This is a bona-fide exchange between my second-grader and his teacher:

Teacher: Class, when you are coloring your dinosaurs, don’t use purple or blue.

Munchkin: But, why?

Teacher: Because there were no blue or purple dinosaurs.

Munchkin: But how would anyone know if there were no purple or blue dinosaurs if there was no one around to see them?

Teacher:  Because…just…don’t color them blue or purple, OK?

Jesus Christ on a stick, what is with this school district and their issues with coloring? Coloring!

If only they put as much energy into addressing the kid in my son’s class (keep in mind this is 2nd grade) who still throws himself on the floor (in class!) during a tantrum, which apparently happens when he gets in trouble.  Which is much too often for my comfort.

Last week I asked how you would feel about vacationing with extended family, and 53% of you categorized it as possibly pleasant.  Which is technically indecisive because only 14% said it would be great.  31% are of the mindset that it would basically be akin to torture, and it’s good to have those that are brutally honest with themselves.

Today I’ve got a question for you that oddly enough, I’ve never asked on this parenting-centric blog.

Much ado is being made about Amy Chua’s recent piece in the Wall Street Journal entitled “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior.” Tell us how you really feel, Ms. Chua.

I have to say upfront that I truly know nothing about Chinese parenting methods, and the little I do know comes from reading Amy Tan novels.  Which could possibly be the same as nothing.

But what strikes me about the article is the strident nature of Ms. Chua’s superiority.  And in a sense, I suppose she is correct in saying her parenting style has produced results.  Her daughter has apparently played piano at Carnegie Hall, which is a wonderful accomplishment. My son, on the other hand, has played the tambourine (badly) for an audience comprised solely of his baby sister. So I suppose she is at least one up on me there.

She does say that the term “Chinese mother” does not necessarily apply only to people of Chinese ancestry, but is rather describing a certain parenting style.  This is opposed to “Western parenting” which she says can also be anyone of any ancestry.

That being said, I fall firmly in the Western category, and I’m not ashamed of it.

I cannot bring myself to dictate to my son what his interests should or shouldn’t be.  Ms. Chua states that she only allowed her daughters to study piano or violin, no other instruments were considered.  I can’t imagine doing that to my son.  I mean, I might be depriving the world of a world-class tambourine player if I did so.

This part of her story, though, did resonate with me:

First, I’ve noticed that Western parents are extremely anxious about their children’s self-esteem. They worry about how their children will feel if they fail at something, and they constantly try to reassure their children about how good they are notwithstanding a mediocre performance on a test or at a recital. In other words, Western parents are concerned about their children’s psyches. Chinese parents aren’t. They assume strength, not fragility, and as a result they behave very differently.

I think she might have a little something there.  It is possible that Western parents are too worried about self-esteem.  I mean, hello everybody-gets-a-trophy sports!

The way in which she describes going about motivating her youngest child to master a particularly different piano piece, however, seem a bit over the top to me.   But, a book needs to be sold, does it not?

But that must be the sloth mother in me.

I’m going to overcome my weak Western parenting style, ASAP.

Tambourine practice, seven days a week.  I hope the Munchkin is ready for it.

All right, I swear I wrote a post for today, but the server ate it! Seriously!

If you can remember far back enough, your last choices were Jamie Oliver and Chris Noth. Well, the chef won over Mr. Big by a fairly slim seven percent margin.

However.

When this blog first began way back in 2007 (has it really been that long?) Celebrity Dad Faceoff was one of the first features I began, and I’ll be honest with you, I’m wondering if it’s time to hang it up. I’m guessing that if it’s beginning to wear on me, then what must it be doing to you, dear reader? Oh sure, it’s been a nightmare digging through pictures of handsome, often shirtless, men. But I’ve bravely carried on for your sake.

It’s a new year, though, and the time is ripe for change, if necessary. So, I’d like to see what you think…

And no, Hugh Jackman doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, but I don’t really need much of an excuse to put up his purty face, do I?

A couple weeks before winter break, the Munchkin came home upset because he had gotten into trouble at school.

When pressed for details, he lied about the incident, claiming it was because he had called another child’s drawing “stupid.”

While not a fantastic thing to do, I wondered why he was so emotional about it, when the truth finally came out. Well, it came out after being badgered about it for the remainder of the day by moi, as my Spidey-senses told me all was not as it seemed.

Turns out, a fellow classmate had accused him of saying the word hell in a non-opposite-of-heaven way.

He swore up and down that he didn’t say it at all, and claimed to not even know what it meant.

I’m on the fence as to whether he did say it or not, but I’m pretty sure he knows what it means.

Did the Munchkin get punished?

Well he did, but not for the cussing part.  He got punished for not being upfront about what had happened.

Because yelling at him for cussing? Pot, meet kettle.

You see, my father, who was a very fix-it type of guy, would curse up a storm every time he worked on a project.  So if he had to fix a leaky sink, my young self would stand in the kitchen, see a waist and a pair of legs sticking out from the cabinet doors, and hear a stream of curses that would make any sailor blush. 

Did I cuss in elementary school? You betcha.  And I was a very straight-laced honor student at a Catholic school.

I was just smart enough not to cuss around anybody that would tell on me.

I truly try not to curse in front of my children, and I would say I am 99.8% successful.  But one of his best buddies is an 11 year old from a home that has a lot of salty language being thrown about, not to mention my in-laws not watching their language around him, or even my own dad on occasion.  Oh, and my own husband isn’t all that great at keeping his language perfectly clean either.

Yes, I know all about the people who say that cussing means you are ignorant and haven’t the language skills to truly express your outrage, so cursing is just a way of flaunting your lack of vocabulary.

Actually, I think the people who go around saying made-up expressions are worse.  You can go around all day and spout nonsensical expressions, but when you stub your toe against the bedpost, “fiddlesticks” just will not do.

According to the Daily Beast, anyway…

At the top were names such as Louis Bardo, Marcello Daniel, and Cosima.  All right, I’m down with those.  But Billie Beatrice? Amadeus Benedict Edley Luis? Nelly May Lois?  I’m sorry, but I am so not feeling them.  For some reason, I don’t like when girls are named boy names. I know, I’m an old fogey and anti-feminist, but I just think that when I see a name on a piece of paper, I should know if it is a boy or girl.  Feel free to flog me publicly.  Don’t get me started on the Amadeus one, which the site praises for it’s mix of “style, ethnicities, and eras.” Do they not know people are going to follow him around on the playground singing the refrain to a rather bad but unforgettable 80’s pop song? And Nelly May Lois sounds like someone who spends most of her time being mean to people at a bingo parlor.

At the bottom were gems like  Buddy Bear Maurice, Sundance Thomas, and Draco.  Jamie Oliver (who is currently winning his CDF round) is perpetrator of the Ursa major, and Draco comes courtesy of one former Ms. Winnie Cooper.  I’m not totally up in arms about Draco, though.  At least it’s a literary name, not one that’s made up.  They also slammed Vera Farmiga about her choice of name, which was an ethnic Lithuanian one.  I’m not cool with making fun of names from other cultures, so I take issue with that one.

It’s a hectic week my friends, so posting this week? Totally on the light and fluffy side… Hope you don’t mind.

I’m only telling you this because we are such good friends.   And also because if you think Child Services should be called, you don’t know where I live.

I was on the phone with my mother when I noticed the Munchkinette sidling up to the front of the Christmas tree.  Now this puts her between the tree and the middle front window, so between being on the phone and a dicey sightline, I don’t see what happens next.  Until, of course, it’s too late.

And what happens next is that I see her proudly holding a glass Christmas ornament in her little hand.

I give out yell because I’m thinking she’s going to drop it. I begin running toward her.  Er, well, probably lurching is a better term for it.

She does me one better.

In one of those slo-mo effects in the movies, I watch as she crushes the ornament in her hand.

At this point, I let out a full blown scream because I’m envisioning myself in the ER with her thrashing around as they stitch up the million cuts in her hand.  Also, I’m a little pissed because it’s one of the intricate ones handed down to me from the 1950’s and I’m wondering why she couldn’t have chosen a regular old ball.

So I’m continuing the lurch and watching what seems like hundreds of little glass pieces scatter around her, which I finally crunch through and grab her.

I frantically seize her tiny hand, fully expecting shards to be stuck in it and blood dripping down her arm.

Nothing.  Not a scratch.

No aftermath of any kind except for me losing a very cool ornament and having to thoroughly vacuum. 

We’re thinking of having her pick out our lottery numbers.

I had candy on the brain last week, and so asked for your favorite. It was not too surprising that two chocolate choices tied for first, one being chocolate-only, the other being something chocolate, with nuts, and chewy. That last bunch is hard to please. I know this because I belong to it. Black licorice made a surprisingly strong showing with six percent of the vote, and chocolate and nuts garnered eighteen percent. Sorry, I’m having a hard time focusing with all this talk of chocolate.

Today I want to ask about something that’s been on my mind lately, and that is school bullying. It can be any kind, as I feel verbal abuse is just as bad as physical abuse. My son has been a victim of bullying twice, once in pre-K and once in first grade. The pre-K bullying was from his classmates, and the first grade bully experience was from a third grader. Each time, the supposed “playground monitors” didn’t do jack to help him. Nor did his pre-K teacher, who chalked it up to boys being boys. Uh huh.