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Parental Musings | Teeny Manolo - Part 30
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Moms with More Hair Use Velcro

Kenneth Cole Reaction Boy’s Shoe

As my colleague raincoaster noted in a previous comment, a lot of people bemoan the fact that many young children’s shoes have velcro closures instead of laces. My goodness, they think, will an entire generation of children grow up never knowing how to tie a knot? How will they ever learn how to sail? Is it even possible to raise children properly when they simply run around never having to experience the hardship of re-tying their shoelaces at various unexpected intervals throughout the day?

But, I’m here to tell you that velcro is not the global menace that it seems, mentally weakening our kids and spoiling them with the ability to stay fastened.

In fact, velcro shoe closures have been proven in double-blind studies to help modern mothers retain 15% more hair than their non-velcroed counterparts.

If you have ever tried to get a toddler/preschooler ready, it can take longer than you anticipate, even though delays are inevitable. You never know if they are going to refuse to brush their teeth because they suddenly dislike the color of the toothpaste, protest getting their hair combed, or even just outright refuse to put their clothes on in favor of jumping on the bed or other worthy pastimes. Children have some sort of built in detector by which they can subconsciously calculate how badly their parents want them to do something. And increase the rebellion levels accordingly.

This can make for a bit of stress, especially if you are operating on a timetable. Which would be the vast majority of the time.

Knowing that a child as young as three, or sometimes even younger, can put on their own set of shoes is a source of great comfort to mothers who are just trying to get themselves out the door, already. It fosters independence. It teaches greater responsibility. It means that I don’t have to get down on the floor and tie them when we are running late. Or in the middle of a mall. Or in the middle of the park. Or… you get the picture.

And let’s be realistic, young children just have not developed the fine motor skills needed to tie their own shoelaces. Yet annoyingly, they still need to wear shoes, so velcro is the great compromise.

Long live velcro!

(Looking for the TeenyManolo Sweepstakes? Go here)

The Gentlemen’s Club

SuperdadAnother day where others have said it so much better than I…

and because the last time we did this, the sole thank-you we got was from a male of the species, this link roundup goes out to (and comes from) the guys.

Let’s see what the Daddysphere has to say for itself lately:

Superman is a bad dad

Headed to the Big House

cough_syrup_photo.jpg

I’m writing this knowing that at any moment, they could come and take me away.  I tell you this story because I trust you not to rat me out, my friends. 

You see, last week, my son began coughing.

And coughing, and coughing, and for good measure, coughing some more. Of course it got worse at night, as it always does, and no amount of vaporizer mist or propped pillows or cough drops would make it go away. Some nights it would take him almost two hours to fall asleep because he just couldn’t stop. Then he would wake up in the middle of the night, you guessed it, coughing and would take another hour to fall asleep. 

When he first became ill, I wanted to reach for the cough medicine, especially for the horrible night-times.  But wait a minute, the FDA had something to say about that.  Mainly, don’t do it, Glinda.

I am nothing if not a law-abiding citizen who also votes in every election, so the medicine stayed in the cabinet.

For four nights we all suffered miserably, and I could only hope that it would go away on it’s own.  Colds go away on their own, right?  But seriously, on the fifth night my husband and I looked at each other in despair.  It was 9:30pm, and still my son could not fall asleep.

Sleep deprived and desperate, we whispered about what we should do.  And we came up with ignoring the FDA.  People, don’t try this trick at home.

My husband came up with the idea, I just want to establish that. 

We had two bottles of cough medicine just sitting there, calling our names.  Both had been used before without any incident.  I did some research on the FDA findings, and came away with the feeling that the unfortunate child deaths came from either overdosing or use in a child that was too young.

So, we took a deep breath and trying not to feel like scofflaws, we measured out a small dose and administered it. 

Blessed sleep for all of us, finally.  

And if you just so happen to be watching an episode of Cops, don’t be surprised to see them ordering a woman to “drop the wand, lady!”

That would be me.

interspecies communication

Understanding

from Wulffmorgenthaler, via CelebratingTheAbsurd

There’s More Than One Way to Get a Wool Sweater

wool.jpg

 

A neighbor of mine called me the other day.

“I have some things for your son, if you would like. It’s a long story, but I’ve got some sweaters that I think will fit him.”

She was making excuses to the wrong person, because there is nothing I like better than a long story. It has to be well-told, but long stories are so much more satisfying than short ones.

Anyhoo, it turns out that somehow she briefly lost her mind for a period of time, long enough for her to put her husband’s new merino wool sweaters into the washing machine. Her husband is a pretty big guy, and suddenly his sweaters fit a five year old.

Gulp.

I had to laugh, and she laughed with me. It was pained laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

So now my son is the proud owner of two designer wool sweaters, valued at almost two hundred buckaroos apiece.

Who says we’re not fancy over here at Casa Glinda?

Now, if I could only try to avoid the fight I know is coming because as great as they look, they are scratchy. I can hear the cries of protest already.

Hear No Evil

monkeys.jpg

Scene: Upscale Family Restaurant, waiting area. Glinda and her family sit patiently listening for their name.

Three twentysomethings enter stage left. They plop themselves down on a bench less than a foot away from my five year old son.

Twentysomething1: Hey man, what’s with that sh!t?

Twentysomething2: I dunno, but that is totally f*cked up, dude.

Twentysomething3: I cannot believe that guy would be such a f*ckin’ a$$hole….

They continued on in a similar vein, oblivious to the laser beams emanating from my eyes.   Apparently, I need to re-charge the batteries or something.  For a second, I seriously considered clapping both hands over my son’s ears.

Luckily for the three men, we are summoned to our table.  Disaster is averted.  Disaster for them, because I was about to do more than just a little bit of looking.

My ears have heard worse than the above conversation, if indeed it could be considered a conversation, what with all the “dudes” and unnecessary adjectives being tossed around.  But I don’t want anyone to think that I have a holier-than-thou attitude about cussing.  I might say a few of those words myself, but when I do, children are nowhere near hearing distance. 

Sigh.

This is a sure sign that I must be getting old.

Alpha and Iota

It’s All Greek to Me

Have you heard of the term “Alpha Mom?” That is the demographic that advertisers lust after, the self-appointed band of mothers who supposedly set the trends while the rest of the moms look down at their Peg Perego stroller and wonder why they’re not considered cool anymore.  But really, it isn’t only about baby gear, it can be anything that is sold, from food to toys to cars.

But I wonder if that you think you are an Alpha Mom, does that really mean you aren’t?

I mean, most people who are trendy, popular, and whatnot do it effortlessly.  You can always tell when someone is trying too hard.   

So, I’m not sure I would place myself in the category of Alpha Mom, and for some reason, it resonates negatively with me.  It conjures up the mothers who schedule a billion activities in the name of getting little Johnny into Harvard, or who sit flashing math cards at their six-month old.  Women who furiously text on Blackberries while “watching” their kids at the playground and feed their child an all-organic diet.

And yet, the next, logical term Beta Mom doesn’t apply to me either.  A Beta Mom would someone who slavishly copies the Alpha Mom, buying the Trumpette socks just because the Alpha Mom has some, not necessarily because she likes them.  It seems like there is a serious lack of self-esteem for the Beta Moms.

So going down the Greek alphabet, because I’m simply following the theme here, I considered Omega Mom.  The last letter of that alphabet, it would connote the exact opposite of an Alpha Mom.  But that might be someone who considers hot dogs a food group, and thinks that reading her latest copy of OK! magazine aloud to her toddler qualifies as a bedtime story. That doesn’t describe me either.

Theta Mom, sounds a bit too Scientology-y, and Kappa Mom just sounds wrong in too many ways.

How about Iota Mom? That’s somewhere in the middle of the alphabet, not way down at the bottom. And interestingly, it also means “very small amount.” So if we’re talking about housework, folding the laundry, and caring about following the herd, that is so me.

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