Tag Archives: parenting

Grocery Shoppers: An Analysis

The Super Bowl is this Sunday, and even if you don’t car a whit because the 49ers aren’t in it (sniff…) everyone should be extra cautious with their decisions about grocery shopping over the next few days. Seriously, if you don’t need deli meats or soda, DON’T go down those aisles. They’ll be filled with people wearing oversized jerseys and ugly slide sandals. But really, if you’re a parent, you always have to strategize about shopping. When you choose to go to the store can mean the difference between zipping through with your smartphone list, or banging your head on a germ-filled cart as you wait in line behind the lady who is sure those Lipton iced teas were a two-for-one.

So that you may shop at the best time for your personality, I give you “Who Goes Shopping When.”

Who Goes Shopping When:

  • Friday morning – Stay-at-home moms; old ladies paying with checks.
  • Friday afternoon – Harried parents who realized there’s nothing in the fridge and whose kids are pissed off to be shopping after a long week at school.
  • Friday night – Teenagers inappropriately dressed for winter; men who might be homeless.
  • Saturday morning – Dads and their kids, ruthlessly kicked out of the house by mom; oenophiles prepping for their dinner party tonight.
  • Saturday afternoon – Leisurely childless couples.
  • Saturday night – Partiers buying liquor; dateless singles buying the single-serving mini bottles of wine and a prepared stuffed chicken breast; defeated men buying tampons.
  • Sunday morning – Extremely efficient moms who follow the exact same path through the store each week; heathens.
  • Sunday midday – The people who were in church this morning, wearing their finery.
  • Sunday afternoon – People with no sense of urgency who park in the middle of the aisle trying to think of what they want; moms who think shopping should be a family experience; couples married more than five years who bicker over pasta brands.

Good luck, and good Super Bowl.

Mommy Terror Alerts

Image: Office of Homeland Security

This has been a busy and stressful month, and I figured rather than continue to blindly subject my loved ones to my (seemingly random) rages, I should help millions of families and develop a Mommy Terror Alert System. It’s for your own protection.

Terror Alert Threat Level 1: Mommy gets very fidgety. Foot tapping, inability to sit still (well, if she were ever allowed to sit still), etc. Mommy makes lists in this phase. Long, impossible-to-accomplish lists.

Level 2: Mommy eats. Constantly. She is actually unable to stop herself. It may be salty, it may be sweet, but if she is seen shoveling snacks into her pie hole, keep your distance.

Level 3: Mommy stops eating. While less obvious, she is far more dangerous than overeating Mommy.

Level 4: Mommy frets over world peace and missing socks simultaneously. This may also be referred to as “intense overreaction.” May manifest as Mommy stomping through the house ranting about how nobody in this place helps her clean — and before you know it she is losing her mind over how you’re going to pay for college since obviously she’s going to have to quit her job to stay home and pick up everyone’s stupid JUNK AND OH BY THE WAY I GUESS I’LL BE A SHORT-ORDER COOK WHILE I’M AT IT! THERE ARE STARVING CHILDREN, YOU KNOW! This stage is extremely dangerous, as one wrong look from a loved one can push her over into…

Level 5: Crying. While insisting everything is fine.

Use Caution: While Mommy may progress through the stages in an orderly fashion, in times of extreme crisis–like a child refusing to sleep after Mommy has just done five back-to-back loads of laundry and has two hours of work to get done and there’s no bread for sandwiches tomorrow–she may skip levels.

What you can do: Uh, how about don’t piss her off. But if you must piss her off, you can help lower the terror alert level by A) Agreeing with her no matter what she says, and B) cleaning. Seriously, people, make your beds and mommy might just avoid a mental breakdown for one more day.

We Should Bring Sally’s Music to the World

Remember when they had those CD commercials on TV where you could buy the Greatest Hits from the ’80s, or ’70s, or punk, or funk, or whatever? Sally’s songwriting has been so prolific over the past four years, I think we could put out her own record. Buy it now and you can enjoy The Best of Sally over and over! Hits including…

One Hundred

Seven

My Carrots are Growing [Sun, Water and Love]

Books

You Can Do It

Oh Yeah

The Mac and Cheese Song

The Theme to: A Prince and Princess Get Married

I Am Gonna Win

Teddy Bear

The Party is Starting

Bubbles are Great

I’m the Dragon King

I’m the Dragon King (reprise): I’m Still a Hula Dancer But I Have a Sword

Today is a Great Day to Touch Your Toes

Parenting on Maui

We took our kid to Maui. We haven’t been on a true vacation in a long time and we figured in Hawaii we could just bury Sally up to her neck in sand and have dinner and drinks before she worked her way out. Perfect. I prepared us well for the long plane flight, the snorkeling, and the possibility that we would damage peoples’ retinas with our blinding whiteness. I did not prepare us for how many animals would provide “teachable moments” during the trip.

THE HAWK: Yes, hawk. Upon take-off, our plane hit a very large bird. It got sucked into the engine. We made an emergency landing. It actually was not at all scary, but we made the news in at least two states. And, major bonus, Sally got to learn how hawk smells when it’s cooking! Truly, you haven’t lived until you’ve been the parent on the plane answering questions (asked very loudly) about how they’ll get the hawk out of the engine: “Do they just pull really hard, Mom? Is it dead? What about the feathers, can they get those out? Will they use a hose to wash it off?!” [Answer: Apparently they start by plucking parts out and putting it into baggies. We didn't watch after that.]

TOADS: Sally believed the nightly toad appearances outside our condo were pretty cute. Until her mom was the one returning from the laundry room yelling “HOLY mother of …” because she just kicked a cool, slimy guy in the dark with bare feet and freaked herself out.

You will stare at this unmoving turtle and you will express your awe like a woman who has waited 75 years to see such a thing!

SEA TURTLES and WHALES: We saw both. They were awesome. That is, to an adult who realizes what a rarity it is to see these things up close and in their natural habitats. Four year olds? They are not so impressed. “Cool, it’s neat,” she said about the giant sea turtle a mere 10 feet away from us on the beach. And then she ran off and see how much sand she could pack into her swimsuit. After she whined about having to pay attention to the whales, too, I had a nice heart-to-heart scream with her about how unappreciative she was of all these opportunities we give her. And then I realized that I was truly spiritually linked to all parents that have gone before me, because they ALL yelled at their kids for being spoiled ungrateful picky gooey little brats. …It was the ocean and all the relaxing, it really got me in touch with the cosmos…

The MONGOOSE: We almost ran one over. We had to look it up to figure out what it was, because seriously, who really sees mongooses? We learned that it is an invasive, weasel look-a-like species brought to the island to eat rats, but it turns out rats are out at night and the mongoose is out during the day, so instead it has eaten most of the lovely birds on Maui. Basically, it’s a small animal that seemed like a good idea, but then didn’t actually solve any problems, and managed to ruin a lot of the best stuff about life. And I couldn’t help but think, hmmm, why does that sound familiar…

The WILD CAT: The “wild cat” was a seven-pound stray that routinely visited our back door looking for food and scared the KUH-RAP out of Sally because she heard it was “wild.” And therefore might rip her limb from limb, one presumes. One evening after she climbed my leg like it was a coconut tree, screeching in terror at Satan himself—who, if you didn’t know, frequently takes the form of a domestic shorthair—I decided enough was enough. I went outside, squatted down and stuck my arm out. “Look, honey, it’s just a stray cat. It’s probably not used to being pet and that’s why we leave him alone, but it’s probably actually a really nice cat.” At which point, the cat bit my wrist, hard, and then hissed at me in a way that I still think he might actually have been a rabid wolf. So, logically, I screamed, “Never mind, it’s not a nice cat! It’s not a nice cat!” and locked us in the house. Brilliant parenting on all counts.

Now we’re back from paradise. And we’re pretty sad about it. But as long as I don’t start foaming at the mouth, we should be okay.