Posts tagged childhood

COUNTDOWN

NINE things about yourself:

1. I am the spider killer in my house–not because Brandon won’t, but because he doesn’t care enough. I’ll be like, “did you get it?” and he’ll be like “I think so.” Oh HELL no. You better be sure.
2. I love a full and perfectly loaded dishwasher.
3. We’re pretty sure we want four kids, but will go to five if we don’t have a son, realizing that we may get another daughter, but at least we gave it our “best shot,” so to speak.
4. My parents are responsible for my undying affection for Motown, Dylan and the Beatles “Rubber Soul” album.
5. When my sister Julie got her first digital camera, we were delighted to find it had video capabilities, and spent our entire vacation at the cottage filming fake survivor vignettes. I was the slutty one on the island.
6. I still check a few times a night to make sure Clara’s breathing.
7. I am a chronic worrier. I may blog about this later at length. But it can be quite debilitating for me and exasperating for those who know me.
8. Related to the worrying, I hate HATE not being in control of situation. This is a major stumbling block in my faith.
9. In our final year of high school, my friend and I lip-synched the whole of Beastie Boys “2 Emcees and 1 DJ” in front of the whole school, wearing oversized jeans and hoodies, for no real reason other than that we were proud to know all the words.

EIGHT ways to win your heart:
1. Sing to my daughter
2. Bring me something carby and full of sugar. Especially when I’m pregnant.
3. Tell me stories.
4. Listen to my stories.
5. Laugh at my jokes (sincerely).
6. Compliment my writing.
7. Take me shopping.
8. Talk about movies and books with me.

SEVEN things that cross your mind a lot:
1. Brandon.
2. Clara.
3. Facebook.
4. Future kids.
5. Trips I’m looking forward to.
6. Food–the cooking, baking and eating of.
7. Imaginary conversations I’ll never have with people.

SIX things you do before you go to bed:
1. Feed Clara and rub her back until she falls asleep.
2. Brush my teeth.
3. Pee.
4. Adjust the baby monitor volume.
5. Fill my water bottle for beside my bed.
6. Kiss Brandon goodnight and tell him I love him.

FIVE people who mean a lot.
1. Brandon.
2. Clara.
3. Parents.
4. Sisters.
5. Jesus.

FOUR things you’re wearing right now.
1. Red slippers.
2. Black dress. It’s my “house dress.” I am so 1950’s.
3. Watch.
4. Wedding band.

THREE songs that fit your life perfectly.
1. I Only Have Eyes For You – Flamingos
2. In My Life – Beatles
3. My Girl – Temptations

TWO things you want to do before you die:
1. Go to Paris, New York, Holland, and go back to England.
2. See my child(ren) grow up, find love, and be happy

ONE confession:
1. Since becoming a mom, I only shave my legs on special occasions. Oh, who am I kidding? Since getting married.

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The Wheels on My Bus

So the other day I decided to try out Clara’s Baby Einstein sing along CD to see what she’d make of it. It was okay, just your usual kids songs about long ears and stars and wheels on buses. She reacted the same way she reacts to any music–looks around to see where it’s coming from, stares for a while, then goes back to eating her toys. This will change as she gets older, I know, and it was fun just to listen to some of the songs I grew up with. Except, apparently Mr. Einstein wants to make sure there is absolutely nothing that could ever, in any way, at any time, offend his politically correct listeners in his songs. Because part of being a smart and developmentally advanced kid is being politically correct. Apparently. *Sidenote: I don’t think any of the B.E. products are going to make Clara smarter or develop faster, but they were given as gifts and were happily received.*

Take for instance, “Do your ears hang low?” a common favourite. In the original, we poor, misdirected kids sang, “Can you throw them over your shoulder like a continental soldier? Well. This generation can’t say “soldier” because that implies violence, so we have to change it. I don’t remember what it was changed to, but something like “wave them at your neighbour like a silly party favour” rings a bell. Which is fine. But was it necessary? I consider myself more on the pacifist side of things but I think this borders on ridiculous. But I waved it off. It’s not like it really changes the song that much anyway.

Then, however, we get to “The wheels on the bus.” Oh don’t worry, they still go round and around. And the babies still say “wah wah wah.” But what do the mommies say? If you said, “Sh Sh Sh” you are wrong. And probably a bad mother. The mommies on the Baby Einstein bus whisper “I love you.” Because how mean and uncaring it is to shush your baby! And then, wait, we’re not finished yet–then the daddies on the bus also whisper “I love you.” Because assuming that only mommies are on the bus with their babies marginalizes daddies and puts mommies in a traditional role, and that’s a big no-no (excuse me while I get my tongue out of my cheek–it keeps getting stuck there).

I know I’m probably being a brat, but this annoys me. First of all, as a new mom, I can tell you, while “sh” is not a very effective way to calm a screaming baby, whispering “I love you” is even less effective. Sweet, but ineffective. At least “sh” has the consistent white noise thing going for it. I mean, it’s not like the mommies on the bus were saying “shut your face.” Then I would understand a lyric change, though I could also have understood where those deperate mommies were coming from, with everyone else on the bus looking at them and the baby making a scene. I guess that’s what really gets me. This whole idea that mothers have nothing but love for their babies, and never get frustrated, never shush, are always patient, it’s really damaging to a new mother (the exact targets of Baby Einstein products, and the ones who’ll notice the lyric change right away, as I did), or to new parents for that matter. And throwing the dad thing in there, fine, I get it I suppose, but it just sounds funny to me to add an extra verse. Why wouldn’t you just say “parents” or something. And heck, the reality is that during the day, on the bus, in America (where the CD is produced)–the land of unpaid-12-weeks-if-you’re-lucky maternity leave–you might as well be singing about the daycare workers and the nannies on the bus. If you want to be accurate. So, Mr. Einstein Busdriver, if you don’t mind, I think Clara and I, and sometimes my husband, would rather just walk.

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