had inexplicably been replaced by green hillside vistas.

While groggily trying to make sense of this new scenery, I realized that my husband was engaged in an animated conversation with our cab driver. This was no surprise since he feels the need to “chat” with pretty much anyone within a ten foot radius. But the fact that we were so obviously NOT driving back up the coast, made me extremely curious. I thought that if I could hear what they were saying, I would surely be clued into where the hell we were going.

Unfortunately, I don’t speak Spanish – so I was going to have to ask Chris to translate. Right before I sat up and announced my confusion though, the city girl in me held out a cautionary hand. Something wasn’t right. I mean, we were being chauffeured by the Spanish equivalent of a gypsy cab driver, and we were obviously not taking the familiar route back.

My first thought was that it might be a short cut. But in researching our day trip, we did look at a map which clearly showed the coastal road was the most direct route. I may be map-challenged, but Chris is practically a human GPS system. So he would be aware that we were taking the long way.

I had to conclude that we weren’t going back to the hotel – or at least not directly. And the fact that Chris and the cab driver were now BFFs indicated that they had made a decision to…well, I wouldn’t know would I? Because I was asleep when said decision was made.

At this point City Girl started fuming. What the hell was Chris thinking? This stranger could be a criminal for all we knew. To let him drive us into the hills of Spanish no man’s land and to not even consult with me about it was inexcusable. I would NEVER agree to this. What if he planned to take our credit cards and passports and then leave us miles from civilization. He could be a serial killer. He could be planning to sell me into white slavery. We didn’t know anything about this guy! City Girl was irate. I was a little frightened.

So I decided to feign sleep while I worked out what could possibly be going on. And soon enough we seemed to have reached our destination. The cab pulled up to a small group of buildings and parked in what could only be described as a rural ally.

I sat up an started to ask Chris, “exactly what the hell is going on?” But I never had a chance. Within seconds, my companions were out of the car and too busy talking and laughing to give me any explanation. Chris barely glanced over his shoulder as he said something about coming in with them and that we would “only be a minute.” Whatever that meant.

City girl and I huffed as we picked up every bag in the cab and dragged them over to the big wooden gate through which the two men had disappeared. There was no way I was leaving all of my beautiful lace napkins and pillowcases in an unlocked cab with open windows.

I’m not sure what I was expecting to see when I followed them in, but I couldn’t make any sense of the scene that I encountered. I seemed to have entered a courtyard. To my right were rows of kennels and cages. Dogs barked and birds squawked at our intrusion, and flies buzzed around my head. The general effect was something like a barnyard pet store. Directly in front of me was a paddock with a huge brown horse – apparently, the source of all the flies. On the left was what looked to be the side wall of a house.

Our host had opened a door to the house and gestured for us to stay where we were, saying something that seemed to indicate that he’d be right back. Again, there wasn’t time to interrogate Chris about where we were, let alone why we were there. Before I could open my my mouth (which was already agape), the man was back, now holding a box.

He looked at me and asked Chris something in rapid fire Spanish. Chris looked in my direction, and then with a smile shook his head. He laughingly held up his hands and said something that involved the words “no” and “gracias.” I couldn’t imagine what he thought I didn’t want – but I was happy to finally hear Chris say “no.”

Then it suddenly came to me. It was so obvious what was going on, I couldn’t believe that I didn’t figure it out earlier. I gasped internally as I silently articulated to myself, “oh my god – he’s trying to sell us drugs.

But before I could begin to puzzle out why Chris would have even agreed to this detour trip, I was being ushered back to the cab. In a cloud of unintelligible banter and every fly previously stationed on the horse’s butt, I followed.

Safely back in the car and surrounded by my shopping bags, my anxiety began to fade. City Girl was back and mapping out the tirade the Chris would hear as soon as we were alone. At this point, I was certain that we were in fact, on our way back to the hotel. And I let out the last vestige of the breath that I was holding when that sparking sea came back into view.

We finally arrived in Puerto Banus, and the minute the cab pulled away I rounded on a happily waving Chris. “What on earth were you thinking? WHY did you let him take us to that, that…whatever that place was? Did he try to sell us drugs?

Chris just stared at me in utter bafflement and said, “What?

Exasperated, I replied, “that weird farm-like place! What were we doing there? He came out with a box and asked you something. Then you said, ‘no.’ Was he asking you if we wanted to buy drugs?!

Still dazed, Chris said. “He asked if you wanted a ride on his horse. And we stopped there because his radio had died and he needed to pick up another one. That’s what was in the box. I figured that you were sleeping and we weren’t in a big rush to get back, so it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t charge us for the extra time or anything.

Oh.

Well – that didn’t sound quite so bad, the way he explained it. I may have overreacted just a little bit. But I’m still a city girl at heart, and don’t assume that I’m safe with a stranger – no matter how nice they may seem.

I doubt we would encounter a situation like this again – and now that we have kids, Chris would be far more likely to take a conservative view of friendly strangers with cars. But either way, I like to think that he would remember my feelings on the subject, and at least give me a vote the next time we’re encountered with the unknown.

We were newlyweds – and with every year of marriage, you get to know each other better. I now know that Chris is a good judge of character, and would never have put us in a situation that seemed like it could be dangerous. And Chris now knows that I prefer to be be informed of what’s going on – AND to be asked for my opinion before it is assumed.

But Chris did get one thing right all those years ago… You couldn’t have paid me enough money to sit on that fly-covered horse. Especially if it meant that I’d have to abandon my shopping bags.

Sound Byte: "What the….?!?"

It seems like I have a lot funny Eleanor stories lately… Probably because she’s such a little talker now. I typically don’t chronicle every precious anecdote – but one from this weekend really made me laugh.

Warning: There is bad language involved – but it can’t be helped since it’s kind of integral to the story.

On Saturday morning, I was sitting at the kids’ table setting up an elaborate craft project for us to all do together (translation: I was sitting at the kids’ table with my laptop reading blogs and absentmindedly talking to them about the DVD that was playing).

Eleanor – who isn’t into dolls but IS into “ballminas” (ballerinas) came over to me with a little Polly Pocket doll that someone gave her for Christmas. We have very few of these little girly items and I find it interesting that she’s the ONLY one who shows any interest in them (nurture over nature indeed! ha!).

Eleanor: Mommy? What the fuck?

Me: What?!?

Eleanor: What the fuck?

Me: I’m sorry – I must not be hearing this right…what did you say?

Eleanor: What. The. Fuck.

Me: Try again – but slowly. What are you asking me?

Eleanor: Wha….The….Fog?

Me: What the “frog?”

Eleanor: Yeah! Wha the fog?

Me: OH – you want to know where the frog is…because she’s a ballerina…which to you, is the same as “princess”….and princesses kiss frogs!!

Eleanor: [blank stare]

Me: No – it’s funny – because I thought you said… Well – never mind. One day I’ll tell you about this and you’ll think it’s really funny.

Eleanor: What the fuck?

Excessive Accessories

My Mother in Law is world renowned for her enthusiastic application of jewelry. She is a fan of “the layered look.”

She wears so many necklaces at one time, that my Father in Law has been known to call her Mr. T.


And she’d be the first to wonder why anyone stops at one ring when the space between knuckles so clearly allows for three. Bracelets are a no brainer – to live without the constant jingling of bangles is just no life at all.

Lately, I’ve been thinking that my daughter, Eleanor has inherited this gene.

Since she doesn’t have access to real jewelry, she must be content with draping herself in Mardi Gras beads. But she finds other outlets for her preference for excess.

On Saturday morning I put a Thomas Tank Engine bandaid on one of Oliver’s boo boos, and Eleanor insisted having one too. One on her right hand turned into one on each hand which evolved into one on each hand and one on her forehead:


She would have kept going if I let her.

Then last week, she took barrette placement to a whole new level. She’s already pushing the envelope with her general insistence that she wear one on each side – but this was ridiculous:


And you can’t even see the ones she made me put in the back of her hair.

Yes – she’s just a little Mr. T. in training. And she’s thrilled with herself. She thinks she looks fabulous – and “pities the fool” who dares to disagree.

Various and Sundry II

I promised something pretty today since earlier in the week I felt the need to publish a thesis on my career history and current lack of direction. (Seriously – NO ONE wants to talk career with me? Anyone? Bueller?)

I need a little pretty today. I’m sick. And not pretty. And still rather directionless – which could be cute if I was pretty, but I’m not, so it’s just kind of sad. So bring on the pretty!

Did you get your March Anthropologie catalog? No one does pretty like Anthropologie. I think that I Enjoy Being a Girl could be their theme song.

Initially, the ruffles and flowers caught my eye:

I love the ruffled neckline of the Helium Moon Blouse.


The simple, bold print and lines of the Coral Way Dress are feminine without being over the top.

The Galaxy-of-Dots Dress also achieves a “girly but not too girly” look in simple white on white polka dots and eyelet lace trim.

The Tamarindo Blouse may be my favorite though with those frothy layers of neckline ruffles. “I enjoy being a girl” indeed!

This simple Carambola Shift could look good on the beach or out to dinner. Or both (soooo looking forward to our beach vacation this Summer – even if it does conflict with BlogHer).

And what girly girl could resist the chiffon Breadfruit Blouse with it’s ruffles and floral appliques?

Here’s a closer look.

But there is more to a girl than just ruffles and flowers… We also like a jaunty nautical look once in a while. Like these yacht-worthy little numbers:

I can’t decide if I like the Meridian Blouse better in navy (which IS nautical) or…

…in yellow. Which IS Summer.

While not technically a sailor dress, those big buttons on the Wight’s Sago Dress are reminiscent of sailor pants and the crisp print looks like it would fit right in at a boating party.
I’m sure the stylists at Anthropologie would love to know that a plebe is calling some of the Spring styles “nautical.” Oh well – that’s the image that comes to mind for me…

I could go on and on about Anthropologie, but those items would be at the top of my fantasy shopping spree list.

Additionally, I’m kind of obsessed with a dress I saw on Grosgrain. Have you seen this?


No? Here it is again.


Wait – how long was I out? I just fainted from the overload of pretty that assaulted my eyes. I want this dress. Really, really bad. Even if it doesn’t fit me. Which is likely, but I’d be happy enough to hang it on a door and pretend that I’m going to slip it on in a minute to run out to meet my friends for drinks.

I don’t run out for anything but milk or batteries these days. Or maybe to capture an escaped toddler or two. It’s a very glamorous life I lead – one that requires some ruffles I think.

Have a great weekend!

Various and Sundry

What – nobody wants to talk about careers? Not to worry – I know other far more interesting people to promote.

First – I’ve been meaning to direct everyone I know over to Jessica Bern’s site, BERNTHIS.COM. Not only does she have a fantastic humor blog, she also provides links to her hilarious BERNTHIS Web Series. If you are too lazy to go ALL THE WAY over to her blog, here are the links:

If Hitler Gave Me a Wax Job

Introducing My Family – The Selfish’s

Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!

Born Stupid

Help, I Need a Pony

Does Anyone Here Speak English?

I Can’t Even Sell Cancer

I love Jessica. Check out her films if you need a laugh.

ALSO – I wanted to let everyone know about my friend Gwen. She guest posted for The Big Piece of Cake and Amy in Ohio last November. She’s had a few blogs following her weight loss and marathon journeys – but has recently started a personal blog, GwenniePie. As usual, she’s hilarious and lovely and just a fun person to follow. In fact, if I could, I would just follow her around all day as she meanders through Target aisles throwing her quirkiness around for all to enjoy. She’s a doll. And she just makes me happy. So go visit her and say hi from me.

Finally – head over to The Gift and weigh in on breastfeeding. I myself was not a fan – but that’s not what the topic covers. Anyone can have an opinion on “how old is TOO old” or at what age should privacy become an issue. Anastasia had a pretty strong reaction from one of her commentors (who came back to explain that it’s just a very sensitive issue for her), but at the moment the results seem fairly one sided. What do you think?

I’ll be back tomorrow with something pretty to make up for the obscene amount of text that I spewed all over my site earlier this week. I’m sorry – I just can’t seem to help myself…

UPDATE: Have you read Nie Nie today? You should.

I’m Not a Career Woman, but I Play One on My Resume (Part II)

UPDATE 3/4/09: I have cut this bad boy into two posts. See below for Part I. I originally wrote it as one and then had blogger’s remorse after seeing it online and scrolling and scrolling and scrolling through it… I had no time to fix this yesterday – so my apologies (and thanks) to the nine commentors who actually read the whole thing in one sitting. Send me your addresses and I’ll mail each of you a prize for “longest attention span.” -Kate

I had already paid for a summer house at Dewey Beach (Delaware) with my friends. Making it (in my mind) a free vacation from my problems. I figured that I’d just get a job waiting tables and take a couple of months off from the serious job hunt. In the end though, my obsessive nature made it impossible for me to stop worrying about my unemployment, and my lack of upper body strength made it impossible for me to carry those heavy trays at the restaurant.

THEN something amazing happened. Well – two amazing things really. First, the Federal Government was so completely confused by my tax forms (which involved two different jobs and residences in two different states within a year), that I received a rather large tax return in July. In truth, I should have received no return. I won’t get into the boring details, but I did make several calls to try to rectify this and was informed that there was absolutely nothing I could do. The Federal Government would not take their money back – damn them! And then, one of my roommates ended up needing a temp at her office for a couple of months.

So I left the beach.

I have a friend who liked to refer to this time in my life as “that summer that Kate freaked out and moved to the beach and then freaked out and moved home.” Well…it was a bit of a roller coaster.

I finally did get a job, but not in “marketing.” It was in meeting planning. Or more accurately, association management, which included meeting planning. And then two years after that, I found a real meeting planning job and FINALLY had an actual career path. I don’t even have to use “air quotes” when I say meeting planning, because once I got that first foot in the door, I knew what this career involved and could have a clear vision of it – no more hazy montages of what I thought it was supposed to be.

But this was not a fairy tale ending (sorry – no, it’s not over – and I haven’t even gotten to my point yet).

While I basically like my current career path, I’m starting to wonder if having to work with crazy people is a requirement for every job I take. Because I have worked with CA-RAY-ZEE (and not in a good way) people.

It started with that first crazy boss experience that drove me to the beach, and continued at the association management firm where I had to work with various boards of directors. I learned that when it comes to a board, there are lots of chiefs, very few Indians and GIANT egos. At the very least, I think it’s safe to say that there is a small, Greek director at Suntrust who has a reserved seat waiting for her in Satan’s boardroom.

I can’t be specific about co-workers and contacts from my more recent positions, but at this point, I’m fairly certain that the list of accomplishments on my resume should include “significant experience in diffusing unnecessary office drama and placating egomaniacs.” I really have spent an inordinate amount of time time tip-toeing around these crazy people over the past ten years. And I have tried to leave these toxic work environments and find others that offer a better quality of life… But it appears that these boots are actually made for walking on egg shells.

So where am I going with this rambling account of the story behind my resume? Hell if I know! And that’s my point.

I think we all kind of fall into our career paths. Whether we start out with a clear vision of total global domination or with a dissociative aversion to any thoughts beyond next week – we all have to start somewhere.

Using myself as an example, I can clearly see that things eventually fall into place regardless of the chaos in which they begin. And on the flip side, things don’t always work out the way we had originally planned. In the end, there are no guarantees.

Whether you love your job or hate it, know exactly where you’re going or wander aimlessly as life pushes you along – you never really know what’s coming around the corner. So you have to be ready for anything.

There is something about the word “career” that implies a plan or a strategy. A direction taken forward. Taken up. Ideally to “the top.” But the reality is that people who decide where they are going and then get there as planned are the fortunate minority.

The rest of us get by through trial and error. We start out in advertising, then escape to the beach, then fall into a new industry that we didn’t even know existed. Then we find out that the ideal job for our industry isn’t ideal for having a family – and then we have to reassess our previous goals (oh wait – I’m talking about myself again…). And sometimes that decision is made for us – and we don’t have a choice.

Having been lost and then found several times over, I have no doubt that this will happen again. There is always opportunity out there when you look for it, and you can never be sure where you will find it. The career you currently love or hate may not be the one you will have five years from now. The only constant is you. So think of yourself as your career – not your job.

I have no idea what comes next for me, but I’m hopeful. And given my past experience, I have every reason to be (crossing my fingers for the Federal Government’s lack of math skill this year!) In the meantime, if all else fails, I hear that houses are going for cheap at Dewey Beach this summer.

I’m Not a Career Woman, but I Play One on My Resume (Part I)

UPDATE 3/4/09: I have cut this bad boy into two posts. I originally wrote it as one and then had blogger’s remorse after seeing it online and scrolling and scrolling and scrolling through it… I had no time to fix this yesterday – so my apologies (and thanks) to the nine commentors who actually read the whole thing in one sitting. Send me your addresses and I’ll mail each of you a prize for “longest attention span.” -Kate

One of my favorite blogs, The Lil Bee has been running a guest blogger feature called Bee’s Stimulus Package (click for details). When I first expressed an interest, I thought that it was only a matter of time before I lost my job. For now though, it seems the crisis has passed, as has my reason for guest posting. But regardless of my employment status, I have no doubt that Melisa recoiled in horror when she saw how long this was. Far too long to inflict on someone else’s blog. But I can do what I like here right?

Anyway – she had some great guests (the lovely Amy from Dooblehvay is featured this week). I highly recommend reading them.

While I’ve been wanting to write something about work for a while, I generally steer clear of the subject since this is a personal blog. But writing about work “in general” seems appropriate given the current climate (job-wise not weather-wise, both of which suck right now in the DC area).

I’m not going to talk about layoffs and unemployment. At this point, all angles of how to weather a layoff, look for a new job, and discover the meaning of life while sitting at home watching Golden Girls reruns on a Tuesday afternoon…well – they’ve pretty much been covered.

Instead, I’m writing about “career.” I don’t know about you, but I started out with a rather apathetic attitude when it came to my career. I can trace this back to eighth grade when I had to include future career goals under my yearbook graduation picture. I said, “graphic designer.” Did I know anything about graphic design? No – of course not. But I liked art and figured that “graphic designer” sounded like a real job.

Spoiler alert! I did not become a graphic designer.

Then in high school I continued to let everyday life and concerns carry me in their wake, and spent four years getting good grades in the classes I liked and mediocre grades in the classes I didn’t. Career goals? “I don’t know – maybe something in art.” Still with the art! What exactly did I think that meant?

And don’t even get me started on my college application process. The word apathetic sounds like a pep rally in comparison to my attitude toward visiting colleges and filling out applications. Now, I have to say that this is partly due to the fact that I wasn’t really ready for college (I’m a late bloomer when it comes to change – always the last one to the party). But it was also because I had no real vision of my future beyond high school graduation. There was just a hazy montage of college-life stock photos featuring classrooms, cafeterias and parties… But nothing really tangible – nothing I could honestly say I looked forward to.

I felt futureless.

Long story short on college, I started out at a small school in Manhattan because I wanted to be in the city (the ONLY thing I actually expressed an interest in), but transferred to Fordham University once I realized that I’d be happier on a more traditional campus, where I wasn’t the only student who owned a pink tank top from J. Crew. Seriously – I used to joke with my roommates that I was the alternative one. They were all wearing black and piercing things while I stood out with all of my just arrived from prep school fashion “don’ts.”

Four years later, there was another graduation and another fuzzy montage of what comes next. This one would include break rooms, cubicles and those computers that terrified me so (I’m in my mid-thirties…OKAY! late thirties…So when it came to technology, I had had more in common with Fred Flintstone than I did with college students today).

It was a bad job market in 1994 (fine – do the math – I’m old), and I was thrilled to find the crappy job that I did. It was in advertising (though not in the “graphic design” department). It wasn’t a bad place to work – I stayed for two years – but it also wasn’t a dream job. The best part of that job was that I had a great boss. I loved my boss then, and I thank god for her now since she validates that fact that when I started to encounter some of the crazies that followed her, it wasn’t me – it was them.

I guess I was good enough at what I did since a couple of other firms tried to recruit me. And I actually took one up on their offer. I mean, who says no to a promotion and a higher salary? Um – people who are smart enough to realize that they are in the wrong industry. People who know that they are not interested in what they are doing. People who once had glamorous (though vague) dreams of making it big in “graphic design.”

Unfortunately, I HATED working at that new firm. And mainly because of my new boss. I was spoiled. I had never reported to a crazy person before. It was culture shock and I didn’t last more than three months.

Then I had a mid twenties crisis (I believe the kids are calling it a “quarter century crisis” these days). I knew that recruitment advertising wasn’t for me, and I needed to change industries before I got stuck. So I was now pursuing jobs in “marketing.” Did I have any idea what that meant? Of course not! But I knew that “marketing” was similar to advertising and my entry level skill set would have a good chance of transferring over.

The more immediate problem was that I decided to quit my job in May, and NO ONE hires in the summer. They conduct interviews – sure – but decisions take months to be made due to all of the decision makers being out of town on vacation. After about a month of interviewing and sitting by the phone, I decided to get practical.

So I moved to the beach.

To be continued on 3/4/09….

Sound Byte: One of the Many Reasons That I Love My Daughter

One evening over the weekend, I was playing with Eleanor in my room. Inexplicably, the boys were nowhere to be seen. This made for an environment more conducive to quiet conversation and hair grooming. Usually there are small male bodies flying in trajectories conducive to massive head trauma. So tranquil hair brushing was a bit of a treat.

When I finished brushing her hair, it looked like very fine corn silk and curled just a tiny bit around her face. When she finished brushing mine, I looked like I needed just a little blue mascara to finish my makeover for the 1985 We Are The World concert.

I then lifted her up to the mirror so that we could admire our work:

Me: Let’s take a look… Oh look!

Eleanor: Look!

Me: So pretty!

Eleanor: Pretty!

Me: What a pretty girl!

Eleanor: Wha pretty girl!

Me: Who IS that pretty girl?

Eleanor: It’s Mommy!

How long will this phase last? Or more accurately, at what age will she decide that I have no sense of style and cause her nothing but embarrassment in front of her friends? I need to appreciate this while it lasts.

Friday Confession: I’m Getting Sick of Friday Confessions

It’s true – I’m having a hard time finding inspiration for these. I mean – hey, we all have stuff to confess, but how much of it is interesting or funny? And about 75% of the interesting stuff probably isn’t appropriate for recounting outside of my head, let alone on a very public blog. So I’m constantly challenged with thinking of something funny and/or interesting to confess. And seriously, how many times can I talk about what a prude I am? It’s getting a little old. So sorry Friday Confessions – I’m just not that into you (anymore).

The same goes for Materialistic Monday. I had the idea that I would feature something I want but don’t need every Monday. But the truth is, I’m not just materialistic on Mondays – it’s kind of an every day thing for me. So I don’t think I should be restricted to Mondays only. Besides – I’m kind of poor right now, so writing about things I want but don’t need is a bit depressing.

Then of course there is the fact that the alliteration thing really corny. It’s just a little too cutesy for me. I’ve never done cutesy well – so it doesn’t feel natural to have cute theme day labels on my blog. I mean, talking about how much I want a grab everything you can in 10 minutes shopping spree at J. Crew or making fun of a popular chair comes naturally…it’s just the cutesy names thing that makes me feel like an awkward Spirit Bunny.

So no more Friday Confessions or Materialistic Mondays. I’ll just confess or be materialistic whenever I feel like it. The whole idea of having these “theme” days was to give myself the excuse to keep it short twice a week. A brief paragraph about something embarrassing that happened to me and a picture of something pretty. Such a simple concept. Yet impossible for me. Case in point: the fact that I have just written four paragraphs on nothing. It’s the Seinfeld of blog posts – a post about nothing.

Apparently, I don’t do “brief.” It’s pathological. But at least its’ consistent.

Theoretically Speaking, "They" are Awfully Judgey

They say that you shouldn’t let your children watch too much television, and should instead engage them in educational games to cultivate creativity and intellect.

They say that you should always be consistent with discipline, as it will instill an understanding of consequences.

They say that you should make sure your little ones go to bed as early as possible so that they can get a full 12 hours of sleep. (So necessary for brain development, you know!)

They say that you should feed your children well balanced meals with plenty of fruits and vegetables. (Duh! Brain development.)

They say that you should start teaching your children to dress themselves when they turn two. It’s okay if they don’t master it immediately – it’s all about learning.

They say that you shouldn’t bribe children with treats because it ultimately rewards bad behavior.

and

They say that when it comes to the frustrations of parenting, laughter is the best medicine.

This is all great in theory, but…

They are forgetting the fact that very few children are able to amuse themselves independently with educational games. So if a parent needs a block of time to get something done without interruption, then television is the PERFECT solution. Nothing silences a room full of kids like an hour of Yo Gabba Gabba.

They assume that there is time to commit to consistency. For most parents, this is in fact false. If your oldest son refuses to listen to you when you tell him to get off the table, then yes, you should give him a time out. But if he will not stay in time out without direct supervision, then you must stand next to him. Your younger children will then take this opportunity to climb up on the table too. When you leave the time out area to reprimand the other children, the first one will leave his position in time out. And of course climb back up on the table – because you know, everyone else is doing it. This could result in rotating children in and out of time out for long stretches of time, and SOMEONE has to make dinner.

They must not arrive home from work and daycare pick up after 6:00 p.m. Children have internal timers and will know that only one hour has elapsed if you hustle them into the bedtime routine before 7:30. It is a scientific fact (that I just made up to justify my children’s circadian rhythms) that children need at least 30 minutes of playtime before and after dinner. Otherwise, they can’t even consider going to bed. And if they’re hard wired to be night owls, then it is impossible for them to go to sleep before 8:30 or 9:00. If twelve hours of sleep are required for adequate brain development in toddlers, then we will not be raising future rocket scientists.

They obviously don’t have children who refuse to eat anything but variations of cheese on bread. Such children will not comply with rules regarding good nutrition. They are far more patient than parents when it comes to the choice of eating their green beans or leaving the table to play. They would rather sit at the table until dawn than eat something they deign to be “yucky.”

They must not have children who would be naked at all times if clothing wasn’t forced upon them. It’s flat out logic that a child who knows how to dress himself will realize that he also has the ability to get undressed at any time. Actually, this is inevitable, but keeping them in the dark about how to put pants on by themselves could buy a little time before they learn that they can take them off. It’s never about learning – it’s always about keeping people in pants.

They forget that the fastest way to improve behavior is to offer bribes. It’s a short term solution, but when your three year old is having a tantrum in the middle of a crowded restaurant, you’re not really thinking long term. And seriously – when you’ve been listening to three kids screaming for 30 straight minutes, I dare you to NOT offer them candy.

and

They never tried Prozac.